....snapshots of a spiral path

SEXCAPADES

2011-11-16T12:00:00.000-08:00

Is that a word? I haven’t written erotica since 1999. I’m going to try some auto-biographical erotica now…

We agreed to meet for the first time at the Brick, in Roslyn. A measly 4 blocks from me but a good hour and a half drive for him. Then there was that pesky 18 wheeler that skid and blocked all three lanes, stopping traffic dead on the 90 for an hour. Oh, and it was starting to snow. He said his van didn’t do snow. It seemed like a lot of trouble to meet someone for the very first time. Now I was feeling nervous, what if he got here and decided it really wasn’t worth all the effort? What if he dies on the road because of the weather conditions? What if he doesn’t come at all? However, those kinds of thoughts are the enemy.

I walked out into the living room, which was warm and cozy from our stellar wood stove with its “magic heat” blower. My mom was lounging in front of the TV. She gave me a look then said, “Don’t wear that belt, the dress poofs out and makes you look pregnant.”

Fuck.

Okay, so I go and change my clothes and I’m actually glad she said something because I feel 10 times more confident and comfortable in some black leggings layered with a tanktop and sweater. I laughed, relieved, and put on the feather earrings my friend C, in Venice gave me (she had an ex boyfriend that once told her he had a present for her and then dropped trow to reveal a glittery g-string barely covering his junk. But I digress). They are bright and long and don’t match. They rock.

Not too much makeup, but a little smoke around the eyes; thick layer of gloss on the lips. With the makeup on I can see a glimpse of the vixen-maiden from what seems like forever ago. She smiles and winks at me. I remember when She felt confident about Herself, obstacles would melt from Her path at the mere sight of Her. Portals would open in the Universe and She wanted to step through them. I remember it like it was a past life but even now She still comes and goes briefly.

Okay…I get that so far this is nowhere near erotica, but give me a chance, I think I can get there…

I have this body spray that smells like cotton candy. I find it incredibly yummy and I know its good because My daughter and her friends are always sniffing me and telling me I smelled nice. When I was in LA and saw my old FWB he confirmed its appeal. I made sure that I didn’t spray too much.

It was still snowing when I left the house and I loved walking in it. The first snow of the year. I still had a couple hours before the date, and I wanted to meet some friends at the Eagles first for some shots of Fireball and good conversation.

Fast forward a couple hours…

It’s about 9:30 and I’m at the Pasttime when I realize that people don’t have great cell service in this town so I had better go to the Brick and see if he’s there. As I’m walking down the white, sparkling sidewalk, I see a man get out of a van and begin to head towards the Brick. I think it’s him. He’s cuter than I thought he’d be. He was one of those that had a ton of really old pictures on his profile. I mean ones from highschool. He is part of the poly scene in Seattle that I tapped into on OKC. I still haven’t made it to any of their meet and greets, but I corresponded with him and one of his partners. Then I spoke to him on the phone for awhile. I have never met anyone who has read more Pierce Anthony novels than I. May I say that I was a little more than intrigued?

I realize now that I am switching tenses. I should just pick one and stick with it.

I waited a minute then took a deep breathe, then I pulled open the doors and walked in. A friendly chat with the bouncer who always waves me through saying, “Oh I know you,” makes me feel all special and local. I scan the room and see him standing there staring at me.

Fuck! I switched tenses again! So fucking amateaur…

When I’m nervous and have to speak, I go on autopilot.

I said, “Hey, you look familiar.”

He said something which I don’t remember because I was on autopilot but I do remember that he was wearing a warm smile behind a nicely trimmed beard, blue eyes and dark, thick hair. I bought him a drink to show that I was truly flattered that he made such a treacherous journey to come and meet me. We sit down to talk but the band is loud. After our drink we decide to go to his van and smoke. It’s a conversion van, with a bed in it! This is so extremely cool because I cannot and will not bring anyone home. It began to dawn on me that I was going to possibly get laid tonight. He shows me that he brought tequila and grenadine and all this stuff to make me drinks. He remembered that I like tequila. I can tell that he likes to give, and I see darkness there too. I reach into my coat pocket and instinctively finger my knife. Always there in case I get myself into a compromising position.

During our conversation we start to slowly touch hands, intertwining fingers, caressing each other’s palms. He comments that he appreciates what a sensual creature I am. “And by the way, you’re gorgeous.”

I think that my response gave away that I’m incredibly self conscious. Every compliment that he offered had me giggling or trying to return the compliment without seeming like I thought he was fishing for compliments. I’m too much in my head ALL of the time. Even when having sex sometimes. I focused myself and tried to stay present.

What interesting things he had to say! He had read practically all of the the same sci-fi books that I had and way more. He even sheepishly made a Supernatural reference that I totally got. I didn’t feel embarrassed about all of the goddess mythology references I kept making. Oh Aphrodite isn’t light and airy at all, She is the primal force behind desire… or, I theorize that the resurrection of Jesus is actually based on the Sumerian story of Innana’s descent… Our kindred inner nerds were totally bonding. As we explored each other’s heads with our conversation, our hands continued exploring the outer perimeters of our bodies.

He felt nice, but I never know if I’m really attracted to a person on a base, physical level unless I kiss them. I think it’s a truly chemical thing. One taste and I know. Whatever chemical reaction happens they taste good, with a pheromone-sweetness on my tongue.

I can’t remember if we kiss at this point or not! Holy shit that is so fucked up…we went to the van, and then to the pastime and had another drink. Then back to the van…I know we kissed in the van, but was it before the pastime or after?...

I think that we did not kiss at this point, and go to the Passtime for a drink. This time he buys mine. I know many of the people there, and I think this is the first time they’ve seen me on a date. However, they have seen me get down with another woman in there before. My date got up to go to the bathroom and a friend at the bar says, “Oh, someone’s gonna get some tonight,” and fist-pounds me. I make it blow up. We left and head back to the van. My friend S said we could park in the alley in front of her house if we want. We did.

Every act of consenting pleasure is an act of worship under Goddess…

I sat on the bed in the back of the van and he leaned in to kiss me. I noticed that yes, he is sweet. I am more of a lip nibbler and he liked to circle and flick his tongue around the tip of mine. Neither of us are tongue thrusters, not that I mind receiving the thrust I just don’t like to thrust myself.

Yes I am trying to be erotic, and yes I know I was close and then just went into nerdy…

Tilting my chin back, I exposed my neck, my most erogenous as well as overlooked zone. He leans back a little to glimpse the skin on my throat, then begins to lay the most tender kisses there. His lips were so soft and cozy that if it had not been for the beard, I would have thought a woman was kissing me. A warmth ignited deep inside my pussy that began to spread up and throughout the rest of my body, and I knew I was very, very wet.

My sweater came off and I freed my arms from the straps of the tank top underneath. He leaned back against some pillows to get a better look. I leaned forward to kiss him again and as I did he accomplished that coveted in high school – one handed -bra unsnapping move. My breasts rewarded him by tumbling forward into his mouth.

My nipples used to be incredibly sensitive. Since breastfeeding, however, there is nothing more ecstatic than having them sucked. I think it’s because my daughter didn’t eat very much and I produced so much milk that sometimes when I laid on my back my nipples would shoot mini fountains. Oh they would ache so bad and then get real hot and spill.

Eyes rolling back in my skull, my sense of time and reality began to shimmer and fairy dust dazzled and glistened on skin. He was intoxicating. I felt between worlds, submerged, even lost. My leggings had tiptoed off somewhere with my panties, and soon he was kissing, nibbling and licking the inside of my thighs. His fingers converged upon my wetness and it delighted him. Beginning to explore inside me now, he curved his index and middle fingers up towards himself, hitting my g-spot perfectly. His tongue found my clit, lightning shot through my spine, my back was arched in rapture and I was calling out for Earth and Sky. The climax detonated and I catapulted to the Underworld, to the Heavens. From there I softly floated back into the van. When I came to and regained awareness of where I was again, I just started to giggle. I always giggle after I cum but I also realized that I had orgasmed in a record less than two minutes. It usually takes me at least 10.

BEST BLOW JOB EVER!

Opening Erishkigal's cage

2011-10-25T11:11:00.000-07:00

Inanna was the Sumerian Goddess of the Heavens. Over time she began to hear this annoying, scratching noise. It gradually became louder and louder, even though she tried to drown it out with mead, with music, with love; it would not subside. Soon it became deafening, and the only way to alleviate the pain it caused was to quest after it. Putting on her royal jewels, her crown, and armor; Inanna went in search of the source of this catastrophic sound.

Eventually she came to a deep crack in the ground, it was too narrow for her armor, so she had to remove it. It was tight, but she made it through. However, soon she came to another passage that was even tighter, so she removed her crown, and was able to slide through. After every dark passage was another, smaller, more terrifying one. At the seventh passage, Inanna had to strip bare in order to squeeze through.

Inanna stood naked in the middle of a dark cave. On the floor, in the middle of the cave, lay her twin sister, Queen of the Underworld, Erishkigal. She had the head of a fierce lion, and was ripe with child. Erishkigal was screaming in agony as she was in the throes of labor, yet no birth would take place. Only the continuous pain of birthing. When Erishkigal saw her sister of the heavens, she fixed on Inanna the eye of death, and Inanna was immediately turned into a rotting corpse, of which Erishkigal hung on a big, rusty hook that jutted out of the stony, wet walls.

Inanna had friends up above who worried about her. One God scraped the dirt from under his fingernails and created two beings to go find Inanna. She hung there rotting for three days before the little dirt beings found her. They immediately approached Erishkigal, still crying in pain, and began to ask her what hurt.

“My sides! My sides! How they ache and pull!” she answered.

“Your sides! Your sides! How they ache and pull!” they repeated.

“My heart burns and bleeds!”

“Your heart burns and bleeds!”

“My belly! How it turns and heaves!”

“Your belly! How it turns and heaves!”

For every pain that Erishkigal voiced, the dirt beings acknowledged and repeated back to her. Every time they did this, the pains would subside. Erishkigal stood up, feeling good for the first time in a long time. She was so grateful that she granted them any wish. They wished for the release of Inanna, and she agreed.

Inanna arose from the dead, feeling not only her own power but her sister's. She was no longer only the queen of heaven, but also of the dark and deep. She was whole.

***

We are all multifaceted and duplicitous in nature. There are the parts of ourselves that we keep in the light, show off to others. Then there are those parts that we keep locked away in dark dungeons, so far down deep in our subconscious that we, ourselves do not remember that they exist. We ignore them or try to battle them, slaying them over and over yet they never die. Eventually their cries are impossible to ignore, and they can even raise their terrifying heads into the light, to our own horror and the horror of the people who are close to us.

These monsters are parts of us, and need nurturing too.

My Erishkigal is terrifying. Hateful, Grotesque; an Ogress crying toxic tears. She is rage compounded by many lives. She is wounded and bleeding from betrayal. She is bitter from disappointment. She loathes the people who hurt us, even if I’ve forgiven them. She wants vengeance, violence, to beat them into bloody pulps. “They need to be sorry!” she screams in my head and scorches my heart. She would swallow the world whole, for her appetite is insatiable. When she is particularly unhappy, her rage turns inward, “You aren’t good enough!” she screams, “You can’t do anything right, you fat, lazy, stupid bitch! No one could ever love the likes of you!”

This dark moon that approaches lunar Samhain, is the time that I dig for those oversized, rusty keys and unlock her cage. I do this when I’m alone, because I would never want to unleash her on my family. When she screams in pain I acknowledge why we are hurting. I thank her for taking on the wounds that don’t heal and I wipe the blood from her brow. For a moment I hold her and tell her that I love her. In all of her grotesqueness I love her. Then I set her free. She is rude and eats everything in the house. She watches horror movies and bondage porn and gets off on the blood, humiliation and submission. She curses the world and fantasizes about destroying it. Eventually, she gets tired and falls asleep. Before she leaves, she whispers something in my ear. She is satiated, for the time being, and her screams no longer keep me up till the wee hours. I feel stronger, peaceful and powerful.

“The wild woman is the one who dares, who creates, and who destroys...Anyone close to a woman is in fact in the presence of two women; an outer being and an interior criatura, one who lives in the topside world, one who lives in the world not so easily seeable. The outer being lives by the light of day and is easily observed. She is often pragmatic, acculturated, and very human. The critatura however, often travels to the surface from far away, often appearing and then as quickly disappearing, yet always leaving behind a feeling: something surprising, original, and knowing. ” ~Clarissa Pinkola Estes, WOMEN WHO RUN WITH THE WOLVES

MISTA COOKIE JAR AND THE CHOCOLATE CHIPS

2011-08-19T12:07:00.000-07:00

My best friend, her family and her partner started this great band and the concept of a "love bubble," which is a lens through which to experience life and the wonders of this world. Self described as, "urban, island, folky, rock n roll for the inner child," this music can be enjoyed by both young and old. Now the concept is being made into a tv pilot, so the love bubble can expand even further!

This is their latest single, Room 28

Joey the Dogg

Magic World

1 week before I complete my thirty-sixth revolution around the Sun

2011-08-14T12:13:00.000-07:00

36.
It is one of those numbers. Things in three's are mysterious. 3 + 6 = 9. "By the power of 3 times 3, as I will it, so shall it be!" Fractions with three as the denominator repeat endlessly when turned into decimals.
Nine years into my second destiny (if I start it at 27 when Saturn returns). I look on my first destiny as if it were a past life. That person is still held deep in my heart, a wounded child. She tantrums and sometimes I yell back, but then I know she just wants love.

Leo's have a lot of pride. The other side of that is insecurity. A big problem for me. However, take a Leo, take all her money, pack a thousand pounds on her, prove to her that all her love, willingness to give everything of herself, her will and passion aren't enough to fix everything, I mean, other people. Give her a miraculous, but helpless being to care for every moment. My present ego does not run rampant any longer. All facades have crumbled. It woke me the fuck up.

So what about this year? This year was the first time in this second journey that I feel like I have reached a destination. There is respite, there are rewards. There is that moment of triumph, elixirs, rejuvenation, new powers gained that will help me in the next level. Kind of like a video game. The cool graphic and the fireworks. But life.

I live here in Roslyn, I dreamed of leaving LA and moving to a place just like this and manifested it. That feels like Power.

My best friends in LA just got this big deal to make a pilot tv show for children. They hired me to help them write it even though I have zero experience writing screenplays. We spent many nights on skype unto the wee hours of the morning writing it. They present it to the investors tomorrow. They are paying me for my help writing it, which is great because MomsRising is laying me off at the end of this month, and my only options for jobs in this rural town are housekeeping or cashier or office temp. Bleh. The thought of those jobs is shitty. Although it's pretty funny if that's my first new job after receiving my bachelor's degree. I really thought MomsRising would hire me, basically making my life (or so I thought) by providing a full time job that I can do from home with the best benefits known to any American. I never, for one second, imagined that my friends would want to "hire" me as a writer when they know like a million writers and have access to actual screen writers. They must love me. If they decide to keep me on as a co-creator of the show, instead of work-for-hire, then I can't even imagine what life on a day to day basis would be like. Maybe I would be able to buy land and start my sustainable community. Other future possibilities are grad school, which I'm applying to at the end of this year ( I have to take the GRE. bleh.). At this point, I could end up just about anywhere, doing just about anything.

On the romance front, well, nothing much has changed. I'm still single. Well, I have to admit, something has changed. I'm admitting to myself that I would like a partner. Or maybe not even a partner; I desire what I have now made an acronym/equation for - M(PARL). That is - Mutual Passion, Mutual Admiration, Mutual Respect, and Mutual Love. Did I leave anything out? I was trying to think of the variety of ways that could show up in my life and bite me on the ass (from past experience I know Goddess thinks She's Funny but She has a very sick sense of humor) but I think I covered everything. Haven't cast for it though. Any love spell tends to blow up in my face.

My beautiful daughter is back and sweet chaos is now a whirling maiden in my home. She has so many desires and she can fire them off at me one after another all day long. Once again I find myself gazing out the window and dreaming about the solace of a cheeseburger and fries. I'm ecstatic that she has returned to my loving arms, and also realizing that she can trigger some unhealthy coping mechanisms. In the next few months, I will need to exercise extra due diligence in nurturing myself and practicing self care. However, I don't think the dog days are just over yet, in fact, when I'm done writing this, I'm taking her fishing.

Gardening and other exciting stuff

2011-07-24T23:11:00.000-07:00

Below are some pics from my mom and my garden. Also, in other exciting news, I went to Seattle and met EcoWhore. She was every bit as awesome as she comes off in her blog. It was a momentous occasion for me, because it was her blog, Hobostripper, that inspired me to start writing again. She is someone that I think a lot of people would benefit from reading. I also met another fan of hers, who was very cool too, a poet who told me all about the Groovy Jews House in Seattle. She also said that if something terrifies her, that means that she should probably do it. That made me feel really good for some reason.

On the witchy front, I did an abundance spell with some of the local community here and really good things have been happening to everyone. Not like windfalls of money or anything but more like sprinkles of prosperity. I wished for myself to have the obstacles removed that were in the way of my heart's desires. I ended up getting in a fight with my x and having all of these triggers come up. They were things from when I was a small child. I had a good cry and then felt like I was brand new. It was really good. Then I got notice from MomsRising that they couldn't keep me on as an intern after August 30th. Now I have to find a new job, but even though I'm bummed about losing that job, it might just be in the way of my heart. So now I will be forced to not be complacent, get off my ass, and look for new horizons. I'm okay with that.

