The Domino Effect

Trust and betrayal have weighed heavily on my mind lately. Things can happen to you to make you wary and protective and that ultimately cause you to lack the ability to trust anyone. There are good valid reasons at that point not to trust others, but there are even greater reasons to keep trusting, even when it ends in betrayal, ESPECIALLY when it ends in betrayal.

How many times have you seen someone lose their faith in everything, even lose their faith in God/Goddess/a higher power all because they were betrayed by one person? And why does it seem afterwards as if life becomes a series of betrayals? As if every experience with other people afterwards only reinforces that? I don’t actually think that is the imagination or just a self-fulfilling prophecy.

My experience in my own life and my observation of others is that when there is a lesson that needs to be learned, we will continue to be hit with the same problem again and again until we learn. Call it a little gift from God.

So, what would be the point in dealing with betrayal again and again? I guess you would need to consider what your life is about and what the point of life is, etc. in relation to your own personal development and your job in the world. While every person’s answer will differ I think there are some basic jobs that all humans have an obligation to.

For one thing, I think the world would be a better place if more people were loving. There'd be less poverty, war, crime, you get the picture. People would suffer less in their own personal lives and the effects would be passed from two people to many. Half the problems we have, or perceive we have, occur because we feel like we aren’t getting enough of something-we’ll call it love although you could call it a lot of things- and as a result we act out, try to get that thing, make others suffer as ‘payback’ , etc. People walk around living in their own little private hells- these moving conglomerations of experiences that have wounded them so deeply sometimes that they act out without any idea of who they are hurting. Many times when we are hurt by them, the act had nothing to do with us and everything to do with their perceptions of the world in all the moments leading up to the confrontation. A kind of post-traumatic stress disorder.

So, if we are walking around with the walking wounded and we react against their reacting and then pass it along to the next person it becomes exponential. But, instead, we could love them and basically bear the burden of their act, accept it gracefully and stop the chain. Loving others in this way, even when they hurt us, betray us, is shifting the whole world.

Then, if loving people is a relevant goal because it would bring in a higher good on a personal as well as world level, how do we do that? Anyone can love those people that always love you, are always kind to you, are always loyal to you. The real test of your humanity is when you are betrayed by people-whether you can love them anyway and still be open to life and trusting again. Closing up out of protection is kind of like having something in your hand and making a fist
so it won’t fall out. Sure, it won’t fall out, but you also can’t receive anything else in that hand.

We are so happy when life/God/etc. gives us wonderful things, we accept those things gladly. But how happy are we when crappy stuff happens? Betrayal, crisis, misfortune are all gifts as well. It is in those moments that we stretch and learn and grow. We could change not only ourselves, but the world. In those moments we can choose to cry and let it pass and keep our hand open.

It will surely be filled again someday.

Haven't We Done This Before?

It's such an interesting mystery, why we choose people, isn't it? We get older and we see this long pattern of certain kinds of people and maybe those relationships didn't work so we draw whatever conclusions we draw from it. I've thought alot about this the last year that I've lived with my fiance.

From everything I've learned about all my fiance's ex-girlfriend/fiances/wives I'm this weird cross-section of traits from all of them (and his twin brother actually). I know this because my fiance and various members of his family have talked about the exes extensively. I hear stuff and think to myself, "Yikes, that sounds like me" and then I think of ways to not be like that or sometimes think, "hey, what's so wrong with being like that?"

Whereas before in my life I'd probably be more likely to say, "hey, PASS" and find somebody else (cause he's alot like other people I've been with that drove me crazy though I love him insanely, he he he), this time I decided to stick around and love him . For us, obviously there were things that needed to be learned. We are both really trying, although sometimes there's been some shouting and storming from rooms, etc. Being open to each other and the lessons that need to be learned and surviving God throwing in the stuff that he/she/universe kicks in is so freakin' hard!

His family disliked the same things about me that they disliked about all the others and actually 'disowned' me, though I love them and didn't understand what I'd did. That one still makes my head spin.

