Spiral Aurora

2010-02-22T09:13:00.002-06:00

Aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh.............

That, dear friends, is the relieved sound of my soul sighing after a much-needed weekend of, not quite rest and relaxation, but definitely rejuvenation and soul-breathing.

I feel like my spirits were being starved, but I didn't realize it until someone sat me down in front of a plate of food.

Mmm.

Please check out this site.

I remembered this weekend why I want to be a musician. Who I want to be. I remembered Mindfulness. Not how to be mindful all the time, but how to try to be mindful all the time. I've never actually achieved the former. But I did give up trying for a while.

Step 1: Be Mindful of the World Outside this Cube.

peace,
rachel audrey

More lessons in living

2010-02-15T17:54:00.005-06:00

The current view from my kitchen window.

Garden-level apartment living lesson #57:

Make sure your circadian rhythms are reliable. Because in February, you will receive no cues from the sun indicating what time it may be out there.

peace,

rachel audrey

Like corduroy

2010-02-10T14:51:00.004-06:00

You see the lines run down his face
Like corduroy,
And you have to ask,
Whose plan went
So awry?
What dust has settled in that
Craggy landscape,
Debris from days and years of
Dreams built and broken?
Sighs from debts settled and
Words,
Too hastily spoken?
I asked him, I said,
Where have you been?
He whispered into my hair,
I walked down the street I lived on
And ended up right here.

peace,
rachel audrey

Life Lessons

2010-02-09T17:15:00.004-06:00

There are many reasons why people believe that living in a garden level apartment is unsafe. One of the lesser-known lessons is as follows:

Meanwhile...2 stories below:

My front door.

Apartment lesson number 56: Be prepared for imminent icicle-induced death.

peace,
rachel audrey

Yes, this is what we do in the cubes.

2010-01-28T22:24:00.002-06:00

While my sister and I may live and work across the country from each other, we still manage to maintain a healthy level of communication. Well, maybe healthy is not the right word for it. Just wanted to share this excerpt. And yes, this is considered a normal exchange between her and I.

On Wed, Jan 27, 2010 at 3:36 PM, Theresa L wrote:

i wonder if i can never keep potatoes for very long before they get squishy is because it is simply too warm where i live. and apartments don't generally have basements/root cellars.

From: Rachel
Sent: Thursday, January 28, 2010 9:10 AM
To: Theresa L
Subject: Re: potatoes

It's probably because you do not have the correct atmospheric conditions to sustain the quality of the potato's life. By which I mean, the potato is unhappy. Due to his unhappiness, he kills himself. Therefore his quality and his quantity of life are both decreased greatly because of your unfavorable atmospheric conditions. The remedy? Hire a comedian. Potatoes love to laugh. This will increase their quality, and thereby their quantity, of life greatly.

On Thu, Jan 28, 2010 at 10:22 AM, Theresa L wrote:

However, I believe the potato is already at least comatose if not completely expired by the time it arrives at any person's home. Therefore, I'm not sure how much comedic relieve would assist in elevating their quality of life, because they are already headed into the downward spiral that culminates in our stomach, or la poubelle.

From: Rachel
Sent: Thursday, January 28, 2010 10:33 AM
To: Theresa L
Subject: Re: potatoes
I must disagree. While the very nature of a potato's being does, on the surface, seem to mirror that of a dead or dying corpse in its stillness, there are many facets of a potato's nature that extend well beyond the visual expression of life. I implore you to avoid being one of those who assume a lack of movement means the extinction of life.

p.s. To answer your original question, my day is going well. Guess we got a little off topic.

I must profess my love.

2010-01-20T09:18:00.009-06:00

He is my soul mate, my spirit guide. I wake up in the morning and he is always there. There is never a note on the pillow, "Sorry, Had to get up early, talk to you later." He does not leave his dirty boxers on the floor in a pile. He does not use my razor to shave. He never leaves toothpaste scum in the sink. Sometimes he leaves behind a little mess on the kitchen counter, but it is only because he knows I like to be reminded that he was there.

When I am sad, he cheers me up. When I am empty, he fills me. When I am happy, he only adds to my excitement. He gets me through hard days at work, and pulls me out of bed in the early morning with a warm embrace. He works with me through thick and thin, always just sitting there, waiting for me. He never complains. Some days he is a little bitter, but always finishes with a hint of sweetness. He is excellent to share a cigarette with.

He often reminds me of the days when I needed him most. The days when I was running on fumes, an hour of sleep here or there, lessons to prepare for, papers to write. Who always had my back? He did. Who met me early in the morning, at lunch, and again at 3:00 every single afternoon to keep me going? He did.

He lets me cry into him. He lets me laugh and jostle him around. He lets me sit silently, fuming or just thinking. We never argue. His usual silence is an anchor that I hold onto very dearly.

People try to tell me we spend too much time together. They tell me I am addicted to him, that I am only hurting myself the longer I stay with him. But they are all wrong. They don't understand. People fear his darkness, his intensity and complexity. Not me. I know it comes naturally to him, that it is not an act. Me and him, we're on the same wave.

When I distance myself from him, I become weak. My world becomes dimmer, emptier, sadder, and achier. And I know he is just there, waiting for me. So I always run back, full of sorrow that I would ever think of leaving him.

I like him because he is strong, and I have made him that way. After years of trial and error, we have come to understand how to make every day perfect:

8 scoops, fresh ground, for 6 cups.

Oh, Coffee. How I love thee.

Stuff and things.

2010-01-12T09:56:00.005-06:00

I just started reading Walden, Or, Life in the Woods, by Henry David Thoreau. This being said, I should mention that I have "started" this book three or four times now, but I think I am ready for it this time. I believe it definitely takes a certain mind-set, and even perhaps a certain commitment, to read this book. Maybe I feel like I'm ready simply because I've been freaking out a lot about money lately (who hasn't?) and Walden is proving to be, if not a ready provider of solutions, a source for some reprieve from money woes.

