An old Indian Grandfather said to his grandson who came to him with anger at a friend who had done him an injustice.
"Let me tell you a story. I too, at times, have felt a great hate for those that have taken so much, with no sorrow for what they do. But hate wears you down, and does not hurt your enemy. It is like taking poison and wishing your enemy would die. I have struggled with these feelings many times."
He continued...
"It is as if there are two wolves inside me; One is good and does no harm. He lives in harmony with all around him and does not take offense when no offense was intended. He will only fight when it is right to do so, and in the right way. He saves all his energy for the right fight.
But the other wolf, ahhh!
He is full of anger. The littlest thing will set him into a fit of temper. He fights everyone, all the time, for no reason. He cannot think because his anger and hate are so great. It is helpless anger, for his anger will change nothing. Sometimes it is hard to live with these two wolves inside me, for both of them try to dominate my spirit."
The boy looked intently into his Grandfather's eyes and asked...
"Which one wins, Grandfather?"
The Grandfather smiled and quietly said...
"The one I feed."
Monday, August 28, 2006
Squirrel Meets Surf
Or,
"How I learned to love the wave and what it did to me when I got there."
Squeezing into a Tyr swim suit and wet suit after a half mile sweaty trek in 90 degree weather in a 2 by 4 foot stall covered in mildew does not promote a sense of glamour in ones activities. In fact, it has quite the opposite effect of causing general annoyance and a feeling of unsexiness that seems more and more foreign to me in my creation of self. It wasn't until I was firmly zipped up in the ill fitting Body Glove, that I was able to conjure back my sexy self image. I didn't want to meet a new acquaintance as frumpy (or lumpy?) old lady.
Most of my visual experience yesterday was fuzzy as I had removed the lenses granting me clear vision. It was no matter anyway, as the other senses became more acute in the water. I was left to explore on my own for the first hour or two and that gave me a chance to feel out the strength and nature of being fully submerged in the salty waters. The first strides into the ocean were charged with a bit of trepidation and exuberant joy. Like a child approaching a new playmate, I said hello and "hugged" the first wave to kiss my breast. If you could call it dancing, I would. But I can't. There is no single word on my lips to describe the playful frolicking and exploration of body in water I performed with my new friend. She would push, then pull, lift me and try to drown me. I played tag with her white waters, tread through her frigid silky self and drank through my nose. She would slap the back of my head, and I would dive under her next onslaught. All the while I laughed with her, the smile would not leave my face unless a nose full of salt water caused me to shake my head with nostrils, eyes and mouth flared open to expunge the briny cocktail.
After a while of trying to body surf on the white waters, I felt the urge to try using a board. Since the guys had the two surf boards, I headed to shore and grabbed the skim board. Having done a little research into the how-to's of surfing, I knew to lift the board over oncoming white water. The skim board was not a very good floater, so I carried it out to the deeper water, excitedly anticipating the sharing of the toy with my knew friend. My first attempts at catching the white water failed miserably. My timing was off. So I stood and watched a woman in her 50's and grandchild(?) bodying surfing with square (boogie)boards that were thicker than mine. I mimicked the timing and spatial relations and soon found myself catching the teeny waves and getting 3 or 4 feet before my board would sink down. Eventually I started to question what I was doing wrong, my board should not be sinking. I gingerly approached the seasoned woman;
"Hello, could I please ask you a question?" I was greeted warmly by this couple of chics smiling as big as I was.
"This is my first time trying to surf and my friends have the other boards, so I thought I would try this out. I can go a few feet, but then the board drops out from underneath me. Is there some way to avoid that?"
Her eyes twinkled. "Your first time? We were impressed by the way you were actually using that board to surf! It's generally used up by the sands to skim the water, like riding a skate board." They laughed, the elder protectively grabbing my arm as swell pushed into us.
I blushed."Oh? Well, no wonder it sinks!"
We chatted a bit more and then I wandered back to try the "impossible" again. Which of course wasn't nearly as exciting now that I knew I wasn't playing with my toys correctly. After a few more tries, I lugged the seemingly heavy board back to our camp. The desire for one of the surf boards was gnawing at me, thankfully M. had returned with the 7 foot short board. I grabbed that and headed back out.