One of the biggest problems is my general approach to life/problems/conflict. I think it's wonderful when people are blunt and straightforward and truthful. Sometimes it hurts but it makes you feel so much more secure because you know what they really think. Some people hate this and I get alot of flack for it. My fiance says that I need to learn that sometimes people aren't ready to hear what I have to say. He told me some time ago that I need to learn discretion and I daresay he is right. But, the whole thing was so confusing for me that for a period of time I wasn't saying much of anything!! Finally, he yells, "For heaven's sake, say something! Just say what you need to say!" Cause with my wee brain, I just couldn't do what he was asking. SOO, I figure that maybe if I just learn to love more and more, that out of love, I'll begin to exhibit the kind of consideration and gentleness he's talking about.

You think?

Taste the Love

My mother says that my dad had heartburn every night for a year when they were first married. Now, my mother is a good cook, don’t get me wrong. But her kitchen-related training came from my grandmother and great-grandmother (who lived across the yard) who were, of course, Mexican. My great-grandmother could make a green chili so hot that it would burn the lining of your nose from across the house, in the refrigerator, in it’s sealed Tupperware container that had in turn been put into a sealed plastic Ziploc bag. That woman had a stomach made of steel. She lived to be 103.

When you go out on your own, you cook for your family all the dishes that you’ve eaten as a child. I think it nearly killed my father that first year. At some point, though, my mother’s love for my father (well, pity anyway) ruled the day and she got some recipes from his mother. I loved my grandma Lela and I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, I mean I have fond fond memories of the afternoons spent playing dominoes and checkers and don’t get me started on all the cookies that were provided to me over the years, but…she cooked the most boring food that ever was on the face of the planet. She in turn, passed this on to my mother for the sake of my father’s stomach.

The effect that this had on my siblings and I was tragic. This was particularly true because my mother never mastered the shift in cooking style from her family to my father's. Until I was in my twenties I thought steak was SUPPOSED to be black. I thought that tacos were supposed to be made with flour tortillas and ketchup. I was a lost child, completely displaced. I’ve learned over the years that the two ways that culture is transmitted to us is 1. The food and 2. the language. I had neither. My cousins used to make fun of me at family gatherings and offer me cabesa burritos. Oh, the love of family. I was too ‘white’ to be a real Mexican.

One good thing that came out of my years with my mother’s cooking (hey, it was a precursor to all my years of bad cooking) is that I learned to appreciate the simple. Truthfully, I LOVE my mother’s cooking. Going back generations, food was love. My mother always tried her very best for us. And she gave up a lot of what she liked out of love for my father. (except perhaps for the occasional burning of things when she was pissed off). When I go to her house I still expect her to feed me. So, to me, I always thought the food was just fine.

That is…until my fiancé came along.

Jodie is a complete FOODIE, a connoisseur of food. He can make cardboard taste good. It has been completely detrimental to my self-image as a woman (no matter how much I think I’m a feminist I still come from people who measure the self-worth of a woman on whether she can flip tortillas with her fingers and not get burned and who can satisfy the appetites of the man she’s chosen to be with). There is no way on this earth that I would ever be able to adequately satisfy the appetite of a man who is a genius in the kitchen, who understands the science of proper herb and spice choice, and who creates the most elaborate visual/olfactory/gustatory presentations that I’ve ever experienced. After being with him for awhile my own expectations of a meal were getting so high that I had to stop eating his cooking as a means of self-preservation. I was starting to gain weight, and I no longer appreciated the things I was able to burn on my own.

Now, mostly I cook. The presentation of the food goes something like this:

“Okay, dinner is ready. You are going to like it. You are not going to complain about it. Even if you don’t like, you are still going to like it because it’s good for your soul to learn to appreciate things that aren’t so pretentious. Think of this burnt casserole as training for the soul!”

Yeah, I’m not defensive or anything…

Even More Confessions of A One Girl Revolution

I live with people who feel the need to describe in detail every bodily function they have. Sadly, yesterday I realized that they were only copying me.

I spoke like a dictionary until the age of 12 when I learned slang just so boys would date me.

My all-time favorite word in the English language is Punkass. I don’t know why. Hmm…no, still don’t know why.

