“Child too nostalgic and feeling sad

……………………………………………..

Child who never played, child to good

Child whose soul was too caught up in the North

Ah! that noble, that pure child one was

And whom one remembers

All his life…” (Bachelard 130)

 

When you are alone, in paradise, with your thoughts.

with yourself,

will you be free?

 

When you are alone, in paradise, that is where you are

Is that okay with you?

 

When I am not focusing on something that resonates in my heart,

I am constantly seeking and figuring the next move.

 

There are a lot of things that we do in this life that we don’t want to do…

so get used to yourself, in all of your nooks and crannies.

 

There are an infinite amount of people who are going to tell you what to do and how,

and your not going to be able to run away, no matter how far you go.

 

So embrace the spirits that they hold, and figure where you ought to be, right now

what does it feel like to dream of a future in the moment? that is howling with crickets, stars and warm air?

 

You made it princess, sugar babe.

And it is always the same when you go back.

 

You are just the one who will change is all.

 

And no matter how far you go away from your original plan,

your initial story of yourself, or your community, or your dream landscape

 

You will always pick up exactly where you left off

if its worth it anyway

 

So trust the struggle, trust that there is a reason that this story is being played in the way it is

 

Trust yourself to be wild and free, uninhibited by any thought of a thought of what people think of you

 

because it is not even close to being as real as the air and the dirt and the plants

 

And all of your confusion about where to be, where to go, and when, is based on the fact that there are so many beautiful places to be, people to meet, and things to do

 

So, just do. Cause its all beautiful.

 

Every road brings you right back to where you were.

So enjoy the walk, open your eyes— in this very artful moment.

“Solitude,my mother,tell me my life again” – O.V. de Milosz

Plumeria.

My quilt is not made of real fabric, no. My quilt is made out of so much more than that.

My quilt is made out of place, out of my

olefactory senses.

My quilt is a representation of my 21st year, being realized on a day by day spirit journey to the Island in the middle of the ocean, that I have so many fond memories of,

Plumeria.

Childhood.

Kauai, is the landscape of my dreams. For years, this place has been my home. I have always tasted the papaya.

Where the dirt is red, where the rain is hard, where I have no plan.

I am at the home birth homestead, where the mothers have taken me in to their home, but I still have more to figure yet. I feel like I have been gone forever, now that the sun is out, and my skin is opening up. Lots of smells remind me, of me. HERE. on Kauai.

 

For now, I will follow my bliss, I will not be afraid.

I am a strong person, I am not afriad.

I am afraid, to stick my thumb out on the road.

I am afraid, I am not afraid.

I am embarking on the wisdom keeper, far away, learning adventure.

I have no Idea where I am going, I am afraid, I am not afraid.

Plumeria.

Colonialism. I am not afraid. I am not scared, I am not afraid.

“I don’t know how long I am going to be here” as if that is something that is positive, that isn’t scary. I am not afraid.

Plumeria, and lots of rain, and crying babies, and roosters, and birds.

Plumeria

I pray, I pray, I pray

SUN BATHE:

Im gonna turn brown.

Im gonna breathe.

Im gonna touch soil.

Im gonna find heart.

Im gonna be active.

Im gonna eat well.

Im gonna laugh hard, dance hard

Im gonna play

with plants, with animals, with people,with babies

Im gonna  “surrender to the flow”

Im gonna embrace the weather extremeties

Im gonna listen

Im gonna pray for sun

Im gonna find a grandma to hold my hand and plant the seeds and harvest the fruits

 

MOON BATHE:

I am going to pray

I am going to deepen

I am going to calm

I am going to hold

I am going to listen

I am going to be artful, poetic

I am going to release

I am going to find a teacher

I am going to find love

I am going to know my cycle

I am going to breathe

I am going to dream

I AM GOING TO THRIVE.

IAM.

plumeria.

Pass the aloha, humid, rainy, wet, sun, skin

PLUMERIA.

don’t forget to breathe, don’t be afraid

to be alone. Don’t be afraid.

sweet nectar, plumeria.

hawaii.

MANA/MAMA

today I spent the day with Linda, mama, my grandma.

She has something up her 72-year-old sleeve, I trust.

I am not afraid.

I am alone.

 

 

” A  word moves about in the shadows

and swells in the draperies.”-(Bachelard, p49)

 

I am sitting and sewing, in and out, in and out.

I am sitting and sewing between substance and void, in and out, in and out.

 

My thoughts are shadows that get lost in the sewing together, in and out, in and out.

The quilt is a blanket, a cover, a protector and is merely that.

 

I am sitting, quilting, thinking of this day that I participated in an act of domestic art at Jan’s home. A surrogate grammy:

 

 

(IN, anima, thread)

I washed the temple walls. I washed them and all the prayers dripped down, as the breeze hummed through the window into the room. I washed the temple walls.

I washed the temple floors, hands and knees, on wood, with sponge. I washed the temple floors and saw all of the feet away into the clean. I washed the temple floors.

Oui, Bacon. This morning my chest’s breath whispers to me that it yearns bacon and coffee air. I am journal-less, this cold morning, having fallen asleep at the wheel. The words that describe beautiful cream blazers and almond croissants fill my body with many texturally pleasing thoughts. I hear the words of gruyere, of fresh, of food, of farm , of fancy. But I know that in my future of closeness, I will be delving into the huipil, peruvian, color journey rediscovering the tales in spanish, and weaving my way more south than that. I have yearned for a long time to be among the tapestry of tanned faces and beaded lizards and soil wetness amongst the colors of a culture that embraces the mother.

 

(OUT, animus, up)

What about the pain?

What about suffering?

What about the craft, that was stolen,raped,pillaged?

Where is the mother in the woven?

 

(in, anima, in)

And what about the violin? and the viola? and the oysters? what about the olive orchards? and the pasta? and the ancestral kitchen that I long to cook elaborate recipes in? With sheep’s milk and cast irons to the sea. I want to learn how to cook fish. I want to gut the fish of waters un known yet. I want to gut my fears. I want to be there for the babies of a culture whose waters are un known yet. The relevance of my research can only go as far as the place that exists just before my taste buds do their own research.

 

(out, animus,what)

What about the story?

the old story of pain?

of suffering?

of forcing?

of sickness?

of hatred?

(in,anima, innnnnnnnnnn)

I know that somewhere out there is a terra cota kitchen, with a loom and a family that is going to hug me and feed me fresh corn and meat in a stew of old recipes, fresh pasta and wine, singing and hovering over the pot all day. I know that there is going to be a place where I can catch culture, that I witness enter into the colorful tapestry of tradition, into modernity, in integrity.

And I will go there with my remembrance of he who peddles the bread, she who threshes the wheat. In his white teeshirt and white skin. With his chain smoked hair and the cracks in his face, I will remember to bring the fisherman, and bring the fashionista, the suffering and the sufferer and bring the gardenia and bring the foreign films to the already foreign place in Right Relationship. The essence of what I want for breakfast must be brought to each day as a thread. A thread of silver lining, of whichever color represents the flavor of my tapestry. A slow brewed quilt that will hold me through the mile stones. Viajar en los piases que inspiro mi vida, mi hupil, mi amore es solamente una ves que ir. Language barriers are not barriers if you are carrying a handmade tapestry of all of the parts of you that make you feel inspired and holy no matter

 

(animus)

How hard you hurt.

he hurts, she hurts, we hurt.

(in and out)

I will quilt it, I promise, gently so that we find comfort again.