Winter now

Winter now and all the clouds do fly. Winter now as I awaken by and by. Water calls me dreams of Spring, Winter whispers no relief. Four hours a week I see my children, hope to increase that soon. Hope to live to joy and freedom, past this thick wall of vengeance.

Little Things

The daylight, the moonlight, the cars between the lines all spin me adrift. My resilient children liven me up like nothing else, but spirits fall when our short visits end, such are separations in this beautiful cruel world. Turns out 10,000 oceans of tears ain't really that many, that I didn't know what I was getting into, that sorrow cuts deeper than imagination foresaw. Laughing away nightmares has become difficult, dusk seems more a scary movie than ever. Thought this post might pump me up, help me project a positive vibration, but more work required.

Keeping it together, to dream happy

Good feelings drift out there, under the waves, along those long country roads, in the soothing tones of friends voices. Harvesting growth and simple joys I listen to the spin of tires, songs of birds and crickets, sounds of the woods at night. The pains of mind and body make their endless circuit around me, coming and going, and looming large then small in comparison. Sleep blesses me with happy dreams sometimes, challenges me with stressful nightmares others. I just went from The Grapes of Wrath into Tobacco Road. The book's not as funny as the movie, but it helps the time pass in an oddly uplifting way.

Been seeing my kids three times/week for awhile now. I would like to spend vastly more time than that ~10-hours or less with them, but it appears that for awhile I will see them even less. Life passes both quickly and slowly, but our visits end too soon. I see that they will join me ever again as long as I maintain my health and wits and life energy. That means working, excercising, sleeping, meditating, and eating with as much vim as I can muster. All those things are precious, and help me remain present for the next time with my darlings, not just my kids but all the wonderful people in my circle of love.

Paper Airplanes

A thought, some words, abstractions of a glimmer once upon a time. I yearn to sing the body electric, enjoy life, spread love, but these simple pleasures elude me with ever more expert finesse, or perhaps I elude them. The smell of pine trees, the feel of water all around me, dancing, cycling, where drift they now? Good moods and positive outlooks grace us sometimes just for a moment, other times longer, but forever lies now, and I thrash these words with vigor hoping for a better now, smiling at a tolerable presence.

Saw my children today, which felt terrific. We played hide and go seek at a local playground, swung on the swings, made and flew paper airplanes, played catch, had snacks, and did some drawing, all in 2 hours and 20 minutes. Blessings upon blessings truly, and time well spent.

The Dark Days of Summer

Feeling intense longing for my children. I know they miss me too, which is the hardest part. Dear spouse has been consistently preventing me from seeing them, though the court ordered 10-hours/week of visits. So far I've had 6-hours and 20-minutes total over two visits, out of 35-hours and 11 visits intended. This is the darkest Summer that I've ever known, full of tears and nightmares trying to teach me something. I try to see through the all consuming sadness, but 10,000 oceans of tears blind me. Friends offer words and hugs I need and love, but the fact remains that I am separated from my wonderful children.

My son turned 7 yesterday, but I could not call him, see him, send him a card, nor send him a message of any kind. That's a world of pain, especially since yesterday was a Thursday, and Thursday is one of my court ordered days to see him and his sister. Father's Day has never been so painful either. I would accept just about anyone as a supervisor, but their mom rejects all suggestions, suggests no one. I love her, wish her peace and happiness, am crushed by the way this is going down. Even as I write this I know that we will rise again, meet again, have happy times. Peace to all the good loving parents separated from their children. Angels in heaven and on earth we need your mercy and love now.

The Process

out of direction, out of streets to drive down for the first time. Haven't written much creative lately, and I feel the pent up insanity slapping slimy old cold fish against the backs of my knees, can't wake up, bloated, green, and covered with a hundred kinds of crabs and flies. Inspiration! Problem solving! Problems that used to baffle me! Conjuring intuition. These are but a few of the benefits of spitting what ought to be spit. Swallowing that black lung butter I hack up daily ain't good for a digestive tract; got to spit it out, in an appropriate place.

Listening to Robert Goulet croon Ave Maria; loving it with the setting sun. Not even five yet, golly is November good for activities best done under cover of night.

Night People, hanging out, talking 'bout "Day People" - they don't know what it's all about.

I'd Flap My Wings

Zimming calm down El Sobrante's main drag this morning, on my way to Richmond, to drop off my darling 3-year old; she busts out with: "If I was a bird I'd flap my wings". If I were a thousand year old thought-dream I'd sing the body electric, zap.