Two years ago my family used to call me all the time. NOW, since I’ve been with my fiance Jodie, however, when they call-it’s for him. I might be a little jealous. I’m glad to be with someone who is so wonderful, but damn you Jodie. I secretly raise my fist at you.

I STILL reuse socks if they are my favorites. If I run out of underwear I will go without. I HATE doing laundry. I’ll do ANYTHING to get out of doing laundry.

When my fiance is at work, we don’t use plates. We’ll eat over the sink or use a piece of paper for, say, a veggie burrito or sandwich. HEY, that stuff is practically sterile when it comes to you.

I realized yesterday that since my fiance came to live with us, his furniture has slowly began to disappear. I feel very guilty about that, but some of it was REALLY bad, to the point where I’d lay awake at night and think about how the piece of furniture was in the house somewhere taunting me. HEY, I said this was a confession! Now, about that blue/green Tartan bedspread with the stuffing coming out…

I’m STILL banned by libraries in a tri-county area. My love of books is an illness at best...

I know it's not right, but when the nine-year-old is sad I'll do anything to make her laugh. If I can think of nothing else I'll start recalling the odor and condition of her cousin's feet. It's not right to make fun of other people. It's not right to make fun of other people. But still.


I’m right on the verge of giving up my addiction to purses. I’m RIGHT THERE, no really.

I wish more than anything that my brother and I were friends. I always thought he was one of the coolest people I’ve ever met. Sadly, he still hasn’t gotten over the closet incident. I don’t really blame him. Damn sibling rivalry.

I'm still trying to change the world. I'm still working on changing myself.

Remembering A Moment of Revenge

I got an email today saying that people were looking at my classmates.com profile. I had to laugh because most of the people in that school were unbelievably cruel to me. I was lost and horribly unhappy for eight long years of private school. WOW, am I happy to be an adult! It's so nice when you get old enough to be a bigger contributor in the architecting of your own life.

In any case, after I got the email I went back and looked at my profile and saw what I wrote. I guess I was a little mad when I wrote that. he he he.

Classmates.com profile:

I am a writer/artist/poet. Things are good. Life is interesting. It simply isn't enough to say that Sacred Heart sucked the big one. Sacred Heart was a seething cauldron of pre-pubescent horror. Sacred Heart was the culmination of all that's wrong with society. Sacred Heart should be rolled into a Zig-Zag and given to the Bob Marley foundation. Most of you were pampered, small-minded, and cruel, but your constant taunts and degradation provided me with the appropriate level of angst necessary to drive my art so I really can't complain. In the end, I hope all of you found happiness like I did. (Or wound up insurance agents. Life's ultimate cruelty. he he He)

(The last jab about insurance agents was about this boy, who shall remain nameless, that I had a giant crush on. His parents were lawyers and horribly yuppie and pretentious. His mother treated my mother like dirt because we were not white, lived on the wrong side of town and were horribly socially awkward. She was not a nice person. In any case, I liked him anyway and felt sorry for him because his parents had his whole life mapped out for him. He was playing the stock market by the sixth grade and he talked about how he was supposed to go to Stanford and be a lawyer and have this...sad life. He was this skinny dangly boy but I thought in there somewhere beyond his snotty friends and the Izod shirts there might be something more. That is UNTIL the night he threw a pool party and he and his friends humiliated me. I won't go into it but it took like 20 years to able to dress without keeping one arm pinned to the door to keep it closed. So, what happened to that dangly boy? The first chance he got he moved far away from his parents to sell insurance in the woods. )

Confessions of a One Girl Revolution

Confessions of a One Girl Revolution:
(I wrote this a year ago)

My eight year old tells me all the time: Mom, I can’t believe....you....have a degree.....in English.

While the thirteen year old has everything neatly folded in her drawers and my fiancé has his whole closet coordinated/color-coded/perfectly Feng Shuied, I have all my clothes in one box I stuff in the linen closet. I don’t do folding.

I once wrote a novel just to impress this guy I wanted to date, that I’d never actually met.

I’d read every romance novel ever written by the age of fourteen. Needless to say I haven’t had a lot of relationships work out. I no longer believe in romance. Give me a man who will put the toilet seat down. Now, that’s romantic.

