Ever carelessly and flippantly said something so ignorant and crass and hurtful that the embarassment of it makes you ache inside and feel like praying to the porcelain gods for days, weeks even? I did. Only a few times in my life that I am aware of--but boy, aren't those profound moments to dwell in...

What good is an apology when you can't retract what you've said? Who benefits more from the apology; she who committed the offence, or he who has been wronged? Is apologizing and asking for forgiveness fair or kind? Is it nice or right to request the forgiveness of someone who by all rights should not be put on the spot to grant it? Isn't it almost adding injury to insult?

I think I'm decaying morally. I used to be kinder, gentler, less jaded and selfish. I used to have more of an open mind. I used to be more sensitive and empathic. What has happened to me?! How do I stop it?! Sometime in the last few years I've gotten lazy and sloppy in my interactions with other human beings. All of the world seems to have crashed down around me one too many times, and the final time I simply retreated and found a hole in which to hide myself away. Inside that hole exists only my own world, and my own self is all that seems to be able to matter; perhaps there's only room for me there. It isn't good, and it isn't who I am. But it is how I've behaved more and more frequently of late. I've watched the very process in other people, and found it saddening and to be avoided at all cost. Yet moments like these make me wonder if I'll pull through, or go down the drain with the rest of 'em.

Five years ago I could not count on my fingers and toes how many times people said things like, "You are just young and soft-hearted, you'll harden with age." And I always adamantly and vocally declared them mistaken. I love the song by Jewel, "I'm sensitive and I'd like to stay that way." And I sought to emulate the sentiment. I've apparently failed miserably. Oh so very miserably.

Back in my freshman year of college I wrote a paper about Chernobyl. It was long and grueling, and not a topic I chose. It was difficult and heavy and I worked hard just to complete it. Looking back, it was no where near my best effort--but having been submersed in a topic I had little interest in for over a month--it felt like I'd done nothing but work on it 24/7. I was accustomed to getting A's, with little effort. So when I received my paper back marked with a giant red C-, I was outraged and felt I'd been wronged. Out in the courtyard, we stood around complaining, and I said, "I hate this idiot monkey professor! What a jerk! He has no buisness teaching English 101!" Someone tapped me on my shoulder and then introduced herself as the monkey's wife. How horrifying. How mortifyingly embarassing. Once spoken the damage had been done--in an irreversible way. I had the benefit of being much younger then, and perhaps inexperience forgives some of it. (For the record, he was a 65 year old white man who really had long surpassed his interest in teaching, and was later moved to teach only 400+ level English courses. Not that it makes much difference.)

More recently, though, I cracked a mean series of ignorant comments to someone I respected very much, about a religion I know very little of. How stupid and crass can I be? Needless to say, the ignorant sentiment I expressed was certainly not a shared view. How does one make a valid apology for such a careless and thoughtless way of behaving. Why did I say those small-minded things, which meant so little to me and which I know so little about. How could he forgive me, when I can't even forgive myself? And why should he?! And how dare I ask him to!

It goes against everything I believe in to stereo-type and poke fun at things I don't understand. The main quality I've tried to impress upon my son in my raising of him has been tolerance. Why then--did I find myself being so very intolerant and mean spirited? What in creation has happened to me?! I know better than to insult religious beliefs. For crying out loud. What got into me? WHO AM I?!

Going to berrate myself a bit as I continue to ponder how to stop this from growing inside. I don't want to be like that. I hope I've learned this lesson, and that some good may come of it. That I may find my way back to being a decent human being.

Instead of Halloween this year, I celebrated Samhain. Samhain is celebrated with traditions more closely related to the mexican holiday Dia de Muertos than it is Haloween. It's an evening to remember our passed family members and ancestors and to wish them well as they pass by on their journeys on the eve when the spiritual realm is most closely aligned with our own. I went on a camping trip to Maryhill State Park, which sits on the Columbia river, just north of the Washington-Oregon border. There, many years ago, Sam Hill had a full size replica of Stonehenge built, as a memorial to war veterans. It's interesting, as it was built to replicate what the original Stonehenge would have looked like when it was first constructed, prior to the wear and tear of time. I took gobs of photos, and have posted here:



Enjoy!
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It is in the shelter of each other that people live. --Irish Proverb

The last few days have been a swiveling sea of turmoil for me.

