Posted in Nature, Photography, Poetry, Practice, Seasons, Skies, Things That Fly, Wake Up, Writing, tagged blue skies, change of seasons, into the blue, micropoetry, my blue period, places I find inspiration, skylines, skywatching, skywriter, skywriting, the space between, trees, Walking with the Wind on March 11, 2012 | 4 Comments »
Spring Walk, Droid Shots, Minneapolis, Minnesota, March 2012, photos © 2012 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
Let the essays compose themselves.
Two yellow finches and a strong March wind—
skywriter’s delight.
-posted on red Ravine, Sunday, March 11th, 2012
-related to post: haiku 4 (one-a-day) meets renga 52
Posted in Art, Books, Culture, Holding My Breath, Poetry, Politics, Vision, Wake Up, tagged 40-year retrospective, Alexander Pope, art & poetry, artists, Bataille, Brecht, Does poetry matter?, Emily Dickinson, Ezra Pound, Frank Gaard, Frank Gaard Retrospective, honoring those who came before us, inspiration, Keats, living as artists, Mellarme, Minnesota artists, Nabokov, painting, poets, poets as inspiration, portraits, Rilke, Spenser, Ted Hughes, Top Ten Poets, Walker Art Center on March 6, 2012 | 5 Comments »
My Top Ten Favorite Poets, acrylic on canvas 1995 by Frank Gaard, Droid Shots,
Minneapolis, Minnesota, January 2012, photos © 2012 by QuoinMonkey. All
rights reserved.
There aren’t many things more satisfying than the combination of music, literature, philosophy, and art. In January we attended opening weekend of Frank Gaard: Poison & Candy, a 40-year retrospective at Walker Art Center. The work is a visual feast. Layers of eye-popping color on canvas, vinyl, and CD fuse the past to the present with timeless themes that stretch far into the future. By the time I arrived at the Minneapolis College of Art and Design (MCAD), Frank Gaard had been teaching there for 17 years and was a legend. From 1974 to 1994 Gaard was the mastermind behind Artpolice, an underground ‘zine about art, war, politics and life. The Walker show features over 50 works including portraits, illustrations, and sketchbooks (he has kept a dairy all his life) and runs through May 6th.
After attending the opening, I could not pass up the opportunity to hear Frank speak. Gaard On Gaard, his gallery talk on February 9th, woke me up. I’d like to listen to it again and write a longer piece. When you hear lifelong artists speak about their lives, you learn things about the craft that can’t be taught in books. The artist in me came away inspired by the strength of his voice; he was fearless. The writer loved the way he incorporated his love of writing, philosophy, and music into his art. My favorite paintings include his walls of portraits and his lists. Which of his poets would be at the top of your list?
RESOURCES:
Walker Salutes the Old Gaard by Mary Abbe – Star-Tribune, January 26th, 2012
Frank Gaard: Poison & Candy, Walker Art Center, 2012
Emily Dickinson Electronic Archives
Ezra Pound: The Poetry Foundation
Rilke at The Poetry Foundation
Bertolt Brecht at International Brecht Society
RPO Selected Poetry of Alexander Pope
Edmund Spenser at Poetry Foundation
The Life & Works of Vladimir Nabokov
Frank Gaard Portraits, Droid Shots, Minneapolis, Minnesota, January 2012, photos © 2012 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
-posted on red Ravine, Tuesday, March 6th, 2012
-related to posts: Does Poetry Matter?, Got Poetry? National Poem In Your Pocket Day, Emily’s Freedom
Posted in Art, Art of Rebellion, Body, Bones, Culture, Death, Dreams, Film / TV / Video, Gratitude, Holding My Breath, Jugular, Life, Love, Nature, Place, Relationships, Secrets, Vision, Wake Up, tagged Academy Awards ceremony, bearing witness, Civil Rights, courage, documentaries, documentary filmmakers, fear & fearlessness, film as art, foot soldiers, Incident in Baghdad, inspiration, movies, Oscar Nominated Short Documentaries, paying attention, peaceful warriors, Saving Face, support Independent film, survivors, The Barber of Birmingham, The Oscars, The Tsunami and the Cherry Blossom, transforming fear, war, war & peace, warriors on February 22, 2012 | 15 Comments »
Documentary Shorts At The Riverview, Droid Shots, original photograph edited with Paper Camera, Minneapolis, Minnesota, February 2012, photo © 2012 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
When Liz was asked what movie she wanted to see before a belated birthday dinner at Blackbird, she chose the Oscar Nominated Short Documentary films at the Riverview Theater in Minneapolis. The filmmakers took us around the world, Baghdad to Birmingham, Pakistan to Japan. The presentation included four of the five films nominated for an Oscar in the Short Documentary category for 2012: Incident in Baghdad, Saving Face, The Tsunami and the Cherry Blossom, and The Barber of Birmingham: Foot Soldier of the Civil Rights Movement. (The fifth nominee, God Is The Bigger Elvis could not be shown due to licensing issues.)