Chamomile Harvest

First year we planted a vegetable garden. Planted chamomile as a border and it came out great. Turns out that the boy just loves harvesting - kale, chamomile, tomatoes, potatoes, squash, corn, you name it, his joy shines so bright I have to wear dark glasses. Darling daughter likes it too, of course, but the garden started as mainly a father-son project so she just gets in on the good parts. My dad allegedly once told me spouse that I didn't know how good I had it. Sometimes I wonder.

Listening to Funkadelic and loving it, sweaty from too much caffeine.

Turtles Replace Television

As you can see from the photo, turtles have replaced our television. The TV died peacefully in it's sleep, and was laid to rest in a quaint but charming trip to who cares. The turtles provide at least as much entertainment value, and have a longer expected lifespan. Similar to myself, turtles do not age.

Having a two-year old daughter to interact with makes me feel rich.

Smelled the rain this morning and it woke something up in me that hasn't been awake in a long while. Gripped with intense impulse to ride my bike through puddles, drink rain as it falls in my mouth turned to the sky, ignore the discomfort of wet clothes as they bind.

Feels Like Autumn 2008

I stepped out onto our rear deck late yesterday afternoon, just in time to watch our table with the umbrella blow slow across the lawn. The brisk air had a particular vigorous energy to it that really could wake a fellow up. I turned my face into it, sniffed & smiled, felt the October Country calling early, time for walks in graveyards, those last cheap nectarines. Cold but not too cold, the kids shrieked with glee as they ran around with the wind in the fog.

The boy started kindergarten. He loves it. Feels like a sure enough new era.

The Pink Flowers Smell After All

When we inherited our yard it was sprinkled happily with a drought resistant and prolific soft pink flowered annual, pretty little things with lots of green leaves and pert yellow triple-stamens. At some point in my life I decided that most pink flowers don't smell, and always have thought that of these pink flowers. So, as my darling daughter picked one while lounging on her plastic future-vehicle last dusk, and then went to smell it, I looked down and said "Oh, those pink flowers don't have a smell Darling".

"Yes they do smell." she whispered, and handed me the blossom, which had a most divine fragrance. Never too late to discover this type of thing, so packed with delight and simplicity. Right when I'm reading a book on using flower essences for transformation too, my aromatic allies rippling through summer, breathing life into the almost dead, cutting out old wormy wood, communing with the water spirits at dawn with goony grins. I take the form of a lion-man, massive mane, my tail whips, now that's living.

Patented Burrito Therapy

Little Loola has begun to show more than a little motherly love, and you know, forget about that brotherly and otherly love (sang Zappa), come on and give me some of that good old motherly love. We had just washed Mabel's (all the baby dolls are named Mabel, don't ask me why) hair with real shampoo with built-in conditioner, and you see her here receiving our patented burrito therapy. Taking this photo, I really did almost feel like a grandparent for a vague minute, eery time travelin'.

Been drinking some darn fine cups of tea lately, but it turns out that sometimes nothing beats chamomile, Peter Rabbit.

O Death, O Death, Won't You Spare Me Over Til Another Year

The world is a sacred vessel, which must
not be tampered with or grabbed
after.
To tamper with it is to spoil it, and to
grasp it is to lose it.
In fact, for all things there is a time for
going ahead, and a time for following
behind;
A time for slow-breathing and a time for
fast-breathing;
A time to grow in strength and a time to
decay;
A time to be up and a time to be down.

--excerpted from Lao Tzu's Tao Teh Ching, translated by John C.H. Wu

Back in March 2007, late on an El Sobrante winter afternoon, my mobile phone sent a series of emotionless vibrations into my left thigh. Bret's girlfriend Suzie said hello when I picked up the line. I could tell right away that something serious had taken hold of her mind. A jovial mood was busy echoing through our house at the time. We were nearing the end of a birthday party I'd thrown for myself, so before I heard her voice I figured that Bret was calling to wish me a happy birthday, but that wasn't it. Rhabdomyosarcoma, a sinus tumor, behind the left eye, a sizable mass of cells gone wrong that had his left eye bulging half-way out of his aching head. Bret had been asking me for advice with regards to a persistent sinus infection that he and his physician had thought he had for the couple months prior to that. The alleged sinus infection had been puzzling me because the treatments that I prescribed had no effect, and I'm somewhat of an expert on sinus infections due to my own painful experiences. The "infection" did not respond, of course, because it was cancer, scary, kills-you-dead cancer.