Granted, I'm not very far in. And I realize that there are people out there who spend their lives reading and living out this book. Not that I could be one. But it is interesting to think about a life in the woods.

Perhaps I could not make the leap to life completely out in the woods, but I do think it's important to at least TRY stepping out of our social expectations of what a "normal", "quality" life is. I've been thinking about this a lot as I read about the housing market and hear about my friends buying homes. For the most part, all I have seen are articles about buying homes, when is the right time to do it, etc. These articles all are written on the assumption that one should be buying a home, that it is expected, normal, and something we all will do at some point, it is just a matter of when. However, I did run across a very interesting article in the New York Times the other day that definitely caught my eye.

This article takes a different approach - it focuses on the men who wish they hadn't bought that home, the people who have become home-buyers and grown to regret it. In a time when all I hear is "renting is a waste", "now's the time to buy", I really like seeing the articles that are on my side. Now, whether my side is the result of logic or rather the result of an immature need to escape any real responsibility in this world, I'm not exactly sure. That is a different conversation altogether.

But my point is this -- I am at an age where I see many people around me rushing towards what they believe is the American dream. Which is fine. But I have to wonder - are they doing it because they want it, or because they think they are supposed to want it? Great, no new revelation here --- I'm sure many a 20-something first entering the real world asks him or herself these questions about her own life or the lives of her peers, but this is the first time I feel I have been observing it from the outside.

I live in a tiny TINY studio apartment, with a record player, a laptop, and my cat. No couch. Just a few chairs. My freezer is not big enough to fit a frozen pizza into. I can't remember the last time I went out to a dinner that didn't involve a hot dog or french fries. I keep my apartment heated to a toasty 58 degrees in the winter. I am not bragging. Nor am I asking for pity. It's the state of my being, for now, to live frugally for the most part, to throw money away on expensive coffee when I feel like it, and to find reasons to be happy living an existence that cannot rely on stuff, things, and gadgets. And who is to say whether it is good or bad to live this way? I am not passing judgment on those who have the means to buy homes, buy the good feta cheese, and heat their homes to a normal temperature when it is -30 outside. I am just trying to examine what it is that makes these things so appealing. What is it that makes us, as humans, WANT so many things?

Hell if I know. Just something I've been wondering. And just so you don't get the wrong idea, yes, I probably will drive to a cafe this afternoon and put $3.00 on the counter in exchange for a poorly-made but oh-so-delicious latte. But I will recycle the cup.

peace,
rachel audrey

2009-12-14T19:05:00.002-06:00

I packed my bags,
And left that place.
Promised I was never turnin' round,

But then I met my match-
She had my face.
I turned right on back, came home without a sound.

I said, Mama, what should I see?
She said, Darlin' take some time to see alone.
I said, Daddy, who should I be?
He said, Be the one who bravely marches on.

Someday, I'll see my path.
I know it will be bright and lined with stars.
But right now, that's too much to ask.
I just want to sit alone to heal my scars.

Battles, they're lost and won.
In the end it never really matters who.
But this time, when yours has begun,
Just remember that the lovers always lose.

Out of the desert,
Into the plains.
Up to the city,
And startin' all again.

Mind the questions, not the answers, and damn the torpedoes.

2009-10-29T12:26:00.003-05:00

I can honestly say that I did not realize it had been so long since a post.

Granted, I tend to believe (after the fact) that most of my posts are superfluous and unnecessary, with no real meat in them. But I guess it just depends on what one looks for in a post. And now it occurs to me that I might spend too much time thinking about the qualities of a post. So we're just going to move past it.

So the crazy lady next door, Sandra, has recently announced that she is going to stomp me. This comes as no surprise for those of you who are aware of the history I have with Sandra. For those of you who are not, the synopsis is this:

According to Sandra, I strategically waited until she left to go pick up her daughter from school, and within that 10 minute time frame I found a dead black mouse and placed it in her parking spot as a racial threat.

Those are the basic facts. Allegedly (not that I recall any of this actually happening, but what do I know?). Below is a story inspired by the event for those of you who would care to read further:

It was a sweaty and satisfying end to a long day, and the evening proved to be gracious and merciful. I went outside to take a seat on my new perch in the stairwell of my garden-level apartment (although the “garden” turned out to be more of a jungle, bearing muskrat-sized zucchinis and ferocious, domestic-cat-attacking animals of the night, whose other victims I can only assume included the 3-legged rabbit I had seen limping around the property earlier that day).

The cool evening air and the hush of traffic was enough to distract me from the woman yelling at me from the next house over. That is, until she repeated herself, louder this time.

“ExCUSE me! Did you…” she said.

“I’m sorry? I didn’t hear you,” I replied. Yay! I thought to myself. A new friend, a neighbor, one with whom I can share block gossip, one who will invite me in for dinner! Someone to give me the Heimlich maneuver when I find myself choking on a piece of lettuce while eating alone in my studio apartment.

She repeated herself and the tone of her voice sent up red flags and some adrenaline rushing through my blood stream. This was the unmistakable voice of an angry woman on a mission; you could feel the weight of the massive hunk of granite resting on her left shoulder growing heavier with each syllable she spat.

“Did you SEE who put a DEAD mouse in my FUCKING parking spot?”

“A mouse?”
“A DEAD, BLACK, MOUSE.”

“Did I see who put it there?” I only asked the question because the words “who” and “put” were really throwing me off here.

“You fucking HEARD ME. Who the HELL put that dead fucking MOUSE in my PARKING SPOT!” I knew it was a question by the syntax, but she launched the words through the air at me more like a missile than a query.

