dogma flippers

Had my last morning with my brother, his wife and baby. The usual nearly broken heart, saying goodbye after 3 short days of basking in Baby's total radiance. 3 sweet days.
Had lunch in town with friends, then subjected myself to an intense but short and focused shopping trip: flippers, snorkel, mask, waterproof diving pouch for keys and wallet, a sunshirt so I don't scorch my back while snorkeling, sandals, a tiny umbrella, a collection of Steinbeck short novels, some Hemingway, a bag of apples and oranges. I got in and out quickly, but even so... it's a bit of a horror show out there. Humans at their greediest, rudest, most impatient. Boxing week is just depressing beyond belief. I'm not depressed, hurray, thank God, but still very aware of the pitiful hollowness that balloons after the big anticlimax of Christmas Day. So many people looking over-sated, apathetic, disappointed... am I just projecting this? I sat waiting for the bus, and a homeless man came up to me and asked, after a lengthy preamble, if I'd give him some money. I offered him my apples and oranges, and he turned them down politely and moved on. I watched as every other person shook their heads at him coldly before he could even start his spiel; a man behind me cracked an ignorant joke. Mm, the radiant spirit of Christmas. I walk by many beggars on the street, and do nothing to help - it feels awful and I hate it. But if I am approached by anyone who has something to say, I will listen. Can't we at least afford each other that much respect? How quickly people must lose their faith in mankind, when they are treated like criminals, like dogs, ignored and waved away. There's a girl who comes by that bus stop often. She's homeless, smells and looks terrible, has rotten teeth, sores all over her face, glassy eyes... I gave her some money once, so she always tries me for a handout. She looks disappointed if I say no, but will sit and talk to me for a while, and I just would like to take her home, bathe and feed her, give her a soft bed and clean clothes, take her to the dentist and the doctor, give her a job, say, with horses, surround her with kind people, give her a bloody chance. I don't follow any religion and have mixed feelings about any kind of dogma, but I really think that we are painfully lacking in spirituality, even basic ethical code. Any kind of belief in a power 'greater than oneself' tends to make people feel more connected to each other, maybe even be more concerned for each other's welfare. The absence of it makes these de-religionized holidays so bizarrely satirical, at least in these bull-fighting arenas of super-sale-blowouts and frantic gift exchanges...

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hell yes

...just discovered that Kaki King is playing in Vancouver on March 12. Right after I get home. This is stupidly awesome! God, I wonder if she'll get my letter before then.

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They say everything is Blues

Something that is always interesting, as an artist, is how people try to compare your work to someone else's. Everyone does this - I do this - it's just natural to want to relate somehow, through something you already know. Sometimes the comparisons make me happy; most often they don't make any sense to me. Sometimes they infuriate me. Musicians I've never heard of, or I've never listened to, or worse of all, musicians I can't stand. Lots of singer songwriters play the piano. But with almost all of them, and I say this factually, it's arpeggiated simple chords, plunky triads on the quarter, 8th notes on the last beat and a half - sometimes syncopated, the occasional 'dramatic' 7th added in, major for happy and minor for sad, repetitive and predictable. Sitting in doctor's waiting rooms, standing in line at the grocery store, there it is, over and over and over and over again. I IV I IV I IV ad nauseum, and then a I VI II V I in the chorus. My GOD!
So look, I'm just gonna say it. I am not a Tori Amos fan. Never have been. Never could get through an album. (No disrespect.) Sarah McLachlan, not a fan anymore. "Fumbling towards Ecstacy" was a masterpiece and I'll never stop loving it, but most everything after that doesn't do it for me. But people compare me to those 2 women all the time. I'm hoping that's just because it's their only point of reference. Because honestly, there ain't NOTHING in my music that resembles what they do. People say, 'No, I definitely hear some Tori Amos in your music.' No man, no you don't. There is no Tori Amos in my music, because I have never listened to Tori Amos, have never liked Tori Amos, would not ever have been influenced by Tori Bloody Amos. Dig?

All right, rant over.

I have 4 major female songwriting heros: Kaki King, PJ Harvey, Joanna Newsom, and Bjork.

