Meanderings...

Fortune Cookies, Luck and Perspective

2011-03-12T22:35:00.000-08:00

Adapted from a journal entry on December 30, 2010

I'm delayed in the Denver airport due to weather...not a surprising occurrence in the mile high city during winter.

I stand in line to order a meal at Panda Express. Balancing the computer bag on my shoulder, a guitar case in one hand and the styrofoam container in the other, I make my way to a seat and sit down to eat. The man next to me looks over and asks, “Is your flight delayed?” I reply that it is. He says, “Mine too.”

I smile and suggest, “Well, I guess maybe it’s time for us to take a little break in the Denver airport and eat.”

He turns to me and says, “Yes, I thought I’d take advantage of half-way healthy food...Where are you heading?”

“Tucson,” I replied.

“Wow, that’s where I’m headed too.”

We make small talk, sharing our knowledge about Tucson and eventually chatting about where we come from and what we do now.

As we finish eating, I notice I have two fortune cookies with my meal. I offer him the extra cookie. He accepts and jokes that I am now "responsible" for his "future luck."

We laugh and open our cookies. He asks me what mine says. I read aloud, “You often have more influence on people than you think.” I smile and ask him what his reads.

He looks surprised, glances down and recites “Wednesday is your lucky day.” Then, he hesitantly says, “Well, I guess it’s a day late since yesterday was Wednesday.”

I perk up and suggest, “Or, maybe next Wednesday is your lucky day. And if not that one, then the next one.”

A reflective grin falls across his face. “Oh...you’re an optimist! Well, this is actually quite interesting that I got this fortune. I used to believe that Wednesday was my unlucky day..." His voice trails off for a minute, and then he finishes."It’s the day that I broke my neck in a high school wrestling match.”

His eyes momentarily look far away.

I was sitting on the right side of him. I had noticed that as he talked to me, he would stiffly turn his whole upper body to look at me as we were conversing. Yet, I knew from his history that he was an athletic mountain bike racer. I finally had the full picture.

He looks at me again, but this time, very seriously. “I don’t believe that anymore. Actually, I’m very lucky. I’m lucky to have had the people who were there for me when it happened...I'm lucky that they took care of me the way they did. If they hadn't been there, or if something had changed about what happened...well...I would have been a quadriplegic.”

He went on to tell me about the time between that day that he broke his neck until now. He told me about his kids, his very full life in Arizona and Colorado, his adventures mountain biking, and his dream to live in a sailboat one day and sail up and down the West Coast.

As he spoke, I knew that he was very aware of his good fortune.

A decisive grin spreads across his face. He finishes the conversation in conviction, “I’m going to carry this fortune in my pocket to remind me.”

In hearing his words and feeling his presence, I am moved. I reflect about my "luck." My full life. The beautiful people that surround me. And my warm meal.

My heart fills with gratitude for my good fortune. And I am fully content - delayed in the mile high city airport, on December 30th, 2011, next to a man who shared his story of luck with me.

Camouflage Backpack, Crew Cut & Blue Eyes

2010-11-11T02:26:00.000-08:00

He said his name was Todd and that he felt at home in the Dallas Airport. We were wandering among a sea of men and women dressed in BDU’s. It was the middle of October, and I was loaded down with my guitar and a backpack full of music gear.

We had crossed paths in the terminal when he asked, "What do you do to carry one of those around?" He was referring to my guitar.

I replied, “I play music for a living. What do you do to carry one of those around?” I pointed to his camouflage backpack.

"I blow things up."

I wasn't sure exactly what to say to that. And as I looked at him in a loss for words, he offered to carry my guitar.

"You want to walk with me and carry my guitar all the way to my gate??"

He said, “Well, of course, we don’t just kill people.”

My heart fell. That's not why I had asked that.

I stumbled on my words, “I know…I know that’s not why you do what you do. What you do is really…hard.”

He shrugged apathetically. “It’s not that hard anymore.”

My words left me. I wanted to wrap him in a blanket of light and take the walled-up angst out of those blue eyes...those blue eyes that had their “coming of age” in Iraq and Afghanistan. He was younger than me in years, yet, with the toll of war, his eyes were older.