“Uh, are you sure it wasn’t a cat?”

“There ain’t no fucking CATS around here.”

“Well, I have a cat. But he stays inside, so I guess it wasn’t him. Are you sure there aren’t cats around here? I think I’ve seen cats here. But I just moved in, so I guess I don’t really know. But I think I saw a cat the other night…” The words dripped out of my mouth like water from a leaky faucet. Perhaps I was trying to bore this scary woman into leaving me alone by ceaselessly gabbing until she got so fed up that she would slam the kitchen window shut and forget I had ever existed.

It turns out that approach wasn’t going to work. My run-on sentences merely acted as fodder for her fury.

“It wasn’t no CAT. Someone waited for me to leave, then came out and put that DEAD fucking mouse where I park my car. RIGHT in the middle. Let me TELL you, I’m the wrong bitch to mess with…” And so on, so forth, and in the words of King Mongkut of Siam, ‘EtceteRA, etceteRA’.

As Sandra (I later learned the demon-neighbor’s name was Sandra) continued with her threats and other various announcements through the dirty screen of her kitchen window, I withdrew into my own thoughts, with only the occasional “FUCK” or “Start a fire like you ain’t never seen” slipping through the filter I had put up against her words. I began to drift, and it occurred to me that I was at a crossroads. I clearly saw the two paths I could take – ignore this woman or not ignore her, it was that simple. And I realized that I had been training for this moment for nearly an entire year.

“WWED?” I thought to myself. “What would Emily do?” This seemed like the most important question I could ask myself.

Why Emily? Because Emily is a goddess. Emily is the answer to the world’s problems.
She has the charm of Paul Newman and the steel resolve of a Mafia hit man. She is sweet and beautiful, with a heart like a bottomless buffet – “Take! Take! Take!” she says with open arms, a glistening smile, and endless hugs and kisses for every soul in line. Emily will tell you that she is not charming, but merely naïve, although I will always argue that just her statement of this fact makes it fiction, for the naïve do not know they are so. Naïveté and ignorance are fruits of the same tree, and Emily is neither of these.

I once watched Emily start a conversation with a rude and vaguely offensive man with whom those of us already sitting outside with him wanted little, if nothing to do. Within minutes she had learned and taught us all more about this man than I’ve learned about some people over the span of years, simply by asking him two questions: Are you healthy? Are you happy? She turned this stranger into another friend in the world, another spiritual fighter on our team. My idea of “stranger” melted away that day.

Some of you may be thinking, “Yes, that’s great, but too much sugar is bad for the teeth.” To that I say two things: we can handle, and could use, a lot more sugar than conventional standards allow, and secondly, one of my favorite things about Emily is the sour to her sweet. Just when it gets to the point where you ask yourself, “Does this girl have no limits?! Does she really love everyone THAT FUCKING MUCH?!!”, you see her air punch the back of some guy’s head for pulling a pan out of the box that she JUST PACKED, the pan that she JUST WASHED.
It is this anchor, but not unhealthy attachment, to the “real world”, the one that most of us embrace too tightly, that makes Emily so amazing. Too many of us hold onto the negative, choose to see people in the lights of their worst attributes, brush off those things that are foreign to us and drown ourselves in the familiar stench of conservative reality. Emily refuses these conventions, but not without acknowledging their existence. After all, the heroine cannot slay the dragon without first admitting that it is alive and kicking.

This is how I know she is not just crazy. Because the first time I ever met her, I was absolutely sure that Emily was certifiably insane. I had never met anyone so…nice. No-strings-attached, no-underlying-motives-NICE. Frankly, it was eerie. So I put up the old wall (you know, the one you whip out in line at the post office) and called it a day. But much to my surprise (and concern), it didn’t affect Emily at all. Like an arrow through the air of a crisp autumn day she hopped the fence and then proceeded to quickly (but oh-so-gently) take it down, pulling it apart and sorting the fragments into piles to be recycled and put to better uses than keeping the beautiful world out of this empty pasture.

And as quickly as I had disappeared into my WWED thoughts, I re-emerged. I don’t have to think about what Emily would do. I know what she would do by instinct. This is another beauty of her being – her joy of love and life is so intrinsic and true that one doesn’t have to think about it at all.

I stepped out of my head and right into the middle of Sandra’s threat to call her nephews on my ass (to teach me a lesson for putting the dead mouse in her driveway), and then she artfully segued into an explanation of the symbolic nature of the mouse’s color.

“Would you like me to pick it up for you?” I interrupted.

This stopped Sandra in her tracks.
“Excuse ME?”

“I said, would you like me to pick up the mouse for you? Would that make you feel better?”

“You can do whatever the hell you want. But that thing ain’t goin’ in my fuckin’ TRASH CAN.”

Now Sandra seemed a little dazed, and while it may have been the effects of whatever mental disorder she suffers from, I would like to think that my neighborly chivalry had something to do with it.

“That would be very kind of you,” she mumbled into the window screen.

At that, I scooted inside, grabbed the first plastic bag I found, and edged my way over to the long-deceased carcass of our infamous rodent friend (whom I had, by the way, named Rudolph at some point along the way). Gingerly I scooped him up and put him into a trash can (I still don’t know which one is actually mine), said a quick “Good night and good luck” as I slammed the lid shut, and went to go tell Sandra of my heroic deed.

I quickly walked back to her kitchen window, only to find that she had closed the glass and left me in the driveway all alone. And while I was relieved that she had decided to find a new target for her suffering, I was more overcome by the disappointment I felt for not being able to end my conversation with her the way I had planned, by asking her two simple questions:

Are you happy? Are you healthy?

