Wild Poppies

ok so i tried my hand at a short story.  i have only written a couple of short stories in my lifetime.  which is strange because i love to read fiction, but i dont really write it.  hmmm…..

anyways any and all feedback would be appreciated and is encouraged.

i am working on illustrations for this piece…they will appear soon…inshallah…

Wild Poppies

Ellie startled awake that winter morning and sat up in her bed. She rubbed her aching shoulders, her arms, and then reached between her shoulder blades. Two large bumps were growing on either side of her upper spine. She grabbed the hand mirror off the nightstand, and raced to the full-length mirror. Dark burgundy nubs poked out the back of her camisole. She held her breath and touched them again. She was growing wings.

Last time she had seen her dad his wings were stuffed in the blue trench coat he always wore. He looked toward Ellie and smiled. He dropped his coat on the front door’s threshold. His wings popped open like a spring-loaded umbrella and he flew off the porch. Her dad flew over the world and sent nothing more than a postcard photograph of flowers every once in a while.

She was fairy too.

random stories

1. there is so much to do in this world.  and these days i feel so small about it all.  and so i have to slow down and deal with what life brings me.  piece by piece.  day by day. it is cliched but it works.

2.  the raven eye blog will be up soon.  i had to change hosts and shit.  get used to the time difference between here and there.  business hours are a bitch.

3. in the mean time i have been reading blogs galore.  oh my god.  woc and tpoc y’all are amazing.  there are all these beautiful blogging experiments out there.   exquisite writing.  art experiments.

i am especially digging:

on the night of eid

yoga and seeds

i was shocked when i first read a few years ago about patenting seeds.

In 1998, Mr. McFarling bought 1,000 bags of genetically altered soybean seeds, and he did what he had always done. But the seeds, called Roundup Ready, are patented. When Monsanto, which holds the patent, learned what Mr. McFarling had sown, it sued him in federal court in St. Louis for patent infringement and was awarded $780,000.

The company calls the planting of saved seed piracy, and it says it has won millions of dollars from farmers in lawsuits and settlements in such cases.

how can a company have the right to own life?

but, frankly that is a huge corporation that in the US is legally treated as a person but has no moral conscience and must according to law work first and foremost in the interests of its stockholders…

but then this afternoon i read this:

Since its arrival in Britain and America in the late 1960s and early 1970s, when it was popularised by Beatles guitarist George Harrison, among others, Yoga has become a $225 billion industry.

In India, however, it remains collective knowledge – practiced in public parks where gurus often teach fast breathing exercises, like pranayam, and different ’sun-salutations,’ free of charge.

But as the number of Western yoga teachers has grown, there has been a steady increase in patent applications claiming each pose in their class is not part of the ancient discipline of mind and body, but their own unique invention. In the United States alone, there have been more than 130 yoga-related patents, 150 copyrights and 2,300 trademarks. Now India’s Traditional Knowledge Digital Library is being made available to patents offices throughout the world so they can establish whether the claim is a genuine innovation or “prior art” from Indian systems of medicine.

10 reasons to fall in love

1. el compa and i have been arguing like crazy the past few months.  for a while it felt like when we werent arguing was more like a cease-fire, a temporary lull before it started again.  like we were just too exhausted to speak anymore and we might as well retreat in silence, lick our wounds, bury our dead, and prepare for the next battle.  i kept trying to figure out what we were arguing about.  on the surface it seemed so ridiculous.  the smallest things would just escalate into evil words being hurled at one another.  this isnt us, i kept thinking.  a few times i seriously thought this relationship is over.  how could we keep doing this to ourselves?

2. i finally realized that we had reached that age when a bunch of people around us expects us to settle down, get the striving for middle class respectability job, a house mortgage, a 9-5, a 401k, health benefits (and dental!), day care for aza, etc.  and instead we foolishly insisted upon living our lives.  in some people’s minds it is one thing for us to travel ‘to exotic places’ and have ‘adventures’ and co-create radical communities (uhhh…’whatever that means’) when we were childless and young, but now it was time for us to really give that up and focus on ‘raising a family’.  and we would have great stories to our child(ren) about our adventures when we were young…and so the emotional support that we had built around us was eroding because we werent following the plan.  and we still insisted on ‘going on vacation’.

odetta and mama africa

odetta dies. miriam makeba dies.  this is so sad.  not that their deaths are sad, but that these living legends retire from this world and so i can no longer point to them as the breath that inspires me to breathe.  black women folk artists who sang and their voices gave energy to those in the streets fighting. this is what i want my voice to do: inspire those who see themselves as voiceless or have been described by the arrogant as voiceless to scream or moan or just sing.

just sing.

because silence is an anathema.

odetta became more beautiful as she grew older.  there is a gorgeous picture of here.  she looks like a dragonfly.