I tried to feel out the board, where was I most balanced, etc. The first few waves rolled me as I forced my self to not think to much. I couldn't get my balance within the breaks or between them for that matter. At one point I had a brush with fear after being rolled underneath the board into a teal dream of bubbles and pale sunlight. Up!! UP!!! Gasping for air as I lunged forth from the water, I shook the pain from my sinuses and spit out the salt. This initiation of balance and finding the surface of the water lasted for what seemed 15 mins. I decided it was long board time. It's recommended that beginners, such as my self, start out on the long oblong boards. These are longer (duh), a bit thicker and have more rounded ends. Good for learning the balancing act. (hrmm longer and thicker, *cough*) I approached Jake and we switched boards. I now had a bigger toy, 9ft long and bright blue.
This board was heavier, and caught more water. I failed to make it very far out, for every 6 paces I was shoved back 3 or 4. So I tried for 10 paces between breaks. I realized my balance much quicker with this board, but found it harder to maneuver. Turning around in time for a wave was near impossible, so I finally just had to face the beach, careful to keep on eye on what was coming at my backside. (Never turn your back on the ocean!) As a swell would approach I would start paddling. Eventually I caught a good sized one and managed to surf for more than a few feet!
And here my friend is where the language I possess fails me. For a brief moment I was free from the sense of gravity, soaring over the water with a sense of free fall. The laughter bubbled forth in my exuberance of sharing the dance with wave. "Wooohoooo!" escaped my lips as I cheered at the board gliding with the wave. It was an ecstasy quite different from mind altering chemicals and orgasmic explosions that torpedoed my flesh and mind. I can't even imagine what I will experience when I am able to stand and ride swells minutes at a time. My body and mind are burning even now at the thought.
Jake found me at the southern end where the currents had coaxed me. He had gone to drop off the short board in order to help me out. I think I had the biggest grin on my face."Did you see me!?! Oh Wow!" I know, it sounds cliche. But what the hell else do you say?
We started working our way back up to the northern end of the breaks. We were hit by a large wave that knocked hard against my head. The long board pulled at me while the wave dragged me under. I re-surfaced a bit stunned. We carried on a little ways, but my head and body needed a break. The long board caught a lot of water being wider and longer than the short board, and thus took more of my strength and energy to get about. After the smashing fun of that big wave, I couldn't muster the clarity and will to direct the blue behemoth. It was to much work and took the fun out of the challenge of catching the waves.
Our break consisted of sandwiches and a cigarette under the bright hot sun. For the recorded I had remembered the sunblock this time, but only applied it to my face. Anything between my waist and chin not safely hidden by the black Tyr swimsuit is now a nice rosy bronze.
I next took the short board out. Having discovered a way to mostly balance myself had given me new hope for the white pointy board. I was eager and willing to try again. I managed 3 or 4 more good catches before the temperature of the water started to affect my hands that were now starting to hurt from the icy waters. I grudgingly made my way to shore, starting to feel a bit beaten. I got into the shallow, angle deep waters and set down the 7ft board to remove the tie strap. After detachment I picked up the board and promptly dropped it. My hands were to cold and my arms fatigued enough to not "listen" to what my brain was telling them to do. This saddened me, my desire for more wave riding was great, but the practical voice in my head knew that my muscles were done for the day, and that many dangers await in the ocean if you cannot even react properly to your brain signals.
The rest of the afternoon was spent soaking up the sun and getting video footage of the guys playing in the water. As the sun crept down and to the right, my body started to awaken in the warmth and the soreness started to worm it's way into my shoulders and back. For the most part it wasn't bad, I was just beat. I yearned to go back in one last time, but the thought of the cold bath awaiting me, kept me lounging on the large driftwood like a napping lizard. Around 6 or so, we packed up and headed back to the truck, each step bringing me closer to the moment where I could let go and doze with rhythmic body memories of being carried through, over and under the waves.