To Whom It May Concern,

2009-07-29T16:25:00.001-05:00

To whom it may concern,

The days of wine and roses are over. The sun no longer shines for us; in fact, I don’t believe it ever actually did. Today is the first day of the rest of your life. Rather, it is the last day of the best of your life. Actually, yesterday was the last day. Today is the first day of the steady uphill trudge that is to be your daily grind from now on.

We’ve had a good run, but every good thing must eventually come to an end. It was good while it lasted, and so on. We spin so many lines to describe the terrible events that no one wants to admit were actually that terrible (yet in which we fully immersed ourselves anyway in some vain attempt at happiness), but now I can move on to explaining to you how this new game works, as the old one has come to a bitter and crashing halt.

First and foremost you must forego any attempts at self-flattery, adulation, and the achievement of happiness as you once knew it. The ghost of bliss we once easily recognized in the glow of kisses and steaming coffee has found shelter in more obscure places, creeping in through the cracks in the walls that were listening when we told the world how it ends—abruptly and without reason. Where there once was a soft and happy glow subtly illuminating the world so we could see it all at once, there now are just spotlights here and there, serving their purpose of illuminating singular moments of clear joy and cruelly creating a deafening darkness in the meantime, one through which we stumble and often fall. But just as we pitch ourselves unwittingly into the holes we also climb out into lovely moments once in a great while. These are the dreams which keep us walking.

Secondly, you will grow to expect that no man or woman outside of your own soul will ever be able to support you in times of great spiritual need. Not your mother, your father, or the person with whom you spend every waking moment, the one that you think about when you fall asleep and again when you rise, the one about whom you dream while Moon laughs down at you. This is not to say that any one of these people does not want to help, it is just that they are generally standing too close to be privy to the vision of your crumbling. By the time you come to this point your grievances will be hidden at the bottom of a chest cloaked in the dust of so many years of wakeful stillness, and the bright pain of them will only present as the smallest pinprick of light to those outside. And while we all wish to find the soul mate that distinguishes this one light from the rest, most of us will never recognize our rescuers.

To be continued,

2009-06-25T11:09:00.002-05:00

Wow, I didn't realize it had been so long. I had these grand plans of using Sundays to write entries, but like so many plans I make, that didn't really happen.

I've been thinking a lot about self-discipline, and more specifically, my lack thereof. I think if I could only master that art, then my whole life would be monumentally easier (at least, on a daily basis). The key seems to be living one moment at a time, or trying one moment at a time. If I hold myself up to grand, epic standards with no specific daily goals then I will never achieve what I have the power to achieve.

It's been an interesting month. It has highlighted my tendency to live on the wire, that is, I live in a constant feeling of trying to achieve balance. I don't know if it would be better to always find balance, or to always try for balance. I feel like always being balanced wouldn't suit my palette. This sounds almost masochistic, but I think that it would be quite boring to be balanced all the time. What I mean by balance is the perceived notion of emotional neutrality. I would say "stability", but I don't think that is the best word for it. I think one can be emotionally stable without necessarily being balanced. I think that a natural part of living life to its fullest is allowing yourself to fully immerse in all ranges of emotion. Yes, it can be painful at times when you're in the bucket, but it is also completely exhilarating during the ups.

Of course, I say this because this is how I currently live. Maybe if I had found a way to stay steady on the wire, I would be preaching otherwise.

I stood up on my toes
To watch the coming Storm
Only to find that
The Rain had already fallen.

peace,
rachel audrey

401suc(k)s

2009-05-13T10:12:00.002-05:00

What am I doing here. What am I doing here. What am I doing here.

Was coerced, or herded, really, into a meeting about 401(k)s and how I need to start worrying about my retirement today. If I want to be fiscally successful and independent, I should be putting 10% of my income away in a hidey hole. That's a great sentiment but then I would no longer be able to buy groceries. But really, eating is so passe, so I should probably give it up anyway.

No wonder some people believe the world is going to end soon. "Our" (as in the Western world, and probably beyond) priorities are absolutely fucked. We are cogs in a machine and most of us don't even care. What is life? Life is not working. Life is not money. Life is not stuff. Life is people. It is blood, it is spirit, it is the sun shining and the clouds raining, it is walking and breathing and loving and speaking and connecting and playing and so many other things that are in-quantifiable, therefore of no great importance in the modern world for that very reason.

Yes, I realize that it is wise to save money. It is something that I have to do in order to live in this world. But I get scared to think that someday I might be so involved in the quantifiable that I forget that those are DETAILS. My father told me that I was just going through a phase, that I'll grow up and come to realize that yes, the world is about money. If my notions that the world is much larger and more beautiful than a dollar bill can encompass are actually a phase, then I hope I die before I come out of it.

2009-05-03T12:17:00.003-05:00

Some days I wish I was steering. Others I'm happy I'm not. And the rest of the time I wonder who or what is supposed to be steering.

I was in the kitchen, and I heard it...so I came out.

2009-04-28T21:49:00.003-05:00

I was just sitting at my dining room table sorting through some old receipts after thoroughly lecturing myself on the importance of budgeting one's money, when I saw my planner sitting on the table.

I opened it up and started writing things in it, then got very sad that I have relatively few things to write in it these days, at least compared to when I was in school. And I automatically was caught in a weak grip of panic, but instead of surrendering I asked myself, "Why don't you enjoy this freedom? Go ahead. Yep. You...there you go."

I still have a bit of a sour feeling in my stomach, but I'm used to it.

This morning as I was leaving my house I caught a whiff of my shared hallway, and it's a smell that I recognized from moving into the place. The other day I cleaned my carpet with the same solution I used when I shampooed my sofa upon arrival in the Twin Cities. Where is the crazy sniffer lady going with this? Both of these smells instantly transported me back to the crazed feeling of panic I had when I moved up here, instead this time I was an observer, not a participant. And I actually smiled about it. Look at you, I said. Look at you there, freaking out, with no one in the room to protect you from your own fears, with no one to grab your shoulders and shake you. And guess what. You're still alive. And quite smug about it. Look at you, indeed.