In 130 minutes, I swept through a full range of emotions. Saving Face moved me to tears one minute; the next I was smiling with the big hearted doctor who traveled to Pakistan to reconstruct the acid scarred faces of women attacked by their husbands. Incident in New Baghdad horrified me and reminded me how sheltered most Americans have been from the ravages of two wars.
The Tsunami and the Cherry Blossom had a visual yin and yang quality. Grief, destruction, devastation, and loss following the tsunami in northern Japan; delicate blossoms of centuries old cherry trees restore hope in ways “beautiful but not showy.” James Armstrong, The Barber of Birmingham, walked steady and strong through decades of the Civil Rights Movement, and listened closely when he cut the hair of Dr. Martin Luther King. His mantra: “Dying isn’t the worst thing a man can do. The worst thing a man can do is nothing.”
The men, women, and children in these documentaries survived against all odds. They are impeccable warriors who teach me to pay attention, find my voice, and not be afraid to speak out. They teach me to show gratitude for the gift that is my life. They teach me about courage. Through hardship and injustice, they show up and tell their stories to filmmakers who ensure their stories are heard. I hope you take the opportunity to see these films. They will inspire you to live life to the fullest, to take risks with your art and writing, and walk the way of the peaceful warrior.
______________________________________
Incident in New Baghdad – 25 minutes – USA – James Spione
One of the most notorious incidents of the Iraq War – the July 2007 slayings of two Reuters journalists and a number of other unarmed civilians by US attack helicopters – is recounted in the powerful testimony of American infantryman Ethan McCord whose life was profoundly changed by his experiences on the scene.
______________________________________
Saving Face – 40 minutes – Pakistan/USA – Daniel Junge, Sharmeen Obaid Chinoy
Every year hundreds of people — mostly women — are attacked with acid in Pakistan. The HBO Documentary SAVING FACE follows several of these survivors, their fight for justice, and a Pakistani plastic surgeon who has returned to his homeland to help them restore their faces and their lives.
______________________________________
The Tsunami and the Cherry Blossom – 39 minutes – Japan/USA – Lucy Walker
Survivors in the areas hardest hit by Japan’s recent tsunami find the courage to revive and rebuild as cherry blossom season begins. A stunning visual poem about the ephemeral nature of life and the healing power of Japan’s most beloved flower.
______________________________________
The Barber of Birmingham: Foot Soldier of the Civil Rights Movement – 25 minutes – USA – Gail Dolgin and Robin Fryday
Mr. James Armstrong is an 85-year-old barber, a “foot soldier” and a dreamer whose barbershop in Birmingham, Alabama has been a hub for haircuts and civil rights since 1955. The dream of a promised land, where dignity and the right to vote belong to everyone, is documented in photos, headlines and clippings that cram every inch of wall space in his barbershop. On the eve of the election of the first African American president, the Barber of Birmingham sees his unimaginable dream come true.
-posted on red Ravine, Wednesday, February 22th, 2012. Read more about the films at the links and watch a trailer at the Riverview website.
-related to posts: And The Oscar Goes To…, Eloquent Nude At The Riverview
Posted in Art, Books, Dreams, Personal, Photography, Practice, Vision, Wake Up, Work, tagged artists as muse, black & white photography, film photography, following the Muse, I remember, illustrations, inspiration, libraries, love of photography, photo books as inspiration, photography as Muse, places I find inspiration, Twin-Lens-Reflex Camera on February 18, 2012 | 7 Comments »
Twin-Lens-Reflex Camera, illustration from Black & White Photography: A Basic Manual by Henry Horenstein, Droid Shots, original photograph edited with Paper Camera, Golden Valley, Minnesota, February 2012, photos © 2012 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
One of the goals that came out of my last writing retreat with the Midwest writers was to focus on organizing, storing, revisualizing, and selling my photographs. I took a photojournalism class this week from a journalist who makes a living from her stories and photographs. I spent much of this morning perusing old photo books while sipping French Roast (I have a Twin-Lens-Reflex in my collection just like the one in the illustration above).