I will reuse socks. Especially if they are my favorite ones.

I will spend $250 on a purse, but I won’t spend the money to buy two ply toilet paper.

I still secretly want to start a revolt against soccer moms. The only reason to have an SUV is if the world ends and there are no more roads.

I have been banned by the libraries in a tri-county area.

I am not allowed to own or possess a weapon for three more years.

I admire my three daughters more than any people I have ever known. I vote Jessica most likely to survive an enemy POW camp. She has more spirit and strength than any person I’ve ever met. Megean is more talented (multi-talented) than most of the artists that I’ve met in my lifetime. At the age of 12, she’d already written a 400 page book. Bridget has a quiet gentle spirit and real spiritual wisdom that I wish I had at 35 and am trying desperately not to change with my bad example.

I have lived most of my life like a guerilla fighter, using dirty tactics to survive and win the war, when what I was really doing was destroying my own soul.

I love beautiful exquisite things and excellent food but I don’t need them and honestly I’m happier with a backpack on my back, riding a bike to nowhere.

I wouldn’t be surprised if the FBI were already monitoring me. It’d make a lot of sense actually.

More than anything in the world I wish I could have the child of the man I waited my whole life for. His ex fiancee had him get a vasectomy. Maybe I’ll forgive her in the next life.

I can’t figure out how to use a palm pilot.

My brother and I used to put on the movie Savannah Smiles when my parents were gone because it made my little sister cry at the end. Every time. Damn sibling rivalry. Damn that Savannah Smiles.

Once I was so angry with my brother that I peed on his backpack.

I have always worn black. In another life I was either a ninja or a priest.

I will always be the aunt that you can come to find out the real family stories. I don’t believe in rewriting history or pretending we were always upstanding citizens. I WILL tell my nieces and nephews about the time their father stole the city’s Centennial flag by breaking into city hall and climbing out on a pole to get it. And who used to smoke pot and go toilet papering and how we used to write our names in gasoline in a pool of water on the back porch and set fire to it. I love my nieces and nephews and little cousins and would protect them with my life. I am also the one who will buy them the finger paints that will ruin the new rug.

I smoked pot once and couldn’t speak for a day and a half. That was the night I got pregnant with Megean. She says I cheated her out of ten IQ points with that one. I think that is a good thing for the world. If it weren’t for that, she’d probably already have reinvented the neutron bomb.

I’ve stopped trying to change the world because I realized that first I needed to change myself.

When it's all said and done, I can still bake a mean loaf of bread.

Morning Rituals

Today someone asked me if I had any morning rituals and this is what I answered:

I get up at five and do these spiritual processes for like two hours ( except maybe longer if I fall asleep during the middle of them), then I check my email, yell at someone to wake up and hook up a IV line of coffee directly into my cerebral cortex-but they don't get up so I play Eminem for twenty minutes and that doesn't work so I begin to sing old show tunes really loud until the coffee comes (and this kind of sucks because I can never remember ALL the words to any one tune so it's more like a medley of 'Oklahoma,' stuff from Westside Story, the theme from Chorusline, and 'Grease,') then I stare at the 1000 pages of a book that has been sitting there for a month ready to edit, then I remember that I had a dream which told me that I'm supposed to already be working on another project but I'm not even done with the 1000 page project that was supposed to be the warmer-up project and then I think about photography series I'm supposed to work on but haven't in the last few months and the website that I now know what I'm gonna do with but haven't yet and then ...I nap.

Yeah, I've kinda been in a rut.

Advice To My Children

Advice to my three daughters:

Every story about scars should always start with, "There were these three ninjas..."

If you have to say to someone, "It's not really a cult," it's definitely a cult. Get out.

Everybody says that you have to separate the laundry, but actually after the initial wash when everything bleeds and shrinks, if you survive that, then it's all good after that. It's way easier to throw everything in together. Mixed loads will give you two extra weeks in your lifetime that you wouldn't have otherwise had.

Everybody hates a mime.

Real wisdom means that you choose the experience over the the thing, the person over the ideal.

Spend the money on the two-ply. Your body will thank you.