We talked about music and how we both play Tom Petty on the guitar. We talked about where he was stationed, his two deployments to the Middle East and his nicotine habit. I told him about my journey from nursing to music, about playing a very heartfelt show at Ft. Hood in '07, and about my childhood memory of catching a snake while visiting my Uncle at Ft. Riley.

When I gave him my card, I apprehensively said, “You can check out my tunes online, I don’t know if you’ll like them. They might not be your style of music.”

He replied, “You’d be surprised by what I like and what I listen to.”

My mind stopped. “You’re right. I don’t know.”

He walked with me to Starbucks, waited for me to feed my caffeine habit, and accompanied me back to the gate with my guitar in his hand.

In the space between our words, we walked side by side in silence and respect, honoring each other’s stories. I imagined that my carrying a guitar and backpack on tour must be much lighter than what he carries on his tours.

But really, what do I know?

I know that I’m grateful to have carried my guitar off the plane that day. It was a doorway for the guy with the camouflage backpack, crew cut and blue eyes to share his story with me, and for me to do the same with him.

On this Veteran’s Day, and in the trail of days before and after, I honor the stories of those who serve and have served in our military.

It is in the sharing of our stories that we come home.

Six Feet of Clay: Reflections from a Cemetery in Missouri

2010-10-20T20:52:00.000-07:00

"Six feet of clay makes every man equal," the epitaph reads.

I stop in my tracks.

That's quite a final statement to leave to the living.

My mind spins. What would inspire this?

A lifetime of events epitomizing human "inequality"? A country freshly emancipated from slavery with Jim Crow laws "regulating" racial discrimination; a Women's Suffrage Movement; World War I with its genocide and ethnic cleansing; the Great Depression and its economic fall-out drastically devastating minority groups; World War II and the annihilation of millions of Jews and those deemed "unfit for society" by a dominating class; Rosa Parks' big stand; and Martin Luther King Jr.'s early work in the Civil Rights Movement?

Yes, Mr. Warren's time on Earth had plenty of fodder for such a statement.

It's a beautiful Fall day in Springfield, Missouri. I wander through Hazelwood Cemetery to the once segregated south-side where "people of color" were buried. I find graves marked by cinder-block-like stones with no epitaphs, some with faint letters scratched into them.

There's a timeless quality to the words "six feet of clay makes every man equal".

Fifty-three years later, I am bombarded by headlines of hate-crimes, bullying, suicide, war, genocides and more.

It all seems ridiculous and insane. Because when all is said and done and lives are gone, what's left?

A gravestone maybe.

Often a family.

Always a lesson.

And the web of energy woven by a life-thread.

Fifty-three years later, Mr. Warren's life-thread weaves from a stone inscription

into my thoughts

into this blog

and now into you.

And Hazelwood Cemetery is no longer segregated.

I find peace here. In the lessons of transformation. In being part of the transformation.

And in the poetry of epitaphs and gravestone art...Symbols of human love and connection. Threads of energy that emanate timelessly.

"Energy can neither be created nor destroyed, it can only change forms." ~First Law of Thermodynamics

Every step is a choice in how I transform my energy.

Singing with Vern

2009-09-21T15:15:00.000-07:00

So...I've gotten a bit attached to a cricket in my house.

It's the singing thing.

We both do it, and his chirping from sunset until early morning sounds like a lullaby to me.

Maybe it's because it reminds me of growing up on the farm and the intense connection that I felt as a child to nature.

It's different in the city--much more subtle...

But Nature makes her way through the concrete and human boundaries:

from the ants who dare to venture through my kitchen,

to the grasshopper on my rose bush,

the hummingbirds and butterflies outside my picture window,

the bats flying overhead in the Fall during my evening dog-walks,

and the coyote that taunts the neighborhood dogs...

To the cricket that chirps in my bathroom at night.

There's something calming about his song... especially amidst the incessant sirens and occasional domestic disputes of neighbors nearby.

