miss idealist's Open Salon Blog

Dear Consumer: A Love Letter to What's Eating You & Me

Wed, 6 Jan 2010 15:01:41 -0500

Toasted Gouda and ham on oatmeal bread, crisped to black with butter. Hot in the middle, Creole mustard. Fat cauliflower bouquet (chou fleur!), corals of broccoli, orange carrot rounds good for your eyes, soba noodles sweet ginger stir fry in sesame oil. Pointed soft with a snap triangle of dark chocolate held between finger and thumb. Romaine lettuce leaves. In a bowl. Cold olive green olive oil, balsamic vinegar sweetened and tart-ened and darkened in old wood. Swedish gravel bits of cut oat, almond, seeds, soft chew of date relieves the grind of twigs and sticks on molars. Cappuccino. Bitter, deep-berried, mellowed with milk and air. An apple. Full of juice, white-fleshed. Strips of apple skin shredding between lips and teeth and tongue. The rattling of seeds. Forbidden. Desired.

Somewhere between the esophagus, the stomach and the intestine, the Intention (kinship, love, community, culture, economy, geography), the Religious Implication (God, Guilt, Eternal Life, Eternal Damnation), I listen to voices, music, breathing, traffic, insects, birds, heartbeat, I hug my son, I eat, I do yoga flexing muscles extending space breathing breath, I teach, I share, I yearn for True Love, I read, read, read with my eyes (the green ones and the mind's), I run, leap, play, be-friend, I make Art, I contemplate, I work, I wash dishes, I travel, I fold, I sleep, I worry, I rise above, I fall below. I eat an apple. Lots of apples. And many other things.

Living feeds the soul. And the soul is hungry. Hungry every day. Its stomach as big as the universe, its belly full of stars, stars like apples, red, ripe round life in the tree of the heavens. So many stars. So many!

How will I eat them all?

And while I wonder and feed my soul, wide-mouthed and bottomless as a baby bird, inevitably delicately violently, indifferent and in love, this life consumes me.

Kali Kicks Constant Ass. Why do we wait for a New Year?

Mon, 28 Dec 2009 23:12:01 -0500

Picture Above: Kali. ( In a nutshell) - Hindu Goddess, Creator & Destroyer of Worlds. Typically very scary to look at, but don't let the visuals fool you. She wields those nasty weapons for benevolent reasons. Mostly.

Whatever I am thinking has turned into what I thought. The letters I'm typing right now are in the past. As creation is constant, so is destruction. This moment is born out of the passing of the last. The future is already here. Or was. A moment ago.

I wrote all of this in a few seconds. They are no more. Instantaneously, new ones are birthed, like the soldiers of myth from dragon's teeth sown in the ground . One falls, another arises. It doesn't even take that long. There is no pause. The inevitability of the next letter, word, line was sown...

Lord, when was it sown??

We could do a Psych Eval and then dig into some History Books and Evolutionary Charts to help us answer that question. But, let's not. It's 9:30 pm and I have a 6 am class to teach in the morning. Time matters when it comes to sleep. To create a Yoga Teacher anew each morning -balanced, tranquil, compassionate, witty & wise - requires 8 solid hours of nightly deconstruction. And then reconstruction. Oh, how I do Arise and Unbuild it again.

Dying and being reborn approximately....(math is not my best subject, so bear with me)...57,600 times a day is exhausting.

And Beautiful.

Every second of Life becomes an Opportunity. Every Moment a New Year, a New Day, a New Dawn, a Fresh Slate, a Blank Page (sorry, I know the Blank Page gives some folks a fright - forget that one).

And every second of this Life becomes a Death, as well. What you have lost, what you are losing, what you will lose, are already lost. Allatonce.

What a Dance. Or a Cabaret, even! I'm feeling a little Louis Armstrong coming on.

Dance on, Kali, Creator and Destroyer of Worlds.

Forget the Year. You just lived and died. Now, rise up and do it again. And Again.

Alligators, Logs, Kittens & a Dead Father. A Fable Re-told.

Mon, 28 Dec 2009 00:12:15 -0500

Based on an Old Fable (from India, I believe) about a Man and a Stick on a Dark Path in a Forest.

So, Alice, Sylvia and Evangeline are out walking near the swamp. It's dusk. There's lots of birds, but thank God it's too cold for the damn mosquitos.

Alice is dressed appropriate to the winter weather, with an extra layer, just in case she gets too hot. Or too cold. And she's carrying a water bottle and an apple in her pocket. In case she gets thirsty. Or hungry. She's covered all of her bases.

Sylvia is dressed for a Scene. Just not this one. The 3 inch heels of her pointy-toed, killer black boots stab the earth like expensive Italian daggers. She wobbles and curses and wishes she were posing over a writing tablet and latte at Starbucks.

Evangeline is skipping way up ahead. Occasionally she chases down a tree that apparently feels no need to run away from her, because it stands there quite still while she plucks a leaf from it and drops it in her backpack.

Alice: "It's getting late. We won't be able to see soon. Time to turn back and head home."

Sylvia: "Good. Why did I come out here anyway? I know it wasn't my idea. This mud is a pain in the ass."

Evangeline (out of breath from skipping, running and leaf-chasing): "Gator!"

Alice & Sylvia (shriek): "Where?!"

Evangeline points.

The path back through the spindly pines, stumps of dead oaks and winter scrub is nearly covered up in dark. Across the path lies a darker shape, half in, half out of the wood.

Evangeline: "See! There's an alligator!"

Alice: "No, it's a log. I nearly tripped over it a minute ago."

Sylvia: "Bloody hell. It's my dead father. I see him everywhere. Just ignore him."