frankly, i am not sure what all the words in this song mean.  but isnt it a beautiful song for the morning?  she was exiled from south africa and her music was banned.

doing yoga while mumbai burns

tonight i thought for hours about writing a piece about being a healer.  or how we create and share healing within community.  or something.  but i kept banging my head against the wall.  wondering what medicine could i give in a community?

i used to teach yoga one on one.  i loved teaching yoga.  guiding another human being to feel their body, their muscles, their bones, their breath, their energy more and more.

but for the past couple of years i have had some unfortunate encounters with folks who claim to love the practice of yoga, and yet seemed to be more concerned with the image of yoga than with the act.  yoga became distasteful to me.

one woman i know started to practice yoga a couple of years.  the first time i saw her after she had begun her practice she started exclaiming about all of the cool tricks she could now do.  and how what she did was ‘real’ yoga (ashtanga) and plus something called ‘hot’ yoga and how important the ‘core’ was.  she talked about how shallow her yoga community was, because everyone was in competition with everyone as to who could hold a position longer, but it seemed that what she was really complaining about was that she consistently ‘lost’ in the competition.  she later said that she had become disillusioned with the yoga community and yet when she spoke about yoga it was usually in the vein of competition, showing off, all of these external benefits that i really didnt care about.

to make matters worse, last spring i moved into to a mexican posada/ashram.  at first i thought that i had found a little oasis of yoga.  until they tried to kick me out of the room after we had a verbal agreement and i had already paid for the month.  until they threatened to call the cops on me if i didnt leave the posada in less than 5 hours because they wanted to rent my room to people who would pay more.  how do you threaten to call the cops on a mother with her young baby and then go into your meditation room and chant about peace and wisdom?

fucking yoga bullshit.

i wanted nothing to do with yoga.  it had become seared in my mind with the ’skinny is healthier’, ‘check out my cool pose’, ‘you have negative energy’, ‘i am so spiritual because i chant/stretch/breathe really fast/ breathe really slow/wear a turban/ have a guru’–bullshit.

didnt go to the bar this weekend

my daughter is around 15 months. and once i find that cable that goes with my camera, i promise to post pictures. well, once i find that cable, and figure out windows vista…but that is a different story.

the thing about being a mother is that most of my life feels relatively unremarkable. there are amazing things that happen, but honestly, do i really want to record the first time that she wore a cubs shirt and overalls (thanks dan and rose!)? and how cute she looked? do i really want to write about how she peeks in the bedroom when i am taking a cat nap, and then she scampers away…or how she chases fireflies in the backyard?

i mean these are the endearing moments that i love. and that make all of this (as wanda sykes mocks) worth it. but how interesting is that to anyone who is not on our little pirate ship family?

our friends came by this weekend and spent a couple of hours before they headed to the bar. it was funny. part of me felt jealous that they were going to a bar and i can remember how much fun it is to go to a bar with them. but part of me felt sad for them, because alcohol is so expensive at a bar (ah well, they can afford it) and we could have invited their friends and my friends to a house or apartment and had a great party (for much less money and much more conversation) and i thought how silly that they planned their evening around a place where we couldnt go with a babe (thats american culture for you…no babies allowed) because aza is so much fun at a party.

weekend before last we went to a bar three nights in a row without aza and i felt guilty (she loves a good time) but it was great to go out with my partner without the babe. we got to dance to bad music and hang out and throw darts and not worry about the third person in our little triangle (her grandma was taking care of her and there is almost no one i would trust more) we got to have adult conversation that did not include talk about diapers or teething and we got to miss her. and missing her reminds me how lucky i am to have such a great babe.

the past few days she has been cranky teething and anything that alleviates the crankiness for a few minutes doesnt seem to work the next day. hopefully she is working through it and past it and will return to her happy self soon (knock on wood).

the sad part about our friends as well is that they both spoke of having a child as a huge responsibilty. and it is a huge responsibility. but i got the feeling when they said: yeah we need to be stable before we think about starting a family that they had these white middle class ideals of familyhood dancing in their heads. and i tried to dispel the myths. but i didnt know how to do so without insulting them.

what i wanted to say was: it is a huge responsibility. but unlike most responsibilities it pays you back much more than you can ever give. alot of people concentrate on what they lose. sleep. (ah beautiful sleep), the free open time to fritter away doing nothing, that feeling of autonomy, etc. and these are the things that i miss the most. i miss killing a book in a day just because i have the day off. and i miss the feeling that if i am ‘okay’ well that is all i have to think about. a certain carefreeness toward life.

but look what i didnt lose and look at what i gained. i can act like a complete fool. and i have gained the confidence at saying: fuck the world. i can feel good about myself even though i havent had a pedicure or manicure in months.