I kept my party face on for the rest of the afternoon, but afterwards the malignant enormity stunned me deep. My only other friend that had shown up with a giant cancerous tumor, Paul, his was in his thigh, a grapefruit-sized melanoma, died within about a year. Bret was scared and full of pride, didn't want to tell anyone, which is why Suzie called. They had moved to New Mexico from Oakland a few months previous, and had a son in December 2006. Bret & Suzie got married in a New Mexico hospital later that March. They moved back to California, got a place near Suzie's mom's house in Merced, and started treatment at UCSF, arguably the most advanced cancer treatment center around. The doctors told Suzie early on that Bret's cancer was in stage four of four, and that their goal was to improve the quality of the remainder of his life rather than provide a cure. They advised her not to tell Bret any of this, lest it freak him out, which I thought was weird, but I'm not an oncologist, so who's to say. Just like the doctors said it would, the sickness got worse, worse, and more worse. The sinus tumor shrank, but a hot spot in his pancreas flared up, and then it strangled his spinal cord, paralyzing him from the waist down, which is where the salt water refuses to stay in my eyes, very painful even to contemplate. Bret was a strong athlete and profoundly graceful capoeira artist. I recall a time that the police arrested him but could not get his hands behind his back. He had his arms out like Jesus on the cross, and two burly San Francisco police officers, boots & knees dug into his back, muscles straining, sweating profusely, could not bend those big tattooed arms, not even a little bit. That damned rhabdomyosarcoma, usually a childhood cancer (it accounts for more than half of the soft tissue sarcomas in children), sucked the strength out of him like no cop ever could, like a vampire from hell.

Suzie called me yesterday afternoon. Bret had not woken up for more than 24-hours, and had been unable to speak for at least a day before he lost consciousness. His breathing became rapid and stressed early yesterday morning, so she pulled him onto her lap and held him close. The fast breathing gradually changed to slow breathing, and the slow breathing got slower, and slower, and even slower, until stillness settled into that space. Suzie kept holding him, cradling him, and loving him with all her might, for another three-hours. By that time all the warmth had left his body, death hovered in the Central Valley air, and morning was on it's way to an afternoon overflowing with tears.

One time I loaned Bret a bicycle, my old Fuji Special Road Racer, and we rode from my old flat on 29th Street near Noe, right across the Golden Gate bridge, through Sausalito, and out to the beach at Tennessee Valley. Bret complained about the long distance, but we had a rollicking time. When we were having fun we flew like kids, laughed like hyperactive teenagers, drank hard (back when I drank), told each other stories like long lost brothers fresh home from the war. Bless those good times.

We discussed death and the dying process a good amount, when Suzie wasn't around to get upset about it. Bret & I shared huge love & respect for death & dying, talked freely about how the final time might be. We decided that the best thing would be to instill as much grace and charisma into his dying as he could, to set an example, and to feel that we'd each done what we could. It worked out swell in that regard. Bret made me feel proud and happy the way he died, cool as a cucumber, exuding much love, that's my brother, my friend, my blood. You did it Bret! You stayed strong and kind, ever true. I hope to be cool like that when my time comes.

O, Death
O, Death
Won't you spare
me over til
another year
Well what is this
that I can't see
With ice cold
hands takin' hold
of me
Well I am death,
none can excel
I'll open the
door to heaven
or hell
Whoa, death
someone would
pray
Could you wait
to call me
another day
The children
prayed, the
preacher
preached

Time and mercy
is out of your
reach
I'll fix your feet
til you can't walk
I'll lock your jaw
til you can't talk
I'll close your
eyes so you
can't see
This very air,
come and go
with me
I'm death I
come to take
the soul
Leave the body
and leave it cold
To draw up the
flesh off of the
frame
Dirt and worm
both have a
claim
O, Death
O, Death
Won't you spare
me over til
another year
My mother came
to my bed
Placed a cold
towel upon my
head
My head is warm
my feet are cold
Death is a-movin
upon my soul
Oh, death how
you're treatin' me
You've closed my
eyes so I can't
see
Well you're
hurtin' my body
You make me cold
You run my life
right outta my
soul
Oh death please
consider my age
Please don't
take me at this
stage
My wealth is all
at your
command
If you will move
your icy hand
Oh the young,
the rich or poor
Hunger like me
you know
No wealth, no
ruin, no silver no
gold
Nothing satifies
me but your
soul
O, death
O, death
Won't you spare
me over til
another year
Won't you spare
me over til
another year
Won't you spare
me over til
another year"

--Ralph Stanley's O Death

Snake!