I've been dating a little bit, and its been fun. Both men and women. There is one very pretty grrrrr in Ellensburg but it seems like we are both gravitating in different directions. I've found someone that I think I really like, and I'm a little surprised because it is not someone that would ever catch my eye...I mean, the kind of person that you go by in the grocery store and don't even notice. But once you make yourself look, well, his heart is like a kaleidoscope of radiant gems and syrups. My own juices are flowing with the bright heat of summer, and love is floating with the fuzzy cotton tree seeds in the wind.

Oh, and I packed in 5 miles to Goldmyer HotSprings in Washington. Below is a photo of me channeling Aphrodite in the hottest pool. Behind me is a mine shaft and so one can wade to the back of that cave and sit on a bench. It really felt like being in a womb.

So... back to the garden. I wish I could take credit for this but it's really my mom. She doesn't know it, but she's a green witch. If you put a garlic clove in her hand it will begin to sprout. I can take credit for the compost though, and I did help plant the seeds. However, I'm not the ones keeping them alive. Tonight I made a salad from the lettuce in the garden. It's important to clean the leaves very carefully, as there are slugs and other critters. I mixed the greens with feta cheese, red chili powder, and an ripe, juicy peach. The peach tastes just like summer to me. Mixed with some balsamic vinegar and olive oil, a little salt, and it was juuuuuuuuuust right.

Okay, here are some pics of the garden...

lettuce, sweet peas, cucumber, tomatoes, mint, marigolds

corn, mint, and a whole bunch of herbs that I don't know yet

My compost. Just a Hole with a black trash bag to cover it. Lots of plants like to grow around my compost

adorable white wildflowers growing around my compost

I have a pear tree in my yard!

I planted these Petunias, wildflowers, and Marigolds on my deck and got my little gnomie from a store in town called, Mr. Higglebottom's

Cle Elum Lake

2011-07-14T10:56:00.000-07:00

Mave Update

2011-07-01T10:28:00.000-07:00

Mave finally got strong enough to fly into her/his tree! The parents were wildly happy even though they are still upset with me. I think all is well and this little crow might make it. It was really hard taking care of Mave because she needed to eat every 1/2 hour and pooped a lot. I'm happy I was able to do it, though.

The Dark Fledgling

2011-06-21T11:18:00.000-07:00

I love crows and ravens. They are indeed iconic to me, especially after my work and time spent with Morrighan in my first years as a witch. Since last summer I have been working with Aphrodite, which is very interesting (She has a sense of humor and likes to surprise me). But Morrighan is really the Mother that came into my life, stripping all the facade away, which hurt a lot, but exposed my authentic Self. She then worked diligently with me to carve and polish the rough and raw into something magnificent. I'm more happy and whole than I've ever been in my life and that is the power of Goddess, my friends.

All Spring I've been seeing dead baby crows everywhere that get blown out of their nests and then eaten by something. In my back yard there is a nest at the top of one of the 6 tall pines that make up the property line. 3 days ago, I found a fledgling crow caught in my trampoline net. It was bleeding but not broken. I know everyone's attitude up here is, "leave nature be," and I know that you are not supposed to interfere with wildlife but I just had to help this little bugger who just isn't quite ready to fly back up to the nest. So I took it in, tended it's wounds, fed it, and named it Mave.

Mave is a bit too old to imprint, I think. She (I have no idea what sex Mave is, actually) doesn't seem to like me but she takes food and water from me and begs incessantly from my window ledge, which is now covered in shit. Baby crows need to eat every half hour and I've been feeding her a high protein diet of egg, chicken, soaked dog food, quinoa, spinach, and crushed eggshell. I must admit this is cramping my social life, especially since my daughter is visiting her dad right now so it really is the only time I do have a raging social life, and the Blue Moon Campout is taking place 15 miles up the road.
Every day I take Mave to the back yard for a couple of hours, where her parents scream and yell at her to fly the hell back up to the nest, but she doesn't. I don't think she can. She has improved a lot and is already looking stronger just after these past few days. I'm certain she will be flying within (hopefully) the end of the week.

An environment that nurtures...

2011-05-27T10:26:00.000-07:00

The quietness has allowed me to listen to myself. Not just my soul but my body too. I’ve been working for a long time to increase communication between my physical body and my mind/emotional body. Throughout the blog I think I’ve documented some of the crazy diets I’ve put myself through, as I was always chasing the body I had before I became a mother and gained 100 pounds. Up and down on the weight teeter-totter I went, until my body began to believe it was the apocalypse and just stored everything it could and waited for the end. Add depression and being an emotional eater to that and suddenly I was 130 pounds overweight. I noticed my daughter has this mechanism that tells her when she’s had enough and is full. Did I have this too? That is when I changed my attitude and instead of trying to lose weight, I would try to increase communication to my body. I did a spell. I asked my body to tell me loud and clear what it needed. Guess what happened? Every time I would go binge on fast food I would get extremely ill. Then it would simply be eating late that would trigger morning after vomiting. Certain foods gave me a hangover worse than if I had gotten sloshed the night before. My insides just hurt. My body was screaming and crying and super pissed off. I felt sick all the time. What had I done?

Since I’ve been here (March 1^st), I’ve lost about 15 pounds. More important, I feel better than I have in a couple years. I am certainly not dieting in any way; I’m actually eating anything I want. If I crave a cheeseburger and fries, I have it. I drink more alcohol than I did in LA. Even beer which I gave up when I realized my sensitivity to gluten. There are some things that I’ve added to my diet, which are kefir or kale smoothies with flax seed. Increase fruits and vegetables and water. Take vitamins. These were things I had already been doing before I moved, though. So why now?

Well part of it is certainly the increase in physical activity. Having to chop and fetch wood for example is a new daily activity. I also make a point not to drive in town. Not just for health reasons but also to save gas and lessen my pollution. So I’m walking to the post office, the store, the bar. And then there is the vast wilderness to explore. My feet are taking me to places that are bewitching with beauty. And I go out sometimes to the bars which are actually fun here and listen to good live music and dance. I don’t watch tv anymore. I mean I have one and I have a dvd player, a wii and Netflix; but I never got cable. Instead of cable, I bought a trampoline and have learned how to hoola-hoop for the first time in my entire life. I guess the main reason I feel healthier is because I’m happier. I’m having fun. I’m inspired by my surroundings. That fullness that I mentioned in my last post, it’s enough. I have confidence now that my body will naturally revert to a healthier version of itself – whatever that looks like—if I just continue to strive for wholeness and happiness.

I can't believe some things about myself

2011-05-25T20:35:00.000-07:00

I saw my x-husband on Skype today and boy, did I act absurd. He lives in Iowa and luckily I only see him once every couple of years. But now there is technology and our daughter wants to use it to talk to her dad.

So there he is looking exactly the same...no better. And there I am looking tore-up as usual and he insists I get on and talk to him. I say no but then he is able to talk me into it.

There is something about him that takes my brain away. Blood rushes to my skin and I start biting my lip or twirling my hair—a dead giveaway. I can’t even hide my uber-embarrassing feelings about the creep. He knows exactly what’s going on too and says things like, “Why you being so shy to the camera? You and I both know you ain’t shy.” And then I’m just staring at his handsome face, all rugged with a beard starting to grow and my thighs get damp. Fuck. Why is this happening? We divorced in 2004. All of those years and years that have gone by and all of those horrible things he did, some of which I am still paying the consequences for after all of this time. I consider my relationship with him the darkest time of my life. I fucking hate him. So why would I get all goofy and wet at the mere sight of him?

He has remarried and is totally getting on with his life. Me…well, I have barely dated anyone since we split much less marriage. I’ve raised our child by myself with my mother as a co-parent. I spend all my time trying to heal my emotional wounds. I've done all this evolving and my heart feels okay. I thought that there would be no way I would feel any attraction to this man any more. I mean, I would have to be a masochistic idiot to do so.
Still... I watch so many of my friends break up with their partners and move on to a next one so effortlessly and naturally. I never really thought about why I wasn't as well.

…I don’t want to even type the words…but am I, you know,…still stuck on my x? Because that would be lame. What the fuck is wrong with me?
Do we have any control over who we are attracted to?

The whole thing makes me want to (figuratively of course)…JUST DIE!

Settling in

2011-05-25T12:34:00.000-07:00

It seems like the world is spinning much faster up here. I’m still thawing out from the coldest Spring I’ve ever encountered (what will I do when winter comes?), but She has finally gotten up out of Her Winter slumber and is busying herself with decorating the mountainside with wild flowers, daisies, daffodils, hyacinth, tulips and many others that I can’t begin to name. Yesterday I went on a walk with my daughter and her friend through the woods (actually they took their bikes so we called it a bikike,) and found myself in bright, colorful meadows amidst pines and cottonwoods. The cottonwoods smell so very sweet. My daughter’s friend said smiling that they smelled just like her grand-pops tobacco pipe before he died.

I can really understand now the difference of an environment that is nurturing, and an environment that is depleting. I couldn’t hear myself amidst the noise and energy of 5 million people and the industry it takes to sustain them. I had to check out a lot, because to be so present in that place hurt. In Roslyn, WA there are only 900 people. When I hike up on the ridge, and I see the little town like a tiny mole in the midst of so many trees and mountains – and I can see how slight and insignificant we humans really are- and it makes me feel really good for some reason, comforted actually; I am able to hear Her voice resounding as loud as any civilization.

When people stress me out, which they inevitably do no matter where you go, I go into my backyard and simply listen to the wind in the trees, or marvel at the sky which has no flatness to it up here, but more like a fishbowl quality. Sometimes the clouds drop down to touch the still snow-peaked mountains. When I come back I feel fed. I am full.

Scorpio moon exposes shit smell of people; Mother Nature blazes heights of beauty

2011-05-19T09:08:00.001-07:00

The moon is beginning to wan now after blazing in cold fullness in Scorpio. Scorpio, frigid, cunning hag who digs through the dumps of our souls and spreads all the stinky garbage around. Then we have to run out, chase her away, and clean all the shit up.

Things that I knew weren’t really working but I was trying to pretend they were working are REALLY NOT WORKING in a way that is impossible to ignore.

I have these friends up here that I love like family, but they are super moochy and entitled and kind of expect their friends to pick up the slack where they refuse to tug. And I was navigating that really well. Trying to help but also assert my boundaries. And then he insulted me in my own backyard the other day. Now I feel like I want nothing to do with them but I know I have to somehow work it out. And then someone else I thought was a friend was rude to my daughter. She was walking home and said hi to this woman I thought was my friend and the woman said, “Sorry, I just really don’t want to hear children right now.” When my daughter told me this I think my heart caught on fire. I wanted to call her and tell her that maybe my daughter didn’t want to see her sad, alcoholic ass standing in front of the bar smoking every day but at least she has the manners to not say that. And then I would like to punch her in her mouth. But I don’t. I know that she was probably drunk when she said it, not that it’s an excuse. But don’t come fucking eat dinner at my house and then be rude to my daughter.

Oh and someone hung a noose from their big tree on the main road. Which was really embarrassing when my sister came to visit from LA. I might make a sign that says, “This noose is ignorant and disrespectful to the tens of thousands of women, children and men that were unjustly tortured due to the tradition of lynching.” Out of cardboard and red paint and stick it on their fence one night. People are starting to suck.

But the forest and sky and rivers – all walking distance is vibrating extreme shades of green. Flowers and trees are radiating blooms, hummingbirds flit about the new feeder I put out. It is breathtakingly beautiful. Her voice is so present everywhere I look. I saw a Bald Eagle sore silently over me the other day as I walked down to the river. It is nourishment. So I will listen to Her voice, as it is strong enough to drive out the shitty smell of people that lingers in my chest.

Intro to Taco Chop

2011-05-03T13:56:00.000-07:00

taco chop: When one woman approaches another woman and delivers a swift, hard, upper-cut, “karate chop” between the other woman’s legs. Also known as the, “pussy punch.”

    The rolling sky had darkened to that mysterious cyan that is found in the coldest part of colossal ice. It was too dark to see the brightly painted corrugated tin roofs that populated the tops of houses that are nestled up against the mountain. Yellow, pink, blue, green, their cheerful demeanor faded into dark shadows with the thousands of pines looming behind them. It is a horizon that I’m not used to. So different from the sky in Los Angeles with it’s flatness. The sound of waves crashing on broad, golden beaches replaced with the roaring of wind through ponderosa. Was it nighttime? I checked out the color of the sky, not quite dark. Dusk here must last for over an hour.

    Dusk. One of those ‘tween areas. Hanging in between the reality of day and night, like a doorway to another place.

     Sidestreet Reny began to do their thing and I noticed that for a very small town, (not more than 900 people), there were sure a lot of lesbians running amuck. Moving to the music while also observing those moving around me, I noticed a very sturdy looking woman in a hoodie and a ponytail walk up to another woman wearing overalls and deliver a blow straight to her crotch. The recipient of the seemingly sudden pubic violence doubled over in pain, only to rise again with a face contorted with giggles. A new friend of mine saw the expression of surprise and dismay on my face and quickly grabbed me by the arm. “You’ve never seen a taco chop, have you?”
    “A what?” The whole idea of this type of thing was foreign to me.
    “The taco chop. Pussy Punch,” she laughed as I still couldn’t comprehend.
    “It’s a game the women up here play. Only women are allowed to play and you can only do it to women who have agreed first that they are playing. Can I give you one?”
    I raised my eyebrows. My new friend, T, assured me that she would be gentle. “Okay,” I relented and braced for impact. There was a gentle pat on my pubic bone. I opened my eyes and thanked her for so kindly initiating me. And then we danced.

    And we drank much more.

    Young, cute butch eyeing me. Short hair, streaked with blue. Couldn’t be over 25. We flirt, intelligently at first, the way women do even when totally wasted. I end up moving with her on the dance floor. My Venus rises as does my blood alcohol level. Everything seems like it’s bubbling up out of the uneven wooden floor of the tavern.

    I think my brain caught up as I began realizing myself back into cognitive realization and found myself with hands all over this little one’s breasts, flicking my tongue all over the back of her neck, scraping my teeth against her soft skin. She turns her head to the side and we touch tongues and lips together. A feeling of overwhelming intoxication is replaced with a concern for the spectacle I might be making of myself. It’s my first night out in my new town. There goes the low profile I was meaning to cultivate.

Restarting snapshots

2011-05-02T18:05:00.000-07:00

YES, it's been awhile and I left you all hangin' with the Mono Hot Springs post. I'm sorry I suck. However, I just moved from the carnival that is Venice to the Cascade Mountains of Western Washington and I have SO MUCH to write about! Just preparing to get my ass in gear. Stay tuned to hear about the famous Roslyn TACO CHOP and the little girl ghosts I heard (I moved to a haunted town). Plus I'll tell you what happened that night with Mono Mike last summer and some of the political bullshit that is currently enraging me. And of course, all that witchy shit I do will be updated here. Yesterday for Beltane I had a little party and turned my street lamp into a May pole. Much more debauchery to come!

Free/ low cost healthcare for kids

2010-12-20T20:04:00.000-08:00

Are you or a family member or friend in need of health coverage for children? An easy-to-use tool for finding and sharing resources is here (English and Spanish links available): http://moms.ly/efW8Hv

Aphrodite, Adventure, Amplification. part III

2010-07-24T16:57:00.001-07:00

Doris Lake

Okay, so where was I? I feel like I have to write faster, as the feelings are already converting into the intangible. The memories becoming soft, malleable, and elusive. Like smoke, when I try to grab at it, it dissolves and scatters. I’m sad today, and I must prepare myself for all the work that is ahead of me. But for now, I’m going to allow myself to languish in my memoirs just a little bit longer.

Did I mention that when we were sitting on those flat stones by the river and hot springs, that every time a piece of sand or mud got on my legs, this guy would scoop up some of the cool river with his hands, and so very carefully trickle water over my chunky gams to clean me off? At first I was embarrassed. I get a little uneasy when people get very close to me. Just an example of one of the stored goods I keep in my social anxiety cupboard. I also haven’t shaved my legs (or anything else) for quite a few months now, and even though this is quite natural in many places domestic and abroad, in LA it is pretty much taboo. As much as I fight against the internalization of this stupid societal norm, I still get nervous when someone actually notices my legs.

Ya and I returned to my campsite at seven, two hours before dark. I opened up the cooler that my mom insisted on packing for me. She said that if I let her do this, it would relieve her anxiety about me going camping alone. In the cooler were a dozen eggs, ten boiled potatoes, ten pre-cooked chicken tenders, two bunches of bananas, a package of bacon, cans and cans of beans of every kind, a gallon of orange juice, a pitcher of homemade ice tea, tortillas, a Tupperware full of precooked rice, a steak, chips, home-made garlic salsa, saki, chocolate…I had enough food for a month, and I was only camping for two nights. She also packed me a really cool retractable knife, pepper spray, an axe, and a swiss army knife. She told me not to hike by myself. I agreed just to make her feel better. She also told me to wear extra underwear when swimming in the river, lake, or hot pools so that little fish and worms (ew!) wouldn’t be able to swim up my vagina. I told her that I didn’t think they had those there. She told me not to be so sure because on her island in the Philippines, there is a tiny fish that swims up men’s urethras. Gotta love my mom.

I built a fire and lay down for a bit in my car/tent. Suddenly I heard a whistle and I looked out to see Doug, the camp host standing at what could be considered the entrance to my campsite. Doug was thin, maybe in his sixties, with grey dread locks that went every which way.

“Come on in!” I beckoned.