Then I went to work, where I alternately consoled, cajoled, and harassed harried loan officers all day. Oh well. The good with the bad I suppose.

As a sidenote, I sometimes wonder if the world can be boiled down to love and fear, and am wondering if we perhaps combine and/or confuse the two.

evening

2009-04-23T22:11:00.002-05:00

I am waiting for something to happen. I have conflicting feelings about this situation. It is exciting, and generally fills me with a creative spirit that seems to lend itself to exciting happenings. But it also crosses my mind that I may not be forever satisfied with waiting for something to happen. Then I remember that while I do spend time waiting for things to happen, I also spend time experiencing new and wonderful things. In the end I can only hope that I never forget what it's like to enjoy/look forward to/work towards CHANGE.

PHEW!

2009-04-13T20:02:00.002-05:00

Okay, so I got some things out of the way in the last few days. To use an overextended phrase, I literally do feel like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I didn't realize how heavy it was until I finally chose to put it down. I even caught myself trying to pick it up again. Old habits die hard, I guess.

Nobody wants to gasp for air in icy water alone. But as it turns out, the people who manage to avoid it are the ones left on the other shore, and not the one where the grass is greener.

"keep on swimming, keep on swimming..."

Keep Calm and Carry On

2009-03-31T12:10:00.004-05:00

Propaganda poster from 1939 intended to comfort and inspire the populace should the massed armies of Nazi Germany ever cross the Channel.

Keep Calm and Carry On

I think we can all use a little dose of this idea.

2009-03-22T22:23:00.003-05:00

Another week on the journey. What have I learned?

I reconnected with a really close friend of mine, and made a new friend along the way. These two have and will surely in the future be important spiritual seekers and guides.

Someone helped me pinpoint something this week. He told me that he believes I have found out that I have power over my life, over the course of events that unfold, and the ultimate power in how I choose to perceive those things. I think he's definitely onto something, and putting that feeling into a tangible sense makes the vibe that much stronger and more empowering, and it just keeps multiplying upon itself.

Stranger to a seeker you may be,
But no longer dampen the spirit of the learner
Instead seek to quell your own spells of hunger
By breaking bread with the one who asks you questions.

Your answers are not the ultimate truth
But that one is a sneaky fellow
Changing skins to suit the notions that we keep
And in the end, the ultimate is not so useful as we hope.

Through the searching eyes of those who sometimes seek us,
Though we know not why,
We can create a mirror into
The things which we cannot see for ourselves, of ourselves.

peace and much love.

wha??

2009-03-15T14:11:00.002-05:00

I played with the trio at the Dakota Friday night. Then on Saturday I opened for Tricky with Deep Soul Deities. Best weekend ever.

When you show the universe you want it, the universe will generally lend a hand.

Peace and love to you all.

2009-03-11T13:20:00.002-05:00

I want to play music so badly that it makes my stomach do a little turn-y bubbly thing whenever I think about it. Sometimes it makes me sick.

I have fought against being a musician since I started playing the saxophone 13 years ago. I only just recently came around to it in the last couple years. I tried and tried to put it down, leave it behind, do something more economically productive, something that would more likely ensure financial success, something that would put me on an easy path of approval through tangible accomplishments.

I remember growing up how much I fought. I remember one day in particular when I was really upset about a lesson I was supposed to have, and how freaked out I was that I didn't think I was prepared for it, and how hard the music was, how much I sucked, blah blah blah. I worked myself up into a pretty good mess about that one, and told my mom I didn't want to do it anymore, I couldn't handle it, and that music wasn't for me, that I didn't know what I was going to do with my life. She sat me down and we had this conversation:

Mom: "Rachel, how many times have you cried over grades?"
Me: "Um, maybe once."
Mom: "Rachel, how many times have you cried about theater stuff?"
Me: "Never."
Mom: "How many times have you cried about your friends?"
Me: "Don't know. Never."
Mom: "How many times have you cried about boys?"
Me: "Never! No point!"
Mom: "How many times have you cried about your saxophone?"
Me: "Every freaking day. *Sniff**hiccup**"
Mom: "I think you are going to be a musician."

And that's when I told myself to stop fighting it. But I still did, just not with as much conscious effort. But everything up until now has been child's play. My world growing up, and the academic world into which I replanted after graduating high school were cradles, where nothing could really test my relationship with music. But now, scrapping my way through a world where people don't have jobs, homes, or money, let alone the time to think about where musicians fall into line, the fight has suddenly become a lot more important to me. And where I was once fighting against it, I now find myself fighting for it harder than I've ever fought for anything.

I think of music as a very real entity in my life. I consider myself to be married to it, completely committed even on the days when I wake up and think, "I WANT OUT!!". My saxophones are not instruments, they are the only children I ever want to have. I mourn for their injuries and want nothing more than to give them wonderful and exciting lives. I feel a personal responsibility to be the greatest musician I possibly can be, if only to avoid disappointing the entity which is my greatest love.

Yes, there's some cheese there. But eat it. Because it is honestly made.

Now stop wasting time and go give somebody a hug.

Ode to Pierre

2009-03-05T13:21:00.002-06:00

Work is slow. Yesterday I named my electric stapler and gave him a face, similar to the idea of Tom Hank's volleyball in Castaway, the name of which escapes me at this moment. My stapler's name is Pierre, and this is an ode to him.

You sit and stare
Oh Pierre,
While I type
Useless numbers into a dead machine.