Kaki King: A kind of demon guitarist and songwriter, the antithesis of primping diva. She writes the most beautiful, complex, moving music. Not pretty - but really beautiful in the larger sense - to the senses and all the other faculties that have no name. I have spent so many hours walking around this island with her music in my ears. First time I heard her, I remember being hit by a kind of stunned dumbness. Cause there just ain't nobody to compare her to. Watch this: Kaki King and more Kaki King

PJ Harvey: a through-and-through authentic irreverent un-self-conscious performer. She doesn't write music to please - it makes me happy to listen to her music even when I don't like it, because it's just so her own. She delivers everything with total, raw conviction. She's a little scary too. I like women that are scary. PJ Harvey - rid of me
PJ Harvey - the piano

Joanna Newsom: this woman is no slouch. Epic, dream-like songs, bizarre and floridly ballsy. Brilliant poetry. Her voice is strange and captivating, and her 1st 2 albums gave me hundreds of hours of totally enraptured listening. I'm not in love with her latest album, but I'm okay with not always enjoying or getting what I want from artists. She deserves her freedom- and what the hell do I know? But just listen to this: Joanna Newsom. So excited to see what she'll do next.

Bjork: it's obvious. She's a genre of music unto herself. She's Queen of some unnamed country. I actually cannot listen to her very much anymore, because most of her songs are time capsules that take me back to really heavy potent times in my teenage years, when I listened to her constantly. The instrumentation, her voice, ah God - it was all a revolution. Bjork

And an honourable mention goes to...
Fiona Apple: where did she go? I suspect/worry/have this feeling that she hasn't been well. Her album "When the Pawn" was amazing, but since then I feel she's been the victim of overzealous producers. The arrangements are ridiculous, just not good. The piano lost its role, drowned out by fluttery flutes, too much percussion etc. I hope she finds herself again - she can be such a powerful performer. This was a good year for Fiona: Fiona Apple

Other musicians that I am owe a lot of influence to: Brad Mehldau, Neko Case, Jeff Buckley, Keith Jarrett, Tom Waits, Nina Simone, Leonard Cohen, Esbjorn Svensson, Tin Hat, Billy Holiday, Nick Drake, Edith Piaf, Siouxsie Sioux, Alice Babs, Bad Plus, Billy Strayhorn, Andrew Bird, Radiohead, Astor Piazzolla, Avishai Cohen, Pinback, Death Cab, Stravinsky, Ravel, Part, Grieg, Faure, Debussy, Schumann, Whitacre, Scriabin, Bach, Rachmaninoff, Villa-Lobos, Barber, Mozart, Reich, Copland, Glass, Brahms.

Feeling somewhat better today. It's been nice to have time/the excuse just to lie in bed and watch youtube videos of my favourite musicians - get all stoked up with ideas and inspiration. By the way, today is Monday, not Sunday as this post says. Which means I only have 2 days of work left before holidays, and then my trip. Crazy. I have a couple of musical goals for my time away. One is to re-learn my pieces on a small, portable, non-weighted-keys keyboard (surprisingly, no small task), and to play standing up. This'll be weird when I've had 25 years of sitting at a piano. I also want to play at least one gig while I'm there, with said keyboard, in said position, but it's not manditory. My other goal of course is to write more music. Some people have been saying that my lyrics are very very dark and that they'd like to hear me write a happy song. Well, I've tried. But fuck that. Writing 'dark' songs makes me happy, so there. Everyone loves darkness - it's at least half of what we are.

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Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo.

Have you heard this? It's actually a legitimate sentence in English. 3 different uses of the word: Buffalo (city), buffalo (the animal) and buffalo (the verb= bully). If you add in the unnecessary articles, it suddenly makes sense:
The Buffalo buffalo (that other) Buffalo buffalo bully, (themselves) bully Buffalo buffalo.
Whoever thought of this is brilliant. I love this kind of stuff. Nerding out!
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You must have heard of this blog, '1000 awesome things.' I just found it today and I like it. Somebody discovered how good it feels to make gratitude lists. I do that sometimes when I'm in a dark hole and it does help. There's an infinite supply of good stuff in life, and the more you notice, the more there seems to be. Here are 10 awesome things I like today, and they're not very exciting but yes, super awesome:

1. Apple lime juice
2. Tylenol
3. Hot toddies & whiskey with an ice cube
4. Having someone around to fetch you things
5. Crazy-ass dreams that leave you with weird but interesting feelings for the people in them
6. Kids' cereal
7. The soft and wet sound of rain
8. A phone that doesn't ring
9. The big couch
10. This guy: maru the stunt cat

Nrrr, nrr, nrr nrr nrrrr, Into the Depth !!!!

