Autumn 2009

I only know love.

All the rest is gibberish.

I only know peace.

War stops here.

May 27, 2009

Offering space to my own soul for – for refreshing and rejuvenating – in other words, a couple of days off from the 8 to 5 life. Rhythms are so magical, mystical even. I have to give way to my own bio-rhythms or suffer the consequences. The rewards are so rewarding!

While contemplating, I listened to Crosby, Stills and Nash, original demos. All the craziness in the world, and a whole layer of people living like under this clear plastic sheet, trying not to look too closely at what is being played out, because it will just make us crazier – and it does. Stephen Stills says to speak out if you dare. This was in the 1960’s. What happened to our collective consciousness? Will the peace made among so many of us find fruition in the future?

I couldn’t help but copy the whole NPR article and paste below:

Exclusive First Listen: Crosby, Stills And Nash

Hear ‘Demos’ In Its Entirety

A new collection on Rhino Records, titled Demos, puts together a series of demo recordings of mostly solo songs by David Crosby, Graham Nash and Stephen Stills, plus a track with Neil Young. The album will be released on June 2, but you can listen to the album here, in its entirety, beginning at 11:59 p.m. ET on Monday, May 25.

What’s so striking, hearing these rough versions so many years later, is their clarity, simplicity and passion. Take a listen to Graham Nash’s song “Chicago,” for example, a bouncy piano ballad with a plea:

So your brother’s bound and gagged

And they’ve chained him to a chair

Won’t you please come to Chicago just to sing

In a land that’s known as Freedom

How can such a thing be fair

Won’t you please come to Chicago for the help that we can bring

The refrain that comes in the chorus, “We can change the world,” seemed not only possible but doable. There are many songs on this record, stripped bare of the harmonies that defined the group, that make it clear why the band was so successful. Stated simply, these were great songwriters, and that’s the message that comes through soft and clear on Demos.

May 15, 2009

“Holy Cow. Thanks Judy.

Gregg”

I just had to post this response to Tuesday night’s performance. There were many similar responses, as 25 to 30 people sat awestruck by the music that evolved before our very ears. I called it a holy moment. Though instead of a holy moment it was a holy few hours, as one after another formerly anonymous (to me anyway) audience members got up with a guitar or a dobro, a drum or a beautiful voice, and joined the collaboration on the Harmony House stage. And when Brent pulled out his sweet trumpet… Pure magic. I don’t know how else to describe it.

We have invited each of them back, STEVE SMITH AND BRENT MOYER, OF COURSE, and Kiki and Michelle, Al Dawson, James Gier, Japhy Ryder, Yolanda Martinez…did I leave anyone out?

Brent, you can come back as long as you bring my new friend, Uschi. That woman rocks!

Wow. Harmony House owes a debt of gratitude to Steve Smith, who unfailingly and generously supports artists and their performances here and around the country. And thank you to everyone who supports music in the backyard and contributes to such a sweet community. A bow to each of you.

Judy

May 3, 2009, Sunday – day after back yard Kirtan with Sawyer, Elliot and friends

Of all the times and all the places and all the spaces, I was born in 1950 in New Mexico. I have been watching sky blue skies on partly cloudy days for most of my 58 years on earth.

I do believe I was born into Paradise – and given to sink or swim in it. Having done a fair amount of both sinking and swimming, I have come to know the critical lesson – the koan, if you will.

The sinking and swimming do not occur in separate abodes. They both, together, arise and give way one to the other again and again – and all the time, in Paradise.

Take a deep breath, look at the sky, and ask yourself if you are want to complain and struggle against the reality of life. Do you find courage to stand in the wind and sing into it full throated?

If you think the prayers of your heart find their destination when uttered into the calm serenity of the garden, imagine them hurled by galloping winds, mingling with the very skin of the earth as it flies to every direction, while you sit, confidently, singing.

prayers carried by the wind

March 21, Saturday morning in T or C

The tops of the trees appear as mountain tops, green with sun glancing off. Birds, large ones, oh my god, they are turkey vultures!!, perched along the ridges of these trees. Genevieve says they are ugly and we spend a couple of moments comparing platypus, vultures and peacocks. OK, I get it. He spreads his wings and holds them against the rising warming sun. They watch the world below them.