Evangeline: "No! Wait, wait...it's a basket of abandoned kittens! Here, hold my backpack, I'm going to go get them and take them home. We can't just leave them out here. They'll be eaten by coyotes. Or alligators."

Alice: "For God's sake! It's a log. If I tripped over a basket of kittens or an alligator, don't you think I'd know? And, I'm sick and tired of hearing about your dead father, Sylvia. Just let it go, why don't you."

Sylvia: "You're just jealous!"

Alice: "Of the fact that your father is dead? That's ridiculous."

Sylvia: "You're jealous because all you see is a stupid log. At least me and Evangeline see something half-way interesting when our eyes play tricks on us."

Evangeline: "I wish you two wouldn't fight. It can be an alligator. Or a log. Or your dead Daddy. Whatever you want, okay? I just want us all to be friends."

And so Alice, Sylvia and Evangeline walked down the path, through the spindly pines and stumps of dead oak and winter scrub, stepping over, on their way, in order: a log (Alice), a dead father (Sylvia) and an alligator with a basket of kittens balanced tenderly on its back (Evangeline).

Evangeline: "Whoops! Left my backpack. Be right back!"

She stops at the alligator and kneels down and scratches his scaly head "Hey, old fella. Do you mind if I take these kittens home with me?"

The alligator shakes his head as best as an alligator can and crawls back into the swampy woods, leaving Evangeline holding a purring basket. The kittens are black & white with green eyes. They smell like earth and leaf-mold and damp fur and something sweet. Sunshine, Evangeline decides as she runs back to her friends, from early in the day. Morning sun is sweetest.

Sylvia: "What the hell is that?"

Alice peers in the basket: "A basket of leaves. Evangeline, don't you have enough of these things yet? Okay. Just put them in the back of the car, so they don't blow around everywhere and make a mess."

Evangeline: "Um-hm. And it's my turn to cook dinner tonight, so we need to stop at the grocery."

Sylvia: "Please tell me it's not tuna again. My mother made tuna casserole the night my father died. You know how I feel when I eat tuna. I'll have writer's block for a week!"

Evangeline: "How about salmon?"

Alice: "High in Omega 3's. Perfect. Very healthy. Just make sure it's wild-caught and not farmed. Do you know what they do to fish that are farmed?"

Sylvia: "Aren't Omega 3's good for depression? But, I don't know if I want to stop feeling this way. This is who I am. I can't write when I'm not depressed!"

Alice: "Evangeline? Please put those leaves back in the basket. I can hear them rustling around all over my car. I just had it cleaned."

Evangeline closes her eyes and rubs her fingers along the soft fur of a sleeping kitten curled like a wind-chased & ancient leaf in her lap. How many pounds of salmon will it take to make a nice dinner for 3 people and 37 cats ?

If I Can't Have Johnny Depp, I don't want nobody, baby.

Sat, 26 Dec 2009 21:12:11 -0500

I really mean that.

But that's not what I'm here to write about. Sorry. Actually, I think it sums itself up just fine. No elaboration necessary. And, anyway -don't expect titles to sync up with blog content. Not in my universe. I live in the moment. And the only constant around here is change, Grasshopper.

I also don't want dogs. I was given a book for Christmas with some kind of title about how my third husband should be a dog, and my first thought was - that was my first husband and I don't plan on having a second one, let alone a third, so should I use this thing as a doorstop or donate it to Goodwill immediately? But then my natural good nature kicked in and I thanked the bookgivers (who are lovely, lovely people and great friends who love dogs and have way too many of them) sincerely, warm hugs and all.

I am currently trying to read said book, but cannot relate to wanting to mouth kiss a corgi and 3 golden retrievers, not even in my Unbridled Imagination.

The question becomes then: What do I Want?

Let us not confuse "Want" with Crave or Desire or Lust. Those are Emotional and likely driven by Neurosis. I crave chocolate and champagne (Mood Management), I desire a Library the size of Buckingham Palace and a Closet full of Haute Couture to match (books & beauty....yes, I would be the Most Gorgeous & Knowledgeable Librarian in the World!!!), I lust after....Johnny Depp & one Secret Author none of you have ever heard of, but you may one day, but that's MY secret and I don't plan on sharing it right now, but you never know.....I might throw out some hints along the way.

A blog has to have some Mystery. Mine does, anyway.

Mystery - the opposite of a Blog.

Digressing-ing-ing-ing-ing....

What do I want?

Step One: Who is the Great 'I' ?

Read up on your Wizard of Oz. Know the difference between the "Great Oz" and the little man hiding behind the curtain. Close your eyes, click your heels and look inside.

This blog is aimless, fun-loving, a little crazy, whacked out on sugar, tired of Christmas as Re-Run, finding its little Way, bouncing from one idea to another, driven by something It Cannot Quite Put Its Finger On - just like me.

And this "I" is all mixed up with the question of "This Life."

Will a Poem Unfold? Or a shitty advertisement for the best products & books of 1968- (let's project that I make it to the ripe old age of 90) 2050?

I'm going for a Poem, Boys and Girls. Writing on Infinite Space with my teensy human pens labelled Action, Word, Feeling & Idea. Pray that I'm lyrical and I hone my Craft. And that I don't stick my head in an oven like the heroine of my 12 year old budding angst-ridden Self, Sylvia Plath.

I promise I did not mean for that to rhyme.

And I would never give up on my Poem. I'm way more like Alice, than my poor, beloved Sylvia. Curious, Curious, Curious. Give me rabbit tails, mushrooms, hookahs, cookies, Queens, cards, offwithherhead & a good book on a sleepy afternoon under a shade tree. Over and over again. More adventures, please!

Curiouser and curiouser. The pens keep scribbling their odd, lovely, tragic, strange, curious, miraculously miraculous scribbles!