When you choose somebody to be with, never waste your time being with someone you couldn't spend your life with. Choose carefully, choose well. And when you have chosen, love them unconditionally. You risk being hurt, it's true. But when you love people unconditionally, you give them the freedom to dream and be themselves and accomplish things they never would have dared to risk emotionally.

Develop true love and compassion for everyone. It saves on hospital visits from bar fights and you'll never lie awake at night wondering about what kind of person you've become because your instincts will always be good.

Spam is not real food. Don't listen to the hippie surfers from Hawaii next door. Spam is just wrong.

When you are choosing what career path you are going to follow, it's all about what your calling is and what you are inspired to do and not about the almighty dollar. Everyone in this world is of use and value. We couldn't run businesses without accountants. Life wouldn't be as beautiful without artists. When you act in faith and goodness and openness to the world somehow it ALWAYS turns out alright. And hell, sometimes , even when you aren't so good, it's still okay. Just do with your life what you feel compelled to do and it's all good.

When you are in a jam, beans and rice and a little bit of fat-that's a complete meal.

I firmly believe that having faith in yourself, having faith in anything is what defines our character. If you don't have vision for yourself, how can anyone else?

Keep it simple. Don't buy crap you don't need. Before you take it home, think to yourself, "Where the hell am I going to put that?" You'll have less to clean and have more time to do more important things.

Take care of your health before everything else. If you have your health you have the world.

Rock stars and movie starlets are not to be envied. The money isn't worth the inability to go to the market when you need sanitary napkins or hemorrhoid cream without reading about it in The Enquirer. If you still feel the need to have some kind of acknowledgement from the world outside your inner circle of friends and family, a cult following is the way to go. Modest recognition without the paparazzi. Let's face it. We dislike the pretty people anyway.

Don't wear make up. You are beautiful just the way you were made. You don't need anything else. If you start out wearing it, it'll never end. Because the next time people see you and you aren't wearing it they'll think, "Oh, wow, she must be sick" or "She's really let herself go."

Don't listen to hippies. Shave your underarms and wear some deodorant. Even if it's the deodorant stone. The world will thank you. I could care less if you don't shave your legs though. You can always wear pants. And no, using the deodorant stone doesn't make me a damn hippie. Neither does the wearing of hemp.

Being an independent, cool, bad-ass chic doesn't mean that you stomp all over men. Respect all people. Equal rights was not about hate. It was about fairness. If you take a man's masculinity away from him, you take away that wonderful piece of the puzzle that fits in so well with your piece of the puzzle.

When you find a guy to spend your life with, don't worry too much about who's in charge. Sometimes it's you, sometimes it's him. Sometimes you are losing your shit, sometimes he's losing his. It all works out if you relax about it.

If you begin to have too many people dropping in unexpectedly, get pets. Especially cats. Lots of people are allergic and it really cuts down on the traffic.

Let as many cars in front of you as you cut off on the freeway. The driving records of the women in this family is seriously damaging to the karma of the family as a whole. I don't want to come back in the next life as a Chihuahua.

Never drive an expensive car if you have to drive at all. You'll constantly worry about it being stolen and we generally dislike displays of conspicuous consumption. A general rule: if you could sell it and feed a third world country for a day it's just not good for the soul.

Don't be afraid of who you are. Don't even worry about who you are or pay attention to other people trying to define you. Keep your intentions pure, practice humility, love people as much as it is possible and the person that you are will be someone that you will never have to feel ashamed of.

I love you guys.

Righteous Anger?

Does shouting at motorists while you are on your bicycle count as eccentric? Picture if you will an old huffy with pink duct tape on the seat. I'm out riding to the store with my 9 year old and the 14 year old. The 9 year old shoots ahead (I usually keep her behind me so I can watch the traffic) and a guy in a giant SUV and a cell phone almost runs her over. So I yell at him that he needs to get off the cell phone before he kills somebody, that a minute of carelessnes could cost somebody their life. There may have also been the shaking of fists.

After that I yelled at every driver who was driving while talking on a cell phone. My daughter is convinced that someday I'm going to get shot doing this. Also, the yelling may be creating more accidents than it's preventing.