You quietly wait,
Oh Pierre,
For someone to need your glorious power.

Oh Pierre,
You are the binder,
Turning mere sheets of paper into bundles of economy.

How empty this desk would be
Without you,
Dear Pierre.

Somebody save me. On the bright side, I'm leaving tomorrow afternoon for a mini Iowa tour with Deep Soul and don't have to see this desk again until Tuesday. Woot!

Life in all its varieties

2009-03-01T23:11:00.002-06:00

My plants, as it turns out, are not dead. They were simply pretending and have recently begun to radiate my windowsill with life. This makes me happy, as I thought I was responsible for the death of five plants that have been with me for the last five years. Turns out they were just really cold.

In other news, just got back from recording some tracks for the Deep Soul demo (we are playing March 7 at the Hub, for those of you in the valley of cedars), and experienced that moment I think (hope, for my selfish sake) every musician recognizes when you hit a wall and are forced to admit you will not scale it immediately. Well, I hit the wall, and it stunned me and even got me a little upset, but I'm just going to go to bed and see how my horn and I are getting along tomorrow.

Ah, Monday. The day when I am forced to reckon with the fact that I have an office job. Some days are harder than others to reckon with my desk, to convince myself that it's just for the rent and won't be my permanent life. I am generally thankful that I have a job at all, as that is more than many can say at this point in time.

Whenever I get down about life I try to take a moment to send some positive vibes to others, to wish them luck in finding employment (as many friends of mine are currently hunting), to help them find peace in their meanings, and to provide a knowledge that I will always be there to lean on, as I would hope they would be there for me. After spending a few minutes focusing my energies towards others, I generally find the day approachable and more welcoming.

Oh yes, and this weekend marks my first six months in the Twin Cities. I couldn't be more pleased and excited about my life here. I think back to my first months here and absolutely cannot believe the progress I've made, not only with my life goals but also the ways that I have grown as a human being. I cannot express how it feels to be writing this right now, but I can express my firm belief that while we all go through some frighteningly trying times, battling life and our own minds and egos, there is so much to be learned through fighting those battles. I thought I knew exactly who I was when I graduated college. I thought I knew exactly who I was until I moved up here, actually. Then I learned that there were many things about me that I hated, that I feared, that I didn't understand at all. I was forced to examine these things and take a proactive role in my life for the first *real* time, ever. And while it still scares me and some days fills me with panic, I know that I have made the right decisions, have led myself down a path filled with surprising and beautiful things.

I wish you all serenity and love.

Thank you unwitting guru

2009-02-27T02:17:00.004-06:00

I love all of you. We are all profoundly inspiring each other without realizing it. Those who do realize it often take it upon themselves to become the guru of others, and for that we should all thank them.

For those of us who are imploding upon our selves, please remember that the people in your life are pillars, and often enjoy playing that role more than you are aware.

World spins without us and we choose
To see that we are not important enough
Or too important to be effective
On daily movement, planet life continues.

Vagabond dreamers hold truths precious
To hearts soldered shut by days passed
Lovers gone and love whisked away.

Now softly cloaking our eyes
With veils of egos, boost our smiles
Quickly, now let no man peek
Inside a haunted dream.

I was following the pack of swallows.

2009-02-22T20:51:00.003-06:00

Sunday night. I cannot remember a time in my life when I didn't dread Sunday nights. It is one of my greatest accomplishments in the last few months that I now revel in the glory of Sunday evenings. I generally get to spend my Sunday evenings with a group of people who have proven to be vital in my sanity since I moved up here. They are beautiful and amazing people who have taught me what is valuable and important in this short life that we all live together. And even when I don't see those people on Sundays, I take that time to think about how important the people in my life are to me. It's a new revelation for me to be so positively and consciously engaged in the relationships I have with, well, everybody.

As I'm sure you may have noticed, I've been posting some poetry. That is because about two weeks ago, I began to write again, after a four year hiatus. I couldn't be happier. The same person who inspired me to begin writing again told me last night that once we focus on the love we have for the people we spend time with, then that love becomes the only thing of importance, and the world just has to come to terms with that. I can feel the world around me shifting towards this notion, and it fills me with indescribable peace.

If birds could walk like humans
Would they proudly march
In bubbles made of their own egos
Or would they flock?

Rush around in mad scrambles
To follow the wind
To no avail, because their wings
Are gone, not just clipped but
Taken away completely?

Hold their heads up high
And preach convictions,
Thinly veiled bitter gems
Cloaked in righteous beauty?

Or would they fall,
Crippled by the loss of
Wings that used to carry
Bodies less burdened?

2009-02-20T15:38:00.002-06:00

Pick up where you left off.
Don't let a second pass without
Telling the world what is wrong
And why, and who did it.

Raise the alarm wake the guards
They've missed the coming of
The enemy to our gates as he
Breaks them down and threatens to
Build them newer, better, stronger, fiercer.

Set your arrows upon the man who
Tells you you are wrong and all that's true
Is false and your fear is false just like
Your pride and sorrow and the
Only truth is in your love,
Which you've locked away and lost.

Set the dogs upon the scent
Of love long lost, it hides
Somewhere deeper than we know
But we will look and
They will bark even if it's dead
It must be somewhere and they will smell it.

Just like the scent of fear, so palpable is the
Aroma of love even smothered
We will look and they will bark
It must be somewhere, we will find it.

Try as we might...

2009-02-15T14:32:00.002-06:00

Try as we might the stars won't shine for us.

Streaming down in silent ways,
We say that stars are like eyes,
Peeping toms in the night skies
Staring, daring us to go further.

Who says planets don't align
To bring us pleasure, life
A sign that something's right
Now, here in the ether.

Daily jumps through daily hoops
For treats, rewards that rarely
Come through, but still
We try and try again.