I am not anxious in T or C. I have been anxious in Las Cruces (kind of like sleepless in Seattle) for 20 some odd years. Am I not anxious in T or C only because I am not in L C? Nope. T or C has that effect on me.

Ginny sings and plays the guitar as the sun continues its ascension. Oh shoot, she has decided to water. That’s how it is. You just get to having fun and a chore calls.

In her pink plaid pajamas and her Old Navy sweatshirt, she uncoils and wrestles with the hose, then disappears inside the shed. The guitar, quiet now, sits patiently on the chair like a person.

January 4 2009

Rocky and the Trap

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The day begins as a soft morning after a gentle and sane New Years Eve. Beautiful people, wonderful friends, gathering in homes around the countryside, visiting one another’s parties and celebrating the dawn of change. You can feel the hope and encouragement in the air, and see it in the Obama buttons on people’s winter jackets.

Rising early, as the house sleeps, I slip a cup of day-old coffee in the microwave and start a new pot to brew. Outside, the mild temperature and clear sky turning pink make for a comfortable morning sit, and an exceptional winter life here in Lake Valley. Ducks practice taking off and landing on the pond, their shadows stirring the dark surface with runway trails.

As others in turn awake and appear in the kitchen for a cup, we gather around the dining table, checking emails, looking at photos, chatting and laughing in light hearted merriment.

Someone suggests we take the four wheelers up the creek and go for a hike in the canyon. Four humans and one small dog climb on two vehicles and off we go with Rocky the big dog running to and fro before us. It is a glorious morning.

Parking the four wheelers after a soaking ride through the creek, we disembark and begin our walk up the creek bed. As we reach the base of a rocky outcrop, requiring some climbing to get over, Michelle begins to tell us about the rattlers she has experienced here in the past. As she is saying the word “rattlesnake”, Rocky lets out a shrill howl, more like a scream really, that is so shocking it sets us on a run back the direction from which we came! Each in our individual brains has painted a picture of some horror involving a rattlesnake chasing us – but only for the briefest moment- when we turn to look back, coming to our senses, we see Rocky thrashing against a trap which holds his left foot in its iron grip. I think I cannot bear this.

Michelle reaches him first. He cries with every move as the heavy trap embeds itself in his soft paw. The ensuing chaos becomes order when Travis’ attempts to separate the trap’s jaws fail to do anything except increase Rocky’s agony and his resulting growling/ teeth gnashing to warn us off. A plan of sorts gets implemented. Michelle takes off to get the four wheeler , find the boys who have set the trap and get them to release it – she ends up going home to look for tools that may be used to free the evil jaws.

Travis takes off, as I say “I don’t want you to go Travis.” Donna and I are not sure where he is going. I hold Rocky as close to me as I can. Donna wraps a coat and scarf around him. He seems shocky, and it is cold in the shade and the mud of the canyon floor. One hand over his chest and the other massaging and petting his back, I feel his heart rate slow and feel his body relax. Donna pets his nose and offers water from her hand. He looks at us with perfect understanding. We wait.

Eventually, Travis returns and seeing clearly the trap mechanism this time, wants to release it. I plead with him to wait until Michelle returns, as I don’t think we can hold him when the pain caused by handling the trap returns. People begin to appear, the county turning out for Rocky. Rod steps up, sees the trap and begins the same righteous rage we have each in turn expressed.

Michelle is back. Things move fast. We put a blanket over Rocky’s head, hold his neck, hold him down. Travis releases the trap, which is an overstatement, as release is not easy. Suddenly Donna and I remember and can’t find the rock we had chosen to use for a wedge while Michelle pulls his foot through the small opening . A stick suffices, and suddenly he is free. Wrapped in a blanket and carried by Travis down the creek bed, Rocky lies still and calm as Travis climbs on to the back of the four wheeler. Michelle drives, and off they go.

