So, here we have an anonymous request for a statement from me on the Gangaji/Eli situation. While it’s somewhat nice to get an actual comment on this, what has been a mostly unread-by-others little diary of mine, I have to admit to some suspicion of this request. After all, the only people outside of Ashland, Oregon likely to even know who Gangaji and Eli are would be those people who are in the group, and those people in the group are in large part involved in some form of fighting, arguing, posturing, breaking into camps over the whole human mess. And since I have recently posted to a discussion board thereof. And, since it’s likely that Anonymous tracked me over here from that board. And, since Anonymous has called itself “Anonymous,” well, it just seems like kind of a chicken way to start something up. Sorry, Anonymous. If you want to begin a discussion or if you are for some reason interested in my particular thoughts on the matter you’re going to have to be someone else besides Anonymous and you’re going to need to let us know something about why you are interested. Even then I don’t know that I’m in a mood to write about the G/E conundrum here. What’s the point? Suffice it to say that when we are surprised by humans acting like humans our best bet is to look inward. So, Anonymous, provide me with a point and an identity and I’ll reconsider.
Peace to one and all. Tonight: State of the Nation. Like we don’t know already.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Friday, January 19, 2007
I Didn't Mean To!
Wow, I just googled "jasmineblossom" to see if my blog would come up, and guess what the top-level return was? A dating site for Chinese Ladies to meet Gentlemen from Other Countries. It's ironic. Given that I am trying to help victims of human trafficking. Karma is a very strange bedmate.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Moving Into Lafayette Square
It’s important that I moved to The City. It marks a jump in bravery for me. Bravery. What is that? I couldn’t make this move the year before because I was afraid of being isolated amongst all the Others I Did Not Know. In the country, or small townishness, one can pretend the world isn’t filled with such a density of Others. This is at least what I imagine to be so. It took a romantic crisis to move me off my paralyzed comfort chair (that’s not literal, Others) and into a life of my own. It had been a long time since I’d attempted a life of my own. Really, since I started having children, lo those many years ago. Without attempting to explain the intricacies here which, Frankly, I think are just boring as hell, I will only say that I thought I would be living alone and that I had no ties save the occasional visiting “grown” offspring, and so I decided to please only myself. I don’t know how many of you are mothers, but I can tell you that in spite of my selfish, selfish ways, this was an impetus that hadn’t moved me since I felt the first stir of my eldest son in that virgin womb of mine, one thousand thousand lightyears hence.
Add to that the simple realization, after getting stalked and peeped upon in the tame country wilds of Jerseyville, Illinois, and heartbroken living close across the street from my true love in a gritty suburbia, I knew I had nothing to fear from The City. In fact – and I knew it to be true – there is no safe place on Earth, so what difference should it make where I live?
Here there is beauty. Color. There are people who know my face (and not from looking through my bedroom window). There are small rewards and sweetnesses just for walking, and flowers and tall, queenly houses painted and arranged around the square park and they speak of permanence, order. There is in them something reaching outward, looking for promenade, for singing, for movement into rather than retreat out of, something safer than the absence of crime or risk. And even though I am at heart a hermit, I think I need the thing that risks friendliness in the face of carjacking. I just need to know that’s what’s outside my door.
Add to that the simple realization, after getting stalked and peeped upon in the tame country wilds of Jerseyville, Illinois, and heartbroken living close across the street from my true love in a gritty suburbia, I knew I had nothing to fear from The City. In fact – and I knew it to be true – there is no safe place on Earth, so what difference should it make where I live?
Here there is beauty. Color. There are people who know my face (and not from looking through my bedroom window). There are small rewards and sweetnesses just for walking, and flowers and tall, queenly houses painted and arranged around the square park and they speak of permanence, order. There is in them something reaching outward, looking for promenade, for singing, for movement into rather than retreat out of, something safer than the absence of crime or risk. And even though I am at heart a hermit, I think I need the thing that risks friendliness in the face of carjacking. I just need to know that’s what’s outside my door.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
So Long, Fair Well
Wow, it has really been one year and four months since I wrote a single word in this blog. Aren't I the absent one? I didn't finish the promised Chicago story, and can't promise I ever will.
All the news is on television. I could tell more stories, but I don't think they're as newsy as ice and killers and kidnappings and an intellectually challenged President who continues to think the US Constitution is in error regarding the balance of powers, but does't know how to express it, because of the int.chal. thing, and is nonetheless claiming to read the book by that British historian on colonialism in Algiers and the problem of torture, you know, What's-His-Name.
My stories? Heat stroke, reunion with F, baseball, human trafficking research, growing children (yes, from scratch), cars, Phoenix (not Scottsdale), that sort of thing. It's been a while. I sent chocolate mice to Tim and Lisa, not anonymously. Three times I've ordered stuff off the TV. I met a nice, fun poet woman who is attached to her sketchy aristocratic ancestery, hers not as sketchy as mine, but the similarity is fun -- check her blog: http://kalidharmashaktidharma.blogspot.com/. What a writer! There is a shake-up in the Gangaji-Eli world, so sad. Oh, and perhaps I should write about the LLLL -- Lafayette Ladies Libation Leaque. So here I'll try to find my way henceforth with more regularity. .
All the news is on television. I could tell more stories, but I don't think they're as newsy as ice and killers and kidnappings and an intellectually challenged President who continues to think the US Constitution is in error regarding the balance of powers, but does't know how to express it, because of the int.chal. thing, and is nonetheless claiming to read the book by that British historian on colonialism in Algiers and the problem of torture, you know, What's-His-Name.
My stories? Heat stroke, reunion with F, baseball, human trafficking research, growing children (yes, from scratch), cars, Phoenix (not Scottsdale), that sort of thing. It's been a while. I sent chocolate mice to Tim and Lisa, not anonymously. Three times I've ordered stuff off the TV. I met a nice, fun poet woman who is attached to her sketchy aristocratic ancestery, hers not as sketchy as mine, but the similarity is fun -- check her blog: http://kalidharmashaktidharma.blogspot.com/. What a writer! There is a shake-up in the Gangaji-Eli world, so sad. Oh, and perhaps I should write about the LLLL -- Lafayette Ladies Libation Leaque. So here I'll try to find my way henceforth with more regularity. .
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