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The waves just knocked me over

Warming up to it

I'm afraid I just can't help myself. I'm crazed with anticipation. My beloved BC coastal wilderness, I will miss you. I will miss those misty moist mossy lungs of the Earth. I almost can't believe anything else exists right now. But I am hungry, hungry, hungry for sunshine - I hope I'm not being a traitor to my native land. These pictures are from my first, solo trip to Maui. I just had to cry when I arrived there, because it is so impossibly beautiful - the air just wraps you up in sweet rich life.

Just imagine the way this sand feels underfoot. You can't. It's too soft for words. It's so fine it actually becomes part of your skin. You almost can't wash it off.

Look at these trees! Just look at these amazing peg-leg roots! Like some kind of crazy cartoon.

One of the north-shore beaches at dusk - 2 blocks away from the Monastery I stayed at.

Sugar cane fields line the roads in Paia. Everything has this golden hue - both from the sun and from the red-brown soil that works its way over every surface.

The coastline along the Road to Hana. Thick, dense jungle. Sheer cliffs dropping down to the sea.

Upcountry, heading up the slopes toward the volcano. Ranch lands, views of the other islands in the distance. Goat farms, lavender fields, hillsides covered in tufts of something that looked like heather, like some tropical version of the Scottish highlands.

Black sand beach - so hot!

The Stupa at the Tibetan monastery where I stayed, lit up in celebration of Buddha's birthday. Which is different all over the world. (It's the full moon day of the sixth month of the Buddhist lunar calendar, which would be the fourth month of the Chinese calendar, except in years in which there's an extra full moon, and then Buddha's birthday falls in the seventh month, except where it starts a week earlier. In Tibet it's usually a month later; in Japan, Buddha's Birthday always is April 8.... ?!)

The western mountains, on the hot, dry side of the island. Pineapple and mango plantations line the roads.

Pewter light.

A little bit scared. Though it was the one and only shark sign I saw on the island.

Front of the little monastery. There were cats, and bunches of apple bananas hanging outside the doors. Kind, kind people. And Huge harmless spiders. I'll go visit when I'm there.

When I'm there... When I'm there... When I'm there...

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Well, well

I am an optimistic person. I don't understand pessimism; I'm not a cynic or a skeptic and never have been.
The other day I had a conversation with a friend about optimism, and hope versus delusion. We both have had 'wishes' come true in our lives many times and we both believe in the big 'Possibilities' of the Universe. And we both have big dreams. The question is, (to paraphrase my friend)"how do you let yourself dream big without setting yourself up for disappointment?"
Hmm. I didn't have much of an answer then, and I still don't now. It's one hell of a fine line. I have ambitions that I am afraid to speak aloud, for fear of offending the Universe with my audacity. If I realize, at some ripe old age, that those ambitions were a fool's dream, will I be broken and dissatisfied with my life?
I dunno... I don't think that can happen - or at least, I'm determined that it won't. I'm possessed with a crazy sense of inevitability right now. It's the sense that surely something will come of my efforts and my dreams. It's not really a hope. I'm not hoping for anything concrete - that would be the setup for failure. I think the Universe needs room to manoeuvre. I don't understand how or why things seem to line up in the cosmos at the right time and place to make certain miracles happen, but I know that it's too much of a mystery to give it deadlines or requirements. I wouldn't want to narrow the possibilities by asking for something too specific anyways. I also know that in order for something to happen, my actions have to give it an opening. I have to have faith in the imminent unfolding of actions and reactions. If I plant enough seeds, something will grow; creation is the most basic law of this world.
Maybe it's just about finding a balance between having the openness of vast possibility, without grasping at specific outcomes...
I write this, thinking about the tinge of disappointment I felt after my show the other night. I tried not to have any hopes or expectations. Well, how realistic is that? I believe what I said about my optimism, but my thoughts and feelings don't always pay attention to my beliefs. Good thing thoughts and feelings are fleeting. I still believe what I believe, even after a bumpy ride. Something will grow. Something has to grow.