Donna and I travel with Jim Siling in his little Samurai, which fits perfectly in the creek, like a four wheeler. I sit in the passenger’s seat and at my feet is an old trap. “That’s the trap from which I rescued an eagle in Alaska,” he tells me. “That eagle became my friend.” Donna’s being bounced around in the back does not prevent her from getting some great shots out the vehicle’s back flap window.

We arrive back at the house, along with Brad, George, Linda, and the state police. The story is told and retold, from each perspective. We pace and check on Rocky, who is on the sofa, medicated with an ibuprofen and an icepack.

Here is the shortest end to the longest New Years story I have known. Rocky, gets up, plays, doesn’t even limp. Yep. That’s right. He is NOT injured!!! It’s a miracle.

December 28 2008

Winding down the year. Listening to good and smart friends bemoan the conditions in our world. Indeed there is much to bemoan. I don’t see much sense in spending energy in that way, however.

Why don’t we try this?

ACT like there is a merciful god.

IMAGINE what perfection feels like.

PRETEND that grace is real.

What if the only perfection is the odd perfection in every moment that we can’t help but see if we only put down our preferences, no matter how righteous they are?

What if when we get together, we talk about everything that is right and for the moment leave aside everything that is wrong.

Would it hurt so much to feed the good, starve the bad? We wield profound power in our thoughts and words. We seem willing to condemn those in “power” rather than use our own to make a better world for ourselves.

We don’t need any more self-empowerment books and movies like Bleep and Secret, unless we are willing to take the steps they recommend.

We can whip the dead horse, or we can feed and groom the live one and get on and ride.

Well, anyway…I think it is time for some “boomer” wisdom to manifest in the world. Join me?

It’s easy. Just think “All things are perfect as they are in this moment. I have all that I need in this moment. I will have all I need in the next. I send my most positive thoughts to every being on the planet in this moment.” Then think it again, and and again when you feel gravity pulling you toward the negative.

My absolute faith is in the path of thinking and speaking the vision we have for our world, and not in much else at all. It is the most secure path I have found. If you try it, let me know how it works.

Merry Christmas 2008!

My god, it is purely heaven here today. Christmas day 9:30 AM, sunning in a tank top, planting broccoli.

Cali is scratching herself on the underside of the explorer.

The sun’s never felt like this before. This moment is in all ways new. They are– or at least they can be.

I think what the gods have arranged, and what Barack Obama may allow us to do, is that we provide models of sustainability. It’s like, ok, you screwed up, and yes, we are beginning to miss our water before our well runs dry. But we still deserve a chance. And some of you have been practicing sustainability (newearthtimes.blogspot.com, for instance) so we have to lead the wayand provide Obama and the government with some creative models.

Of course it is much easier to bitch and moan about the government’s lack of initiative. We need a little softer heart to do the humble work of leading.

So soften up your underbelly brothers and sisters, and throw some muscle on your backs, because we are pulling uphill all the way.

Near Winter Solstice 2008

I sit in the cold of the yard where the smoke from my sinful cigarette mingles with the frost of my breath.

The sun just this very moment tops the mountain and peeks through the clouds.

Leaves at my feet, which would otherwise be known as dead, shimmer and vibrate against the yellows and golds of the grass in which they lie embraced.

I am embraced by this place, in which I find myself. And find myself I have. I am the ground upon which I stand.

The caws of the birds organize our morning – theirs, and in a very elegant way, my own. Whether you are yelling, crying, or loving, do it in song, they remind me.

Small palm trees before me, with hopeful irises beneath. Yellowing bamboo have adjusted themselves to their sheltered, dry life beneath the mesquite trees, for which my street was named.

I have a feeling about this place. The feeling drives me to love it with all I ‘ve got. I leave nothing when I go, except my footprints. I want them to lead people to peace through music and art and dance and health and community. What more can I give to our daughters and sons?

Music, food, support and companionship in our back yards. Is that too much to ask?