He wanted to find out if I was leaving the campsite like the other folks. Oh wait. I totally forgot to mention this part. The precipitation up in the high sierra’s this year has been 200% more than what they have had in any wet season for the past 5 or so years. Because of this, water has to be regularly released out of some of the lakes. The company in charge of all this is Edison. Apparently by noon the next day, my campsite was going to be underwater. He said I could find another one but since I was planning on leaving the next day anyway, I just agreed to be out of the site by 10 in the morning. I was glad he was there because my stash was low and the guy I met earlier…oh I might as well tell you his name. Harboring it doesn’t make it any more extraordinary. It’s Michael. Michael told me that Doug was the man to talk to.

“Hey Doug, while you’re here, um, I’m a medical marijuana patient and I’m looking to find some medicine. Think you can help me out?” I don’t even know why I said it like that but I did. He told me he would be back in ten minutes and he was. He handed me an old jam jar with pictures of fruit on the tin lid. There had to be over an eighth in there. “I would love to contribute, Doug, how much can I give you for that?”

“Oh no,” he shook his head, “I don’t want anything, people give it to me all the time so I wouldn’t think of selling it. Just bring some up to share next time you come here.”

“Then please sit down and share a bowl with me.”

He agreed to that and sat down. He told me that he is the only person that stays in Mono Hot Springs year round, because the road becomes impassable from November to April. It only took a little nudging to get him to spill his story. Although he was raised in Oceanside California, he had spent half of his life sleeping on the ground in the mountains. What a people-less paradise it is in the winter! Blanketed in white, the hot pools melt the snow and remain always. He told me about how the bears played by his window because they liked his music. He straps on snowshoes and explores the forest, talks to the trees. He told me that when you live in the now, magick unfurls itself all around you and you can’t help but be in awe, you can’t help but have happiness. He didn’t want to define the Divine, but he said whatever it is, it’s his best friend. He talks to this indefinable divinity, asking it to please share some of the goodness with other people. That is his only sadness, that other people can’t experience it. When I asked him if he ever writes down any of his experiences he emphatically shook his head and told me that he quit reading and writing, and that he hasn’t picked up a book or newspaper in over ten years.

We had sat and talked for so long that it was only a few minutes after Doug left that Mike showed up. For a trip that was about becoming closer to Goddess and Self, there sure were a lot of men at my hearth. Aphrodite is trying to show me some of her sons, I think. I keep seeing the playful Pan archetype. Undomesticated, ungroomed, uneducated, rough and without a drop of elegance. No bling, no bullshit, no games. Spontaneous enjoyment and the ability to be fully present in a conversation. No ego. No need to dominate or objectify, just a childlike curiosity to lightly rub one soul against another. These are the qualities that most men I come across lack.

She was giving me a breath of fresh air. Making sure I’m not using biology to close up my mind. This is an example of how different Aphrodite’s teachings are from Morrighan’s. M comes from more of a …pick yourself up off the fucking ground, realize your own power and kick their fucking asses like you know you can.. school of thought. Rage is after all, a cure for depression. And when put to good use can fuel great change. Not to say that Morrighan’s arms aren’t nurturing and loving. Celtic warriors prayed to Her to embrace their souls when they died in battle, and carry them to the afterlife. It is for Her that we reach in our most vulnerable and miserable moments.

I’m trying to keep these posts at about 1000 words so I will rest here for the moment…

Aphrodite, Adventure, Amplification. part II

2010-07-23T11:20:00.000-07:00

...Through the portal I went, nodding to the old guardians as I drove through. These Redwoods seem to grow right out of the sun baked rocks. I threw the car into second and as I came down the steep, one lane road, I could begin to hear the song of the river.

The River She is flowing…flowing and growing,
The River She is flowing…
Down to the sea…

From the High Sierra’s to the sea was a whole lifetime, more like many. I set up my camp, which was easy because I can put down the back seat of my hatchback and make a bed. I use a strawberry shortcake bed decoration that was given to my daughter as a mosquito net and drape it over the lifted back hatch door, making myself an open airy little house. I could feel that my LA rhythm was much too fast for this place so I opened a bottle of organic, Spanish white wine and lit a bowl of blackberry kush. Time to slooooooooooow…

Dusk began to drape Herself over the mountain and the three-quarter moon poured silver light into the mix. I decided to head over to the natural hot springs for an twilight dip. I brought Yaboo! and we walked up some wet, tall grass and came to what’s called, the rock pool. It’s a natural pool up against a flat rock face. I could see bubbles in the pool where hot water pushed itself up from deep cracks in the Earth’s crust. Warm water trickled over the edge of the pool and onto my feet. I slowly sank into the water and sighed deeply. I rested my head against the rock and gazed at the moon grazing the tops of the pines and redwoods. I called to Ya and noticed out of the corner of my eye a man standing on a wide flat rock across the river and up a hill. Yaboo! Didn’t like the hot water at first, but as I began to massage him, his body leaned against mine and he relaxed with pleasure. Mosquitos were biting so I spread some of the dark, mineral rich mud on my bare arms and face to keep from getting eaten alive. When I returned to the campsite, I had enough energy to build a little fire and lay down on a blanket in front of it. I watched as the fire danced itself into smoldering coals. Too tired to even make dinner, I crept into my car/tent and fell into sleep.

In the morning Ya and I went hiking. Four miles of climbing rocks, sometimes having to lift him over the bigger ones, as his body doesn’t allow him to jump so much anymore. We experienced the serene and wild beauty of the Ansel Adams wilderness. We found a reflecting lake and swam in its cool depths to ease the bright heat. We are both pretty out of shape so by the time we got back, we were very sore. Time for another soak.

This time I passed the rock pool and kept going, looking for a pool closer to the river so that I could cool myself off when I needed to and so that Ya Could swim and fetch sticks. I came upon a perfect spot where a hot pool and the cold river met and mixed. However, there was a man sunbathing down there nude, and I felt like I was maybe intruding. But I was so weary and didn’t want to hike around looking for another spot. So I decided to just try and be quiet and give him his space as he was sleeping. I noticed that his body was long, lean and practically hairless like a boy. He had burnt sienna colored skin and grayish hair that fell a bit past his shoulders in the back. He was laying on his stomach.

Soon, Ya’s gleeful splashing woke him and lifted himself up on his forearms and asked me if he was bothering me by being naked.

“Oh no,” I shook my head and smiled, “please just enjoy yourself and don’t mind me.”

I gave Ya another massage. I could feel the guy watching me and then he said that he could tell that I really loved my dog. We began to small talk, and I had to use much self control and concentrate on his face with all my might. He said that he liked my tattoo and if it were an Adam and Eve thing. I told him that the Bible stole the symbol of the snake and apple from an earlier religion and that the apple stands for women’s fertility and the snake is for women’s power, the power to shed skin and rebirth, as well as the ability to reach into oneself and find the wisdom of Goddess, of Nature Herself. His dark eyes took everything I said in like sponges. He smiled really big and the deep lines engraved into his face disappeared and he looked just like a teenager for a moment. Something about his smile was so familiar…what was it?

I felt really hot and realized that I needed to cool off in the river. I threw my baseball cap off and let my hair out of its bun. As my hair spilled down my back, his eyes widened and..BOING!…up sprang his penis, all engorged with blood and pointing right at me. He jumped up and scrambled over to his jeans, which he pulled up over himself in less than a second.

His cock was kind of beautiful, and big, and I couldn’t help noticing that his balls were tight with very little hair. I reminded myself that I find sperm repugnant and haven’t had more than a five minute conversation with a male person in months. Yet, it seemed that I had been conversing with this guy for over an hour now.

“I’m sorry…I have a thing for long hair.”

I just started laughing. “No worries, man, I take it as a compliment!”

We sat and talked for another hour and he showed me around the hills, pointing out all of the hidden springs that only the locals know about. I was starting to feel tired, and told him I was heading back. “Can I come visit you at your campsite tonight?” he asked.

I pondered for a second. “Okay. Come when it gets dark and I’ll be making dinner if you’re hungry.”

He smiled really big again and again there was something in his face that I recognized and understood, even though I still can’t describe why or what…

Aphrodite, Adventure, Amplification. part I

2010-07-22T13:31:00.000-07:00

So much has been transforming lately, I really don’t know where to start. I guess I’ll start with the thing that I can’t stop thinking about since yesterday. The think that has me lost in this perfect moment to the point where I forgot to put my gas cap back on my car after filling up.

On Monday I left my house in L.A. and drove six hours up into the High Sierra Mountains looking for healing…and maybe something else?...at Mono Hot Springs, which border the Ansel Adams Wilderness. I brought my beloved Yaboo!, my black lab that has been my constant companion for the past 12 years. Last week when I brought him to the vet for a deworming, he was diagnosed with Lymphoma. His glands were really swollen and the vet said that he was dying.

“Are you going to put him on chemo-therapy?”

“No.” I couldn’t stand to put him through that.

“Then your only option is to give him these steroidal medications. They will help his body fight it for a little while, but then they will stop working and he will deteriorate quickly.”

“How long does he have?” Tears began to well up in my eyes. This was unexpected, even though I had noticed how I had to help him into the car lately, or how he smelled weird even after I gave him a bath. I just thought it was old age setting in. Not cancer.

“Oh, there’s no way to tell.”

“A couple years?”

“Oh no,” she looked at me with pity. “A couple of months at most.”

So let’s just say that is the reason I took off to the high sierra’s. To take my furry angel to soak in the healing springs. So much happened there. I felt things there that I have never felt before. I spoke directly to the awesomeness of nature and She spoke back to me! I saw things and met sages. I have so many stories from just the three days I spent there, but for now I am going to focus on that thing that put a smile on my face when I first opened my eyes this morning.

I am rising up like a phoenix from the fire…

I guess I have to preface this story again. In the beginning of the year, I began to transition patron Goddesses. Of course, the Roman Diana is the patron Goddess of my tradition (Dianic Witchcraft) but it has been Morrighan that has been teaching me since around 2005. My name became Boudica for a while even. I needed these sister warriors to help me figure out what to do with this anger that I have been carrying for many lives now. At Imbolc, I felt something new entering. Boundaries were dissolving around me. My skin began to become looser and detach. New cells beneath were dancing to become.

I am opening with sweet surrender to the luminous love light from within…

Aphrodite and water. But wait, I am fire grounded in Earth, not water. And Aphrodite is so…well…fem. Like, I don’t run around in lingerie getting fed grapes by chubby angels. But then I came upon some Aphrodite myths. I read about how she punished a disrespectful woman by making her lust enormously after a bull. The woman ended up having a friend make her a female bull suit so that she could hide inside and get fucked by huge bull cock. Maybe Aphrodite wasn’t so nicey nicey after all. She does seem to have a wicked sense of humor. So I started a relationship with her. I began to slowly realize that Aphrodite (or any of her many names) is extremely ancient and primal. She is desire, the most powerful force in the Universe. It is Desire that thrusts life into motion, propelling our genes to proliferate themselves, to get us out of bed every morning, to bring us to our knees in despair. She has been there since the beginning.

Woah, wait a minute. Do I want to be messing with such powerful and primal stuff? Should I call this power into my life? I was wary at first, but I began to call her in during Imbolc. Summer Solstice I invoked her. I invoked her again last week. I started to feel different, I began to not feel hungry and I am ALWAYS hungry. Before I left on my trip I purified and blessed myself. I thanked the water and asked that my body be Aphrodite’s temple. I promised to worship at Her temple and bring offerings every day. I asked Her to enter into me and spend some time with me to help build Her temple. This is different than invoking because usually you invoke in a circle and then devoke before opening. Always know how to banish what you conjure, that is the rule I was taught. But this is different because I was asking Her to walk with me throughout my days and nights. I felt different immediately. I don’t know how to describe exactly how strange I feel mentally and spiritually, but one of the physical manifestations is that I feel like there is clay in my stomach and I have to force myself to eat. I have a ton of energy though and no headaches. I’m extremely conscious about my health because I don’t want to desecrate the temple. It’s harder to escape out of my body and into my mind, as my body’s voice is much louder. I crave self care, I even went and got reflexology for the first time in my life. Have you ever had someone masturbate your foot? Oh Lordisa!

As I passed through two very gnarled redwood trees on the one lane road 7000 feet up the mountain, I distinctly felt that I was entering Her domain. And it was paradise. Little did I know that She had a surprise for me that I would never expect…but I am going to have to continue this story on my next post…

Tested and Failed

2010-07-13T13:37:00.000-07:00

My feminist ethics were tested the other day, and I failed miserably.

Dear Woman who was being verbally abused and frightened by her irrational and irate boyfriend,
I was such a douche (and I mean that in the sense of bearing false advertising and being quite useless) and I'm really sorry and I really hope that guy didn't and doesn't hurt you.

Here is my confession:

Last Sunday I was in my house and heard random male screaming out somewhere on my block. I didn't pay it any attention, as Venice seems like the last haven for every homeless mental patient that our society has conveniently forgotten. There are plenty of crazy men screaming at any given time in this city and I have become de-sensitized to it.

My sister was walking over to meet me for our twilight bike ride on the beach so I went outside to wait for her. About 40 feet away, down my sidewalk, there was a couple arguing. The woman was telling the guy to give her her car keys, and he was screaming at the top of his lungs an inch and a half away from her face. He was accusing her of cheating on him. I stepped out into the sidewalk and glared in their direction, just to let them know that I was there. But then I sat back down on my front steps. This couple was a young, good looking couple. They reminded me of multiple past relationships that I have had (x husband included) where this very same scene played out, in almost the exact same way, and also in public. In fact, this scene has not only been played out by me, but by almost every female friend I've ever had, including my sister, who walked up to my steps at that very moment.

I said, "Is this shit the same fucking yelling I've been hearing for the past 20 minutes?"

"Yes," She shook her head, "I've been behind them almost the entire way to your house."

"Do you think I should intervene?" I'm cautious because honestly, I don't want to get shot or stabbed, and intervening in random folks' business is a good way to get hurt.

She pauses. I'm trying to gauge the situation by running scripts of past experiences where a guy has crossed the threshold from verbal abuse to physical. I think that she is too. She answers. "Yes."

Fuck. I walk out onto the sidewalk again and take a long look. The dude is around 20-23, black, wearing a white v-neck and pinkish-orange shorts. The woman has long dark hair, is young too. White, or hispanic/white maybe. Wearing jean shorts and a black tanktop with flip flops. Both of them are gorgeous. They were standing in front of a black Mercedes. Honestly, if the dude was wearing a crisp blue shirt or a white tanktop with some bright color bandanna or laces, I wouldn't say shit.

"Are you okay?" I call to the woman.

"Oh, yes. He's just..." She has that look on her face that I know so well. That embarrassed, -I can't believe this is happening so I'm going to pretend it's not - look. Still, she instinctively walks towards me.

The man turns towards me to follow her, as she is walking towards me. Fiery eyes are now fixed on me and he shouts, "WHY DON'T YOU JUST MIND YOUR OWN FUCKING BUSINESS!?" I was surprised he didn't call me a bitch.

"Well, you've been yelling in front of my house for the last 20 minutes so now you've made it my business. So, why don't you just give her back her fucking car keys!" I wasn't yelling, but I hardened myself up. In the back of my head I thought, Shit, I am waaaay too out of shape to take this guy on.

"HER CAR KEYS!!!????" He was practically jumping up and down. He turned back to her and screamed again. "HEEEEEEEEER CAR??!! SO WHAT!? I DO NOTHING TO CONTRIBUTE?! BITCH!? (there it was.) I AM SO SICK OF YOU TAGGING ONTO A NIGGA'S COAT-TAILS! I HAVE SACRIFICED AND SACRIFICED, AND THIS WHOLE TIME YOU'VE BEEN GOING BEHIND MY BACK!!!"

She responded, " I didn't do anything!"

She looked at me and shook her head in exasperation. "There was this stupid game on the boardwalk..."

"IT WAS A LIE DETECTOR TEST!! AND WHEN YOU SAID YOU NEVER CHEATED ON ME, IT SAID YOU LIED!! YOU LIED!"

"So what?!" she laughed, "It also said that you were gay!"

Both my sister and I burst out laughing. This infuriated him intensely.

"THIS IS CUZ I'M BLACK, HUH!"

My sister says, "um, hello?, I'm black."

"NO YOU'RE NOT!"

My sister and I burst out laughing again. There is no ambiguity about her race.

"AND I HAVE TATTOOS!!"

"So what?" I rolled my eyes. "I have tattoos too. The reason you're scary is because you're screaming and acting crazy!" Why on Earth was I trying to reason with this guy? He is obviously trapped within his own reality. His behavior was unacceptable for my 7 year old, much less an adult. I began to get angry. This guy was going to make me miss my twilight bike ride too. What is the quickest way I could control the situation? These selfish thoughts led me to break my cardinal rule.

Suddenly, my mom appears from around the back of the house. I knew she would eventually hear the yelling, and I was just glad she wasn't coming from inside where she could get her gun. My mom always has a weapon. This time it was a large, pointy spade. When she saw the irate boyfriend her lips curled back against her teeth and she gripped the spade tighter. I grabbed her by the arm and told her it was okay, to get behind me. In the meantime, the guy had gone back to screaming at his girlfriend. Why wouldn't he just stop?

He was going on and on about how he was all alone, how his family is 5000 miles away and he's trying to fulfill his dream...how even though he was in three movies, it just wasn't good enough for a gold digger like her. She kept asking for her car keys, and he kept trying to get her to go into the car with him. She refused and said straight out that she didn't feel safe getting into the car with him. He then screams and punches a tree, then runs to the car and takes off. She tells me that she bought that car before she met him. I remember when my x husband punched out the front windshield of my new Corolla. This guy goes racing up the street, stops about 50 yards away, then hits reverse, screeching the tires the whole way. He double parks it, and then runs out of the car back towards us. I was baffled. I was done.