I'm not sure if it was the creative side of my brain, or the crazy side (besides, I think the two are connected)--but my brain decided to name this cricket Vern.

He reminded me of one of my favorite childhood books The Mouse and the Motorcycle by Beverly Cleary--about a mouse named Ralph who had many adventures with human encounters living in a run-down inn.

All this came about the morning that Vern decided to crawl on my toe while I was taking a shower. It was one of those moments for me, where I was startled to feel something on my foot, and then wondered if it might be the gecko that occasionally sneaks into my shower.

But sure enough, I looked down, and it was Vern.

And he was NOT in good shape.

I hoisted him onto the tile outside my shower. He wasn't moving. By the time I got out, he was on his back, and I thought that he had bit cricket dust.

I flipped him over, but I admit--I didn't have much hope for the poor little guy.

As I made coffee afterwards, I hummed away in honor of Vern...thinking about how I would miss his evening chirping and how his exodus into the shower must have been very tragic.

An hour later, I went back into the bathroom. Vern's legs were responding to touch, and his antennas were no longer waterlogged and stuck to the tile.

I was amazed...a cricket resurrection!

The last couple nights as he's chirping from different corners of my house, I just smile knowing that Life has an uncanny way of transcending my expectations.

AND...I've started to make music with him.

He's got a great sense of rhythm and sings in the key of D.

Two Springs

2009-05-22T00:40:00.000-07:00

I just returned from the Midwest. It is May, and the Spring season is in full bloom there.

In Arizona, we had our "Spring" season over a month ago, and now, the temperatures have already climbed into the triple digits.

In Iowa, however, the season is definitely "Spring". The apple blossoms are in full bloom. The violet lilac flowers have opened and are spreading their sweet fragrance. Fresh (and freshly picked) rhubarb pie and asparagus casserole are the dishes of the season. The little green rows of baby corn have emerged through the black soil. And my family just finished planting the last bean fields (Yay! It's always a relief when the crops are in).

I am reminded of the "Spring" season in Arizona a month and a half ago. I love the Spring, and this year, I was fortunate enough to experience two of them. I want to share my reflections that I wrote in late March about this time in my desert home...

New Moons & New Beginnings: Spring in Arizona

March 26, 2009

I sink into reverie as I awake amidst the morning song of the birds outside of my window. It's the breaking of the day. I love this time. The awakening. The cheerful birds celebrating the dawn and return of light.

This is the time when I feel most open...to the world, to my senses, to possibility. It's the "in between" time...when the peace of what's passed is laid to rest, the opportunity of the day that lays ahead is waiting, and all that's left is the present moment of being...completely open.

It is Spring now. The first new moon was two days ago. I feel my instincts resonate with the season...urging me to plant seeds and grow roots in the wide openness, and watch in awe as the green sprouts emerge and flowers open.

It's the season of possibility. Of planting seeds and growing roots in the "in between".

Every moment there is the chance for birth and for re-birth...to create again or to start anew. To take every part of what was, fully integrate in to what is, and transform into what will be.

It's the dawn of possibility. No wonder I hear the birds celebrate each morning in song.

Pressing "Send"

2009-05-07T22:13:00.000-07:00

"Once I press send, I cannot take it back." The fearful thought runs through my mind.

A simple click of the mouse or a brush with the send button on the cell phone stirs a bit of that internal anxiety of committing to the choice.

And it's so symbolic of life.

Standing on the crossroads...the inner turmoil between what the heart wants to do and what the mind fears doing. The anxious struggle on the inside, the internal chatter that gets louder amidst the unknown. "What path do I take? Will I regret taking this path? Will I miss out? Will I always wonder what lies down the other?"

And then I remember...

I remember to let go and breathe. One breath at a time.

And I remember to open my eyes and step. One step at a time.

How is it that I am here, in this body, walking upon this little blue planet? This little blue planet that has just the right concoction of 21% Oxygen, 78% Nitrogen and miniscule amounts of other gases that resonate perfectly with my body? My body that takes it all in and lets go of what it doesn't need?