Someday soon, not now
Not then, but when
We do break the hoops
The stars will smile,

Then as we try, might the stars shine for us.

Who's the realist now??

2009-02-12T13:12:00.009-06:00

As I sit here in my cubicle, perusing various blogs and trying to delay my lunch as long as possible in order to ease the suffering of a long and tedious afternoon, I keep coming back to one thought—the strength of a negative mind-frame, and how important it is to fight against it.

Rarely in the past have I ever considered myself, or been considered by anyone else to be the optimistic member of any group. I usually was labeled the cynic, or pessimist, to which I faithfully replied, “No, just a realist.” But I’ve since learned that reality is not static or fixed, but rather some foggy combination of fact and our perceptions thereof.

It is far too easy to allow the world and all of its inhabitants, tangible or otherwise, to step on you and keep your head under water. The challenge here is to fight back, come gasping back to the surface, while still knowing that there is a long line of people waiting to push you back down. Those people who manage to successfully resurface over and over again have discovered something that others have not—that our attackers are mostly fictional; it is generally our own thoughts pushing us below the surface; usually we are only drowning ourselves.

The most successful people in my experience are those who do not give the negative, invasive, all-powerful constraints of “the real world” enough merit to do any permanent damage. Our dreams as artists are delicate and must be fiercely guarded against the savage beasts of those who have failed before us and wish us nothing but failure and desolation. Unfortunately for the artist, most of those beasts easily roam throughout our psyche due to the fact that our consciousness is their own birthplace.

If you reach out to the world with a vision of something powerful and bold and important in its own right then the world will reach back. There will more often be times when everything seems lost, when you’ve lost the will to continue reaching because nobody seems to return the favor, when the tree in the woods stops trying because it has come to the conclusion that nobody is watching anyway. These times feel like vast and utter failures. But it is only when we lay down and allow our own demons to drown us that we truly fail at anything.

We cannot rely on others to make our world beautiful and complete. We cannot wait for the permission of others to allow our dreams to come to reality. It is up to the individual to create a situation that lends itself to his or her success and happiness. Whether this means changing yourself, your perception of yourself, actively changing your settings or instead molding the surroundings in which you already find yourself to better suit your purpose, it is regardless no one’s responsibility but your own. Strength and courage may be gathered through those that we love and trust, but true success and happiness is borne from a seed that only we can plant in our own consciousness.

2009-02-08T16:29:00.003-06:00

Radiolab. Check it out.

I went back home this weekend. Each time I go it messes with my head a little bit less, but messabout it still does. It's painful. But I think it teaches me some very valuable lessons. Lessons which I hope I can understand at some point down the road.

I feel myself re-emerging these days. And then I disappear again for a few weeks, and painfully come out for a few hours, then scurry back into whatever secret hiding spot I have found, the location of which I have (purposely, I'm sure) neglected to reveal to anyone, including myself. I have decided that we are all multiple entities, and it is only when those entities are all honest with each other that one is truly peaceful.

I am frustrated that my heartbeat
Is not in rhythm with this song.

Can a true sage,
A master, really learn to control his heartbeat?

To make the interior and exterior a unified rhythm.

I wish I could sing it to you,
Perhaps then we could understand.

2008-12-22T17:42:00.003-06:00

Okay, so I've been waiting a little to see if anything worth writing about came up. And it turns out that everything I was tempted to write about was the subject of one pity party or another.

So, to get it out of my system, here's a pity party in brief: it's cold here, really really cold, and St. Paul is not the best about plowing streets. It snows every other day. And it's really really cold. My job is good but getting extremely stressful. I am angry that I get stressed out about real estate appraisals. Who the fuck cares? Not I. But I do, in some little way, because that's my job. I hate traffic. It shouldn't take me 50 minutes to go 10 miles just because it is cold outside. And the last of my blows, my destiny as a crazy cat lady has been put on hold because my faithful companion Milo is stuck on the west coast due to SNOW! Snow and I used to get along, we used to be chums. Now it seems that snow is doing its damndest to irk me, and it's definitely working. And yes, I realize that ranting about a cat is a little beyond normal, but I miss him dearly.

Now, for the good...I am playing more, and mysteriously keep getting gigs, for which I am extremely grateful to the friends who keep throwing them to me. I haven't practiced in weeks, but I'm finally getting comfortable with this life again, so I'm not going to press the issue. I think I might like it here.

And finally, the best news of all. The people at my local coffee shop recognize me. They sometimes know what I'm going to order, and they know not to put a java-jacket on my to-go cup because I always bring my own. Life is in the smallest details.

Thank you for perusing. Next time: something not about me.

2008-11-23T13:07:00.002-06:00

This is the first week that I have felt truly at home here. I think it's because it was jam-packed with rehearsals, a session, and a performance, with one more to come. Life is returning to normal--no sleep, lots of music, lots of coffee, and new friends to mark the occasion.

Tony Reedus died this week, and while I regret saying that I was not too familiar with his playing, in doing some reading about him I'm sorry that I didn't get to meet the guy. A reporter quoted him as saying, ""When people come to see you play, they want to escape, they want to feel good. Music is a celebration of life that comes from the heart." I think I could have shared many a beer tab with Tony.

I think about this concept a lot, about why we play music and why people come to hear live music. For me, it is an escape, both as a player and a listener. There's a secret place that all musicians and avid listeners have been to at least once, or at least, know exists (otherwise they would not try so hard to get there), where the world is perfect and beautiful and passionate and impenetrably safe. Every time I pick up my horn I am trying to find the path back to that place. I consider myself extremely fortunate to find that fortress quite often, and while the path doesn't get any more familiar, my trust in the fact that the path exists grows stronger every day because somehow I keep finding my way there.