"I'm done." I said, "Give her the keys right now or I'm calling the cops!" That is my cardinal rule. Calling the cops. Having been sexually assaulted by a cop before, and the general treatment of people of color or the poor by the police brings me no faith in the LAPD. I swore that I would never call the cops on someone unless my life was in danger. He wasn't listening to me. "Fine! I'm calling them right now!"

"911 emergency..."

"yes, I'm at xxx address and there is this guy who is just being really aggressive to his girlfriend and won't give her back her car keys."

"Okay, calm down." What the fuck? I was calm. I walked a few feet away so that I could hear better, as the guy was still screaming at his girlfriend. My goal was to scare him into giving her the keys by calling the cops. However, I didn't think it through because he was imploring her to leave with him because I was calling the cops.

Suddenly, I noticed that both of my neighbors had arrived home and everything started moving really fast. Two roommate bachelors, white guys, mid 30's. Not very likable or unlikeable, but I never really talk to them. I was vaguely aware of what they were doing while simultaneously on the phone with the police operator, who had a condescending tone in her voice already.

"Ma'am, what do you mean, being really aggressive?" there was that tone again.

"I mean, he's not hitting her but he's yelling and screaming in her face."

"What is his race?"

What the fuck? I thought of Oscar Grant. "Um...I don't think that's important, I think you just need to send a car over here now."

"Ma'am! I can't send anyone out until you give me a proper description. Now I need to know his race!"

"No."

She made one of those exasperated breathing noises. She began to say something about a gang of young, male, mexican perps with white T-shirts tagging in the area or something, but my attention was now on one of the neighbors I recently mentioned.

He had money in his hand and he was holding it out and booming in a loud voice, " I WILL GIVE YOU MONEY TO GO AWAY AND TAKE THIS SOMEWHERE ELSE." His tone was also very condescending. He was treating them like hood rats.

"Ma'am! Can you at least tell me what he is wearing?"

"Pink shorts!"

Now both neighbors were yelling. At both of them. The one who looks like James Spader says that he doesn't want this shit in his front yard and they need to get the fuck off.

The tall neighbor with a missing tooth turns to glare at the woman. "THIS IS YOUR FAULT TOO FOR BEING SO PASSIVE AND JUST STANDING THERE! WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU, HUH?"

He was shaming her, and I guess she probably looked to me for support, but then saw that I was on the phone with the cops. Her boyfriend was not yelling at her anymore, but pleading with her to go. She let him grab her by the hand and lead her back to the black car.

"Well now they're leaving because you took so long with this race bullshit!" I screamed into the telephone before hanging up.

So she left with him. And I let her go. After she had stated earlier that she did not feel safe getting in the car with him she ended up doing it anyway. And I am partially responsible for that. I should have just had her come inside and offered her a ride home. Why didn't I do that?

My mom looked at my sister and I and said, "Who knew that the neighbor was such a passive aggressive asshole?"

My sister looked at me and said, "Why did you call the cops?"

I shrugged, "C'mon, let's go on this bike ride before the police really do get here." I did not want to talk to them, but they never did come. Even though I gave them the address.

Sometimes the Universe sends you a test. To see if you can walk your talk. And sometimes you fail (and by you I mean me).

new healthcare benefits explained

2010-07-09T09:49:00.000-07:00

MomsRising.org has this really great link where senators explain new healthcare benefits. Knowledge is power, people, so lets stay informed.

http://www.momsrising.org/senators-answers-your-hcr-questions

my little garden on my front steps

2010-07-07T22:35:00.000-07:00

Basil, Lavender, Italian dandelion, mint, & lettuce.

I can't write poetry but here goes anyway

2010-07-04T09:38:00.000-07:00

Inspired by the 4th of July. Where we light fireworks to symbolize bombs which we take to symbolize freedom.

Happy birthday America,

Land of the free.

Freedom to colonize what didn’t belong to me.

Freedom to get rich at the cost of Earth, people, soul.

Freedom to make dominating others my goal.

Freedom to grant liberty to any man.

Who is not brown, gay or poor,

Or holds a joint in his hand.

And if you’re a woman, your body is mine to control.

Just like the land that I took long before.

But Look!

What is that on the horizon I see?

A lion?

The Sun?

A Labyrinth?

A Goddess!

She holds a scale in one hand.

The other hand is pointed directly at me.

She claims that She is America!

The Truth and the Struggle.

Freedom of Infinite Creation.

Like light from a prism,

Rainbows of people emerge from within her.

Many rivers come.

Flowing with the blood of innocents.

Trees sprouting from its dark banks touch stars which fall upon me.

I look for my gold and my armies.

But they flit away on wings that whisper of false prophets.

I beg for the compassion that I never bestowed.

And She grants it to me.

Hello awesome job. Nice to meet you.

2010-06-04T19:45:00.000-07:00

About a month ago I pulled some cards regarding what the heck I was gonna do over the summer since my welfare time-clock expired. My work study job (I'm a humanities tutor at a community college) ends when the school semester ends. I really was afraid I would have to work at Starbucks or something again. Mindlessly yanking a milk frother while people look right through me. But the cards said that I needed to be open to new ways of receiving income this summer. So I was. And then I won the George Tiller Memorial Essay scholarship for that little piece I posted about the right to choose life. $500. Nice. Last week, I received an email forwarded to me from one of my GWS professors. It was for a paid internship at MomsRising.org. The stipend is $500 per month. They wanted someone who has used the web as a platform for political activism. I wrote up a resume and a cover letter and sent it out. The great thing about this job is that it is 100% tele-commute. There is no office to go into. Everything gets done online or by conference call. I never have to "go to work."

Moms rising is a great organization that was started as a reaction to The Motherhood Manifesto; A compilation of stories by mothers who were experiencing discrimination in the workplace. In the past four years this grass roots organization of tech savvy moms grew the membership of momsrising to almost 1 million members nation wide. Kick Ass.

By the way, I got the job and I love it!

Pictures of the Matrix Under the Pier

2010-06-01T13:42:00.000-07:00

Featuring my daughter and my sister;both of whom I love dearly.

Child Support Update

2010-06-01T10:40:00.000-07:00

So, interstate child support collection is anything but adequate. I called Illinois, the state that is garnishing my x's wages. Let me just note that neither I or my x currently live in Illinois. Apparently, their department of family health and services has intercepted the payment. I thought it was California's DPSS but when I called my workers (both calworks and gain) they had absolutely no answers for me. They didn't really know what I was talking about! My calworks worker gave me the number for LA county child support services but it was actually a disconnected number. It was fairly simple for me to go on line and find the number myself. I called and listened to nauseating music on hold for over thirty minutes. Finally, a human being answered, and she had a brain! She looked up my case and informed me that Illinois has not informed California that they were garnishing wages or receiving payments. I told her that I just got off the phone with them and they informed me they were. She told me that she would assign a worker to my case and if I don't hear from that worker, to call back in about a month.

Ummm...Okay? I guess...

I asked if she knew what the deal with CALWORKS is. She says that if I keep my daughter on cash aid (even though my time clock has expired, she still receives $345 in aid, plus food stamps and medical), that I would collect an additional $50 from the child support payments and the rest would "pay back" my welfare. So I would collect $395 per month and it would be called, "aid". And I would have to keep jumping the hoops. Or, I could take my daughter off of aid and collect the child support directly. My question is, if I take us off aid, then will they still claim the back child support? If not, then I would receive $414 per month. If they do, I will only get $345. However, my x could lose his job or go back to getting paid under the table and then this will be a non-issue.

So it's all basically the same amount of money, the problem is what to call it. Right now the money is just sitting in bureaucratic limbo, and I supposed it will stay there for the time being.

Lifestyle Changes Update

2010-05-31T12:11:00.000-07:00

This is actually more of a confession. I have to be accountable and understand what my triggers are. So I was doing yoga for a week, not eating late at night and avoiding gluten. I had lost two pounds and felt pretty good. Yay me! Then, 3 days ago, I bought half dozen doughnuts and stuffed them all in my face. Could it have to do with the whole child support thing? PMS? My breasts really hurt. I got so sick with indigestion it has taken me a few days to recoup. Yesterday I started to feel better but ended up having pizza for dinner. Today is a new day. I am hopeful. But I still feel rather lost and overwhelmed. Can I do this by myself?

The State is Taking my Child's Support.

2010-05-29T16:39:00.000-07:00

Do you know what they don’t tell you when you apply for public aid? What they don’t tell you is that if the non-custodial parent ever gets their priorities straight and begins to pay support via the child support order the social workers make you file against him, that the state will take that back child support as repayment of the “welfare” you received? That’s right, you could say they charged all of it to my X. However, the reality is that the person really being charged is my child.

The situation is that my CALWORKs 5 year time-clock has expired. However, my child support is disbursed through them. If I don’t fill out their QR7 or comply with giving them whatever, “proof that I am doing what I said I would do,” then they can sanction me and not give me the $345. of the $414. that is being taken out of my X’s paycheck every month, who has finally decided to stop getting paid under the table in order to avoid child support payments. He owes over $20,000 in back child support to my daughter. The state is claiming every penny of it.

I believe that money belongs to my child. That $70 per month could be put in a trust fund for her to give her a chance at a future. How dare they charge her for needing support when her dad wouldn't give it, and then put me through hoops, stigmatize me and call it “welfare.” They should call it, "child support relief loan," or "Fuck you for reproducing." I wouldn’t complain if they did it to others, but only poor single parents and their children get this special treatment. Farmers don’t have to pay back corn subsidies, and their only raising our nation’s food. Mothers are raising our nation’s future population. Executives wine and dine their clients and then get it written off as tax abatement. Trying to make a capitalistic buck gets more respect than nurturing life. Banks get free bailout money from the government and then lend it back to the government with interest. Saving Corporations is more important than saving lives. Poor mothers and children are treated like parasites (in a system that gives them no other choice) and the state feels they have the right to take our child support because we have the audacity to exist and need help raising children on our own.

Just when I think I have the beast by the horns, I realize that the beast actually has me.

Does anyone know of any resources that I could use to fight this?

Witch, Heal Thyself!!

2010-05-21T17:41:00.000-07:00

First: I've been thinking about what to do with this blog. Should I keep it like a journal, with a mash up of personal narration, political views, mixed with spiritual philosophy, attempt at fiction, and such? Or should I separate the different, and often conflicting parts of myself into separate blogs? Should I prepare my blog on word first and edit it so that it is palatable to the reader or should I just stream of consciousness write like I'm doing now? What is the main purpose of this blog at this time? Hmmmmmm...

Okay, so now onto this journey of finding my healthy body. Of course, finding a healthy mind comes first. I'm a big fan of non-traditional beauty and loving one's body, but for me, it is much easier said than done. I have to consciously and actively change my mind-script when I look in the mirror. My initial thought is, ewwwwwwwwwww. This is a confession because I present myself in public like a woman who does not have body image issues. I have to, I'm a feminist and a model for my daughter. Anyway, I thought that simply changing the script is enough and I've come to find that it is not.

What is working is finally realizing all that my body has done for me in my 34 years of life in this world. And not because I've taken such good care of it. I've always been the type who forgets to put oil in the car and ends up blowing a gasket. No really, I've done it three times. But with all of the abuse and craziness that I have put this body through...all of the drugs, unprotected sex, cheeseburgers and fries, compromising situations, self hatred I've inflicted through cutting, two suicide attempts, fun and amazing adventures here and in Europe, fights, fad diets, sexual assault, domestic violence, smoking, etc... my body has come through for me every single time and I have never blown a gasket. Holy shit, this body has been my best friend and benefactor my whole life! I mean, how many people get to go through all of that and still come out the other side disease free (yes I recently checked)with all of her parts in good working order (Dr said my heart was an Olympic gold medalist)? In realizing this I have no choice but to fall humbly to my knees and worship my flesh in utter gratitude. My body is, "The Giving Tree."

I do not want to turn it into a stump.

Last Winter Solstice I let smoking cigarettes die. I felt enslaved to those things and I was through. I am so proud of myself and so is my body. However, I let my compulsive eating addiction out to roam free. A very full semester at school had me living mainly in my head. I also let myself eat as much bread as I want, and I am gluten intolerant. Since the beginning of the year I have gained 40 pounds, putting my total weight at (yikes, I can't believe this!) at 278 pounds.

My life now: Every morning I wake up horribly nauseous after a night of having to get up multiple times to take tums. When I do get up, my back, hips, knees, ankles, and neck are all very sore. My face, feet and hands are swollen and the circles under my eyes are dark. I feel like I'm 80! Often if I don't take a quick inhale of medical marijuana upon rising, I will throw up immediately or when I drink water or brush my teeth. Usually my stomach is so twisted I can't eat anything until after noon. Tying my shoes, walking the dog, even wiping my butt has become much more difficult. Sitting in a chair is horribly uncomfortable. Dark, squirrel hair is growing from my face. My doctor says that it is because my hormones are off and my hormones are off because of my weight. My period is coming every three weeks and my breasts are so sore most of the time. There are exactly three pairs of pants in my closet that still fit me. My daughter says my sweat smells bad. I think it's because of all the toxic junk that my body is trying to expel. Also, I think I'm getting a hump on my back. I've shrank two inches, I used to be 5'10'', now I'm barely 5'8".

My dirty secret: In the afternoon/evening I like to eat burgers, pizza, pasta, icecream, donuts, chocolate, and hunks of cheese. Being a medical marijuana patient makes these cravings much more intense. Because social interaction/relationships are scary for me, food gratifies my emotions, quiets my anxiety, and makes me forget that I'm lonely.

So I've come up with a little prescription to help me start this very overwhelming journey of finding my healthy body:

It starts with forgiveness. I forgive myself for all of the abuse. I love myself right now, with all of my craziness and depression, pain, and every pound of fat that my body has faithfully stored for me in case of an apocalypse. I let go of regret, shame and anger. I shed the skin that holds these feelings to my heart because like the serpent, I own the power of rebirth.

Movement is my new coping mechanism. Yoga and walking/hiking. Yoga connects body and mind. Nature connects mind to life force/spirit. I need this physical and spiritual nutrition every day. I'm going to go for an hour a day, six days a week. I will also try to dance and sing more, and be in sacred space more.

My body is sacred and what goes into my body must be sanctified. I will practice awareness. What am I putting in my mouth and why? Is it a gift, an offering to this majestic temple or is it desecration? Can I make a meal into a prayer? The food wil be like poetry to my cells if I am mindful while eating. Eating can be fulfilling to so many other senses besides taste. Meals can build community. There is magik in nourishing and finding it can be my adventure.

Besides mindfulness, I will incorporate a few things into my lifestyle. Dandelion and Nettle herbal infusions. Three liters of water per day. Fruits and vegetables throughout the day. A protein shake in the morning. The only thing that I'm cutting out right now is gluten. I will refrain from eating anything after 9pm. And I will start working on a weekly dinner menu that I can shop for at the beginning of the week.

I have the power to heal myself.

Blessed Be

Where to go from here

2010-05-20T09:16:00.000-07:00

Now that the semester is over, I have some time. During this prolonged moment, I have been re-evaluating many things. So much has and is coming to completion this year. It seems I have found my power and my voice, a crystal clear, strong voice that is not easily broken. A power that is life giving and healing and demands respect. I thought this power would be tested when my child's father came to California because he realized finally that he was seriously missing out. My power shown brighter than stars and he was humbled.

"You are not Cyan, anymore, You are Robin." he said.

"Cyan is dead. You killed her, and I thank you for that."

I sat down to dinner with him, his wife, her daughter who is the same age as mine. He said that his wife was nervous meeting me. I looked at her. Her eyes were familiar. I had that same look when I was married to him. Like the world would shatter to bits at any given moment.

"Don't worry," I said, "If you're good to my daughter then you're automatically one of my best friends." She knows the single mother's plight. We can be on the same side.

I didn't realize the huge weight that I was carrying until it was lifted. So worried. So worried about my daughter not knowing her dad. I told myself that it didn't matter. I changed my religion to an all Goddess Pantheon to re-enforce the idea that a man was not necessary to be whole. Living with my mom has given her the support and me the relief that is needed to grow a child. Yet, I still worried, and attached to the anxiety was shame and most of all, anger. Because I knew that no matter what, some day she would ask herself why he never bothered to try to be in her life. I never imagined in a million years that he would step up, own his neglect, and participate. I'm so glad to be wrong. She stayed with him for a whole week.

How does the real life flesh and bone dad measure up to the fantasy one that my kid has been imagining all this time? Well, she is getting to find out, and more than likely will appreciate my mom and I much more, hehehe. I realize that sometimes, a man can be far from great and still be a beneficial influence as a part time parent. Plus, I like the way child support payments feel in my hands.

She is going to stay with him for a month in July. This could be seen as the snipping of the umbilical cord for both of us. I am a bit scared and I know I will miss her because I have never been away from her for more than a week. She is scared to death but I am certain that she will be better off for the experience. I know that she will be safe. She has a step sister the same age as her. She will have a yard to play in. For me, well, This will be the first time in over seven years that my primary role in life will not be taking care of another person. I can't even imagine what that is like.

A seven year cycle of life, death, rebirth, reunion and evolution is finished. I will graduate with a degree in Gender Studies this December and I will move out of California. I am applying to grad school at the University of Oregon and also The University of Ireland Galway. This chapter is now closed, and a new one begins.

THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS REVERSE RACISM

2010-05-10T14:37:00.000-07:00

THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS REVERSE RACISM!!!

…yes you understood me and I’ll say it again:

THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS REVERSE RACISM!!!