We've come a long way since the days of flight or fight, running from tigers and chasing down our dinner. Yet, not so far. The human stress response is still the same. We just have more time to think about the choice. And oftentimes, there is much less gratification in making the choice, since the release of clicking a button does far less for relieving the physical stress response than running from a predator. And so, the anxiety lingers.

Until I step back and remember. I remember to breathe. I remember to go inside, and then to step with courage, honesty, passion and commitment to the path. Because every path is worthy. And every path entails lessons and a perfect concoction for what I need at the present. I cannot control the weather along the way, but I can control who I am and what I do when I come face to face with it and my belief and trust in the greater concoction.

Because in the end, somehow, it all works out. Or, if it hasn't, then maybe it's not the end...if there really is an end.

The journey can be amazingly breathtaking and beautiful, incredibly messy and tragic, blissful and frustrating. Yet through it all, in a grace so often beyond comprehension, evolves the human spirit...and the journey, and the story, and the song and the dance.

Walking the Labyrinth

2008-06-25T22:24:00.000-07:00

Passing through downtown Santa Fe, I walked my first labyrinth at St. Francis Cathedral Basilica. The tradition of walking labyrinths dates back farther than 20,000 years, and I've always been curious about the experience.

As I made my way through the repetitious twists and turns, I lost all sense of time and was consumed by an overwhelming sense of presence. It was all I could do to focus on each step. Looking forward or behind made me dizzy. And with every intention being on my next step, there was no room for my mind to wander in thought.

The walkers were of all ages. We kept time and step with each other, all walking one path, to the heart of the labyrinth and back out again.

Looking from the outside, it seems a bit daunting--the circles encircled by circles connected by passageways. I had mistakenly thought it was like a "maze." But that is not true. There is one lone path. And on it, you are never lost--for it all leads to the same place and back out again.

Very symbolic of life. It is no wonder people have walked labyrinths for centuries both in grief and celebration...a communal portal to "being." I would've thought that in the last 20,000 years, we would have some how evolved to have that "being" down by now...but in our multi-tasking, cyber-searching and cell phone talking, it's so easy to walk along dazed in the buzzing and beeping and ringing and clicking. It seems we still need a tool to help transport us into the moment.

And thus, the medicine of the labyrinth...walking the twists and turns, passing through the ebb and flow, a sense of togetherness, each step in presence...a sacred ritual and human-made passageway, mimicking the patterns of nature, leading us "home."

Communing in the Muse-ic

2008-05-06T00:33:00.001-07:00

It takes a village to build a music career.

(L to R: Mary, DD, Amber, Michelle, & Nancy)

Here's the Tucson-gang post our (or my) performance at Weststock (Woodstock re-hashed at the Westward Look Resort in the desert, as opposed to Yasgur's Farm). I got the privilege of being the "folk-singer" for the evening, which seemed to be quite the appropriate title since I got to sing and share music with a bunch of "folks".

Speaking of "folks", the picture above is of the "folks" who travel with me from the West to the East, coming to my shows, hauling my gear, air-brushing t-shirts, selling tickets, hanging posters, and memorializing the musical journey through their time and talent creating art, photography and videography.

I am continually amazed at the community that muse-ic brings together.

Is it the common vision? Is it a metaphysical phenomenon--everyone connecting through the vibration of melody, harmony and rhythm? Music transcends time, distance and language. A good song survives through decades, and ancient drumming seems to course through our most primal vein. Tones and rhythmic vibrations can inspire deep meditation and healing. We use music, song and chanting in our diverse spiritual practices. Sound waves have the potential to travel into infinity.

What type of butterfly effect(s) do we create through our sound, through our music?

We, as a human species, seem to be drawn to it (the music, that is); and in cases like me, I crave it. I used to think it was an obsession. But now I realize that it's my way of commune-icating, sharing my soul and making a path in this world.

As I learned folk songs from the 60's, I realized that a lot of them incorporated minor keys such as Em and Am. Communing with songs of the past allowed me to feel a connection to the artists who created them, almost like a sacred communion through time and space. The messages are Universal - struggle, hope, war, release, and faith that one day "we shall overcome."