I suppose it's a kind of faith. But using that word opens up a can of worms that has been opened too often by too many people. So let's use the word trust, instead. I play music because it strengthens my trust in the fact that there is unspeakable beauty and passion in this world.

My eyes are mine

2008-11-10T21:52:00.004-06:00

So I've been thinking a lot about perspective lately. I am still amazed at how vastly it changes, and how quickly those changes can happen. A mere month ago I was still scared shitless to be out of college and in the real world, I was convinced that by working a shitty job I was going to be stuck in a shitty job for the rest of my life, and that up until now, my whole life had been a glorious hoax.

Now, I am recently out of a job, and interviewing for more, with optimistic prospects. I do not miss school on a daily basis, and I find myself actually learning things because I truly want to, not because someone else told me to do it and I may or may not have agreed. And I've finally (almost...) come around to accepting a life that is relatively stress-free as a good thing, rather than a sign that I'm not working hard enough. The other day I was walking down one of the oldest streets in St. Paul and happened to catch the tail-end of a funeral. This was sad, but the good part was that I plopped down on some steps across the street from the church just in time to catch one of the most beautiful carillon performances I have heard to date. I had no idea when I woke up that morning that I would witness such a performance that day, and I realized how amazing it is that right now, at this pivotal part of my life, I had the opportunity to truly appreciate everything about that moment.

I've been walking a lot lately. I find that it calms me, and provides me with a sort of brain-recess, where I allow my thoughts to wander completely to the most absurd and useless places. I suppose it is some sort of meditation, except instead of my goal being to clear my mind, I basically just let it run around until it is tired and finally goes down for a nap. By the time I make it back up my front steps, I feel very much at peace with what is happening for me these days.

And don't get me wrong, there are still plenty of moments where I wonder, what the hell am I doing? How am I going to meet my ultimate goal? When am I going to go to grad school, and where? What am I going to do for the rest of my life?? But I just have to trust that at some moment, the picture will focus, if only briefly. I suppose you could say that right now I'm just working to figure out how the damn camera works.

A tree alone in the forest

2008-11-08T23:04:00.001-06:00

So, someone who I have a lot of respect for once posed the question (approximately), if a tree is in the forest and it tries really really hard, but there is no one around to notice, does it really matter how hard the tree tries?

Sometimes I say yes, sometimes no. I guess it all depends on the weather that day. But I find myself believing that even though, at the moment the tree is trying really hard, there may not be anyone there to notice, there are two things that should inspire the tree to keep trying. 1) If it doesn't try, then it has to live knowing that it didn't try. 2) There is someone around, at some point in time. Now, whether that someone is actually an entity outside of the tree, I don't know, nor do I think it is of that much importance.

Perspective is a powerful influence. If I believe that what I do matters, then it matters. If I choose to believe that what I do isn't important, then it isn't important. The hardest part is to ignore the people who tell you that your art is a fool's task. Their eyes are not my eyes, their ears are not my ears. What they believe is of no importance to me. And I cannot believe I am doing this, but it reminds me of one of the only moments in which I agreed with RJ, when he preached the conviction that "what you think of me is no concern of mine."

Art and Fear

2008-11-06T13:22:00.001-06:00

Been reading a lot lately. I just finished Art and Fear, by David Bayles and Ted Orland, and I highly recommend it. I was really happy to see it avoids getting into the self-help side of things, and sticks generally to a sardonic, realistic, and mostly optimistic, view of the topic.

I also just put down Growth of the Soil, by Knut Hamsun, a Norwegian author who won a Nobel prize for this book (first published in 1917). I randomly came across it in the "Just In" section of the library, as this is a recently released new translation. This was one of those books that surprised me just as much on the shelf as it did while I was reading it, and I have this weird feeling that the book picked me (and cue cheesy music *here*). Anyway, it provided a very real and much needed glimpse-of-the-forest-through-the-trees moment for me. Definitely check it out if you're looking to move beyond your current beach-read.

Back to hunting for jobs, which, surprise surprise, is proving to be slightly more of a labyrinth these days. I just had my first pivotal moment where I realized that all of the issues we discuss on NPR and complain about over beer, or coffee, really do affect me. Drat!

One thing that is pretty cool--I've got my place settled, am feeling pretty comfortable in my routine, and now that I don't have a job (temporarily, please), I have the perfect opportunity to make coffee, stay in my pj's all day, and practice as I please. I remember thinking this summer that I should really enjoy my no-classes-not-many-hours-working-a-job-summer lifestyle, because it was the last time I was ever going to be able to live in such a manner, and I am very happy to note that I was wrong.

Now, let's see how long I have to practice overtones before the bulldog next door starts barking at me.

Premier, aka, Cave-In

2008-11-05T22:24:00.000-06:00

Okay, I used to wonder how anyone had the time to blog. But now that I've been reborn into the real world after years in school, I'm beginning to understand a few things.

The first thing I've come to understand is that academia and reality have very few things in common. Even the smallest things have drastically different meanings in everyday life. Take coffee, for example. I used to drink it because I needed to pull 20-hour shifts of quick thinking and cunning moves to get through the day. Now I drink it for one of two reasons: 1) I like it, and 2) I have nothing better to do than brew a pot of coffee and ponder life over its luscious aroma. I know what you're thinking: poor girl, what a life? Time to drink coffee? Quit bitching! And yes, I hear you there. But these last few months have been spent finally coming to this frame of mind after years of the possibly warped but nonetheless hard-to-break habits of thinking that any time spent not stressed and tweaking out over finishing a project and making chartable progress in "life" (what does that mean?) was time indeed wasted.

Long story short, I'm learning to ponder, and enjoy pondering, without that guilt that I should be "doing something". Hopefully, I can share some of the things about which I ponder.