There's a fluid movement in me today, interspersed with sore shoulders and ribcage. I managed to work out the soreness of the lower back and legs with some yoga this afternoon. A tightness in the neck, shoulders and upper back however, keeps me from relaxing completely. I still feel a bit giddy if I allow my self to slip into yesterday's experiences. A smile hides behind my eyes, curling the corners of my mouth up and into my cheek bones. I want to go again. But there are things that need fixin first. And I am really lookin forward to the day when I step in to 70 degree waters...
For the Surf Footage, head to Jake's Page and watch him and our friend wipe and ride.
We hiked about 1/2 a mile out to Short Sands beach. The picturesque view was framed in high cliffs covered in Douglas Firs and jagged rock lines. White gray clouds rolled on the horizon with the occasion spill of mist rolling over the northern rock face. As our friend commented, "You keep thinking a wizard is gonna appear."
When we weren't playing in the waves or watching others; we watched the fishing boats bobbing in the choppy waters.
We planted ourselves against a large piece of drift wood, catching the vista and having a back rest. The smooth gray rocks weren't to bad for sitting on. Walking was another matter. These lovely sculptures lay behind our spot.
I didn't get as many shots as I would have liked as the sun was in our eyes most of the day. Besides, after getting smashed by a couple of waves, all you can do is sit and watch. The thoughts meandering about in the head were pictures of what just happened to you in the water and an elation prancing over the fatigue creeping through the muscles.
We stopped in Canon Beach on the way out and had a sandwich on the beach while watching the sunset. This rock is called Haystack. It's corresponding Needles being the small ones to the left. At low tide, this is a great place to sea starfish and sea aenemones.
It seems that when the sun is about 2 inches (from the perspective of standing on the beach) above the horizon, that it suddenly drops. I sat, fixated on those moments of actually seeing the sun go down in less than 5 mins. I think it helped to have the clouds pressed against the ocean's skin, dividing it from the sky.
From the shore, the ocean here always seems on welcoming. It's something about Cannon Beach, and how the waves break here, me thinks. Most days a cold northern wind sweeps and cuts through you. Causing much cussing to be brought down upon it.
The waxing moon extended its drawn out wink to us, and blessed our trip home, where a cool shower and bed awaited our tired bodies.
The next time we head out to the coast will most likely involve heading to Short Sands again, minus the cooler of sandwich fixins. Out here, all you need is some trail mix, or maybe a Clif Bar, or some fruit, water and Gatorade. Food tends to fill you to much. And we found weren't all that hungry. The cliffs here block the wind from the beach and the currents get caught on the out croppings of rock making for some very decent 5-6 foot swells, perfect for those of us starting out. There's also some great white waters which brought to mind Swede Transvestite. I wonder how heavy a kayaking boat is?
Next Post: The squirrel and the wave, a love affair in the making.
From my experience, of those friends that smoke, the majority of those that switched to lights for "their health", seemed to actually smoke more often. lesseee...
M and M and S and L and A and another M oh...and P and an S, and a J. And another J.
However, I believe "A" has quit. And I only ever knew "D" to smoke lights and I think he's quit now.
I hope this ruling sticks, as much as I am an advocate of free choice and what have you, "Light" never really tasted good to me, nor did it ever satisfy me. And I watched my friends choke themselves when doubling the cancer stick intake.
Tonight's outing to the concert in the park infused me with some live klezmer music and allowed me much quality time with the inlaws and the French chaperone. A grand evening of mellow tempratures that left me with sore hands (lots of rhythmic clapping) and a sense that people can be down right rude and inappreciative of musicians.
The evenings festivities began with a speech from the MC asking that parents take this opportunity to teach their kids about proper ettiqute while in attendance of the concert. That behavior should be in check and the kids not running around, etc.
Few parents paid any heed and allowed the kids to run amok. On top of that, they conversed amongest themselves, ignoring the band. The whole scene was a bit sad. Also, the band had asked that the audience participate (as the music encourages you to do) by clapping along with the beat. I joyfully participated in this endeavor along with our French gal who is also out visiting with the inlaws. We clapped along the whole time, supporting the artists in their performance. At times we were the only two clapping out the tempo.