For some reason, I’ve been hearing this phrase out of people’s mouths lately. A not so old adage that was birthed out of dominant, white culture’s tight and wrinkly rectum during the backlash to affirmative action. The idea that by saying, “Fuck you whitey,” an individual can reverse the hundreds of years of systemic oppression that effectively and currently withholds the majority of resources and means of production from a particular minority group.

Really?!

First of all, the biggest affirmative action historically in this country was the GI bill. Which COMPLETELY DENIED BLACKS from any of the VA education and housing benefits that were promised to soldiers in 1944. This bill pretty much created the middle class, so when grandpa Joe claims, “I pulled myself up by my own bootstraps.” I call Bullshit.

Jim Crow laws, redlining, blockbusting, unequal schooling that still continues today (compare Beverly Hills High to Locke High in Watts.), and so many other forms of discrimination, formal and informal, have worked together to sustain a formidable obstacle between Blacks as a group and the resources that whites already own (and probably aren’t trying to share). And let’s not forget to mention slavery, the fact that most of those old guys whose pictures are on our currency raped their female slaves and created offspring, and those offspring were legally prevented from inheriting any of their fathers’ wealth. So don’t try to pretend that the disproportionate number of impoverished within the black community has no relation to the disproportionate number of the richest of the rich being white and male. And you don’t even want to hear me go off on colonization.

So yes, affirmative action was a form of reverse discrimination but only attempt to balance all of the previous centuries of original discrimination.

Racism is not only embedded deep within our own personal psyches, but also within our political system and cultural norms. There is no way in hell that reverse discrimination, which is what individuals can commit, is going to overturn that. That would be like saying that scholarships for people of low socio-economic status were reverse classism or that all feminist practice is simply reverse sexism.

Please. Like I tell my daughter, I can’t think for you, you have to do it yourself.

The Right to Choose Life

2010-05-08T10:16:00.000-07:00

One day a friend and I were yapping over coffee and the right to choose came up. My friend took a sip of her latte, and said, “I’m pro-life for myself, but pro-choice for everyone else.”

Frothed milk almost came out of my nose. Incredulous I asked her, “So, you think that other women should have the right to make choices about their bodies and lives, but you need the government to decide for you?” She became upset, and told me that no, it was because she values life above all else. But who’s to say that those of us who are pro-choice do not value life?

Maternal death rates claim the lives of over half a million women each year. The United States rates 41st in maternal health which makes the risk of maternal death here in the U.S. greater than virtually all other industrialized nations. If a woman chooses to bear children, she is indeed choosing to risk her own life. Not only is she risking her health in pregnancy, but her future and the future of her family as well. With education funding being diminished, domestic violence and other programs’ funding being taken away, women’s wages being 70% of men’s wages, unspoken discrimination against mothers looking to enter the workforce as well as lack of affordable childcare in this country, not to mention the social stigma of being a single mother; to take this choice away, would be forcing women to endanger their own lives. Therefore, the right to abortion is having the right to choose life, one’s own life.

In the past two decades, the maternal death rate here in the U.S. has more than doubled. This number is skewed by race and class, where impoverished women of color are much more likely to experience maternal complications and have less access to proper health care. In Amnesty International’s report entitled, “Deadly Delivery: The Maternal Health Care Crisis in the USA,” it is stated that women currently do not have the fundamental human right to give birth safely in this country.(Amnesty International, 2010)

The feminization of poverty is a current phenomenon where the overrepresentation of women and women headed households exists in the lowest socio-economic groups. Current policies in this country do not create enough of a safety net for women and their families who are without financial or social resources. Poor mothers are stigmatized by society, especially if they receive welfare. Sex equality in the workplace is still unattained. Affordable childcare remains elusive. These are only a few of the reasons why a woman would be reluctant to begin, or add onto her family.

In conclusion, to force a woman to risk her life and her future in childbirth could be likened to bringing back the military draft for men. If it is agreed that forcing men to risk their lives is unethical, then the same courtesy should be extended to women. It is not the place of society or the government to make this choice for anyone. Nor is it the place for anyone to decide which life gets valued over another.

Works Cited
Amnesty International. "Deadly Delivery: The Maternal Healthcare Crisis in the United States." Deadly Delivery. Amnesty International, 2010. Web. 8 May 2010. .
Goldberg, Gertrude S., and Eleanor Kremen. The Feminization of Poverty: Only in America? New York: Greenwood, 1990. Print.
Kaiser Network. "Pregnancy & Childbirth | Maternal Mortality Rate in U.S. Highest in Decades, Experts Say - Kaisernetwork.org." Kaiser Health News. Kaiser Foundation, 2007. Web. 08 May 2010. .

The Welfare Queen

2010-04-28T15:31:00.000-07:00

The Constructed Identity of the, “Welfare Queen,” and How She Affects Welfare Policy

Oral Presentation at California State University Northridge, Gender and Women's Studies Conference on April 27, 2010

“She has eighty names, thirty addresses, twelve Social Security cards and is collecting veteran's benefits on four non-existing deceased husbands. And she is collecting Social Security on her cards. She's got Medicaid, getting food stamps, and she is collecting welfare under each of her names. Her tax-free cash income is over $150,000.”

This famous quote was spoken by President Ronald Reagan during a campaign speech in 1976. You may have heard of the woman he is describing. This thief, this fraud, this parasite, is the very well known public enemy number one, called the Welfare Queen.

Who is this Welfare Queen? Although she is not any one person in particular, she is used to define the thousands of poor mothers who rely on the state for economic aid in order to support their families. The public identity of the welfare queen situates herself in a particular intersection of society that is determined by race, sex, and class. This identity defines welfare recipients as lazy, immoral women of color, with many children, who are incapable of properly socializing their offspring and seek to use tax payers’ hard earned money to fuel a criminal lifestyle. This public identity has been embraced by many Americans over the years, as well as politicians, who use the identity of the welfare queen to establish punitive policies to control the personal and economical lives of poor mothers.

In 1996, President Clinton passed the Personal Responsibility and Work Opportunity And Reconciliation Act. This changed how much public aid families could receive, as well as the ability of the state to interfere and coerce the behaviors of poor mothers. Some of the restrictions outlined in this article are restrictions on eligibility, the 5 year lifetime limit of aid for any individual, severely limits immigrant women’s access to benefits, and requires that over 60% of a state’s welfare recipients be working. Not only do states have to prove that this mandatory quota is being achieved, but, “…each state’s plan must explain how the state plans to discourage out-of-wedlock births.”

One architect of the 1996 welfare reform, Charles Murray, was quoted saying, “The only way to combat the, ‘culture of poverty’ is to end all government welfare supports, forcing impoverished urban single mothers to behave more responsibly, or starve.” Another contributor to the reform was quoted as saying, “goodbye welfare queen, and hello working mom.”

In 2008, the Poverty in America Survey, administered by National Public Radio, the Kaiser Family foundation and the Kennedy School of Government, found that 57% of respondents stated that welfare support causes women to have more babies. Indeed, the identity of the welfare queen is still pervasive today, still causing the American public to be reluctant to pay into a welfare system that would propel poor mothers out of poverty, and feel more comfortable paying for a system that monitors and controls poor women’s lives.

Because all Welfare recipients are entrenched in the stigmatized identity of the Welfare Queen, the state promotes and supports what’s called the, “work first” model of motherhood. The “work first” model suggests that any job, no matter how low paying, is better than no job. This is because of the belief that welfare moms aren’t capable of properly socializing their offspring. This model is contrary to the, “intensive mothering,” model, which is the social norm, and declares the utmost importance of the mother’s presence in the child’s socialization process.

However, poor mothers are actively resisting this model, as well as the stigmatized identity attached to it. There is another model of mothering that some poor mothers have created for themselves. This model is called the, “mother as provider,” model and dictates that any job won’t do if it does not pay a livable wage. These women are resisting the state sanctioned, “work first,” model and are instead fighting to get the education needed to properly provide as a head of household. Currently, a state does not have to support a University education, and many recipients who attend higher education must also fulfill compulsory work requirements, as well as the unpaid labor that is parenting.

I wanted to insert myself into my research because I, myself am a welfare recipient. I had a beautiful daughter, and ended up a single mother receiving no child support. In my own navigation of the welfare system here in California, I have noticed that these sexist, racist and classist policies that govern mine as well as hundreds of thousands of other women’s lives are actually counter- productive. Yes! Tax payer dollars, energy, and my precious time are consistently spent trying to prove to the state that I am a decent human being. Social Workers are paid to monitor me and meet federal quotas.

I feel these resources could be used much more effectively. By examining my own thoughts, experiences and feelings about being on welfare, as well as the thoughts, feelings and experiences of other women in my position, I realized that here exists a dire need for our own voice as poor mothers to be inserted into this system that so profoundly affects our lives.

For my research, I desired to search out and examine the voice of the poor mother. To do this I used my own blog and journals as a source for auto-ethnography, as well as the blogs of other women like me. I fortified this data with ethnographic interviews with additional women who receive welfare benefits.

What I found seemed to echo itself with every personal account of every poor mother that I came across. We are made to feel ashamed of ourselves. Because of that, we often hide the fact that we are on welfare from other people. Social workers have numerously made all of us cry tears of frustration at one point or another.

I also found that we do have agency. We are mothers. We want respect. We want to be successful. We don’t want to be poor. We want our children to be proud of us. If given the tools necessary to succeed, we can, and will. Through many conversations, the reality of the need to form a coalition of poor mothers and poor mother allies is not only apparent, but of the utmost importance to the world.

If what Ghandi once said is true, if poverty is truly the worst form of violence, than the state has the responsibility to correct its abusive actions. These degrading policies are based on patriarchal, nuclear family values and mythical norms that are simply not the reality of many families today.

The reality is that being a poor mother is not by nature a character flaw, and we certainly should not be subject to punishment and stigmatization because of who we are. We have something to say. Listen to us, and we will tell you what we need in order to raise happy and healthy children. We are the bringers of the future. legislators, children, and society as a whole would benefit from our voice.

loud dreaming

2010-04-11T21:09:00.000-07:00

Right before or during my mensus, my dreams get very intense. My dream life is pretty vivid normally but sometimes I have one that just stays with me. I had one of those last night, and I started bleeding today.

I have a dream geography. There are places that repeat constantly. I have different dreams, but the places are always the same. A hotel with red paisley carpet. An indoor/outdoor mall that has a special indigenous peoples area. Within that area is a Bontanico with all kinds of Goddess and witchcraft items. Adjacent to the hotel is an airport. There is an apartment building near a beach, if I walk on that beach I come to a long inlet to an island where the people are all pagan, and there are pagan festivals all of the time. Its a sanctuary for me. There is also a small town in the mountains, surrounded by forest. Behind the town are mountain paths and secret places. Before reaching those places there is a yellow house on a hill, surrounded by oak trees. A group of women have turned the house into some sort of Goddess temple, along with a pre-school, and I go to many different functions in this house in many different dreams. Last night's dream started in this house.

I grabbed a group of little kids including my daughter and my godson. It was night and there was no moon. It was very dark. I couldn't see but I seemed to know where I was going. We wound up a small mountain trail, surrounded by forest. I came to a grove of trees. I couldn't see, but I knew that the trees circled around me in a half moon. I spread my arms wide and turned my palms upwards. The children were behind me, quiet but not necessarily paying attention to what I was doing. Suddenly, a snake fell from a branch above my head and it sank sharp fangs into my right hand. My hand and arm felt like it was on fire and I grabbed the body of the snake with my left hand, trying to yank it off. It let go but then bit my left hand. I tried to crush the snake in my fist and felt its little bones begin to break. But then I stopped when I realized that I might kill it. I didn't want to kill it. I just let go. It released my flesh and fell into the darkness. I was no longer afraid although the pain was intense. I told the children to go back down the mountain and call an ambulance from the yellow house. I felt like they would have no trouble finding their way back. I wondered for a moment if I was going to die, but that thought passed, and I sat quietly waiting.

mommy and daughter notebook art

2010-04-10T21:30:00.000-07:00

creep (short fiction)

2010-03-06T11:32:00.000-08:00

This is the new revision of, "emerging," I changed the narration and I really like the way it turned out. Would love any feedback!

Creep

The Other looks at me and as such he holds the secret of my being, he knows what I am. Thus the profound meaning of my being is outside of me, imprisoned in an absence. The Other has the advantage over me.
Jean-Paul Sartre, Being and Nothingness

Morgan had thrown practically the entire contents of her closet on to the bed. Every single pair of jeans pushed the flesh of her hips into bulges that spilled over the belt, under the unyielding waist band. Morgan remembered hearing the condition be described as, “front butt.” She sighed as her phone alerted to her a call with the plaintive tones of Radiohead. “I don’t care if it hurts, I wanna have control…”
“Okay, fine. Fuck. Pick me up in an hour.” Her voice sounded raspy with defeat. Morgan wanted nothing less than to be in bed watching the final episode of, “Battle Star Galactaga,” for only the sixth time. She always cried when Starbuck becomes an angel and flies into the sun. Morgan gnawed on her finger nails and contemplated what compelled her to let her best friend talk her into going to this holiday party. Whatever it was, it infected her deepest insides and drained the color and flavor out of every blushing rose or sweet jasmine that might have thrived ever in her own life.
Only three days before Morgan had gone to the doctor to get her yearly pap smear and breast pummeling from the 68 year old Persian doctor who was the only doctor on her HMO that had any sort of decent parking on the west side. In his thick accent blasting breath that smelled like cigars, soil, garlic and goat cheese, he told her that although Morgan’s cholesterol and heart seemed fine right now, if she didn’t lose some serious weight she would be, “In trouble.” He said she had an eating disorder and recommended that she go to Overeater’s anonymous. Shaking his head at her chart, he clicked his tongue and told her that her triglycerides were high and that is the kind of fat that is in cake and chocolate. He patted her on her belly and asked her how many slices of pizza she was hiding in there. Morgan had never heard of Overeater’s Anonymous so she googled it that very evening, in the privacy of her studio apartment which overlooked a dirty alley but was by the beach, and found a meeting to go to that very night.
The meeting was held at the YWCA. It was a small brown building that housed a daycare, and the meeting took place in what looked to be a kindergarten classroom. The walls were covered with cardboard animals and their names, construction paper cut outs of yellow, blue, red and green, topped off with the alphabet that looked down upon the various women who were there. Morgan was puzzled because although there were some women of size in the room, many of the women were actually perfectly thin. The bigger ones were talkative and chatted with other big women while the slight ones sat quietly with their eyes pointed downward. A pale woman who was shaped like an overstuffed Christmas stocking and dotted with rusty freckles smiled down at Morgan.
“Is this the OA meeting?” she asked inquisitive, aqua eyes framed by electrically charged orange hair.
“Oh yes, you’re in the right place. They put all of us fatties with the anorexics and bulimics because we all have eating disorders. Unfortunately, they have the kind that makes them perfect and we have the kind that makes us like huge, ugly, eyesores to like, everyone else, right?” She winked at Morgan like this was a secret that was now in her trust.
At least the skinny ones were doing the world a favor by making themselves the painted canvas of feminine, barely there attractiveness that society holds so very dear, even though they are told they are sick for trying so hard. As if everyone else isn’t trying to do the same thing one way or another. Overdeveloped outsides wrapping around their underdeveloped insides, thought Morgan to herself. She felt like a very different beast entirely. She was worse than lazy. She was selfish for not conforming to what was declared beautiful, seeing but uncaring of the blithe she was imposing on eyes narrowed in scrutiny as she walk down the cracking sidewalks and sat self consciously in straight, fragile, plastic chairs.
Instead of transforming food into energy, Morgan’s body transformed it into walls. Borders upon borders of flesh that most would not dare to cross. Layers that shield from any form of outward intimacy. Her body was a fortress. Morgan effectively hid her treasures, showing to the world only bulging, dimpled flesh. The frail, tiny anorexics looked at the compulsive overeaters a bit fearfully, as if they might slurp them up at any given moment. Morgan never went back.
“Shit,” she said. Morgan’s best friend was going to be there in ten minutes and she was still standing naked over her hills of clothing. She sighed and settled on wearing what she always wore. A faded, black, long sleeve shirt, paired with a dark, olive green skirt that pretty much swept the ground when she walked. She covered this with an oversized hoodie, also a faded black, completing what looked to be a hippie-ghetto burka.
“I see you dressed in your usual camouflage,” said her best friend as Morgan emerged from the front door.
“It is a war zone out there.” She replied back promptly.
Her best friend threw her arms around her and squeezed a quick hug. As Morgan pulled away, she reached over and brushed a strand of dark hair out of Morgan’s small eyes. “Well c’mon then. We’ll smoke a joint on the way and you’ll feel better by the time we get there.”
As they passed the joint in the car, Morgan’s best friend babbled her gripes with her boyfriend. When she first introduced him to Morgan, she said that Morgan really needed to meet this guy and start getting out and dating again. She said he was Morgan’s dream guy and so Morgan agreed to go with him to see a local band. Morgan didn’t wonder why her best friend insisted on coming too, since it was a good band. Dream guy was kind, handsome, and played steel string guitar. His long hair framed big, chocolate eyes and his skin was rich like a mocha latte drink. Morgan liked him immediately and something stirred inside that she hadn’t felt in such a long time.
“I told you.” Said her best friend, “If I wasn’t married I’d be all over him in a hot second.”
As night ticked away into morning, Morgan sat alone at the bar tossing back shots of cheap tequila. Her best friend and dream guy had been making out on the sawdust dance floor for the past 45 minutes. Her best friend stumbled over while he went to the bathroom. “ I knooooooooow, I’m a Biisssshhhhhhh. Zshoooo hate me? Pleeeeeeeeeeeash don’t hay meeeeee.” Pitiful eyes were threatening to spill more than beer.
“I don’t hate you. I just think that you are completely fucking retarded. But I don’t hate you.” That was a year and a half ago, now Morgan’s best friend is separated from her husband, and is living with dream guy in a two bedroom house with a pool and a palm tree in the back yard.
The party took place in a retail store. In the front of the store was a hot pink, tinsel tree. The dirty cement floor had been painted with green and gold glitter and a fold up table with wine, crackers and cheese was displayed next to the cash register. Morgan made her way towards the table and busied herself with the task of pouring some red into a plastic glass.
As she adjusted her gaze upwards, she saw something that immediately turned her stomach into a brick. It was William. William was her best friend’s uncle. Seven years ago, when Morgan was working out of a seedy club next to railroad tracks and the freeway, Uncle Will came in and she ended up going home with him. She had always wanted to fuck him and she knew he had his eye on her, it seemed like the perfect place to explore the kind of fantasies that can only be played out on another’s body. She had played the role of the shy sex object and he played the role of the L.A. prince who could whisk a girl away from all of the filth. He pretended he could love her and she pretended that his dick wasn’t smaller than a light-flow tampon. She also pretended to cum multiple times. Morgan wasn’t sure why she had put on such a performance, maybe trying to make him feel good about himself. She went home before the sky exploded in pinks and yellows by the waking sun. He called her two weeks later which seemed insulting to Morgan at the time. She never returned his call.
“Morgan?” he asked.
“That’s me.” She smiled and tried not to look like a person about to jump overboard.
“I almost didn’t recognize you.”
“I know,” she replied, “I’ve put on a few pounds.” His mouth did not respond so she quickly added, “Wow! It’s been forever, hasn’t it? How have you been?”
“Great,” he finally smiled. “I’m married now.”
“Cool.”
“How about you?” He was still looking at Morgan in this half puzzled, half concerned way and his voice dropped. It made her despise him intensely even though she knew he was a nice guy.
“Yah, it’s um, really great. Really great!” Morgan knew what was coming next.
“I heard something bad happened to you?”
“Yah, well, I was raped. But, I’m fine now, that was a pretty long time ago.” But never long enough for her to forget the feeling of that pressure on top of her, that drilling into her, poisoning her well. He had tried to make her look at him. She smiled even wider to reassure Uncle Will that everything was indeed, great.
“Well, I’m sorry that happened to you. If you need anything…”
“Yes, yes, thanks. I’m fine, really. Um, excuse me for a minute?” Morgan began to back away and accidently bumped into the flimsy table, knocking a bottle over. The dark red Chianti pushed its way through the nice, white linen covering the cheap table and Uncle Will grabbed the bottle and tried to confine the spill. Morgan turned and made her way towards the bathroom. Her best friend intercepted her with wide eyes and a sheepish grin.
“Oh my gawd oh shit, honey! Uncle Will!” she giggled apologetically. “I swear I didn’t know he was going to be here. Fuck! He never said he was coming, I swear!”
Morgan pushed past her. She felt like she was burning up. Something rose within her that was primitive, hurling her body towards the doors. Her numb hands pushed the glass and it gave way into the crisp night. The darkness reflected nothing back to her and so she fixed her eye on the darkest spot in the furthest distance, and she began to walk towards it.