i can know that something as abstract as politics matters not because it is my arcane interest but because politics is about who has the power to achieve what they want in the world, and i want aza to achieve everything her heart desires. so what happens in georgia or russia or china or the middle east matters in a way that didnt before.

i have the motivation to become who i want to be in the world because if i dont then she will grow up thinking that she cannot become who she wants to be in the world. i can no longer afford regrets. all of a sudden my audience has changed. rather than what some potential lover or friend or parent or professor thinks of what i do, it is much more important what will she think of what i do. i no longer have a choice about whether or not i express my anger or disagreement or set my boundaries, i have to, or else she will not learn how to. and in a strange way this frees me.

yes i resent american culture. especially american urban culture that thinks that because i am a mom 930 pm is past my bedtime. or my babe’s. (frankly i wish that 930pm was past her bedtime some nights, but she is a night owl like me. and like her grandfather-my father- whom she may never meet) but i will not live in the us forever. and she doesnt care how many people are hanging out, she still insists on dance party time at night.
but honestly i think that people put alot of expectations on themselves to be these perfect lil liberal parents so that they can give their kids the perfect lil childhood. everywoman i have met who doesnt have kids (and a few who do…oh those super-attachement parenting moms!) imagines how difficult it would be to have a kid, a babe, a lil one in their lives. and imagines themselves going to bed at 930 pm everynight. but i think that says alot more about the potential parents than it does the baby.

our kid is adaptable. most kids i know are adaptable. she thrives around people. most kids i know thrive around people. she hasnt had the stable white middle class ideal family life. she has hitchhiked in mexico. she has lived in a van. she has slept in more different beds and rooms than i care to count. she has partied till the early morn. she has gotten bitten by fleas. at two months old she broke her leg and was in a cast for 4 weeks. she has eaten dog shit (ok that part i was not happy about…and my partner and i promptly washed us all up) she has seen a homeopath and a midwife more times than doctor. she thinks an empty beer can is an everyday toy. she has eaten whateva we eat and recently that include sausage, eggs, burritos, seafood, blueberries (man she loved those blueberries) rose petals and hopefully nothing poisonous.

and she has been loved. incredible undeniable love. love that pours out of every crevice of this mama’s body. the kind of love that every mama knows. the kind of love that says: im not the perfect mama, but you are still alive so i cant be doing too bad.

i remember my mother saying something like that. how the fact that i was still alive atested to her love for me. and i remember thinking. crazy selfish lady…keeping me alive is the least of your obligations to me.

i used to think really snotty things. (ok i still think really snotty things, but if you cant be snotty towards your mother what will do you with that necessary attitude?)

now i get what she was saying. she was saying that everyday she lived for me. that she could have been vacationing in the bahamas on her vacations but instead she took me to montreal because she believed in my genius and my desire to learn french. she was saying that she worked at a racist sexist government agency that didnt promote her for nearly a decade so that i could go to the private school that i wanted and i could buy all the books i wanted and i could take the dance classes that i wanted and i could hold my head up high.

but of course learning to hold my head up high…i learned that from her.

and it is what i hope my daughter learns from me.

sometimes i feel guilty that i have it so easy. that i am not a working single mother like my mother. but then i remember that she did all that backbreaking sitting in an office bored out of her mind she is so much more intelligent than her superiors but she has kowtow a little, so that i dont have to kowtow at all.

and i owe her. she could have been a different woman. but she decided to be the kinda woman that took care of her kids.

so yeah…aza…huge responsibility. but its not like you think. its not because i am trying to make sure she gets into the right day care. its because i have to be the person that models (not even teaches…teaching is easy…but i have to live all the visions i want her to consider embracing) the person i am. so that she has freedom to become the person she is.

that is what my mom did for me. showed me how to mix strength and honesty and love. it is a potent mixture. more so than any mixed drink i could get at a bar.

happy

ya know–there is something really messed up with our society when it comes to the way that we approach each others bodies. i mean fucked up. please excuse me for not cursing. basically if you look anorexic, but are just naturally anorexic-looking that is considered to be the health ideal. i remember telling someone during my pregnancy that i wanted a belly after my pregnancy, that i thought bellies were cute, and she actually patted me on the shoulder and pursed up her lips and i thought she was going to spit. but instead spent the rest of my pregnancy acting sorry for me because i looked pregnant. at another point telling me, when i was 8 months preggers, that: you cant hide your pregnancy. lord have mercy.

and then i was at a family wedding 3 months after giving birth. dancing having a good time. and some person, in that condescendingly sweet passive aggressive way that people have at weddings (which is why i dont like going to them) i hope that you do lose all your pregnancy weight. my daughter did when she had her child…

at the same wedding i was told by someone that they really liked my dress because it made my chest look smaller.

