Crossing the bay, slow first

through estuary, then faster above

dredged channel~

Excitement.

Unstrung words fill each small

wave and tease

beneath the boat.  

Poems yet to be.

Wind blows stronger to meet them.

Happy Friday Everyone:

I’ve been reading lots about the new year blog challenges (post a quote-a-day, a photo-a-day, poem-a-day…) and it’s definitely got me thinking about how I want my blog to be & evolve.   We all get our blog stats end of year. For me- I don’t worry about stats so much (though some say I should as a working artist).  But since this is more of an Muse’s blog than a marketing blog- it all goes back to ‘what Muse’s do I want to accommodate more of this year?’

While I appreciate the daily habit and constancy in expression (really helps my songwriting…), I only want to post/write when something really stops me in my tracks.   I get bored easily too, so multiple prompts (poems, photos, mindful musings- make the most sense to me now.  I fear boring folks as well.

What I want more of now is sparks of inspiration (mine & others). And rich presence, captured in poetry, photographs, musings, &  music.   I do need to figure out how to post better when traveling (just found an app!).

Prompts I like now:  Poem a week. Macro Mondays. And I’m starting a new prompt called “Inspired in Oakland” mostly photos that celebrate my crazy city & surroundings.  Feel free to send me links to your photos taken around the East Bay (mostly Oakland!). )

A friend gave this as a house-warming present.

I’ve always wanted a Japanese cast iron teapot.  I love this one so much. It was off-white, like the lid, but is growing warm with the color of the leaves that steep inside.  It has become my daily reminder to create more of what I want life to be.  And to savor it.  Every second.

Drink your tea slowly and reverently,

as if it is the axis
on which the world earth revolves – slowly, evenly, 

without
rushing toward the future.

Only this moment is life.

Thich Nhat Hanh

Clink here to see amazing macro shots…;)

Though I’ve been terrible about writing lately, (and there is soo very much going on that I will be posting about soon–new Music, Muses, poetry…)

But  for now, I petition the Muses for a bountiful new year; one that will be spilling over for All of us with;

More Community, Love, & Friendship;

More Poetry;

Mas Musica & Celebration;

More Creativity;

More Adventure;

More Beauty;

& more Stillness from which to drink it all from….

Wishing you All~ the Sweetest of the Best in 2012~ Happy New Year!   Thank you for hanging with me in the new year~

“I’m writing a poem right now about a nose. I’ve always wanted to write a poem about a nose. But it’s a ludicrous subject. That’s why, when I was younger, I was afraid of [writing] something that didn’t make a lot of sense. But now I’m not. I have nothing to worry about. It doesn’t matter.”   Maurice Sendak

Maurice Sendak is 83.  His latest interviews (i.e. NPR) spill-over with beauty, intensity, family shadows, wisdom, humor, and love.  His interview with Terry Gross on NPR (chosen best of 2011) includes great musings about  the end of life, his newest children’s book, people close to him, and meeting death.

I’ve always loved how his book “Where the Wild Things Are” is as much about rebellion as imagination.  I think he was always trying to tell us all– ‘Hey, it’s really OK to go visit your demons. Even after getting into trouble, and being all by yourself; demons aren’t as scary as you think.’

Children’s books today are too safe Sendak says in the Guardian. “There’s a certain passivity, a going back to childhood innocence that I never quite believed in. We remembered childhood as a very passionate, upsetting, silly, comic business.” Max, the wolf-suited star of Where the Wild Things Are, “was a little beast, and we’re all little beasts”, Sendak said

Bumble-ardy,  Sendak’s latest kid’s book, centers around an orphaned pig who doesn’t get the opportunity for a birthday party until he turns nine.  It is said to be dark and deeply imaginative, much like his classic works Where the Wild Things Are and In The Night Kitchen.

He tells Terry in the NPR interview;  “When I did Bumble-ardy, I was so intensely aware of death.  Eugene, my friend and partner, was dying here in the house… I did Bumble-ardy to save myself. I did not want to die with him. I wanted to live as any human being does. But there’s no question that the book was affected by what was going on here in the house. … Bumble-ardy was a combination of the deepest pain and the wondrous feeling of coming into my own. And it took a long time. It took a very long time.”