What is it about an outdoor concert that allows people to think that they don't need to be a respectful audience? There were even times that my father inlaw turned to me to share his wise comment about child rearing or astute observation of how a little girl out dancing was going to grow up to be a stripper. I did not have the drive to even argue with that comment. I was there to enjoy the music and maybe even learn something about the Jewish folk music. There was some song about Jesus and feet that I didn't catch the story behind because A) my inlaw was making mundane observations and B) people were talking while Sammy Epstein was trying to tell us what the hell it was all about.
And even though they didn't play my favorite piece, there was one highlight of the evening. It was a tall Jew Boy dancing along with the final piece. He new his moves and even a few flips. Whoever said Jews don't have rhythm was a lying sack of dung.
It seems that when you spend the last 3 weeks of the term driving the household crazy while ingesting coffee by the gallon and in place of meals, the PSU president deems it necessary to send you a simple letter on nice, soft paper. He even signs it with real ink!
So I plastered it to the fridge.
HA! Take that Deans list! I made the President's list!
They burn fast, have little flavor and I have a need to rip the filter off in order to even feel the sweet burn of smoking. This causes me to smoke more cigarettes. Usually with my hand rolled vice, I can get 3 separate smokings from one stick. This is due to the moist content and slower burning papers. If I put it down or cease to take a drag from it, the ember dies out. But alas, I must wait until Wednesday for a proper smoke.
GAH!
My airport connection is intermittent tonight. Stop interrupting my ABBA!
ooohh I just thought of an even better smoke! How could I forget? MMMMM applely hooka tobacco goodness. muhahahahahahahahahahahahaaaaa!
Apparently the neighbors have Tuesdays off, as Monday night seems to be BBQ night out back. (see Last weeks "How the Grr Began Post). At least tonight it's ABBA for our evenings theme music.
I like ABBA. Except "Thank You for the Music." That song can be drop kicked off a cliff, if you ask me. Which you didn't, so never mind.
Stiffle that snicker right now. It's my Happy Music. Ok and silly drunk music that I can sing and disco too.
The sunset is a dusty pale yellow again tonight. It triggers thoughts of pollution and how Mt. Hood has been under a haze all summer. It saddens me that in the three years that I’ve been here, to see the smog proliferating over this emerald city.
2 summers ago, I sat out on the deck of a pavilion over looking the city. The sun setting behind my girlfriend and me as we partook in a most sacred endeavor. Our conversations meandered from topic to topic and we marveled at the pristine view of the mountains lolling to the east. Mt. Hood towered over the greenery, a crystalline gray studded with patches of pinkish snow. I held up my hand and my perspective changed, what was 2 miles high, could fit into the palm of my hand. This observation later triggered a conversation with the Swede Transvestite about proportions, if I recall correctly.
I felt I could see for 100’s of miles, at least. Beyond the mountain my eyes followed the ribbon of road seemingly never ending its trek over the patchwork green quilt. (Mt hood is 47 miles from Portland) The thought of looking back over the many miles I had traveled overwhelmed me at first. It occurred to me that this was the farthest from home I had ever been. The thought was both liberating and daunting. In my minds eye I waved to my mom and my brother, wishing they could see what I saw that evening.
But now when I look out from that same spot, the hills aren’t as green and the mountain hides behind a cloud of stagnant yellow mist. Crossing the river on my way home has in past been an awe inspiring moment as I look ahead of me and say hello to the cold giant sitting in the South East. But, over the last few months he has been fading and looking a bit ill.
It’s quite sad.
I’m hoping that this is just a faze of weather, and that perhaps in the fall the air will clear up and our giant will throw off his dusty cloak to bare all for us above the fiery leaves of autumn before he slumbers in November’s soggy blanket.
If this is pollution invading our view, we are in for a heap of trouble. With my imagination I see the mountain becoming redder, almost angry looking in the setting sun and the trees blackening under the heavy smog. Our rivers turning into belching cesspools…wait a sec, they already are. In the city councils infinite wisdom, they have not regulated the amount of pollution going into our rivers. It wasn’t until the Feds slapped a huge fine on the city that they did anything about it. And now we the taxpayers are paying out the ass for it.
If you ever find yourself in Portland, take a look at the river and watch the rainbow glaze slide over the brown waters. And visitors wonder why I insist on drinking water from the filtered pitcher in the fridge.