and then there was the parting shot: when someone took me aside to tell me how so and so was afraid that she was going to gain too much weight in her pregnancy and she was disappointed because she wouldnt be a cute pregnant lady. implication: she would look like me when she was pregnant and that aint cute.

you want to be cute? you want to be healthy? you want to know whether you should breastfeed your kid or use a bottle? you want the answer to most of those questions. be happy. seriously. the thing i should have done (and this is my one regret about my pregnancy, my birth, and my early mamahood…in case anyone asks) is that i should have lived where i was happy and warm. surrounded myself by people who made me happy and warm. and refused to deal with anyone who insisted upon pushing their body issues onto my body. i tried to do these things, but i was just told that i was being ’selfish’ and ‘difficult’ and ‘i didnt really mean that’ and ‘be practical’…fuck.

man, are people hateful spiteful passive aggressive cowards when you are looking fabulous.

and do not be nice to people who smile in your face and tell you how good you look and then turn behind your back and tell everyone how sorry they feel for you…fuck that.

so there is some pregnant woman out there who needs to sit down and make a list about what would make her happy and then she needs to move mountains to make sure that she gets all of that happiness and more. i really wish that for her tonight. and she should dance and feel fabulous. because it is good for the heart and the brain and yes, even the baby.

so dont let anyone feel sorry for you. just walk away. even if you suspect that they feel sorry for you. or fight them. or both. dont let them feel sorry for you. not for your size or your shape or your color. cause lookism is ridiculous and basically people are just trying to put you down because you are too happy for them to handle. so get happier. and surround yourself with happy people or happy silence, but dont let someone else define how you feel about yourself.

cause especially if you belong, like me, to those segments of society which are least likely to be treated like a real person, then you need to learn now how to move mountains now. and ask yourself what would make you the most happy. and then just do it. even jesus said you could. yeah, even that nike commercial. yeah, even your ancestresses know that you can. and that is revolutionary motherhood.

the dance of birth

http://www.thegoddessdancing.com/dance_of_birth.htm

 

It is important for women to reclaim birth as a natural and powerful process.  For too long in our modern times, fear, uncertainty and unconsciousness have surrounded birth.  Our bodies, from the beginning, have given birth.  Much wisdom, both herbal and physical, has been lost since the systemization of medicine.  It is a struggle to relearn these things, but it is an important struggle and one that will lead to great healing for many people.

The connection between belly dancing and birth is not a new one.  Work has been done, noticed and unnoticed to bring the dance to the attention of birth educators.  The link was forged as early as 1965 by Carolina Varga-Dinicu known as Morocco.  She compared childbirth education taught at Mount Sinai Hospital in New York and major books like Natural Childbirth by Dr. Frederick W. Goodrich to her dance movements as she performed them.

In 1976, Gigi Groth Devitt, a member of Birth Day in Boston, collaborated with the dancer Barbara Brandt and demonstrated among other things, that Lamaze and this dance are based on the same method of muscle isolation.  Around that same time, Edith Maxwell stressed the importance of movement during labor and showed how the movements of this dance help in “moving the baby down” the birth canal.

In 1983, Wendy Buonaventura published a book, Belly Dancing, where she outlined the role of the dance throughout history in many cultures.  She showed that the dance has always been a part of the birth process.  The most exact comparative work was done by Morgana,  in 1981.  She compared specific movements of the dance to the phases of birth and the motion of the emergence of the baby. She has shown that the dance movements exercise all the birth muscles and the rhythms, in fact, match the birth process.  Her work leaves the impression that the dance could be none other than a birth dance.

The circle is a Sacred Shape and is the very foundation of the dance.  Moving the heart in a circle strengthens and flexes the upper abdominals.  Moving the hips in a circle massages the internal organs, including the pelvic floor, and also conditions the lower abdominals.  Tension is released by moving the wrists, shoulders and ankles in circles, and by rotating the spine in small circles.

Accents introduce a faster rhythm and they are the power of the dance because they provide an outlet for inner impulses.  Hip thrusting teaches control and builds concentration for focusing on one body part while the rest relaxes.

Shimmies, all the different varieties, are the endurance of the dance.  They require intense concentration and control of deep inner muscles.  They loosen the back and hips and allow the focus to shift from pain to movement.

Body undulations are the flexibility of the dance.  The movements mirror how a woman’s body stretches to allow a baby to grow, and at the same time prepares the birth muscles for the task.  Undulations also require concentration and focus, mainly because the muscles that need to be activated are unfamiliar to most people.

All of these qualities – relaxation, focus, endurance, and flexibility are needed in the birth process.  Belly dance can be done standing, kneeling, lying down or walking.   Lastly, belly dancing while giving birth means movement in general is encouraged while trying to give birth.   It gives the power back to the process and allows women to find their way through the pain and fear of giving birth.