I find it very interesting that the Native American flutes are also created in minor keys. It seems that this type of "sound" resonates very deeply on a soul level. This "sound" seems to symbolize all those Universal feelings and messages that the folk-singers of the 60's commune-icated, the same themes that still run through our society today.

For thousands of years, humans (folks) have been brought together by creating muse-ic through drumming, tones, melodies and chanting in cadence.

Maybe it was our first language...before the spoken word. And maybe it still is the primary language of creatures like whales, birds, wolves and crickets.

Obviously, we crave that sense of community and communion--Commune-icating through tones, rhythm, and messages in cadence. Through this, we open to each other. And somehow, the music connects us ("folks") in a way that transcends the illusion of separation - whether it be differing viewpoints, cultures or lifestyles.

That was the magic of the original Woodstock. 500,000 people. Not enough water, food or bathroom facilities. Everyone had to work together for a common purpose.

And amidst the weekend of communing in hardship, there was music...and there was peace.

I am honored to be on this path. And I am honored to be part of this community--as we strive to open our hearts, connect with each other and build commune-ity through the muse-ic.

Emerging

2008-04-03T21:26:00.000-07:00

I love Spring...The return of sun. Days growing longer. Bright yellow sage flowers and the brilliant orange of Ocotillo blooms emerging. The chatter of birds growing louder. Doves flirting with each other upon brick walls; and the quail preparing their low-bush spring hide-outs awaiting new family members. The turkey vultures are back, the hawks are pairing up, and the lizards have crawled out of their holes. There is enough warmth to stir the movement of cold-blooded creatures and coax Spring out of her winter slumber.

Dancing in the Grey

2008-02-06T00:35:00.001-08:00

It's winter in the desert. Snowy mountains, temperatures dipping into the low 30's in the evening. Rainy, windy, grey days. All a good sign that the slowly melting snow on the mountains in the Spring may raise the draught-stricken water table.

I like the cool and the calm. It's definitely different than the summer months that are filled with 100+ degree (F) temps, road rage and buzzing insects. The vibration is lower.

Yet, amidst the cold and the grey, the hummingbirds still dance in joy over winter nectar...a daily celebration of sweetness and abundance.

A meaningful dollar

2008-02-01T10:57:00.000-08:00

At a coffee shop show a few weeks ago, a man got up after one of my tunes, dug into his pocket and pulled out a one dollar bill. He looked at me and said, "I don't have much, but I want to give this to you." I remember wondering as I saw him sitting there, if he lived on the street. I could tell by his appearance that he didn't "have much." My first instinct when he pulled out that dollar bill was to say, "no, please keep it."

But I didn't.

I realized that this may be one of the most meaningful dollars that I would ever receive. It came with intention and from the heart of someone who truly wanted to show his appreciation. And, why would I want to reject a gift that someone so earnestly wanted to give? That would be egotistical and judgmental of me, and it would stop the flow of energy.

One of things that I've been learning in this musical journey is about the circle of energy. The giving and the receiving. The opening. The letting out of what I have to offer and the letting in of those who receive and appreciate the offering. It's a lesson in opening and connection, meaning and intention.

And sometimes it feels like a direct line to Divinity.

the in-between

2008-01-12T19:40:00.000-08:00

The time of in-between. The lingering light of a setting sun. Domingo Batista, a phenomenal photographer from the Dominican Republic, calls the in-between the "tiempo de luz" or the time of light. He told me that during the dusk and dawn, many souls pass from this life to the next. He also said that these moments are the best time of day to capture a photograph.

Indeed, something about this time of in-between feels peaceful and resonates on a deep level. I must not be the only one to experience it, as I see many fellow "believers" of the in-between heading to the canyon, the beach, or the hill to catch the changing light of sunset and sunrise on film or in their memories. Maybe we're all drawn to the beauty, possibility and magic of the in-between.

The orange hue of the setting sun reminds me of the fading light of a glowing ember. Staring at the dwindling glow on a candle wick, I am reminded that energy is never lost, it is only transformed.