Rumor has it that many Portlanders want a larger city. I think they’re a bit nuts. Until we have a smarter consumer culture, the surrounding eco-system will not support more people. It's funny really, Portland has been known for it's "green" leaning population. Yet it's being over run with SUV's and litterbugs. According to Portland State , Oregon has seen growth of over 4% since the 2000 Census. If I’m doing my math right, that’s over 50,000 in the metro area alone. No wonder my 3 mile commute to work takes me twice as long as it did two years ago.
As beautiful as this city is, I’m afraid I don’t want to stick around for the nightmare about to come. Already they have destroyed another view of the river (haha at those people who bought land right above it for the view) to build 3 towers. I’m gonna jump ship. Head to the Shore, buy me Def Leopard T-shirt, a surf board and Step Into Some Liquid.
Bree reminded me of my first walk out into the ocean. She got further than me, I hadn't come prepared for a swim. So I only walked out to about midrif (wet bras SUCK). I wanted to go further, but the practical gal in my head said "no" quite firmly.
But never had I felt a greater desire to let go that day. To float and allow the waves to roll over me. Jake will attest to my confession to him that afternoon. "I just want to sit in the water. Here, hold my bag."
A turbulent calm drew me in. The waves rolled into me and through me, massaging my calves and thighs. I wanted to cry. I wanted to dive. I wanted to play and push back. I smiled and hugged myself. The only reason I came out was because my two J's were patiently waiting.
One of these days, me and the yellow dog will go for a swim. And we can pretend to be dolphins. Though Me thinks Jake would be less likely to be swept out to sea.
Ugly Fish Hat has put some of my thoughts about Minnesota into perspective for me. For the most part, she's hit the nail on the head for me. She got right in there and pointed out the void with that little nail. And for that I thank her.
And I miss old Dutch Potato chips too. And Gedney (it's the Minnesota Pickle) Baby Dills. So tangy, so crisp! And Magus Books (Now that has some serious L-space going on, it will get better as he gets more stuff.) and the state fair and probably several other things...
But it doesn't feel like home anymore. Read Bree's post and you'll maybe catch that glimpse of knowing that I felt when I went back last fall. Sometimes there's a pull, a pining for Thunderstorms, REAL blizzards and fireflies. But there's the knowing that it's not what our memories make it out to be. It can't be. It never will be, again.
Or was it the phone? Either way, I was again stirred from a dream that had strong symbolism in it. This is really starting to annoy me. grrr.
Jake and I were exploring a cavernous labyrinth that rose to touch the morning sky. Our gravel path through the mossy cliffs was lit by the dawning pale light of early morning. We were heading Northwards, past waterfalls and glades of ash trees. I recall a woman with a golden band about her forehead on a pale mare. She carries a spear. But I can't place her in any context, she seems a traveler, like us. Like the people you pass on the street - you see them, but you don't question where or why, you just know they are there. A light blue phantom floating by.
I am in need of relief and find a multi-stalled restroom. It's ivory tiles are sullied with years of use and black mildew has filled in the grout and cracked ceramics. Things are living in the corners. I lean against a wall and slide to the floor. My perception changes to include not only what I see and feel from this mold, but I see myself from a perch above my left shoulder. Jake is kneeling near me, we are both in awe of my loss. I feel the warm blood pour from my womanhood. It spreads from me in a perfectly round pool. The color is too rich to be real. We are perplexed by it, as I have no pain...just a sense of release.
And then I awoke.
Me thinks my body has realized that I haven't pumped any hormones in to it for almost two weeks now. I'm so excited to have this chance for allowing my rhythms to return to their natural cycles. Now when I roar, we'll know it's not pre-determined by a little pill.
When I first started studying the Teutonic deities, I was always a little curious as to why there was never any mention of a female counter part to one handed guy, Tyr. Nor, was there modern worship of an "old" goddess. Sure we have Frigga and Freya, but I do not see them as mother or earth goddesses. And Nerthus was to closely linked to Njord, in fact considered by some to be Njord. But since Tyr had not "come" to me as others of the pantheon had, I left the thought on the shelf where it disappeared under the other idols I piled up around it.