is it the apocolypse?

2010-02-25T10:04:00.000-08:00

Is it the end of the world?

Today I'm thinking that it might be.

There is a Miley Cyrus video where she is working a pole coming out of an icecream truck. Here she pole dances at the teen choice awards.
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2009/08/10/miley-cyrus-teen-choice-p_n_255338.html

In the DRC, girls my daughter's age are being raped with machetes and machine guns as a systematic weapon of war.
http://www.cnn.com/2009/WORLD/africa/08/11/congo.rape/index.html

Also in the Congo, boys younger than my daughter are being used in the battlefields, as shields.
http://www.fallingwhistles.com/splash/index.php

All of this is over the minerals used to build my lap top that I'm writing this post with. Yours too.
http://www.globalissues.org/article/87/the-democratic-republic-of-congo

In Uganda, people whose sexual preference is not hetero, and those who "aid and abet" homosexuals, can be put to death or imprisoned.
http://www.time.com/time/world/article/0,8599,1946645,00.html

There will be a new law in Utah that will prosecute women who have miscarriages with homicide.
http://community.feministing.com/2010/02/in-utah-miscarriage-criminal-h.html

LUNAR IMBOLC VISION BOARD

2010-02-14T16:46:00.001-08:00

Here is mine on my altar

This is my daughter's

emerging (short fiction)

2010-01-29T17:19:00.000-08:00

“Okay, fine. Pick me up in an hour.” My voice sounded defeated. I hated people. I really hated Christmas. I hated my best friend for making me go to this retail Christmas party, when I could be in bed watching the final episode of , “Battle Star Galactaga,” for only the sixth time. I always cry when Starbuck becomes an angel and flies into the sun.

Shit, she was going to be here in ten minutes. I had thrown practically the entire contents of my closet on the bed. Not one pair of jeans would fit. The doctor shook his head at me the last time I was sitting on his table. In his thick, Persian accent blasting old man breath, he said I had to lose weight. He said I had an eating disorder and told me I needed to go to Overeater’s anonymous. I actually went. They put all of us fat, compulsive eaters in the same room with the bulimics and anorexics. We all had eating disorders they said. I was just lucky enough to have the kind that makes you a huge, ugly, eyesore to society.

At least the skinny ones were doing the world a favor by making themselves the picture of feminine, barely there attractiveness that society holds so very dear, even though they are told they are sick for trying so hard to get that acceptance from other people. As if everyone else isn’t trying to do the same thing. Overdeveloped outsides wrapping around their underdeveloped insides. The fatties, however, we are very different beasts entirely. We are worse than lazy. We are selfish and nonconforming to society’s standard of beauty, uncaring of the blithe we are imposing on eyes narrowed in scrutiny as we walk down cracking sidewalks. We are sick for not trying hard enough for outward validation.

Instead of transforming food into energy we transform it into walls of flesh. Borders that most would not dare to cross. Layers upon layers that protect us from any form of outward intimacy. Our body becoming something that we can hide behind, showing to the world only bulging, dimpled flesh, becoming invisible underneath it. The frail, tiny anorexics looked at us compulsive eaters fearfully, as if we would slurp them up at any given moment.

I sighed and settled on wearing what I always wear. A faded, black, long sleeve, knit shirt with a dark, olive green skirt that pretty much scraped the floor when I walked. I covered this with an oversized hoodie, also a faded black, completing my modern day burka.

“I see you dressed in your usual camouflage,” said my best friend, who is always trying too much to get me to go out.

“It is a war zone out there.” I replied promptly.

“Well c’mon then. We’ll smoke a joint on the way and you’ll feel better by the time we get there.” She said patronizingly. I tell my friends that pot makes my social phobia better. I even have my card. The truth is that all I want to do is lay in bed, in my bedroom that I painted a deep, endless indigo, whether I was stoned or not.

As we passed the joint in the car, my best friend babbled to me her gripes with her boyfriend. When she first introduced him to me, she introduced him as my dream guy. Certainly he was kind, handsome, and played guitar. His long hair framed big, dark eyes and his skin was rich like a mocha latte drink. I liked him immediately. She wanted us all to go out to the Malibu Inn together to see this amazing singer/songwriter from Hawaii. As we were driving to his house to pick him up, she looked up at me and said that she would want him for herself if she weren’t married. At the show they ended up making out all night long while I tossed back shots of cheap tequila. That was a year and a half ago, my best friend is now separated from her husband, and her and my dream guy are still together.

In the front of the store was a cheap, tinsel tree. The dirty cement floor had been painted with green and gold glitter and a fold up table with wine, crackers and cheese was displayed next to the cash register. I made my way towards the wine and busied myself with the task of pouring into a plastic glass.

I adjusted my gaze upwards and saw something that immediately turned my stomach into a brick. It was William. William was my best friend’s uncle. Seven years ago, when I was a stripper working out of a seedy club off of San Fernando road in Glendale, Uncle Will came in and I ended up going home with him. I had always wanted to fuck him and I knew he had his eye on me, the strip club was a perfect place to explore desires that both of us knew were only topical. I had played the role of the shy sex object and he played the role of the L.A. prince who could whisk a girl away from all of the filth. He pretended he could love me and I pretended that his dick wasn’t smaller than a super absorbent tampon. I also pretended to cum multiple times. I’m not really sure why, I guess I was trying to make him feel good about himself. I went home before the LA sky was dyed pink by the waking sun and he called me two weeks later. I never returned his call.

He was looking at me quizzically. I tried to avert my gaze, to disappear, I was in a panic. Uncle Will began to make his way towards me. Before I knew it, he was a foot away from my face.

“Rachel?” he asked.

“That’s me.” I had nowhere to run.

“I almost didn’t recognize you.”

“I know,” I replied too quickly. “I’ve put on a few pounds. Wow! It’s been forever, hasn’t it? How have you been?”

“Great,” he smiled. “I’m married now.”

‘Um, awesome!” I tried to nod my head in approval but ended up spilling some red wine on my shirt.

“How about you? I hear you have a kid now?” He was still looking at me in this half puzzled, even concerned way. It made me despise him intensely.

“Yah, it’s um, really great. Really great!”

“I heard something bad happened to you.”

“Yah, well, I was raped. But, I’m fine now, that was a pretty long time ago.” I smiled even more to reassure him that everything was indeed great.

“Well, I’m sorry that happened to you. If you need anything…”

“Yes, yes, thanks. I’m fine, really. Um, excuse me for a minute?” I began to back away and accidently bumped into someone. I turned and made my way to the bathroom. My best friend intercepted me with big eyes and a sheepish grin.

“Oh my god, honey. Uncle Will!” she giggled. “ I swear I didn’t know he was going to be here!”

I nodded and kept walking. I passed the bathroom and kept going until I was out of the store, blanketed in the crisp, LA air that signaled winter in Southern California. I fixed my eye on the darkest spot in the furthest distance and began to walk towards it.

My first e-book

2010-01-19T18:13:00.000-08:00

My children's story, "The Very Last Caterpillar," is available for download as of today! This story is my take on death, and explaining it to children. I believe that "hiding" death from children can actually be detrimental. This book also challenges the more dominant, linear perspective on death as well.

You can get the book here, with its adorable illustrations done by my little cousins.

don't feed me that bullshit called love

2010-01-07T10:46:00.000-08:00

This society binds all women's choices up in flimsy wrappings called, "love."

Why does love denote such a degree of servitude for us women? We are brought up to believe that romantic (hetero) love is the most important thing that can happen to us,while at the same time telling us that if we love someone, we will want to cook and clean and sexually gratify, pick up dirty laundry, produce babies and put 90% of our time and energy caring for them, for other people. Then refer to us in such ways as, "The old ball and chain." If we don't want this, we are looked down upon.

wtf?!

A SPELL FOR THE NEW YEAR

2009-12-31T11:39:00.000-08:00

Steps to a wonderful new year:
1. Write down everything you want to “leave behind” on a piece of paper. These are things you don’t want or need any more, they may have been necessary at one time but are no longer needed for growth. Some examples would be addictions, insecurities, destructive relationships and/or patterns.
2. Burn this piece of paper under the moon and either bury the ashes or release them into some form of running water (yes, a toilet would suffice). Ask Divine Goddess to take these things from you and transform them into something new in Her Cauldron of Change.
3. Take a hot shower or bath and do a self blessing(I think I have one on my blog somewhere).
4. On a new piece of paper, write down a list of things that you want to bring into the new year. Some examples would be health, love, balance, creativity, peace, prosperity…
5. After writing these down, create something on a new medium that represents these things that you want to bring into the new year. It could be a poem, a painting, a collage, a decorated candle; anything that involves the creative process.
6. Keep this thing with you so that you can look at it before going to bed and upon waking up. Meditate upon it if you can. Look at it every day for the next 30 days.
7. On February 1st, which is Imbolc, take the list and a small piece of the creative project and burn it in a safe place like a big pot. Mix the ashes with fertile soil and plant new seeds of a favorite plant or flower in this soil.
8. Nurture your plant and your dreams throughout the year. Notice that our dreams are a garden that requires careful tending and nurturing and patience.

Sex Work as a Means of Resistance for Women

2009-12-15T13:27:00.000-08:00

Marriage in our society is a patriarchal construction that gives unequal economic power to men and puts women in a position where they are often economically dependent on their husbands, especially after having children. Our society promotes the nuclear family as the cornerstone of our nation, using heterosexual marriage as a means to ascribe gender roles to both men and women. When a woman deviates from these gender roles society punishes her both informally by casting her as a social pariah, and formally by punishing women single head of households by withholding affordable childcare, universal healthcare, and welfare policies that criminalize women of little economic means for being mothers. In some cases, adult, sex work in the United States can be seen as a form of resistance to traditional marriage values and patriarchy. Through this type of work a woman may be able to economically survive without dependence on a husband or the state that serve to control her body and subordinate her spirit. By making prostitution illegal and blocking sex workers from having civil rights, protection and respect, prostitution is made a male dominated, predatory industry that is oppressive to many women, while serving the dominant class at the same time.

In the Berkeley Women’s Law Journal, the definition of sex work is, “…the practice of selling, explicitly and contractually, the private performance of specified acts of a sexual nature ... the sale must involve a contract specifying the items of exchange.... The prostitution contract includes both implicit and explicit agreement regarding access to the body ... of the seller in a private setting.” (Duarte,2003). This narrow definition is used to illustrate the mutual adult consent that is necessary to constitute the sex worker/client relationship. In addition to that definition I find that it would be reckless to omit the fact that socio-economic statuses, country of origin, as well as race/ethnicity affect the delineation between choice and victimization. A woman who is engaging in prostitution because it is her only means of economic survival is not given the option of choice. Women in developing countries, especially those recovering from colonialism and are further plunged into chaos by neo-colonialism, may have little choice when it comes to career choices or means of survival. Global Capitalization has made this much worse, as well as the feminization of poverty that is occurring around the world, regardless of ethnicity. This narrow definition shows sex work to be another form of service work; however, housekeepers, cooks, food servers, nannies, massage therapists, manicurists, etc do not make nearly the same money, nor take nearly the same risks as sex workers. I also cannot speak for male sex workers, as men do not inhabit the same matrix of domination that puts women in a position to be economically dependent on a man within marriage.

Prostitution wasn’t always considered profane to the civilized world. In fact, there is evidence that it was seen as sacred. “Sacred Whore temples flourished in ancient India, the Middle East, Africa, Europe, the Americas and Asia. The word ‘whore’ was a title, used in much the way our work ‘reverend’ is employed today…Whore-priestesses were revered because they taught ‘a combination of mother –love, tenderness, comfort, mystical enlightenment and sex.’”(Muscio, 90-91). Sacred prostitution was respected and whores were considered very valuable members of society. Later, when patriarchal religions began to govern the people, these sacred temples were plundered, the priestesses murdered and the teachings destroyed. The woman’s body was no more a doorway to enlightenment and self knowledge but instead a dangerous commodity that needed to be controlled. Even today, in 2009, women are stigmatized for exhibiting a sexuality that illustrates agency over their own bodies, as well as stigmatized for not allowing themselves to be sexually objectified in a subordinate position that services the desires of heterosexual men, and reaffirms a construction of masculinity that puts men in the position of controlling women’s bodies.

In the article, Class in America, by Gregory Mantsios, he writes, “People do not choose to be poor or working class; instead, they are limited and confined by the opportunities afforded or denied them by a social and economic system. The class structure in the United States is a function of its economic system: capitalism, a system that is based on private rather than public ownership and control of commercial enterprises.” (Mantsios,193). If this is true that private ownership and control of commercial enterprises is what makes up our system of capitalism, then by preventing women ownership of their own bodies and the ability to use their own bodies as an economic resource and commercial enterprise is indeed denying women participation in capitalism and restricting the entrance of autonomous women into the “American Dream.” It seems when any woman in this country seeks to take agency over her own body, the peanut gallery always deafens us with accusations of immorality that could be likened to, “Burn the witch!”

In the article, Sex and Race, by William Chafe, he writes, “In 1898 Charlotte Perkins Gilman argued in Women and Economics that the root of women’s subjection was their economic dependency on men….In fact, the issue of women not controlling their own money has long been one of the most painful and humiliating indexes of inequality between the sexes…”(Chafe, 664). I would like to reiterate that not allowing women control of their own bodies is equally, if not more, humiliating and painful. Since this society only promotes sex within marriage as normal, women who do not conform to this role are ostracized from society in many ways. As sex workers, women are criminalized and therefore are denied the fundamental right to control their own body or economic autonomy. Furthermore, stigmatizing sex work is also an example of using values and attitudes to reinforce the power of the dominant class by creating moral arguments that serve to distract the rest of us from the real immorality of imperialism and neo-colonialism(Alexander, 3); and thereby causing opposition within the dominated groups. (rcg671). The dominant group also maintains control by defining good and bad sex and women’s roles regarding sex, reproduction, and sexuality. Some women engaging in sex work are opposing and reclaiming those definitions for themselves and therefore defining their own existences and identities while maintaining economic independence from men or the state

Works Cited
Alexander, M. Jacqui. Pedagogies of Crossing. Durham, NC: Duke UP, 2005. Print.
Chafe, William. "Sex and Race: The anthology of social control." Race, class, and gender in the United States an integrated study. New York: Worth, 2007. 659-72. Print.
Duarte, Susana (2003). PROSTITUTION POLICY: REVOLUTIONIZING PRACTICE THROUGH A GENDERED PERSPECTIVE by Lenore Kuo. Review of Berkeley Women's Law Journal, 18, 308. retrieved from GenderWatch (GW) database. (Document ID: 507748691).
Frye, Marilyn. "Opression." Race, class, and gender in the United States an integrated study. New York: Worth, 2007. 154-58. Print.
Johnson, Allan G. "Patriarchy." Race, class, and gender in the United States an integrated study. New York: Worth, 2007. 158-67. Print.
Mantsios, Gregory. "Class In America-2006." Race, class, and gender in the United States an integrated study. New York: Worth, 2007. 182-95. Print.
Muscio, Inga. Cunt a declaration of independence. Seattle: Seal, 1998. Print.

