Words from a dream…

Return of the Stone Giants

In flesh and bone and gold



Radiant monsters.

To destroy the old stories

And pave the way for the Golden Seeds

Clear Stones

New Foundation

No revolution

Sneaky sneaky reGenesis

Undercover Renaissance

Hidden in plain sight.


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I wake exhausted.

I rise.

They call my name.

I have no voice, no legs.

I rise.

Crows above. Fire below.

I rise.

Dragons in the clouds.

Half remembered dreams.

I rise.


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Every once in a while I get that feeling like I’m about to meet an old friend… What an interesting day…

Work in progress. SONY DSC

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creative evolutionary fandango


The Tao Of Brother T

In the beginning

Jah created the heavens

And the Vibe

With one snap of her fingers

Allah set in motion

One big fucking bang

New entities sprouted

From the Tree of Life

And with a wave of the hand

Jehovah sprinkled the earth

With beings large and small

In tune with Mother Nature

I’m not getting

Into the argument

Of creationism versus evolution

It’s all one God to me

creative evolutionary fandango

First sentient beings

Lucy’s Ethiopian earth tribe

Climb down from trees

Walk on two legs

And evolve creatively

Paint original Sistine chapels

On the domes of their caves

Symphonized orchestration

With sticks and stones and skins and bones

and most of all

Musical laughter

epiphanies of imagination

Creating one great human vibe

Fast forward

Three and a half million years

To the new earth tribe

The Eternal Vibe

Continuing the tradition

Of rhythms and rhymes

Percussive discussion


View original post 54 more words

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It’s no use to eviscerate myself.
No one leaves till the job is done.
Metal rails, wet stone, leaves in the air.
The morning dew glistens gold in the sunrise.

Exhale me in soft shoes like warm brown leather.
Warm the stones with your cheek.
Let me see you through the birds’ eyes
And sing you to sleep with their songs.

The dance of the leaf on the wind echoes through the cosmos.


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Naked in Public.

So… I’ve been journaling for a while in the mornings… I made a rule for myself that I’m not allowed to write about events of the day or “real life feelings”… just word blobs.

And then a friend made me interested in poetry again.

And then another friend made me interested in doing things that feel scary…

So… in the interest of all of that, here’s a couple days’ worth of journal entries, unedited, from my private book:

You raise the dead.
I lick the tears from your eyes.
Splitting hairs as the world falls down… Our stolen moments like papercuts, exquisitely agonizing.
I can’t take my eyes from the scars on your back.
This leaking house, this bleeding heart, cracks in a blanket, lighting up my little room.

Your hands are shaking
Stomach trembles
Muscles release, strung with gold.
Rasputin sings the Fool’s eternal song
Golden puppets dance.
Dance for me.


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Who Do You Think You Are?

Mother, Father, Sister, Brother, Friend, Teacher, Child, Parent, Seeker, Preacher, Singer, Poet, Creator, Destroyer, Dreamer…

One of the most interesting quandaries of human life, for me, is the idea of identity. Who the hell do you think you are? And why do we expect identity to be constant, stable?

“Because people need to be able to trust you!”

Well sure. I will continue to be a mother until I die. I will continue to be a wife. When I say I will continue to be a child, though, an interesting twinge appears.

A part of me will always be my parents’ child. I strive daily to maintain a childlike joy in life and in creativity, but my body ages. My mind ages. My ideas change. So am I a child or not? Ask my mom. Ha!

People get nervous when someone changes fast. It hits us right in the amygdala. Our brains are hard-wired to resist change. I remember the look on my then boyfriend’s face when I cut my thigh-length hair off to a chin length bob while he was out one night… I think he thought it was me cutting off our relationship… Fortunately, he’s become accustomed to my behavior…

You can count on a person’s core most of the time, but expecting them to hold the lines of expected identity is a horse of a different color. Even giving them the freedom for change, whether they take it or not, makes humans happier, healthier creatures. Change is inevitable, after all.

Do you trust me?

Onward and upward
As always, with love


Things We Held.

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Tonight’s the Night

One of my favorite ways to spend an evening is painting to live music. Every once in a while, I get to work with some fabulous musician. Wendel Werner, local workaholic, has been gracious enough to share his stage with me a couple of times before. Tonight, we’ll give it one more shot.

People frequently ask me how I can be sure that I’ll finish a painting in two hours.