This endless learning, this feeling completely, of giving into and over- all the way through to the last of life’s passages- is beautiful and humbling to me.  Though, I hope I don’t have to get to 83 before I can begin expressing myself on any subject without a care- like noses

One thing that struck me in this interview, is the way Sendak touches on the memories of his unhappy childhood.  I can feel immense shadows swarming around his words as he speaks.  The intensity is mixed with a deep love, an empathy, and a nameless hunger.  Obviously, this same childhood led him to write some of the best children’s books around.  Albeit, ones with happy endings.  Other families too must have these similarly dark places in their histories- the ones no one wants to remember, talk about, or face down.  Ever. And so the unknowns grow into the dark silences that Maurice alludes to.  What does one do with those spaces anyway?

We can walk around bemoaning to the world “Oh why!?” all our lives.  Or, as Maurice says, go through years of therapy to have someone else explain plausibilities to us.  As artists, we can make Muses out of these ghosts- and let them speak through us– our writing, our songs, (his early character illustrations were aunts and uncles)- our Art.  Ultimately, I don’t think I will want those same ghosts hanging out with me forever.  To the end. I would hope that they can be safely and solidly cast off at some point- each book, each song, a little boat to carry them further afield.

Here is my song about a about a demon that kept coming to me in dreams at night.  It wasn’t pleasant. We danced anyway…  – Demon’s Cumbia.

The NPR Fresh Air interview with Maurice Sendak will be posted after 5pm ET tonight here.

“Live your life.    Live your life.    Live your life.”  Maurice Sendak

]]> http://taralinda.wordpress.com/2011/12/29/live-your-life-maurice-sendak/feed/ 2 taralinda Bumble-Ardy-001 http://taralinda.wordpress.com/2011/12/21/fungi-fusion-macro/ http://taralinda.wordpress.com/2011/12/21/fungi-fusion-macro/#comments Wed, 21 Dec 2011 21:03:32 +0000 tara linda http://taralinda.wordpress.com/?p=1834 Continue reading →]]>  

“Learn to pause…or nothing worthwhile will catch up to you.” – Doug King

Aaah, Northern California….;)

Go visit all the other cool macro shots here…

For my recording of the song Teresita in Texas last year, Grammy greats Flaco Jimenez played accordion, and Bobby Flores played violin and steel guitar; both awesome warm folks to be around.

The scene of the book that inspired this song, is the train ride where Teresita  is leaving Mexico with her father.  Suspenseful and vivid, all the people whose lives Teresita has affected–with her healing heart and hands as a young Bruja– actually line the railroad track, for hundreds of miles.  They seem sentinels to her safe passage.  Though revolution is brewing, one gets the sense that if anything happens to her; beyond revolt– complete war will break out.  This made me think of all the power, that we as a people can have with our governments, with events. Power in numbers.  And of course, I couldn’t help but to reflect on all that was going on 2 years ago with the Iraq war.  Thus the lyric line in the chorus:

“They whisper… Start a revolution, to end a war.”

Teresita                       2010 Tortilla Western Serenade.  Physalia Records

Teresita the earth is ready to serve you.
Lay your ear closer to the ground.
Teresita the rivers rise beneath you-
‘ Going to give you all the strength you need.

They Whisper…Start a Revolution,
To end a war!

Teresita the winds have a vision to show you.
Close your eyes to feel what they will say.
Teresita though your dreams are sharp & restless-
The world awaits a saint and a heroine.

They Whisper… Start a Revolution,
To end a war.

Teresita the earth is ready to hold you.
Plant your feet firmly on frontier.
Teresita the priests fear your hands of healing,
Little Bruha with a hundred dreams that see

They whisper… Start a Revolution,
To end a war.

Teresita the fates have a hand to play you.
Read the sky to know which way to go.
Teresita though your skin is cut & bleeding
and the train is taking you so…Far from Home.