The jury is still out on that one.

Why I REALLY am a Better Person

I always say that I'm a better person because of my fiance Jodie, but not because he's so wonderful and uplifting. It's because he drives me absolutely insane. Because I have the misfortune of loving him so much I had/have to change to make it work. The other choice was to live as a spinster and collect cats. By the time he came along I had three. It wasn't going well. How does he make me better? Let me give you an example. There is no way you can tell a white lie in front of him or entrust him to not disclose the full details of any subject because he gets nervous and begins blurting out a bunch of stuff that is far worse than anything you had to say/not to say. It's like he's momentarily possessed and it leads you to the conviction that you have to always always be completely straightforward and honest or suffer the consequences of being completely undone. I could talk about the nineteen year old, but I'll spare you all that. Suffice it to say that I firmly believe that if I can live with her I can pretty much get along with any one.

On Why My Fiance Initially Acted Like A Stalker

I've been told that you remember what's important to remember about your past lives. When I was fifteen I had a series of dreams that I knew were about my past lives. There were three different scenes. In one only I saw myself which now that I think about it must have been at my death. But it wasn't an entirely unhappy scene. I was pregnant, at full term and for some reason I was very happy, a moment of complete bliss. I was Native American and we were in a barren place and there was a fence. For a long time I couldn't figure out the time period and thought that it must have been simply a dream although it had another quality to it that made me sure that it was not.

Then a few months ago my fiance began to have a flood of past life memories. He came home from work and his face was ashen and swollen. He said that it had hit him when he was driving along on the way home and it was so sad and intense that he had cried for quite awhile. He had been a medicine man and he had had to watch his tribe starve to death and though he tried he couldn't do anything about it, despite his appeals to the spirits. A couple of weeks passed and we were traveling in the car to Yogananda's hermitage and he told me that there some things that he hadn't mentioned before about his memories. He said that we were together, that we had a child and that I had starved to death. He said that I had child shortly after the baby was born and that he had given up hope and had gone off to a cave to pray for the tribe and was so weak that he had died too. He apparently was much older than me, but I was sorta a 'special case.' he he he. I was called, 'one who knows' because I knew things people shouldn't know, about life, about , well, I was psychic, etc. and it freaked people out a little. There were other lives too, but mostly we could never work things out.

It is interesting to me, particularly because when we met, we talked once on the phone and he had this incredible desperation to be with me although I kept putting him off. And he kept telling me that he knew that I was more than I was letting on, but I didn't know what he was talking about, I think he didn't even know what he was talking about. He said he didn't want to lose me and I thought that was so crazy because we hadn't even met yet.

But now I understand.

I'm Glad I Met This Man

My fiance made me cry today because he wrote this in an email to me:

"'Well,' said Pooh, 'what I like best,' and then he had to stop and think. Because although Eating Honey was a very good thing to do, there was a moment just before you began to eat it which was better than when you were, but he didn't know what it was called." ~A.A. Milne

Jackie, (that's me) all the time that I've spent with you just being and not caring if I'm happy or sad because it would take too long to do so and lessen that precious gift. Every moment when I realize that I'll be spending all of my other moments with you is THAT moment for me. I love you.

On What Endures

I try to look at this particular picture of my daughter as often as possible. It is the most incredible picture I've ever seen (though I myself did not take it and I'm a photographer). I'm holding her and her face is so full of life and love and hope that it makes you want to cry. I look at the picture- do this- to remind myself that the 19 year old who leaves cigarette butts everywhere and swears and drifts around causing mayhem is the same child that I gave birth to. I look at this picture to remind myself of that bond that can never be broken-that wherever I am there will be a place for her, and that no amount of storming out of rooms and ultimatums will ever change that. There is a love that is unconditional though it sometimes threatens to crush your spirit and break your heart. It is through these people that we learn the most from ourselves. The complete and total love that she needed at 4 months is the same complete and total love that she needs now. But that's every person, isn't it? Despite all the things that she does and the way she pushes against life, against progress, she still needs that. In the course of watching those we love crash through life, some terrible things can happen, things that make you want to draw everyone you love in to you and hold on to them and protect them. But a part of your soul dies in that process. This happens because you make a clear separation between those who are inside your circle and those that are outside. Even the people who hurt your loved ones need your love. And sometimes your pity. They are some one's child too, just like my child in the picture above. I've worked so hard in the last two years to do that. Sometimes it's an uphill battle, sometimes not. Anyone can love the people who love them too. But loving the people who hurt you, who break you- that's when you begin to become more.