Old print photograph and design books are inexpensive and inspirational. It is exciting to view the work of the photographers who came before us and to learn from their art. At MCAD, I focused primarily on black & white photography, along with alternative processes. I’d like to do more along those lines with my digital photographs. I remember…
-posted on red Ravine, Saturday, February 18th, 2012, with gratitude to Liz (one of my Muses) who consistently brings home tons of books from our local library
Posted in Body, Bones, Death, Dreams, Gratitude, Great Places To Write, Life, On the Road, Photography, Place, Poetry, Practice, Silence, Wake Up, Writing, tagged composting, craving silence, excavating memories, haiga, sit-walk-write, slow walking, the practice of gardening, the practice of writing, the value of process, the value of slowing down, the value of staring into space, writing friends, writing retreats on February 5, 2012 | 7 Comments »
Sunrise Undercover, Droid Shots, original photograph edited with Paper Camera, sunrise at a writing retreat in a small town outside Milwaukee, Wisconsin, February 2012, photo © 2012 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
The Fallow Field
The master gardener
tithes and tills,
never forgetting to bury her dead—
broken bones rise from the fallow field
odorous compost, grist for the mill.
-posted on red Ravine, Sunday, February 6th, 2012, at a self-propelled silent writing retreat outside of Milwaukee, Wisconsin. With gratitude to my writing friends. For more on composting and how we structure these small silent retreats see: Sit, Walk, Write On Lake Michigan, I Write Because…, and Make Positive Effort For The Good.
Posted in Art, Bodies Of Water, Haiku, Photography, Place, Poetry, Practice, Secrets, Wake Up, tagged art play, car wash, confessions of a Night Owl, haiga, into the blue, micropoetry, my blue period, nightowls, sleepless night, water, writing about water on February 1, 2012 | 10 Comments »
Self-Portrait: Car Wash, Droid Shots edited with Paper Camera, Brooklyn Park, Minnesota, January 2012, photo © 2012 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
confessions of a night owl
February breaks at midnight—
should be packing for a retreat.
my dirty little secret
can’t take its mind off the car wash.
-posted on red Ravine, Wednesday, February 1st, 2012
Posted in Art, Body, Bones, Culture, Death, Growing Older, Holding My Breath, Home, Life, Nature, Photography, Poetry, Practice, Quotes, Silence, Spirituality, Wake Up, tagged blue monochrome, blue portal, blue states, cease to fear your solitude, coming home to yourself, gogyohka, haiga, In Memoriam, into the blue, John O'Donohue, Krista Tippett, my blue period, On Being, poets, poets as inspiration, silence & noise, solitude, stepping out of silence, the silence of nature on January 28, 2012 | 11 Comments »
Triptych: After The Blue Rain, inspired by Irish poet John O’Donohue, original photograph: an early Winter Solstice Fire 2011, altered in PhotoShop Elements, Minneapolis, Minnesota, January 2012, photos © 2012 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
after the blue rain
Have you walked
the barren landscape
of the chattering wire —
blue rain runs in the silence
of a white hot fire.
-posted on red Ravine, Saturday, January 28th, 2012, gogyohka inspired by Irish poet John O’Donohue after listening to one of his last interviews before his unexpected death in 2008: The Inner Landscape of Beauty with Krista Tippett, On Being (LINK)
When you cease to fear your solitude, a new creativity awakens in you. Your forgotten or neglected wealth begins to reveal itself. You come home to yourself and learn to rest within. Thoughts are our inner senses. Infused with silence and solitude, they bring out the mystery of inner landscape.” — John O’Donohue from Anam Cara (In Memoriam)
Posted in 13 Moons, Animals & Critters, Body, Bones, Death, Dreams, Gratitude, Haiku, Life, Photography, Poetry, Relationships, Seasons, Skies, Vision, Wake Up, tagged Bear Moon, birthdays, black bears, call of the wild, Ely, gogyohka, January Full Moon, January in Minnesota, Jewel of the Northwoods, Jewel the Black Bear, Jewel's Live Den Cam, Lily & Hope, Lily the Black Bear, live birth of black bear cubs, MN Black Bear Den Cam, Wildlife Research Institute on January 19, 2012 | 13 Comments »
January Bear Moon, Olympus Shots, Minneapolis, Minnesota, January 2012, photo © 2012 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
Jewel of the North Woods under the waning Bear Moon — will you birth your cubs on Lily's birthday? Or three days later, when Hope's Spirit comes to play.
NOTE: Jewel the black bear is in the early stages of labor (you can watch at this link: Jewel’s Live Den Cam or check out the links in the poem to see Jim Stroner’s photographs of the bears). Jewel is a wild black bear, the sister of the famous Lily the Black Bear who gave birth to Hope on January 22nd, 2010 (we lost Hope last September during the 2011 Minnesota hunting season). If I remember correctly, it is Lily’s day of birth today, January 19th. I wrote the poem before I read the Wildlife Research Institute update tonight stating that it will be biologist Sue Mansfield’s birthday on January 20th (Happy Birthday, Sue!). The mystery remains, on whose birthday will Jewel of the Northwoods have her cubs?