In light of recent synchronicties, and a comment from Jake about an article referencing such a figure, I sat down to meditate without having so much as looked at the article. In my meditation I sank into the earth. Black, warm, fertile soil enveloped me and my perception changed to a view of the mossy ground. A woman's left hand dug itself out of the soil reaching for the sunlight and then it beckoned to me. I asked for a name, and all I got was a letter.
The letter Z.
I shrugged it off, what goddess would have a Z name? The letter did not seem in place with other Germanic deity names. I rolled over and went to sleep, thinking I should try another night. Imagine my pleasant smile when I read the Wiki article and discovered "Zisa".
Several hours of scouring the web turned up very little information on this enity, which I find terribly unfortunate. However, Tactius relates her worship to that of Isis, and that gives me some hope. It at least gives me a filter into which assimilate any information coming to me, a point of recognition so to speak. But I also know that Tactius' writings are under debate, as he seems to have been quite far off on some subjects.
It also gives me an archetype that I can relate to in the context of an "old school" deity. I feel that she is not Nuit(to night like), but neither is she Babalon(to uncontrolled). She felt strong in my vision, the type of strength one might sense from their mother, before they realize that she is a sexual being as they enter puberty. The strength of a protector, perhaps? Being that she is of Eastern European descent (and Germanic) the warrior spirit is not out of the question, either.
Could Zisa be an earth/fertility/warrior goddess? Amazonian perhaps? Another avenue to explore. But I know of no primary sources relating to the Amazon tribes that describe who or what or how they worshipped. I will start keeping some notes of my research and meditations. If any of you happen to think of something or a comapartive deity, let me know.
For the last few days I have been listening to the news on the BBC and come to the conclusion that they either need to stop shooting at each other or make it an all out blood path, with no prisoners or consideration for civilian life. No nukes though. Nukes bad.
I can't even begin to describe the futility I feel as I sit here trying to think of how to present the information I have garnered from random radio and news stories about the sitituation. Hezbollah is more rag tag militants then army, so there's little point in trying to call a cease fire with them it seems. Israel has had it up to there necks with this crap and knows of no other way, it seems. So I sit here looking at theh situation from my simple mindedness and lack of desire to really understand the predicerment they've gotten themselves into.
I know however that if my yard was taken over by the governer of, let's say Montana, and they gave it to some developer who wants to make it into condos for the Chippewa tribe and not for Oregonians, I would be pretty pissed.
But since it was ok 60 years or so ago to do something similar, then I want my piece of the Blackforest, damnit. I wanna return to my homeland, too. And while were at it, lets ship all the African Americans back to Africa. All the Europeans back to Europe, etc, etc.
I know, I know. It's silly and irrational. But I really don't understand why they have to fight over it so. I think they're all being silly and irrational. They either need to make the peace of wipe each other of the planet though. This has gone on way to long and it's bloody stupid.
And there ends my ill-informed rant on the Mideast.
Over the years I have involved my self with two very distinct organizations while seeking out a spiritual path. Both communities are blessed with beautiful and intelligent people that I would jump through flaming hoops to aid if necessary. But over the last year or so, I have sought an individual path, exploring and sometimes forgetting about the path.
I see my pattern. I engage with a group and expend energy up the wazoo for a few years and then I burn out, seek solitude for a year and then wonder where I have gotten myself too. And then the call comes again for participation in the universe. The old gods speak and assert themselves in synchronisties, that I can't deny. I start to crave rituals and a type of magick that comes with acknowledgement of archetypes and the nature of things.
I have considered stepping back into the swing of things, but certain elements exist that I cannot concede to without denying something of myself. The other option would be to seek out a new group, but I have no desire to build new foundations, that I'll just burn out on when I've expended more resources that I have or care to give.
So I'm going to remain on my path of solitary exploration until the right thing happens to engage me in a community. But I'm going to step it up a bit. In part it saddens me, but not for want of just any community. But because some rituals are just more fun with a few extra hands. The other part that saddens me is that the brethren I want near me, are 2000 miles away.
I am by nature both a hermit and a pack animal. The balance is hard to keep sometimes. Stupid Libra tendencies.