They Whisper, Start a Revolution
Start a revolution!
Start a revolution…
To end a war!

copyright 2010. Tara Linda

The song Teresita: (or you can also just click on the sidebar of this blog- of the album Tortilla Western Serenade, & scroll to the song Teresita).

Tears dry on their own- Live “Other Voices”

And her new posthumous release “Lioness: Hidden Treasures” feels old skool, all roots. Awesome.

Moving now. I love change. The process of changing. But moving…ick!

The cleansing call. This rain. This down for the count
“finish”, funnels through the now of an hourglass, (never was yours
to keep), a narrow morph as whirlwind sweeps clean, a desert overnight.
The wait is over. Now just touch, toss, purge, move rapidly toward
less, to ensure you arrive empty handed- the real happiness-
nothing. Spiraling to the final finish, push to the salute of
wind & rain, all elements at your back to help in this morphing cleanse.
Sacred mindstate where nothing is sacred, thankfully, no thing is
Safe- thank fully-  Things to do today:  Move. Touch. Toss. Purge.

I am feeling serious gratitude today.  The kind I can’t control-

exuberant, over-spilling, where I have to just stop, and shout from the street-

I CHERISH YOU & EVERYTHING AROUND ME!!  

From the weather (sunny 70 degrees in Oakland ,

to our freedoms on the street; to breath and beauty; to friends- that are here for me while I make changes;  musical friends & the many Muse’s helping me finish my CD now- that mad last dash…   All while I “clean house” in my life, literally & figuratively, packing boxes to move. 

Seems many are “cleaning house” now;  ridding of what ails, what doesn’t serve anymore.  And what a beautiful ritual that is!

Am I procrastinating?    No.  Simply, seriously grateful. 

And just stoppin’ to say

On the new CD, we are doing the liner notes & CD layout now.  Photos just taken; I would like help picking the  cover photo- so please stay tuned to chime in on this next bit.

Oh- and thank You for being here to grow this blog; my creative corner of the universe.  I am almost 1.5 years old now.  (I missed my own 1-yr anniversary!!!)  Time for champagne!   

I find the early mythology about the Muses compelling; little else acknowledges the human spirit and it’s everyday need to thrive by creative expression.  By the early mythologies, it is wholly natural to be  opened up and filled with transcendent qualities; wonder, knowledge, beauty, inspiration- starting points for all arts.  Most have heard of the seven or nine Muses, (epic poetry, history, love poetry, music, tragedy, hymms,  dance, comedy, astronomy).  These may seem archaic, but we could easily replace the terms with our own contemporary art forms. What fascinates me are the first accounts of the earliest three Muses.

“Three ancient Muses were also reported in Plutarch’s Quaestiones Conviviviales (9.I4.2-4).^[5] The Roman scholar Varro relates that there are only three Muses: one who is born from the movement of water, another who makes sound by striking the air, and a third who is embodied only in the human voice. They were Melete or Practice, Mneme or Memory and Aoide or Song.”  wikipedia.

Mneme was the Muse of thought and meditation.

Melete literally means “ponder” and “contemplation” in Greek.

Aoidē means “song” or “voice”.

In my poem below, a conversation by the sea, about these first Muses. The Wordle below gave more words to use.

Three Muses

First there were three, and three men to argue by firelight, what form, what need bore them to be. 

Space,  the tallest said. Piercing all darkness, filling the void to reignite the stars, its air the first to hold all form and fluid, tension and spark. The first to carry dream into wonder.

Water, said the small one.  And the stirring, strident life that dove,
mixing water with air, a dappled swish of her tail. She who rippled the night’s delirium, crossed the threshold.  Gave Memory its motion.  Imagination traveling beyond itself to tell a story.  The first.

Nay, said the third. Seems She that swam from a nautilus shell, would be the first to pleat the sea with waves of sound. Transcend mere ears with mystery.  Carry the divine spark rippling and remembered, to the longing Soul.  Quicksilver mirror, tone on pitch, the waiting voice.  Heart spills over in song.

Tara Linda   Copyright 2011. vs. 5