The photograph was taken a few weeks ago at the Full January Moon. Liz and I went out into the urban Wild to photograph the Moon as she rose. Depending on your background, the January Moon is known as the Wolf Moon, the Cold Moon, and the Bear Moon (among many other names). It’s the Bear Moon all month long, not just at the Full Moon, and is usually one of the brightest Moons of the year. Stay warm, Jewel. It’s -6 in the Twin Cities and -15 in Ely, Minnesota. We are watching your every breath.
-posted on red Ravine, , Thursday, January 19th, 2012, with gratitude to biologists Lynn Rogers & Sue Mansfield
-related to posts: haiku 4 (one-a-day) meets renga 52, MN Black Bear Den Cam: Will Lily Have Cubs?
Posted in Culture, Life, Practice, Quotes, Recall, Secrets, Vision, Wake Up, Word Of The Day, Writing, Writing Topics, tagged A Place To Stand, Abraham Lincoln, Belief & Technique for Modern Prose, beliefs, Buddha, Edward R. Murrow, gogyohka, I believe, Jack Kerouac, Maya Angelou, principles by which you live, sprints, tanka, the art of practice, the importance of words, the power of words, This I Believe, words, writing as practice, writing haiku, writing practice on January 2, 2012 | 20 Comments »
| Definition: | accept as true, credit with veracity, follow a credo, judge or regard |
| Synonyms: | v. 1. maintain, assert, opine, hold, consider, regard, conceive, trust, have faith in, confide in, credit, accept, affirm, swear by, have no doubt |
| Quotes: | ♦ In the sky, there is no distinction of east and west; people create distinctions out of their own minds and then believe them to be true. — Buddha
♦ I believe that every person is born with talent. — Maya Angelou
♦ The probability that we may fail in the struggle ought not to deter us from the support of a cause we believe to be just. — Abraham Lincoln
♦ 20. Believe in the holy contour of life — Jack Kerouac from BELIEF & TECHNIQUE FOR MODERN PROSE |
| Antonyms: | disbelieve, distrust |
I believe…
Do you believe in the Lock Ness Monster, the Man in the Moon, Santa Claus? Do you believe in finding Big Foot, flying saucers, ghosts in the machine? Do you believe this year will be better than the last? Do you believe in yourself, your visions, your dreams? The things I believe change from year to year, decade to decade. I used to believe in the tooth fairy, the Velvet Underground, peace, love and rock and roll. What do you believe?
In the 1950s, a radio program called This I Believe was hosted by journalist Edward R. Murrow. Each day, Americans gathered by their radios to hear essays from people like Eleanor Roosevelt, Jackie Robinson, Wallace Stegner, Helen Keller, and Harry Truman—anyone able to distill the guiding principles by which they lived into a few minutes. (For inspiration, you can listen to essays on broadcasts from the 1950s at This I Believe.)
What are the principles by which you live? Are they different than they were two, three, or four years ago? Do you hang around friends who share your beliefs? Or push to expose yourself to other ways of thinking. The goal of the contemporary version of This I Believe (revived on NPR in 2004) was not to persuade Americans to agree on the same beliefs, but to encourage people to develop respect for beliefs different from their own.
Get out your fast writing pens and write the Topic I believe… at the top of your spiral notebook (or start tapping away on your computer or Smartphone).
You can write a haiku, tanka, or gogyohka practice and post it in the comments.
Or you may be surprised at what you discover when you follow the rules of Writing Practice —- I believe…, 10 minutes, Go!
-posted on red Ravine, Monday, January 2nd, 2012
Posted in Animals & Critters, Body, Bones, Culture, Death, Family, Gratitude, Holding My Breath, Holidays, Life, Life In Letters, Love, Nature, Obituaries & Epitaphs, Personal, Photography, Place, Practice, Relationships, Seasons, Wake Up, tagged black-eyed peas, December, end of the year rituals, fathers, glass half full, historical places, hope, James J. Hill House, Kiev, letters as healers, letting go, Lily & Hope, looking back, looking to the light, making light of the dark, Mr. StripeyPants, Phoebe Snow, pre New Year's, Riverview marquee, Riverview Theater, Ruth Stone, say goodbye to tungsten lights, shadows & light, the things I carry, the things I leave behind on December 31, 2011 | 12 Comments »
Say Goodbye To Tungsten Light, Golden Valley, Minnesota, December 2011, photo © 2011-2012. All rights reserved.
I burn the Christmas lights long after the day has passed. The soft warm glow of tungsten soothes me. I grew up on film photography, old school, and loathed florescent and LED. Say goodbye to tungsten; the last 100 watt bulb rolled off the 
assembly line in December 2011. We lost poet Ruth Stone in 2011 and singer-songwriter Phoebe Snow. They leave behind a rich legacy–their poetry. We lost Hope, the world’s most famous black bear, to the long arms of a Minnesota hunting season. Did they choose their lives, or did their lives choose them?