MY BLOG IS ONE YEAR OLD!

2009-09-30T11:25:00.000-07:00

It's blog, It's blog, it's big, it's heavy, it's wood. It's blog, It's blog, it's better than bad, it's good!

To celebrate blog's first trip around the sun, I'd like to celebrate my mother lines by posting an ethnographic interview with my own grandma.

My grandmother on my father’s side is named Edith. She was not given a middle name, although her sister was given two middle names. She and my grandfather are very important to me, and have been a stable foundation in a somewhat unstable family life and childhood. Always kind and gentle, I remember Edith, whom I call, Nana, always being a warm and nurturing light. She has never spoken one harsh word to me, nor to anyone else that I’ve heard, except for my grandfather on occasion. The worst word I have ever heard her say was, “stupid head,” to another car on the freeway, for which she apologized for immediately upon utterance. When I called her to ask for an interview, she was surprised and wondered why I would ever want to interview her. She claimed that I should interview my grandfather, because he did much more than she. I replied that we all know what grandfather has done, because he tells us at every family gathering. I told her that it was her life that I was interested in, and that her contribution to the world was great and valuable. She was still a bit resistant when my cousin Michelle and I arrived at our grandparent’s house in Oceanside, CA. This is for reasons that I will explain later. Michelle brought a video camera and was maybe even more excited that I. After playing a board game with my daughter, Michelle, and me, we adjourned to the living room and began our interview. We left my grandfather and daughter in the TV. room so that they couldn’t hear, I wanted my nana to be very honest, which I knew she couldn’t do with either of them present.

The first thing my grandmother did was lay down some ground rules. She didn’t want any dates in the interview, not even the year of her birth. She said she wanted to protect her privacy. I knew exactly why she would say this. However, I pretended, along with the rest of our family, that we didn’t know. Edith Palman was born in Frankfurt Germany, around 1922, as I believe she is between the ages of 85 and 87 in 2009. When she was less than two years old, her mother and sister sailed on a ship for two weeks to meet her father in America. He had traveled to America some months before and established himself in Southern California. Edith’s mother, Mary, was already a seamstress in Germany, and began reproducing styles that she saw in department store windows on her own sewing machine. My grandmother says that one of her earliest memories is sitting on the floor, looking up and watching her mother spin yarn on a huge spindle. The old fashioned kind, the kind that the mythological Three Fates use to spin each and every one of our destinies. Edith’s father began to take English and accounting classes and eventually became a CPA. However, and this is very interesting for this day and age, he quit his job with his accounting firm in order to support his wife’s embroidery business that was beginning to do well. When I remarked on how rare that seemed for any time, especially then, she replied that her father was a rare man. She said it with a certain tender affection that was touching. Her father had passed away before I was born. Edith remembers her childhood as lonely. She shook her head and said it wasn’t very good. Her parents were always gone and working, like many immigrant families at that time, both the mother and father worked outside the home.

Growing up in Silverlake, California, the only break from staying home with only her sister, or helping her mother cut string at the embroidery shop, were the German picnics and dances at the local park on weekends where her mother and sister and she would dance to the “ooompa ooooompa” music that was part of her cultural heritage. She also remembers the greatest times of her childhood being spent with her aunt and cousins in Wrightwood, CA. The Palman children were able to briefly get out from under the strict household of their parents, and were able to socialize with other children. At home, neither my grandmother nor her sister was allowed to have sleepovers, or parties, or sleep over at another friend’s house.

My nana believed herself to be a “nerd” in high school, not fully blossoming until she began to attend Los Angeles City College when she was around the age of 17. She remembers being delighted on her first day of school, when all of the male students noticed her legs in her new dress. Nana began to date regularly, and found this to be a time of freedom and possibility. She went dancing at the Palladium in Hollywood. She didn’t know what she was going to do with her life yet. When I asked her if she had always planned to be a mother and house wife, she replied that she had not. She didn’t have a plan for the future, she just wanted to explore and have fun. Sounds much like my perspective when I got out of high school.

One day, at one of the German picnics, my grandmother and grandfather met. My grandfather has stated many times that the first time he saw my grandmother he knew instantly that she was the one. My grandmother, on the other hand, makes no such claim. She thought he was cute, and nice, and that’s about it. She remembers wearing a new, beige dress that she had just made herself using very special ceramic buttons that her mother had hand painted. The dress was straight, with these buttons running straight down the middle. She was asked to dance by many men that night, but grandpa had stuck out. Nana denies that she was actually going with someone else already when she met grandpa but the rumor is that she was already in a relationship when they met.

Their first date was to the observatory. They began to see each other regularly. After three months grandpa finally kissed her, or so she says. (This is where it gets tricky. When I send a copy of this to my grandmother I will have to edit much of this out. I fear that if she sees that I have written this about her, she will never speak to me again. However, I believe this part of her story to be very pertinent to this class.) Within a year they were married. My grandmother says that because they were very poor, that she had to have a private ceremony and wear a black dress. This is a story that my cousins and I have heard before. I never understood why on Earth anyone would choose a black dress to get married in, even if they were poor. Being that my grandmother and her family were talented at designing and making dresses, this situation gets even more improbable. Then one day we did the math. Our grandparent’s first anniversary took place before my father’s first birthday. Suddenly it made sense about the black dress. Nana was pregnant with my father when they got married! In all of these years of protecting this secret, they had forgotten to move their anniversary year up one year to account for the discrepancy. This was the reason that my nana, today, 70 years later, was so adamant about not giving any dates. I think she realized that we were beginning to catch on. The shock of finding out that my extremely pure and gentile grandmother was having sex before marriage is huge for me. I always saw her as innocent, angelic and obedient.

Immediately after being married my grandfather went back to work. Struggling to make ends meet in a depression era, he worked very long hours. Edith’s life of dating, school and socializing came to an abrupt end and was replaced by a life of solitude in a small house. She never knew when her husband would be home, and I believe she wasn’t leaving the house to go anywhere or do anything as there was no money. She remembers this time of her life as very lonely. I could imagine that this solitude, partnered with post pardom depression was very hard on my grandmother. She began developing habits like having to touch doorknobs on both sides before closing a door, or having to stick her fist in a glass after washing it. I don’t know if my grandmother had always had tendencies towards OCD, but they began to manifest themselves much more apparently during this time. To this day nana still has these, as she calls them, “quirks.” Although she has never received any treatment for it, she seems to manage it well, as it does not seem to affect the quality of her life.

Somehow my grandfather avoided going to WWII so they got through the war fairly well, with my grandmother never having to take a job. She says she began to smoke during the war, that tobacco was rare and then all of the sudden the tobacco companies started to give away free cigarettes at the market. In a time where chocolate, meat, pantyhose and many other small luxuries were unavailable, smoking became very popular. However, my grandfather never knew about it. I mean never. My grandmother didn’t quit smoking until after I was born, and my grandfather never had a clue.

Edith had two more children after my father. My grandfather’s landscaping business began to do well and nana joined a women’s knitting group to alleviate the loneliness of her role in society as a housewife and mother. The family moved to Northridge, CA, where they lived across the street from Natalie Wood. Nana tells us that she never liked Natalie Wood’s mother. She would always call my nana and ask her for favors like taking her daughters to school, or borrowing my grandmother’s mink stole. She also wanted to take my aunt Linda with the Wood family so that Natalie’s little sister would have someone to play with. After Natalie had gained some fame in movies, her mother invited my grandmother to their new house in a more upscale neighborhood. My grandmother describes the scene like this:

“It was about 11 and Mary (Natalie Wood’s mom) and I were sitting in the front room talking when all of the sudden I hear this bell ringing. Mary jumps up immediately and says that it’s Natalie and she wants her hotdog. While I’m still sitting there she runs off to get it for her and bring it to Natalie who was still in bed.”
As Mary and grandmother were friends, after Natalie married Robert Wagner Mary told my grandmother this after Wagner had bought Natalie an expensive, toy tiger:

“I don’t know what he sees in her because she is so flat chested.”

My grandmother thought that the family was a bit strange so eventually lost touch with the Woods. Living in Northridge with her husband and three children, Edith took care of not only caring for the kids and the household chores, but paying all of the bills and household expenses as well. She had a method of rounding up in her check book every time she paid a bill and by doing that saved over three thousand dollars by the time my grandfather retired. When he retired he took it upon himself to take over the household accounting. Upon finding out about the extra money saved, he became angry and asked how my grandmother could have kept this money a secret. I forgot to mention earlier that my grandfather was very intent on being the sole provider of his family. This was a measure of his own manhood, and he took it very seriously. He would not even let Edith accept gifts from her family if they were not given on a birthday or Christmas. She told me he had made her return a pair of pajamas that her mother had bought for her one time.

My grandmother tells me that the single most important thing in her life is her grandchildren. Honestly, even though she is aging and visibly becoming frailer, I couldn’t imagine life without her. She is the glue that keeps my family even talking with each other. I fear that after her and my 90 year old grandfather pass, my father and his siblings will never speak to each other again. My cousins and I are pretty tight, but without my grandparents organizing family reunions and holiday get- togethers, we also may begin to spread apart. I am so grateful that my daughter has been given the gift of knowing my grandmother, and now that I’ve documented her life, she will have this too to remember the women who came before her, and the love and strength that has been passed down from her mother bloodlines.

practical spell application

2009-08-28T09:54:00.000-07:00

The california budget crisis is stressing out students all over this state. They increased fees a few days before school started, and all those who didn't pay were dis-enrolled. There are no new admissions for any calstates in spring, so those who were dis-enrolled might have to wait a year to go back to school. I really feel for them.

Luckily, my grant covered my fees, and I was registered for 9 units. However, unless I have 12 units, my financial aid gets cut in half so I was desperate for 1 more class. I found the perfect class, called women, sex roles, culture - an anthropology class, at the perfect time. The only problem was that 10 people were trying to add, including me, and there was only one spot available. The professor said that after class, we adders would have to put our names down on pieces of paper that she would then put in a hat and pick one at random. We all had a 1 in 10 chance of getting in.

Still sitting at my desk, I closed my eyes and only in my mind, called in the east, south, west and north. Casting the circle around myself without moving or speaking a word, I called for the Goddess Sophia, who I believe is best for school matters like studying, exams and what not. I appealed to Her and asked Her so respectfully if she would make sure I got picked. After, I thanked her, and then all the elements, starting now from the North and working my way back to the east as to open the circle. Then I waited patiently for the end of class.

I wrote my name on the paper and kissed it for good luck. I never win raffles or lotteries or anything like that. I began to sweat as she pulled a paper from the hat and read it aloud.

Guess whose name got picked?

Estatic, I went to a grassy spot on campus right after class and thanked the spirits with loose tobacco from my American Spirit pouch, and water. I didn't care if anyone saw me or wondered what I was doing.

Dang it's good to be a witch!

The Peace of Wild Things

2009-08-23T10:14:00.000-07:00

Today I complete 34 trips around the sun

2009-08-21T10:46:00.000-07:00

I'm so blessed, and I thank the Divine Goddess for gifting me with so much love and adventure. I thank my mom for pushing me out and taking care of me, my windy and twisty path, my daughter, my family, and my friends. I thank my body for being such a strong vessel, I thank the mother for supporting me so sturdily under my feet. I'm thankful to the Universe that I always seem to have what I need. I honor my bloodline from the beginning to the end of time. My new moon birthday wish is for apathy to be forever buried in compassion for the human race. May my will be blessed and quickly manifest into reality. Blessed Be.

Becky

2009-08-16T13:28:00.000-07:00

“Does she know how to ride a bike yet?”

“No, do you think she could learn in like 5 minutes?”

“Well, if we ride to the pier and back, I guarantee that she’ll know by the end of the night.”

“Do you think learning to ride a bike in the dark is such a good idea?”

I shrugged. The things I consider good ideas, other people call dangerous. “Well, if she learns in the dark, think of how easy it’ll be for her when it’s daytime.”

My best friend smiled at me, full of trust even though she had been hit by a car more than once on a bike and was terrified of them herself. We were off. Her 8 year old daughter, my goddess daughter, got on her bike and rode straight into a chain length fence covered in thorn bushes. She lay on the sidewalk, all red and scratched and screaming. “You’re not a good mother!” Kids really know how to make words sting.

“I’m gonna ride down and buy some bike lights from the guy on the boardwalk who sells a front and back for 5 bucks. I’ll meet you down there, okay?” I knew I had to get the bike lights or the cops that roam the boardwalk on segways would ticket us. I have no respect for the cops down there, I only see them hassling the homeless, ticketing performers on the boardwalk who don’t have a business permit, or getting smokers with a $500 ticket since they made it a non-smoking beach. Of course they’re never there when you actually need them.

By the time they met us, my little goddess daughter was fiercely riding, crashing, getting back on and riding again. My daughter had already learned on our road trip, earlier this summer and was motivating her to keep going. There was no way we were going to make it to the pier. I decided we should stop in front of the Bistro, a local bar with live music. I had brought some fried chicken, string cheese, Hawaiian rolls and Fritos for a little picnic dinner on the beach, however, it was already almost 9pm and here we could listen to music.

The Venice boardwalk is a ghetto carnival at night. There was a man crouched on the ground, with a lighter and some kind of accelerant, doing what I could only describe as burning a dollar bill into the cement. Squatter punks wandered about as well as the elderly homeless, potent with mental illness. A hip hop band blared from the bar’s outdoor speakers and the chatter and clinking of beer bottles filled the salty breezes. A black and white suv pulled up onto the boardwalk and two cops got out, which sent the pyro-guy sprinting into the distant dark. They shined their flashlights into the eyes of a younger man lying on the boardwalk, he told them he was sick and needed an ambulance. Squatters eyed each other nervously and tried to hide their bottles underneath hoodies. The children were mesmerized. I busted out the fried chicken and Fritos.

An older woman approached us wearing grey sweats and a oversized t-shirt. her grey hair was tossled and she had a fearful look in her eyes. She stumbled up and got within 2 inches from my nose. “What boofital shiiiildrennn,” spit flew all over my face. “think zey would share some shicken whhhhhhif meee?” She didn't smell bad, just the smell of alcohol leeching through pores.

“Sure,” I said and began to make her a plate. In the spiritual tradition that I follow, a crazy, old woman could very well be Goddess in crone form, come down to test her priestesses. I've had a few of those encounters and they are always trying.

“Habb you ever needed to get zownnns on your knees on zee concrete and shuck a dick?” She asked the children. Yes, this was feeling like one of those tests.

I gave her the rest of the chicken. “Why don’t you go and see if any of your friends want some?” She quickly scooted toward a group of older men.

I nudged my best friend. “Hey,” I whispered, “Isn’t this where your husband was stabbed?” Last year her estranged husband was at the bar and a homeless vet came up and stabbed him in the ribs. Instead of going to the hospital, x mr best friend goes home but sees him on the way. He caught up with him in front of the Firehouse, another local bar, and confronted him. The guy responded by tasering him and stabbing him again. X mr. pulled the knife out of his arm and then proceeded to kill that man. When the cops got there he was already dead of multiple stab wounds to the chest and contusions to the face and head. X mr. left the scene and went to the hospital, where he was arrested. The D.A. never charged him, citing it as self defense.

“x-husband,” she reminded me.

“I know. But you should hurry up and file those divorce papers.”

“He’s good with the kids.”

“I know,” I reminded her, “I know.”

Unlike my child's father, x mr., with all of his faults, at least spent every other weekend with the kids, as well as at least make earnest attempts at paying child support - without a court order. Not that a court order ever motivated my x to pay. And he's seen my daughter like 3 times since she was 1. Ahem. Sorry, I digress...

Becky was back. I didn’t know her name yet so I asked her. “Mary Elizabeth,” she said, “but will you please call me Becky?”

“I had cancer.” She told us matter of factly. Then she pulled up her shirt. I mused that for an older woman, her breasts looked like the breasts of a 13 year old. One was scarred and misshapen from a mastectomy. My daughter grabbed onto my arm tightly. I signaled to her that it was okay by gently patting her back and she relaxed.

“Underneath Your Clothes
There's an endless story
There's the man I chose
There's my territory
And all the things I deserve
For being such a good girl honey...
Do you know what happened to meeee!"

“What,” I was already wincing before she replied.

“My only baby boy died!”

“I’m sorry.” We all responded together.

“Now this little nigger boy keeps telling me what to do!” Oh great. She had to go on and fire out the n-bomb in front of the kids. “But I got the Italian mafia to make him stop!”

How could I end this compassionately? She moved closer to the kids and without thinking I intercepted her and gave her a big hug, putting my heart to hers. “Goddess help me!” I whispered.

“My only baby boy died!” She cried and held me tight. “He was twelve!” After a minute, I leaned back and put my right hand on her forehead, my left hand on her chest. Puzzled, she looked up and said, “Now they want to blow my head off!”

“We’ve got to go now, Becky. I want you to take care of yourself.”

“Okay!”

