In front of the John Lennon Wall in Prague.




Tuesday, August 23, 2016

Sunday, August 21, 2016

Bali Haiku 2


small women carry
whole world of wares on their heads 
smiling as they walk

Saturday, August 20, 2016

Bali Haiku 1

August 29, 2016

motor bikes carry
families students bundles
life rolls on two wheels








Tuesday, August 16, 2016

Slice of Life: While in Bali

This summer I was fortunate to go on a two week writing retreat/tour in Bali under the guidance by writing/writing coach Laura DavisJudy Slattum and Made Surya of Danu Tours,  with healer and movement teacher Evelyn Hall.

I have dreamed of going to Bali for years. This tour was a wonderful way to experience such a special place. The following comes from one of the daily writing sessions on the trip: 


While in Bali I saw women lighting incense in their daily offerings, showing their deep connection to the spirit. I saw many smiling faces, people who seemed truly happy with life if even for only that moment. While in Bali I saw banana leaves swaying in the wind, bright hanging flowers. I saw hens herding their chicks across roads. I saw motorbikes loaded with families and people carrying great bundles of goods. While I was in Bali I saw dancers of strange beauty and grace dance their steps with tight precision.

While in Bali I heard the roosters crow every morning whether in town or country. I heard greetings: “Selamat pagi” and “hallo” from everyone I met. I heard “Terima kasih” and “same sama" for each small kindness. While in Bali I heard the rustle of palm leaves and the sharp pounding of rain on the roof. I heard the cooing of brown doves and the sharp cries of birds I had never met before. I heard the chak, chak of the kecak monkey chorus and tickling gamelan music. I heard priests chant at dawn each morning.

While in Bali I smelled the sweet scent of flowers at night:  plumeria blooms, jasmine and bougainvillea. I smelled the pungent odor of decaying offerings and onions frying in the kitchen at noon. I smelled the mildew of fabric that won’t dry in the humid air. While in Bali I smelled chili and lemongrass and ginger in broth. I smelled coffee brewing and chocolate being made. While hiking through the Balinese countryside. I smelled manure and cows and pigs. I smelled wet moss on cold stone steps.

While in Bali I tasted the stickiness of palm sugar, the taste of fresh unsweetened coconut. I tasted peanut sauce and ginger and garlic, the ever present nutty tempe. While snorkeling in Bali I tasted the salt of ocean water on lips. I tasted shrimp crackers and nasi goreng and nasi campur and mei goreng. I tasted cacao seeds and clove flowers picked from trees.

While in Bali I felt the trickle of sweat down my back and cool mountain breezes.  I felt a deep wonder at the richness of this small island. While in Bali I felt a deep stillness in my heart. I felt rain pour over me and waded through puddles up to my ankles. While in Bali I felt the earth under my bare feet. I felt the rhythm of dance.

While I in Bali I met Balinese writers and dancers and artists of all kinds. I met children who played music for us, and women who took care of us. I met drivers who steered us to where we needed to go. I met the stars in the dark sky at night. I met geckos and large brown butterflies and wasps the size of birds. I met huge snails that ate hibiscus flowers from my outdoor bathroom.


 
While in Bali I was reminded that how I live is not the only way. I was reminded to dance and sing, to live in my whole body instead of just in my head. I was reminded of the importance of meeting new people and opening myself to those around me. I was reminded to go out into nature and shake off the dust of cities. I was reminded of how good it feels to go barefoot and to stop worrying about dirty feet. While I was in Bali I was reminded of how important traditions and art can be, how it feels to live in a community that cares for one another.


















While in Bali, I learned how importance of the cycle of life and death. I learned what it means for people to live surrounded by symbols of their spirit. While in Bali I learned I might be persuaded to believe in reincarnation if I could stay here long enough. I learned to love this place of great beauty as well as great trouble, of hordes of tourists and quiet rice fields, of brightly colored flowers and great piles of trash. I learned to go down a river on a raft, tie a sarong and listen to prayers without understanding a word. I learned to trust the politeness of those around me. While I in Bali I learned to sit still and let my senses open wide.

Notes: nasi means rice
          nasi goreng is fried rice
          nasi campur is rice with many small dishes
          mei goreng is fried noodles
          selamat page means good morning
          terima kasih means thank you
          sama sama is you're welcome

Sunday, July 17, 2016

Bali here I come

After a year of planning, I'm finally on my way to Bali to write with Laura Davis and a crew of unknown writing buddies. First leg of the trip is done. I love Cathay Pacific - I actually had enough leg room to sleep for a few hours. 

I have a 4 hour layover but there is a Starbucks across from where I'm waiting. At times like these I find it difficult to criticize global capitalism. 

Tuesday, June 21, 2016

Slice of Life Tuesday: Solitude and Sadness

Today after I drove my friend, Ruth to the airport, "Claire de Lune" came on the radio. I've always found this piece by Debussy to be sweetly melancholy, and today it was the perfect music for my mood.

Now I sit in my house alone with just my own thoughts and notebook for company. I've looked forward to this solitude. The promise of this time got me through the last hectic weeks of work before summer vacation, of tying up the loose ends of the school year. But now that I have what I wanted, I wish my friend had not left.

Just a week ago at this time I was in Sea Ranch on the Northern California coast in a funky rental house on the edge of the Pacific Ocean. Two of my writer friends shared this house with me. Down the road, two other houses, both filled with other friends. Nine women who had come together for our annual writer retreat. That whole week the presence of my friends surrounded my writing with love.

I remember the first time I went to camp when I was 10. I was nervous and apprehensive the whole long drive up to the campgrounds. I didn't know anyone and wasn't sure what to expect. Then it turned out to be such a glorious experience. When my parents came to pick me up after the week was over, I cried all the way home in the car. Every time I leave Sea Ranch, I think of that long-ago car ride.

Today I don't feel quite as bereft as that 10-year-old girl.  Just a little sad.  I guess it's to be expected, coming down from the exuberance of this year's experience of what my sister calls Poetry Camp. As all of us have flown off to our private corners, I am grateful for the flurry of texting, photos and emails we've sent each other. We find it hard to let go sometimes.

I know we will stay in touch over the year, but it's not the same as sitting around the table laughing and eating, writing together, or listening to each other read new work. Nothing can replace that shared community.  I'll have to wait until next June for that.