Goodbye December, January awaits. I look forward to the New Year. In setting goals for 2012, I can’t help but think of the things I will leave to 2011. I never heard back from my father, yet I feel glad I wrote the letter. It is one less thing I have to wonder about. Mr. Stripey Pants had surgery on Monday, December 12th. Bone rubbed on bone in his lower jaw when he chewed his food. We tried to be upbeat that morning, saying he was on his way to breakfast at Tiffany’s (the name of his surgeon). A few weeks later he is almost back to normal. The scar tissue that had formed around a puncture wound near a back tooth has been removed; it was not cancerous. I am grateful for good vet care and the resources to pay for it.
Minnesota leaves behind the 86 inches of snow from last Winter, an unfair trade for the tawny grasses and 50 degree days in the Twin Cities last week. I don’t miss the shoveling, but wonder how the Art Shanty Project will take place on Medicine Lake in January. Where is the frozen Minnesota tundra of 2011? I leave behind a broiling sweaty Summer where I did little gardening. The cedars look limp and brown. Fall 2011 was 
one of the driest on record. Rain, rain, come and play, don’t wait another day. I have grown to miss the rain.
I leave behind a year of no travel, unusual for me. My large extended family lives in Pennsylvania and Georgia, so I often plan vacations around flying back East. I missed visiting with them. In 2011, I attended no out of state writing workshops. I did not take a vacation outside of Minnesota. There was one trip to North Dakota, but not for pleasure (though it had its moments). I leave behind all the angst and sorrow created by the greed and selfishness of others. You sometimes learn the most about people when things go awry. It’s not over yet. The law requires patience, and the resources to carry through over the long haul.
Dear December, there were days you left me nostalgic and somber. But I vow to enter 2012 with optimism and gratitude. 
I will long carry the joy of my brother’s visit to Minnesota the week before Thanksgiving. I carry two healthy cats, Kiev and Mr. Stripey Pants. I carry the love of a caring partner, close friends, and family. I carry excitement at the prospect of celebrating Liz’s birthday in January, and a trip to Wisconsin for a self-propelled writing retreat in February, what used to be the dead of Winter. I leave behind anger, resentment, regret; I release what is no longer helping me be the best person I can be. What people, places or things do you leave behind?
The pantry is stocked. The black-eyed peas soak in the pot, ready to bless the place I call home with good luck and cheer. I am grateful for those who stick with me in times of uncertainty. I am grateful for those who come to the aid of all 
sentient beings in this world, not just humans. I am grateful that we do not inhabit this planet alone, that there are ancient burr oaks, Southern live oaks, slithering snakes, hairy spiders, playful black bears and white winter squirrels. I am grateful that the decisions that matter most are not left in the hands of humans.
December, I say goodbye to you tonight with gratitude and anticipation. I am thankful for your rituals. It’s the night before the New Year. What will my yearly practices be? It will be around the last fire of 2011 that I choose goals for 2012. Thank you, December, for having the courage to let go.
-posted on red Ravine, New Year’s Eve, December 31st, 2011
Posted in 13 Moons, Dreams, Gratitude, Life, Practice, Seasons, Silence, Skies, Spirituality, Structure, Things That Fly, Wake Up, tagged Bear Energy, celebrating Winter Solstice, December Full Moon, end of the year rituals, letting go, Lunar Eclipse, Mercury Retrograde, positive spin on Mercury Retrograde, setting intentions, the creative practice, the power of Introspection, the value of introspection, Total Lunar Eclipse, Winter Solstice, Winter Solstice Full Moon Lunar Eclipse on December 10, 2011 | 12 Comments »
Celebrate The Moon, on the way home, Brooklyn Park, Minnesota, December 2011, photo © 2011 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
Snow is falling on red Ravine, and the temperature rises from zero to 25 degrees under the morning’s totally eclipsed Moon. It’s Saturday, December 10th and the total Lunar eclipse was exact at 6:36 am Pacific time. Last year the eclipse occurred right on Solstice (for more about the meaning of the Lunar Eclipse see Winter Solstice — Total Eclipse Of The Moon). According to Celestial Timings, one of the features of a total Lunar Eclipse is how it squeezes the 28 to 30 day Moon Phase into three to five hours. Time appears to speed up, accelerating the manifestation of the intentions we hold.
Tonight, we will attend an early Winter Solstice celebration with friends. By a blazing fire sparked by last year’s Yule tree, I will let go of what is no longer working and set new intentions that I hope to move from the dark of Winter into the light of Spring.
What are your intentions for the New Year? I seek more clarity with my creative goals. I have built a good practical infrastructure around my creative life, but the dream feels muddled. It will be good to redefine what is important to me and let the future unfold. In the silent spaces, I can let go of trying to control.