I took my hands off of her and touched them to the ground. On the way home I had to explain to the kids why I hugged her and no, it’s not okay for them to now start going around hugging the homeless.

the poetry wall

2009-08-09T10:48:00.000-07:00

Here are some snapshots of the poetry wall in Venice. A small homage to those who helped create the spirit of this place.

My favorite is the first poem by Philomene Long. she died on my birthday a few years ago. I'm going to buy some of her books. It's a shame I've spent so many years here and never met her or read her words.

my dream home

2009-08-07T17:43:00.000-07:00

http://www.simondale.net/house/index.htm

For a long time I've been wanting to build out of straw bale. This home is the closest to my design that I've ever seen! I believe that sustainable living can alleviate poverty and that straw bale can really help people have affordable and beautiful housing. Someday, when I get my land, I will build a bunch of these and make some of them into senior residential living facilities. If you read the link, you will see that it only cost them around 10 grand and they completed it themselves in 4 months. The reciprocal roof is so beautiful!

Life on a vision quest...

2009-07-31T15:06:00.000-07:00

E’s mom and her girlfriend built a huge bonfire in the back yard of their little house. I call it a back yard but actually it had no boundaries, stretching to the creek and past, winding through pines and up mountains and beyond into the textured and ever changing sky. It was Solstice eve and we were on the Colville Indian Reservation in Eastern Washington. People had warned me not to wander the reservation without a guide. My chameleon skin allows me to pass for almost any ethnicity, however, my California license plate blared a sort of vulnerability that I didn’t like. On the way through Oregon a trucker ran me into oncoming traffic. Somehow I squeezed between him and the oncoming cars. I said, “FUCK!” and Mikyla asked me why I said that. “Oh nothing.” I replied. Exept that we just almost died. I felt like my CA license plate somehow singled me out for that. Oops, I digress; Let me get back on track.

So since it was Solstice, and I was in such a beautiful place that was tribal land, I begged E to do ritual with me. I could tell she was a little hesitant because maybe she hadn’t done it in awhile because she moved and also because I knew she was exploring other spiritual paths besides Dianic Witchcraft. Many Dianic Women have done the same, finding either an imbalance of female only ritual, or because of the recent petty and ridiculous drama that had gone down in the circle that initiated us. As for myself, I am 100 percent Goddess Worshipper throughout and within. God is son and consort, Women are the shape of the Universe. As changeable as nature, nurturing or cruel, holding enough space for every little thing possible.

Not only was it Summer Solstice but also a dark moon. I purified the space by walking the circumference of the circle with my drum. Stopping in each direction, I envisioned that each element washed through the space, purifying it. Using Tobacco and making sure to thank and honor the native ancestors of the land, I invoked the East, Air, and E invoked South, Fire, in the same fashion. Following Dianic tradition, we cast the circle and called Goddess to bless our will. Dark moons mean release, Summer Solstice is the pinnacle of manifestation and fertility. What an amazing mix of opposing energy! How best to work to work it? We decided the best way would be to release all obstacles that stood in the way of our most truthful, wildest and most creative hearts’ desires. We know that are hearts' true desires would automatically align with the will of the Divine. We began to write what needed to be banished on paper and spoke them bearing witness before tossing the words into the flame. Healing. We started with the world, the land, the people, beginning outside ourselves and spiraling inward towards our core. When E felt complete, she left the circle through a doorway that I carved for her so as not to disturb the integrity of the circle. She didn't want to trip with me. she felt I needed to be alone even though I never told her that I wanted to be alone.

Slowly, I started to eat from the bag of magick mushrooms that was given to me by E’s mother. I chewed each one carefully and thoughtfully, investing my intention with every bite. I wanted to speak directly with my guides. I wanted to see beyond the veil, I wanted to dance naked around a bonfire in the middle of the woods and face my fears about the night, the darkness, with nothing between myself and the void. Even though I was initiated into the Dianic tradition 3+ years ago, I felt that this type of quest was critical to my growth as a witch. I mean, to really be a witch one does have to stay through the dead of night in the middle of the woods in my book. To evolve one must face her fears. It’s a different type of initiation and I hoped that I would get some questions answered while I was at it. I never formulated how this opportunity would come to be, only that my heart desired it, and now, through the help of my Dianic sister, the universe, and mama Z, it was all cumulating into this very evening. This Solstice eve of the darkest moon is it. Goddess feels I am ready. I feel ready. I would have been too scared to do something like this before now. Alone in the woods, on a foreign land, wild animals and wandering spirits abound, I begin to chant myself into a trance.

Sitting in my place of power…

In the center there is me,

Me, and I’m feeling safe and free…

~Starhawk and Anne Hill from circle round

The air around me becomes fibrous, like cobwebs under water. As the plant fills my body, I see the hair- like fibers extend from myself out into the world. Mama Z tells me that this is how the psilocybin spores seed themselves, by sending out fibers to attach to the environment. I look up and the stars are simply within reach. I’m surprised at how the sky, and even the Earth, is filled with rainbow, geometric shapes. A white, teardrop shaped light is flying in and out of them. I see other white lights flitting about. I think that they are spirits, and thank Goddess, I am seeing them as white lights because I get really scared of ghosts. These are not, however, Earthbound spirits at all, are they…maybe I should ask.

I Invoke Helena and Gabriel, previously it was revealed to me that these are the names of my guides. For a long time I heard it as “Gabriella,” which I wasn't fond of, but then I read about Gabriel the angel who is very Goddess like in aspect, and so Gabriel stuck after that.

“What are all the shapes?”, my first of many questions.

Portals. This Universe is multidimensional, even on the Earth, people go through them all of the time without knowing. You’re seeing them now because your editing mechanism is impaired.

Oh yeah. Even though mushrooms are a shortcut to seeing through the veil, they are still poison to our bodies. Many people I’ve been meeting say that for this reason they use peyote to quest, because it is supposed to be medicinal in a wholistic way, mind-body-spirit. Of course, deep meditation and breathing can take one there just as well, and it’s good for you, no costly side effects. Mushrooms do wear the body out, and I will tell you that I felt it the next day.

I noticed that the fire was dying. There was a pile of wood behind the turquoise barn decorated with antlers painted pink; by the horses, next to dark woods. Looking in that direction it seemed like a vast, blackened pool. Could I embark such an epic journey? I decided that not having a fire would be worst. I stepped oh so carefully, using a long branch to feel my way. Being a dark moon, it was completely black and I felt like I was swimming. I finally made it to the wood pile and picked up two big logs to take to the distant glow of my fire. Getting back was a bit easier, but I was afraid that maybe I was tromping on some garden plants. I stepped on a rubber hose and thought it was a snake…whew! Finally, back to the fire and I planted the logs in the middle. I had some rose incense that was a pink powder and I began to throw it into the fire. Pink sparks erupted and the scent of rose filled me with safety and peace.

I sat some more, gazing at the fire and listening to a lone cricket sing me the ballad of my life. As the mushrooms began to take full effect, I felt all of my anxieties melt and my sight become clear as crystal. I could see past all of it. There was no veil, I felt like I could just pass through to the other side and see what was there…I could feel a warmth coming from there…it’s not cold at all. No wonder we are implanted with such a fear of death. If we could really see it…we would all be offing ourselves trying to get over there.

Here is the separation, or what you feel as death. This plane of existence is one of the hardest realms…even though we give you an intense aversion to death, many still cross themselves over anyway. That’s how hard it is here. But it’s supposed to be. You chose it to be.

Really? I chose for there to be starvation, war, heartbreak and injustice? I don’t think so. Why the fuck is there so much pain in the world?

All things must pass on this plane.

Why?

To evolve. How else do we become omnipotent?

We have to have children get raped in order to achieve evolution? Is it worth it?

Look, it’s not like it was commanded that horrible things happen here. Part of it is nature, Earth Goddess is the mother who creates and destroys. Free will is what causes it. You are put here to manifest or destroy, to evolve your own spirit and therefore the collective spirit. The world is the way it is because of the choices people have made, not by our doing. It is necessary that we do not interfere too much. Pressure is needed to make coal into diamonds and it is sort of the same with souls. Oppression and grief creates compassion and gratefulness. A soul has to learn certain things before it can go on to the other planes of being. This Earth-plane is a bit like soul boot-camp. Besides, don’t forget that for every utmost tragedy there is utmost joy…anyone and everyone is capable of touching both.

What is myyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy purpose here? What am I supposed to do?

Whatever you want.

What do you mean, whatever I want? Don’t I have a destiny? Don’t I have a purpose that will change the world for the better? Am I supposed to be a writer? Am I supposed to do something else?

Your contribution is your entire life. Just living and experiencing is enough. Yes, you have predetermined talents, but it is up to you to discover and use them. Your destiny is yours to create. Your paths are infinite. It’s really up to you and everyone else who is on this planet.

Like ‘The Secret’? I always figured that to be somewhat of a white privilege thing.

You use intention when you do spells. Intention is universal. What “The Secret” forgets is that everyone’s will affects everyone else on the planet. As with intention, some have the tools or are placed differently, not all intentions are attainable from every place. It is important that you realize this. However, you could make someone else’s intentions possible or impossible, bring great joy or suffering to another, depending on the choices you make yourself. Collective consciousness is the lesson the human race is learning now. It will change you greatly as a species.

Really, don’t worry, robin. Just like your child who you watch on the playground we are lovingly watching you. The child may choose to dig, swing, maybe get into a fight with another child. When the child skins her knee, she runs to her mother whose arms enfold her. When the worst happens to you, you are delivered into Mother’s arms as well. Always and without fail.

I think I get it.

We think you do too.

What about trees and animals? What is it like to be them? I feel so bad for them sometimes. Nature is so harsh, and with people fucking up the natural habitat of many creatures,it must really suck to be them.

Slowly, I was filled with an utter ecstasy of being. There was no past, no future, just the moment. I took a breath and it was wonderful; I took a bite of a prune and I never tasted anything so gorgeous! I needed only to sit still to experience this ecstasy. Wow! This is how trees feel? Awesome! Animals have it pretty good if this is how they feel most of the time. Mmmmmmmmm, prune flavor was exploding in my mouth and it was so good it was making tears roll down my cheeks.

“Food is my medicine, and medicine is my food.” I said it out loud and my own voice startled me. It felt like it resonated into eternity. I could almost see the words creating a path into the watery sky. For a long time I lay on a blanket gazing on the fire and the stars. I witnessed many more things, but those are secret. All were dancing, and partying, and celebrating. The cricket merrily kept time. Feeling no fear now, I took off my clothes and danced along with the land. This is my playground. It's everyone's playground. Before the crack of dawn, I put myself in the shower and then to bed. Eyelids closed and beginning to drift, I laughed and thought of a line from “Kung Fu Panda”,

There is no secret ingredient!

Part 2: Life on a mystical goat farm in Washington

2009-06-27T19:41:00.000-07:00

When I wake up, my ego is usually in the way. I have to push her off of me, reprimand her and tell her to shut the hell up. Here it was already late in the day, and she was nowhere to be found.

“Bleeeeigh” A kid, yes, in the baby goat sense, greets me as I stumble onto the 3 foot wooden porch outside of my little shack. I’m chuckling as I write this because Mikyla calls it, “Our fake house.” One thing that I love about the summer is that one doesn’t need much to serve as shelter. The air and shade suffices. Our 10x10 feels luxurious. The caretaker of the farm, who I will refer to as GG, which stands for Goat Goddess gives me a warm hug and welcomes me. This woman spills over with compassion for all two and four legged creatures that wander this Earth. This nurturing drive has caused her much pain in her past. I think that for most of us who feel the need to nurture this is a truth, as we do not discriminate who we are driven to heal. When we find that the sores still fester even though we’ve been giving it our all, we should draw back and realize that we are not meant to be the one to heal that person or even that the person is not meant to heal. Instead, we defiantly give more. Not out of a sense of pride but more out of a refusal to give up. Even when slaughtered, we pick up our gashed and bloody parts and offer them up if it would help anyone. When it comes to healing and replenishing ourselves, we are ridden with guilt and feel a bit selfish. At least I used to, now I revel in self nurturing, and do not punish myself for being amazingly selfish at times, like now, taking this trip. I know that my selfish journey of discovering my authentic self will replenish and inspire me to greater acts of healing and creating, as well as help me be a better mother. We cannot teach our children how to self actualize if we do not practice self actualization ourselves. Art and travel are two wonderful paths to self discovery.

I walk to the edge of the precipice that this little farm sits on. 100 feet below, a river of topaz syrup forms rapids over red, gray, green, brown and black stone. I’ve never seen water quite this color or consistency, like melted down emeralds, turquoise, and amethyst. These riches are most precious but not coveted, this is for everyone.

In a hundred years I imagine that the cliff will erode to the point where this farm will become part of the gorge. There are some places, a few places, where the combination of all of the elements come together in perfect harmony, creating a very magickal energy and healing space. This is that kind of place. It is no surprise to me that the four couples who live here full time, plus the many travelers that I’ve seen come and go, as well as the 14 dogs(6 of them just being born) that live here, are able to do so with very little conflict. Synergy is created between the people who are able to be more because of the others. Harmony between many living beings is not easy to create! In this space, it’s effortless. But it’s not just the space, but the time. Nothing is forever in this world.

GG offers me some goat milk and I hesitantly accept, remembering the goat milk of my childhood, I was afraid it would be really gamey and taste the way most goats smell, I was very pleasantly surprised and now drink about a quart of this whole food daily. What will I do when I go back to L.A. and drink the pasteurized poison from the grocery store? Eh, why worry about the future when the present is such a gift?
GG comes into the little shack and lays a pile of green buds and a little cupcake paper full of bubble hash. “Reny and Bell told me that you need this.” I felt a rush of gratitude. Reny and Bell know. I remember how well they took care of me when I went on tour with them last year. It's much better to hang onto the goodtimes and let go of the bad.

“Thank you so much!” I was completely out and still nauseous and headachy from all of the coffee, tequila, and 2o something hours of driving (not in that order so much) of the past two days. The day was a blur, I slept, I smoked, I was fed. I played with 10 baby goats that nibbled and nuzzled me. One ate a huge chunk of my hair. Mikyla ran around in ecstasy from the baby goats to the dogs to the baby chics and back to the goats. Always in the background was the constant roar of the topaz river. I went to bed before the sun, and felt more grounded when I woke up the next morning.

“We’re going on the lake today on a speed boat.” Says Bell cheerily over a cup of French pressed coffee. We packed margaritas, sandwiches, lots of bud and hash, beer, hummus, chips, fruit and water into the cooler and loaded it onto a small speed boat. Chelan Lake is the third deepest lake in the world. Like a serpent, the lakes winds for 55 miles. Where it is shallow, one can see clear to the bottom. The water is blue and green, almost like tropical, but cold. A wonder to behold.

A is a very Adonis like man in his early 20’s, vivid blue eyes and full lips, a sculpted body and windblown hair. Not a bro-ha however. A kind and generous fellow. He works for his uncle renting boats and sea dos and kyaks and so gets to take a boat for free. I see a big intertube and wakeboards attached and I know that this is gonna be phenomenal. As the boat flies through the water, liquid diamonds and emeralds erupt around us. I hold my hand in the spray, dazzled by the sparkling water slapping against my fingers. The air is sweet with the smell of hash. J, who is A’s girlfriend, held a small orange flag up anytime anyone bailed on the wakeboard or intertube. A beautiful, young woman with dark curly hair, mocha skin and big brown eyes, J seems to always be on the verge of tears but smiling at the same time. Her slim and voluptuous body brings a gasp to my lips. But more beautiful than her physical body is the impression that she is one of those who can hold the utmost joy and saddest pain all at the same time. One of the gifts, or maybe better called, responsibilities of the Goddess. Holding that kind of space is the sign of heroism, I knew that although J was young, she had been to Hades and back, and was still climbing.

Mikyla was very scared at first and didn’t even want to board the boat, but once she felt the thrill of going 60 while doing a 360 she was squeeling in delight. Soon it was Bell’s and my turn, and bell sat on my lap in the intertube. When the boat started going, the weight of my ass compared to the lightness of my feet put us in a perpendicular position to the lake, my head grazing the water and ours toes pointing to the sky. My fists held onto the handles of the intertube like vices and I screamed. My screams turned into the hardest belly laugh I’ve had in a long time. They swung us around, not satisfied until we were dumped into the lake. That shit was more fun than any rollercoaster I have ever been on. Too bad Mikyla was too scared to go on. However, I trust that she knows what kind of thrills she’s ready for, and I’m a little relieved that she is not an adrenaline junky.

The sun, the dazzling lake of precious jewels and mystery (Chelan Lake even has it's own legend of a creature much like the Loc Ness Monster), the margaritas and hash, was all so intoxicating that I felt like I was in a dream. We came back to the farm with a dinner of sweet potatoes, bok choi cabbage and wild asparagus that had been freshly gathered with some rice. Eating healthy is so easy when someone else is cooking for you.

The rest of the week went much the same way. Waves of fun, conversation, hash smoking and relaxing was the theme. I milked a goat named Brigita. Not getting much into the bucket but plenty on myself and the poor goat, it was a bit harder than I thought. It’s a process. On Friday I prepared to leave for two days as I was going to see my beautiful, ultra witchy sister at her mom’s house on the Colville Native Reservation. As I drove through the landscape on highway 97, I thought how awesome it would be seeing Emily again and meeting her mom, who is a wonderful artist and her mom's girlfriend, who is a blue haired, Native American.

For a while now, my witchy fantasy has been to do an intense vision quest alone in the wild. Little did I know, that I would achieve this spiritual goal and that the questions I had been imploring of the universe for the past year would get answered in a most spectacular and psychedelic way.