“Don’t you plan what you’re going to paint?”
No. Not at all. My “safety net” is in bringing more than one board to paint on… I just paint and see what “works out” as I go, enjoying the music and the energy in the room.

“How can you charge so much when it only took you two hours to paint two paintings?”       Well… Before I bring the boards on stage, there is a lot of work to do.

First, I prime the boards on front and back.  Then I add texturing materials. Once those are on, the board requires between two and four more coats of paint just to ensure good adhesion and no “white spots” that I might not notice in the relatively low lighting on stage.  Many hours of work go into preparing the boards so they’ll be ready to accept whatever comes to me on stage.

“Will you sell them to the audience at the end?”

I will, but before I let the piece go home with anyone, I do need to bring it back to the studio, make sure the edges are all still nice and black, attach hanging wire (if desired), and title/sign the back.

So now, my boards are primed. My easel is ready. My family is waiting, and I’m going out to lunch.  See you tonight!

Here’s a clip from our first performance in January of 2016.

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Don’t tell me it will be alright.

Don’t tell me this doesn’t affect my life.

Don’t tell me not to be mad.

Don’t tell me not to find peace.

When I see a problem, I’m compelled, like water flowing downstream, to try to fix it. I see dirty dishes, I want to clean them. I hear a crying child, I want to hug it.  I see a massive problem in society, I want to put it back to rights…

So now is just like every other day in my life in some way… I’ve always been agonized by the screaming of oppressed humanity.  The fact that it’s a little closer to home right now doesn’t change the fact that humans are really horrible to each other a lot of the time. (See:The Inquisition, WWI, WWII, etc, etc, etc).

I see all these images of hate speech in public all of a sudden… and I feel more tension in public a lot of the time… but I have to fight my instinctive reaction to curl up in a ball and hide at home. I can’t do that. I can’t quiver with fear that someone in my family will be attacked for being black or brown or female or otherwise different.  I can’t. I have to do something about it.

But what can I do? Well I have to cling to hope. I have to hold tight to the love in my life and the belief I’ve always held, that we are ALL family. The only way I know to change the world is by being better in my own self. So I am selfish, selfishly clinging to the possible positives that may come. That keeps me painting and singing and smiling at strangers… I’m no expert at being a human, but that’s some small thing I can do.

My smile doesn’t mean I’m blind or stupid or unhurt. It means I’m keeping the faith and trying to live the example I’d like to see reflected in all the eyes I meet.

Onward and upward, dear friends



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A Matter of Security.

If you’ve spent any time around me, you’ve heard me say “Attachment is the trap”. I’ve seen you roll your eyes at me and I’ve fielded the questions…
“Aren’t you attached to your husband/daughter?”
“Aren’t you attached to your body?”

This gets into some tedious wordplay and I kind of feel the need all of a sudden to try to put myself to the task of clarifying my position and the way I deal with attachment.

Firstly, of course I love my family. Of course I want to keep my body alive. My brain is hardwired to make sure those things happen. I have very little choice in the matter – and that’s as it should be. Where I do have choice is in how much weight I put on those loves. Will my clinging to my daughter as her child years melt away make anything any better? Clinging to those moments with tears in my eyes only puts bittersweet all over them when they could be full of more pure joy! I want the memory of pure joy to be clear in my mind when I’m 70 and haven’t held a 4 year old foot in my hand for 35 years. That’s why I work so hard to let go of the bittersweet – the fear of losing what is ABSOLUTELY going away right now like sand through my fingers.

I cannot make her tiny and precious forever. The whole point of raising a child is to help them GO AWAY! If you do it right, maybe you get a continued good relationship… but maybe you don’t. Maybe it’s not even your fault. Life is like that. Accepting that possibility of loss at every turn is really hard. No joke, but if you can let go and just enjoy the hell out of your moment RIGHT NOW, I promise you, it feels like all of eternity has just unfolded before your eyes and in your heart.

Every time I feel the fear that I’ll lose a moment, a person, a possession, my health, it feels like time shrinks in on me and chills my soul. I don’t like that feeling. That is as simple as I can possibly make my philosophy I think…

What about godstuff? Well… On my path, I have found it useful to accept that all the godstuff is beyond my feeble brain’s ability to completely suss out. The more I study and learn, the more I realize that the Great Mystery is easier for me if I just kind of try to listen to it without defining it. That doesn’t mean I think that’s the best way of thinking for everybody, but that’s what I do.

So there’s that.
I feel better now.
Onward and upward!


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