Coinciding with the Lunar Eclipse (and a subtle reminder that we are not in control), Mercury is in retrograde which I associate with breakdowns in interpersonal communication and technology. Here is an article that flips that notion on its head, redefining Mercury Retrograde as a time of increased right brain creative activity. It’s refreshing to view Mercury Retro with a positive spin!
Though my Cancer Sun sign keeps me tightly tethered to a love of history and the past, Winter Solstice is the time of year when I set strong intentions for the future. I look forward to the quiet hibernation of Winter, and the introspection of Bear. Happy Winter!
-posted on red Ravine, Saturday, December 10th, 2011
Posted in Art, Body, Bones, Dreams, Gratitude, Growing Older, Home, Life, Personal, Photography, Poetry, Practice, Seasons, Wake Up, tagged fire, Firekeepers, make positive effort for the good, self-doubt, the power of Gratitude, the practice of gratitude on November 27, 2011 | 7 Comments »
Cool To The Touch, by the Thanksgiving fire with friends, Droid Shots,
edited with Little Photo, Brooklyn Park, Minnesota, November 2011, photo
© 2011 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
Gratitude unfolds, hot fire in the belly cool to the touch— River of self-doubt, I carry the light all the days of my life.
-posted on red Ravine, Sunday, November 27th, 2011
-related to posts: haiku 4 (one-a-day) Meets renga 52, Gratitude Mandala — Giving Thanks
Posted in 25 Things, Art, Body, Bones, Books, Culture, Doodling, Dreams, Gratitude, Growing Older, Holding My Breath, Life, Love, Mandalas, Practice, Relationships, Seasons, Secrets, Silence, Spirituality, Structure, Vision, Wake Up, tagged ancient rituals, Aum, creating mandalas, healing hearts, healing intentions, healing rituals, heartbeat of the Earth, hearts, making light of the dark, self-expression, self-image, setting intentions, shadows & light, the power of love, The Secret of the Golden Flower, the value of introspection, the value of practice, the value of process, the value of the Arts, the ways we love, unconditional love, unity for the good of the whole on September 20, 2011 | 6 Comments »
Healing Heart Mandala, created on gray, rainy day while listening to Mandala Healing: Using Sacred Symbols for Spiritual & Emotional Healing by Judith Cornell, Golden Valley, Minnesota, September 2011, photo © 2011 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
THE SECRET OF THE GOLDEN FLOWER
Once you turn the light around,
everything in the world is turned around.
The light rays are concentrated upward into the eyes;
this is the great key of the human body.
You should reflect on this.
If you do not sit quietly each day,
this light flows and whirls,
stopping who knows where.
If you can sit quietly for a while,
all time-ten thousand ages,
a thousand lifetimes---is penetrated from this.
All phenomena revert to stillness.
Truly inconceivable is this sublime truth.
—from The Secret of the Golden Flower: The Classic Chinese Book of Life, translated by Thomas Cleary, HarperSanFrancisco, 1991, p.19
___________________________________________________________________________
HEALING INTENTIONS
acceptance appreciation authenticity awakening balance beauty beginner's mind creative play clarity compassion connectedness devotion egolessness emotional healing faith fearlessness forgiveness freedom to be grace gratitude harmony healing laughter honoring diversity illumination inspired creativity integrity joy kindness life as a celebration listening with the heart living in the present mental healing miracles non-judgment oneness opening the heart to love patience peace perseverance practice of truth radiating love soul illumination spiritual healing surrender transformation trusting intuition unity wholeness wisdom wonder
-posted on red Ravine, Tuesday, September 20th, 2011
-related to posts: Labyrinth Mandala At The Aquarius Full Moon, Ears Still To The Lonely Wind — Mandala For Rabbit, Flying Solo — Dragonfly In Yellow Rain, Shadow Of A Dragonfly, Dragonfly Wings — It Is Written In The Wind, Dragon Fight — June Mandalas, EarthHealer — Mandala For The Tortoise, ode to a crab (haiku & mandala), Eye Of The Dragon Tattoo
Posted in Body, Bones, Books, Culture, Dreams, Essay, Family, Fotoblog, Home, Life, Music, On the Road, Personal, Photography, Place, Practice, Reading, Relationships, Skies, Structure, Vision, Wake Up, tagged books as mentors, childhood events that impact your life, fathers and sons, historical places, inspiration, joy, Lawrence Welk, Lawrence Welk's boyhood home, living the questions, making it in the music industry, mothers and daughters, musicians, North Dakota, pilgrimage, places as muse, red Ravine Guests, slow walking, Strasburg, Teri Blair, the joy of reading aloud, The Lawrence Welk Show, the life of Lawrence Welk, the power of place, writing about place on September 14, 2011 | 22 Comments »
By Teri Blair
Lawrence Welk’s Boyhood Home, Strasburg, North Dakota, July 2011, all photos © 2011 by Teri Blair. All rights reserved.