One day I found myself visiting an old college friend only to discover she was high on crack--a thing I wish nothing to do with in the least bit of association. The next I was dragged into her ex-husbands muddled affairs, for which he begged for help then chose not to accept it. Leaving that sceen on the double, I went directly into house hunting and looking at houses with my brother--some of which had price tags topping a million dollars. We had dinner at kitch cafes and in cutle little nooks that were overpriced for their "desirable" locations. From that sceen to another friend's house, to visit and spend the better part of two days hearing out the dramatic ramblings of a traumatized 15 year old girl desperately trying to win arguments with her mother that her step-father has already declared lost to her. Spent an amazing but short evening with my beau...And then back to my own quiet life on my mom's hillside.

In the past week, I've cried about the missing monks, consoled my friend over an old dog dying, rejoiced in the success of three out of four abandoned kittens gaining strength and life, travelled over 1,500 miles in total to various closer destinations, missed seeing my best friend from high school due to her alcoholism-induced new boyfriends' other plans, prayed for the deer dead on the side of the road, laughed to tears about Bush saying "Poor Kids" for an answer as to why he vetoed S-CHIP, did my dad's dishes and worried about him being able to live independently, considered deeply if I am able to live with him, looked up information on how to house and feed llama's in the winter, throughly rehashed the details of a friend's husbands' infidelity via online affair, provided a shoulder for my ex-husband to lean on as his mom suffers through chemo for cancer that may be her death, been hounded by a college buddy to develop a buisness plan that may very well lead to a very profitable business idea he and I came up with, memorized and used flash cards to quiz my son on his tenth grade vocabulary words, argued with my mother about my brother's house buying motivations, learned to make onion soup, and desperately tried to find a way out of the cycle I'm currently caught up in, while trying to decide upon and persue a new career--and home. *heaves a deep sigh*

Wow. That's a lot of unnecessary bullshit I'm adding to my life.

Let's hear three cheers for SIMPLICITY.

Next week it's quiet week. I am going into seclusion for a reason. For lots of reasons. For me, and for the hope of a brighter, more simple, existence. I feel like a tornado that must dissipate. The wreckage I've seen on my way passing through makes me wish I'd stayed in bed. The wreckage has given me an aching in my head.

Anyone know of a commune looking for someone who just wants to grow some vegetables, make some soap, take some beautiful pictures, sing campfire songs like kumbaya, and have a simple life that excludes the whole rest of the world and all of it's goings on? Hit me up!

Damnit. I just crafted a post that took me nearly two hours to compose, and described why absolute honesty and openness in all matters would solve all of society's biggest problems...and when I hit the spell check button it entirely disappeared. It's true! It really is! Now I'm irked and not going to rewrite it all. Society be damned. But... I will recap.

Mostly I just wanted to say that I think honesty, absolute raw and consistent honesty, combined with the dissolution of secrets and white lies would change the world. No one would ask if their ass looked big, had they taken an honest look at themselves, so no one would need to feel compelled to tell a white lie, and in fact, to do so would be a great indiscretion, instead of vice versa. White lies lead to a series of honesty-hindering self-beliefs that don't encourage or nurture self-growth which leads to self-confidence and independence, thus fostering personal responsibility, thus fertilizing our decaying society when abandoned.

Raw honesty and openness might sting at first, but I'm certain with gentle tending and persistence, it causes the most fruitful and beautiful changes in ourselves, our relationships, our society, and our world. Raw honesty and openness with no euphimistic spins or cover-ups would create a comparative Eutopia to the world in which we dwell at present.

What do you know today? What truths? Before I ask a question that is likely to elicit a white lie type response, I have to remember to stop myself and ask why? What is this really? What am I really feeling? What do I really want from the person I am about to ask this question of? Quite often the answer I hear myself reply with is not at all related to the answer to the question I almost asked, and the answer I'd have gotten would have filled me up about as much as a gulp of air accidentally swallowed and later released as gas.

I'll plug in an example... While I might have asked, "Honey, do these pants make my ass look big?" I stop myself, and think, and what I realize when I do, is that I probably meant to ask, "Do you not only accept me the way I am, but like me the way I am?" and instead I choose to ask nothing, because now that I've identified the real question, I've also identified the emotions behind it, and I know the answer to the question, anyway; I know that through your previous actions and words, you've told me, (one way or the other) probably will again, and when you choose to express these things, they hold much more value than if I were to ask you, and you had complied in a white lie style. I've identified that for some reason, I'm really feeling that I need reassurance from you, and I know that I can tell you that in honest and meaningful ways that will be far more productive and offer growth--than if I ask you if my ass looks big. I might as well be asking if you want fries with that... Hollow answers to hollow questions--is this the food of America? The extent of our ability to relate to each other and know each other?! In the name of politeness?!