Siobahn's heel came within about an inch of the tail of this precious baby rattlesnake in Kennedy Grove Regional Recreation Area, about five minutes from my house. It lay right in the main walking part of a fairly well used trail, apparently digesting a recent rodent snack. I grabbed a stick and proceeded to convince the snake that the bushes off the trail were a better spot to hang out. Mr. Rattlesnake's response was to quickly coil up and begin to rattle. As soon as my boy heard that rattle rattle he dropped Siobahn's hand and lit out as fast as ever I've heard him run (I wasn't about to take my eyes off that snake!). The snake uncoiled and slithered snakily away, with a pattern and motion that would send shivers down the backs of innocent men, if such a phenomenon were to exist.

Oddly enough, my dad also saw a rattlesnake that day, near Sonora, while riding the Sierra Century (12,000' of climbing, go Pops!). His was a big old thing, four feet or so, while ours was but a ~15" babe, with a wee little baby tongue that tasted the air for what seemed like very long times. Omens & auspices, snakes & eagles, I lead a goddess blessed charmed miracle life wonderful beyond my wildest dreams. One afternoon I watched a rainbow from the pool. A few nights later bats gave a stunning performance above the pool with a magnificent crescent sinking through the pines, wheelies on motorcycles, swimming from Alcatraz to San Francisco, life feels me caressing.

Play Johnny

The other night a short time after I came home from work I found myself selecting some music to play on my .mp3 player. At the same time little Sister cried and tugged at my shirt tails wanting me to pick her up. Since selecting music takes two hands, I sat down and invited her, now barely two-years old, to help me pick the tunes. She watched attentively as I scrolled through the inscrutable rows of text, for a few seconds anyway, before boldly stating "Johnny, play Johnny."

"Johnny Cash?" I asked, somewhat surprised.

"Yes, Johnny Cash, play Johnny Cash." So I did, marvelling the whole time at how naturally she had selected the artist, a born DJ. We danced, laughed, carried on, tasty slices of musketeer life.

Boy Sings Prine

The boy has taken to singing various Prine Songs, but the one you see below was his first. So strange to hear him try it, alone in the kitchen, unprompted, in his skinny 4-year old child's voice, especially the first time. John Prine is one of the artists that the wife & I share the most love for, so the 59 Prine songs in our collection get a lot of play. Gumbo appears to be using my award-winning karoake strategy of starting with slow songs without too many words.

The heat wave feels plenty hot, burn the tar out of you feet Jamaican sand hot, and I do love it so.

If You Don't Want My Love ©John Prine & Phil Spector

If you don't want my love
If you don't want my love
If you don't want my love
I know who
I'll give it to
If you don't want my love
If you don't want my love
If you don't want my love
anymore.

If you don't want the thrill
If you don't want the thrill
If you don't want the thrill
I know who
I know who will
If you don't want my love
If you don't want my love
If you don't want my love
anymore.

If that's the way that the world goes round
then that's the way
that it all comes down
and when you want me
I won't be around
If you don't want my love
If you don't want my love
If you don't want my love
I know who
I'll give it to
If you don't want my love
If you don't want my love
If you don't want my love
anymore.

Fun With Water at Night

Oh sure, we're all familiar with hose fun in the day when it's nice and warm, but what about that underexplored world of fun with water on fifty-something degree nights? I said no at first, but the looks on their faces proved too much for me to argue with. Glad I did, because they had a veritable boatload of fun together. I watched in amazement, my wool trenchcoat wrapped snug around.

Took Gumbo for a haircut the next day. After the cut we checked out the Bone Room in Albany, where they have many bones, fossils, and taxidermied fauna. Bought him a sucker with a cricket in it. Even though the sucker turned out to be mint flavored, one of his least favorite flavors, he ate it steady until able to bite off the head of the cricket, at which point he said that I could have the rest. It's in a bag waiting to be discarded, on top of the fridge.

"He who knows does not speak.
He who speaks does not know.

Block all the passages!
Shut all the doors!
Blunt all edges!
Untie all tangles!
Harmonize all lights!
Unite the world into one whole!
This is called the Mystical Whole,
Which you cannot court after nor shun,
Benefit nor harm, honour nor humble."

from Lao Tzu's Tao Teh Ching, translated by John C. H. Wu

Dogsleeping

The boy has become quite a dogsleeper, practicing for his upcoming raising by wolves. We have evaluated several boarding schools as well as a few packs of wolves, and it looks like wolves are the best choice all around. But seriously, who did "let the dogs out"?

After a Hard Night

You see her now, almost 2 years old, come home after her first night on the town with Poppy, like father like daughter.

Berkeley Steam Trains March 2008

The children have managed to retain their enthusiasm for the steam trains. That is the boy's "trying to be good, hands together" pose. The whole thing is just unimaginably exciting for them. Bubba & I had fun too.