On the Generosity of Others

This evening, a wonderful woman gave me a beautiful black Altima. That's the universe's answer to my complaints about luxurious cars!! My experience in life has been that though I have lots of problems and make lots of mistakes, when you put your trust in the Divine, when you put love out in the world- love comes back to you. Thank you . Thank you. I promise to let more cars in than I cut off. Love to all of you.

Car Culture and Other Nonsense

I was thinking of Ken Justice's post to my last blog entry. Ken, by the way, is my hero because he gets to ride around on his motorcycle and do whatever he damn well pleases. I try to do that and get all kinds of flack from my fiance, my parents, and the kids (who alternate between telling me I can't possibly do something because it 'just isn't done' or that I'm a damn conformist. Get real) As long as the bills get paid in an ethical way and everybody eats who cares. I'm been thinking of car culture alot lately because my fiance has become a perpetual victim of it. He is a fabulous person, there's just not disputing how damn smart and wonderful he is. But...Achilles has a heel. What is it about humans, particularly in Southern California, that makes them identify themselves totally with their mode of transportation? Back a few years ago, the soccer moms eschewed the minivan for the SUV in an attempt to appear more interesting and dangerous and give the impression that at any minute they might go off on an adventure. My fiance had the car of his dreams taken from him and wound up driving a older Mercury Topaz. He has completely driven it into the ground in a very short time. The amount of rage that he has when he is on the road because of this tragic reversal of fortune is phenomenal. He has replaced three sets of brakes in one year. I make this declaration right now: JOSEPH, YOU ARE NOT A MERCURY TOPAZ!!

Living in a Car Culture

Consider these two situations. In the first situation, you are driving along the freeway and a white '94 Nissan cuts you off. In the second situation you are driving along the freeway and a Mercedes cuts you off. In which situation are you the most enraged? Even if I had the money I'd never buy an expensive looking car-Mercedes, BMW, Porsche, etc. because I wouldn't want to be responsible for the emotions that follow those particular vehicles. It is the most ridiculous thing when you think about it, but I've seen people get even more upset when cut off (a percieved slight that was probably accidental) by an expensive car. It's as if those people believe that those cars represent everything they don't have and that the act of being cut off is like life slapping them in the face. I would never want to be responsible for that kind of thing. You want to improve your karma? Drive an old klunker. It elicits sympathy from other people (compassion is a good emotion), makes them feel better about themselves and their situation (because hey, at least their car is better than THAT), and I've found that people really let you in and you don't have to cut anybody off because your car looks like something out of Mad Max.

Things I sometimes Forget

This is something I came across that I had written and I am posting it here so I can be reminded of it: Life is full of learning to live with unconscionable events with grace and still having love somehow. We are never really safe. The only way to love and laugh long and hard each and every day is to let go of pain and fear. In the end, the fear that you fear most will be the means of your destruction. Fear nothing.

On the Condition of Man

Regret is an ugly meal
stand outside the window face pressed/looking in
what you could have done what you should have done
if only the conditions had been right.

If you'd had more
time/money/love/support/been hungry enough/been angry enough/if the planets had been aligned.

Then you would have tried.
No one could say you that you didn't.
The greatest crime is not the taking of life.
It's the standing outside of living.
It's the murder of the soul.

"From a Poem Read at my Great-Grandmother's Funeral"

You came
seeds upon the wind
scattered among the weeds into the laguna clay.

You gave us life.

We took root
in the arid soil of clay
and concrete and railroad tracks.
our limbs grew thick with all you bore.

And now I rise take my place with you,
branches piercing the sky and cry,

"I am Here! I am Here!"

My words roar in the ears of the enemy,
rolling thunder across the floor of the valley.