Next time I find myself in the position to tell a white lie, or take my time to compose gentle words of honesty, I intend to be honest, and encourage growth, instead of foster inflated ideas due to the dishonest nature of white lies. And if in doing so I have to be open enough to admit deficiencies I may be feeling, then I'll do that as well. It only serves to further complicate matters when one tells a lie, any kind of lie. While I can't manage the implications of trying to change the world, I can make a go at it, one interaction at a time. Being absolutely honest with ones self and others certainly takes practice, but like any other discipline, once mastered, its rewards are limitless.

This Mountain/Desert Life

Been here since Labor day. The beginning of September, and the changing of the seasons is blowing in these mountains as surely as the sage grows in this desert. In fact, the winds had begun blowing in the daytime the very day I arrived; here that always means the on-set of autumn. Days so hot you sweat and evenings that make you go looking for the feather quilt, stored in a chest drawer or on a closet shelf somewhere late last spring. The features here though, that make it home to me, are the huge clear blue daytime skies, always intensely blue, regardless of season--and the clear inky night skies dotted with bright glittering stars and constellations. On occassion, one can see the northern lights from this hilltop. It's really a lovely place.

It makes up for the rattlesnake I had to remove between my parking spot and my front door. It makes up for the flat tire I got because I'm driving on rocks the size of mellons for at least an hour a day up and down this 10 mile gravel road. The nearest bus stop is 15 miles from here, and I don't really mind the drive, although it is eating the rubber from my Bravada's shoes in an endlessly hungry way.

Everything is slow here. It's slow to come and go from here, which is a solid indicator of all things about living here. Dial-up internet is slow. Going to the grocery store is slow, getting the mail takes 20 minutes, to and from the bus stop, 50 minutes. The days are easy and slow. We build things here, we create. Mom and I canned salsa and peaches all week last week. This week I'm building a kennel outside the barn window so the barn cats may go inside and out, without worry that they'll stray and be found by a hungry cyote, as several of their predecessors have.

The cyotes are neat. Orion has found his singing voice, he'd never howled with cyotes before we arrived. He's so funny when he does it--his voice haunting and filled with longing so deep-rooted it's moving. Mom feeds her four dogs on a raw diet, and has been introducing Orion to turkey necks and chicken gizzards. He thinks he's died and gone to doggie heaven, I'm certain he doesn't believe a better place could exist in the world.

There's a military training facility very near us; it is after all, the desert. They are playing war games this week and the windows rattle like an earthquake hitting when they let loose their bombs and flame throwers, and whatever other weapons they are testing at the moment. For the last several days and for the next several, I will imagine the terror of the Iraqi people with more than just my vivid imagination. They shake the ground, they blow pieces of mountains apart. What if they miss, sometimes I wonder...

There is a forest fire burning somewhere between Wenas and Ellensburg, along the Old Ellensburg pass. It's a logging road that goes through Manastash ridge, one of my favorite places to camp. It's filled the whole canyon with smoke since yesterday afternoon. I heard a helicopter and I thought maybe it was transporting water to help put it out, but when I went out and looked, it was just a low flying military helicopter. They buzz this place often when they are playing their war games.

Yes, autumn has begun to weave it's way. I used to hate the fall, because everything was dying and dead, and the anticipation of winter is cold and gloomy. But for a few years now, since I met Jaden, I've grown to appreciate it more. I have come to accept the idea that everything is temporary, and also in one state or another of decay. It reminds me of the dying raspberries we used to walk beside when I went to visit him in the fall. Those walks, we took so often, as I think back to them, to remember which was which, I think about what state of growth--or decay--the raspberries were in. Having walked the same path for several years, serves for me a constant reminder that the dying down in winter is always and conisitently as sure as the light and airy spring that will bring them to bright green growth and berry season. Here, it's apple season, everyone is harvesting. I see them every morning and afternoon on my way to the bus stop, picking, picking, like squirrels gathering nuts.

Once I find a job, we'll move into town. It's nice to be near the parents way out here in the hills, but it's nicer not to be right next door to them. For now though, it's what my soul needed.

Here's my photo-journal of my drive home from the bustop today. Hope you enjoy!