Recently, my extended family has experienced significant tragedy and death. These are the painful parts of life's journey--what we inherited with our incarnation and the tough lessons of love. Such things, especially when they feel so out of control and tragic, cause a huge upheaval and toss us directly into the flames of the in-between.

Each moment is a crossroads per se, an opportunity to act, love and be as authentic as possible...so that in the end (or maybe the beginning), we cross through the fire of the in-between with no regrets.

And who knows what we will emerge from the smoke as...

for the butterfly is well-aware of the importance of the in-between.

earthshine

2008-01-11T00:06:00.000-08:00

Here's a little amber-perspective of the moon tonight as I walked the dogs at sunset. I love the winter season in the desert. The dark looming night sky, Orion with his bright star-lit belt perched above me, and the glorious sight of "earthshine" on the crescent moon. Just a little reminder that light emerges from the darkness, and that it knows no boundaries...

During this season in Alaska, the Northern Lights blaze green over the white horizon. And instead of Orion, the 7 bright stars of the Big Dipper shine in plain sight in the middle of the night sky. It's dog-mushing time there. One's breath crystallizes in the air, and the winter moon reflects the sun's bedtime light upon snowy land.

Down here, I have to scan the edge of the northern sky to find the faintly lit Big Dipper on the horizon.

It's just a little change in perspective...

Not enough though, to change the way the water swirls down the toilet. Speaking (or writing) of which, someday I hope to make it to the Southern Hemisphere so I can experience the magnetic pull of the south pole first hand. I'm wondering if, like swirling toilet water, it would change my dreams at night--maybe they would go backwards, like a video rewinding in my head.

On that tangent, I got a new video camera for Christmas (thanks, Mom & Dad!!). When I make it South, I'll bring it with me, and video the toilet water swirling down the drain the opposite direction that it does on my hemisphere. And then, of course, post it on YouTube.

We're almost like 'light' these days, quickly losing (transcending?) boundaries amidst the surging waves of technology. Definitely, our cyber-travels, satellites and cell phone towers are weaving us together beyond what once were geographical boundaries.

Another change in perspective...

And now we know the Earth is round, and that us Earthlings walk on a planet that orbits the Sun. Back in the day, I might have been scared to cross the hemispheres, fearing the edge (and never have known about the physics of swirling toilet water); or I would've been a believer of heliocentrism and my head would have been on someone's chopping block.

Either way, it's nice to be in the 21st Century where knowledge is power...

At least, for people like me who have access to it and live in a society that values freedom and diversity.

One day, maybe that perspective will change too.

On this beautiful Winter's Eve, with the light from the Southern Hemisphere reflected on the other side of the crescent moon that I see lingering above the southwestern horizon (from my perspective, of course :-)...I wish you peace and light.

Traipsing through the Winter Wonderland...

2007-12-09T01:46:00.000-08:00

I returned to the Midwest during this past week. The single digit temps and snowy cover brought back a wealth of nostalgia. There's something about the snowy, frigid Northland that evokes warm memories of growing up in the Midwest and my early years in Alaska. I'm overcome with an appreciation for gas (and corn-burning) stoves, rosy cheeks, working defrosters, running water and draining sewer pipes... I remember my first winter in Alaska-- frozen pipes and emptying honeybuckets during the winter months. We couldn't have done it that year without friends and a supportive community.

It is such a convenience to flush a toilet and ride in warmth on clear highways during my winter travels.

We had wonderful shows in Omaha and NW Iowa. A huge thank you to the venues--The Tasting Room (Omaha, NE), the Unity Church of Omaha, Music Connection (Spencer, IA), Shaky Tree Coffee (Spencer, IA), Lil' Swan Lake Winery & Billie James (Estherville, IA). Also, a tremendous thanks to everyone- family to friends- who helped out with lodging, transportation, setting up and promoting. Thank you to Michelle Maliniak for accompanying me on trumpet, back-up vocals and bits of percussion. And last, but certainly not least, thank you to everyone who came out to support the shows and my music. I certainly could not be doing this without all of you.

I am often awe-struck by the incredible community that music brings together. I am honored to be part of this journey.