The Lawrence Welk Show was a Saturday night staple when I was growing up. My favorite acts were Cissy and Bobby, tap-dancing Arthur Duncan, and the guy on clarinet with big glasses. I didn’t pay much attention to the show’s host, though I wondered about his accent. I had a vague sense he came from the state just west of mine, but he mainly seemed tan and Hollywood and Californian. Not like the people I knew.
I’d seen his birthplace marked on my North Dakota map for years, and then one day, just like that, my mom and I 
decided to go. We checked out library copies of Wunnerful, Wunnerful: The Autobiography of Lawrence Welk. Mom read it first and told me she couldn’t put it down. I figured that was because she still watched his reruns on public television. Then I started reading it, and I couldn’t put it down either. That’s when I found out Lawrence Welk wasn’t just a tan and smiling Hollywood face. Far from it.
We took two-lane roads to get to Strasburg, ones where you can tell where you’re heading. Mom reread the first chapter out loud to us, the one about Lawrence’s childhood in North Dakota and his passion to play music and get off the farm. We wanted everything fresh in our minds.
Lawrence was born in North Dakota in 1903, one of eight children of immigrant parents. The ten of them lived in a tiny sod house, milked cows, and spoke German. Lawrence had four years of schooling before he begged his parents to let him quit. Since he knew how to read and write, they let him. A farmer wouldn’t need more than that, they figured. But Lawrence’s father had carried an accordion all the way from Europe, and that one musical box lit a fire under the third Welk son. He had an affinity for music, an insatiable appetite for chords and melodies and rhythm. He tinkered with homemade instruments, and learned everything his father would teach him about music.
Though his family assumed his future as a North Dakota farmer, Lawrence knew he had to live a different life. He didn’t know how he could, only that he must. Then when he was 11 his appendix burst. By the time his parents found someone with a car and he was driven to the hospital in Bismarck, he was almost dead. He lived on the edge of life and death while his poisoned blood was treated. Though only a child, he determined if he survived he would make his living as a musician. No matter what.
He spent the rest of his childhood hiring himself out to play accordion at every event he could find around Strasburg. Every nickel he made went to pay off the $400 accordion he bought through a mail-order catalog. A deep satisfaction stirred in him to watch the joy his playing brought to people, an intrinsic reward that would fuel him for decades.
The View From Lawrence Welk’s Bedroom, Strasburg, North Dakota,
July 2011, all photos © 2011 by Teri Blair. All rights reserved.
When he left the farm on his 21st birthday, his father predicted his ruin as a musician. He told Lawrence he’d be back in six weeks looking for a meal. What followed were years of small gains and huge setbacks—trying to find work as a musician during The Depression wasn’t easy. Lawrence often went hungry. One time his band quit on him, embarrassed by his broken English and the way he tapped his toe to find the beat. He was naïve and trusting, taken 
advantage of more than once. He had to start over again and again with nothing but his accordion. But his internal compass was undeniable. His wife said years later that he was like a cork. When one plan failed, he’d be momentarily submerged before he’d pop up in a different place with a new strategy. By the time he landed the television program, he had paid his dues and then some. He had already spent 30 years on the road playing ballrooms.
After our tour of the homestead, I slow-walked around Lawrence’s childhood farm. I stood in the places he talked 
about in the book: the spot by the barn where he asked his dad for the $400 loan, the upstairs loft where his appendix burst, the tiny living room where he listened to polka music. I went to Mass on Sunday at the German Catholic church and sat where he had. I looked at the stained glass windows, the same ones Lawrence had looked at when he was a little German boy. He didn’t know how his story would end, but sitting there, I did.
Lawrence knew who he was, who he wasn’t, and he stuck with himself. And from that, I take great inspiration. By the time of his death in 1992, he had had the longest-running television program in history, and had helped launch the careers of dozens of musicians.
What is possible when we don’t deny our true selves?
About Teri: Teri Blair is a writer living in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Her first piece for red Ravine, Continue Under All Circumstances, was written on the road during a 2007 trip to Holcomb, Kansas. She journeyed back to Holcomb in 2010 and published a sequel, Back To Holcomb, One Last Time. Since then, she has written Desire And A Library Card — The Only Tools Necessary To Start A Poetry Group, Discovering The Big Read, a piece about the largest reading program in American history, and Does Poetry Matter?, an essay about the Great American Think-Off.
Earlier this year, Teri was a writing resident at Vermont Studio Center in the heart of the Green Mountains. She finds inspiration on the road. Her writing pilgrimage to the Amherst, Massachusetts home of poet Emily Dickinson inspired the essay, Emily’s Freedom. At the end of September, Teri will be flying into Atlanta, Georgia to embark on her latest writing adventure — a two-week road trip in a compact Cruise America rolling along the Southern Literary Trail.
Posted in Art, Art of Rebellion, Body, Bones, Culture, Doodling, Dreams, Family, Holding My Breath, Home, Life, Love, Place, Poetry, Relationships, Seasons, Spirituality, Vision, Wake Up, tagged 10th Anniversary of 9/11, compassion, deep listening, healing, healing powers of poetry, healing through writing, hope, journal art, Judy Chicago, love & loss, remembering 9/11, showing up, The Dinner Party, the power of love, walking into life, walking your talk on September 12, 2011 | Leave a Comment »
And Then, last page of The Dinner Party: A Symbol of Our Heritage, 1979, Doubleday, from artist & writer Judy Chicago, Droid Shots, Minneapolis, Minnesota, September 2011, photo © 2011 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
And then all that has divided us will merge And then compassion will be wedded to power And then softness will come to a world that is harsh and unkind and then both men and women will be gentle and then both women and men will be strong and then no person will be subject to another's will and then all will be rich and free and varied and then the greed of some will give way to the needs of many and then all will share equally in the earth's abundance and then all will care for the sick and the weak and the old and then all will nourish the young and then all will cherish life's creatures and then all will live in harmony with each other and the earth and then everywhere will be called eden once again
—artist & writer Judy Chicago, from The Dinner Party: A Symbol of Our Heritage, 1979, Doubleday
-posted on red Ravine Monday, September 12th, 2011
-related to posts: A Moment Of Silence – September 11th, 2011, 9:02am, Remembering – September 11th, 2008
Posted in Animals & Critters, Art, Body, Bones, Culture, Dreams, Holding My Breath, Nature, Obituaries & Epitaphs, On the Road, Photography, Place, Practice, Skies, Things That Fly, Travel, Vision, Wake Up, Work, tagged American White Pelicans, Chase National Wildlife Refuge, Cocteau Rangeland, James Miller, metal sculpture, migratory birds, North Dakota, North Dakota artists, Prairie Pothole Region, road trips, Roadside Attractions, sandhill cranes, Sandy, sculpture, Steele, World's Largest Sandhill Crane on August 22, 2011 | 9 Comments »
World’s Largest Sandhill Crane – 29/52, BlackBerry 52 — Week 29 Jump-Off, Steele, North Dakota, July 17th 2011, photo © 2011 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
On a July trip to North Dakota, we exited off I-94 to fill up with gas in Steele, North Dakota. Across the street, next to the Lone Steer Cafe (formerly a bustling Greyhound bus station), a 40-foot sandhill crane stood grazing in the grass. Sandy, the World’s Largest Sandhill Crane, was built in 1999 by Arena, North Dakota resident James Miller. The sculpture weighs 4.5 tons and is constructed of rolled sheet metal welded onto a steel inner frame. It was built in three separate sections — the body in one section, the neck and head in another, and pipes fitted to make the legs.
Residents of Steele, North Dakota erected the giant sandhill to call attention to the fact that Kidder County is one of the best birding destinations in North America. The Coteau Rangeland of North Dakota, commonly known as the Prairie Pothole Region, is an area of glacial potholes located in the direct path of the migration flyway making this area a favorite spot for migratory nesting birds, including the Sandhill Crane. To the west, Chase Lake National Wildlife Refuge, established as one of the country’s first wildlife refuges in 1908 by executive order of President Theodore Roosevelt, is the largest American White Pelican rookery in North America, where thousands of pelicans nest each spring.
North Dakota artist James Miller, creator of the World’s Largest Sandhill Crane, died October 17, 2002. According to his obituary in the Bismarck Tribune, Jim and his wife farmed north of Arena from 1955 until retiring in 1991. He created metal work sculptures in his shop and invented his own version of “Miller Bilt” hydraulic presses, along with everything from two wheeled trailers and wheelchair ramps to yard ornaments, docks, crystal radios, and even a steam engine. His art live on in 26 states throughout the country.
-posted on red Ravine, Monday, August 22nd, 2011
Lotus and I will continue to respond to each other’s BlackBerry Jump-Off photos with text, photography, poetry (however we are inspired) for the 52 weeks of 2011. You can read more at BlackBerry 52 Collaboration. If you are inspired to join us, send us a link to your images, poetry, or prose and we’ll add them to our posts.
-related to posts: WRITING TOPIC — ROADSIDE ATTRACTIONS, dragonfly revisted — end of summer, first dragonfly, Flying Solo — Dragonfly In Yellow Rain, Shadow Of A Dragonfly, Dragonfly Wings — It Is Written In The Wind, Dragon Fight — June Mandalas, sticks for legs and arms
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