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The big little CD release

The thing is, you just can't anticipate what an audience will be like, and you just never can know what people are thinking or feeling. There were people at my show that I was really pleasantly surprised to see. But I didn't get to talk to most of them post-concert. They came, they left, and I'll probably never hear from them about what they thought. I don't like that part very much. Only one person has emailed me since then with feedback. (Thanks, SB!) Many people who promised to come didn't come. I don't like that part so much either. It's hard, hard, hard, being a performer and a really sensitive person to boot. On the other hand: I loved performing; I was relaxed and on my game and the band rocked it hard. If I could re-stage it, I just would go for a more intimate venue - the audience felt far away, and I couldn't connect with them. They were politely attentive, but reserved. It was not a great feeling. I was talking to my bass player about this, and he said, "Look man, your music just isn't all that accessible." (Well, except for 2 of my songs, he did concede.) "There's a lot of layers - it takes a few listens to know what the hell is going on." True, it's not love-at-first-listen kind of stuff. Which is hard to remember when I've played it 5000 times and it seems dead simple and obvious to me. I suppose I really just need to find my audience. I wouldn't expect my friends and family to enjoy 95% of the music I really love and listen to, so why would I expect them to love the music I write?
Well, c'est la vie. I nearly broke even for the show, and passed out a lot of CDs. And most importantly, I'm getting more and more connected to the people who make that "95% of the music I love" that the average person doesn't like. The next step: get the album reviewed. Build press. Just stay calm and carry on.

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Horses

I'm reading Cormac McCarthy border trilogy now. Guess I've got horses on the brain. No, in the brain. Wild horses. My brain is overrun with feral, skittery horses. Lots and lots of time spent taming and training them. There are horses who've been there my whole life and are still ornery old bastards, but mellowing out with time. Then there are horses who come in, raise shit, and finally get chased out by the others. Some horses wander in and settle down right away - have a calming effect on all the others. It's a crazy herd, all right. On a good day, when they're all harnessed up, they can pull me with the force of a jet engine, anywhere I want to go. But a freak storm makes 'em bolt, frantic, pulling in a thousand different directions, and then it's sheer hell to bring them each home, calm them, talk them down. There were a few forks of lightning on Friday night and my herd scattered like bats out of hell. Just reigning them back in now, one by one.

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Defragging

One theory I have heard about dreaming is that it's the brain's way of defragging. This makes sense to me. I tend to have a similar cast of characters, and similar settings in my dreams these days. But the scenarios change drastically. I'm thinking about last night's dreams, and the shift in tone. Yesterday's conversations, and the thoughts they provoked, made enough of an impact on my mind that even in sleep my brain was trying to adjust my outlook to reflect these new ideas. I am totally fascinated by the brain. If I had to pick another career I think I'd be a neurologist. If just one little thing changes in, say, our 'belief' system, think of how many thousands of situations we have to adjust to. I just think it's very exciting when you can see/feel this in action, watch it happening in your dreams.
Show tomorrow.... people only seem to rsvp when they can't make it. So lots of people aren't coming, that's all I know. But I don't mind. They already know me, know some of my music. My only real hope is that there will be some people there that I don't know - fresh, unbiased listeners. That's the scary shit. That's real.
As I'm sitting here, my cat is behind me on the couch, biting my head. He's a real biter, once he realizes that you can take it. Ouch, now he has my ear. I trust him, though. We all show our affection in different ways. I feel like I could easily let myself write for hours this morning. A lot of blogging backed-up, lots of things to say. But I've got to practice.

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the cave

Every day the light is different in the morning. Today, there is a veil of pale yellow over the mountains, a soft mist reflecting the sunlight. Everything is tinged with a saffron-grey hue... except, now it's gone. It changes so quickly.
Yesterday, I walked to a new beach, and found a cave. It's not very deep, but still magical - and only accessible at low tide. It felt so warm and safe - I wanted to make a little home there. But the tide was coming in, so I crept out on some rocks and found a smooth place to stretch out, just barely out of the reach of the waves - and with nothing but the open sea before and below me. Bright sun, a thousand liquid sounds, brief visits by sleep. Nothing lacking in a complete happiness - which to me is a sense, not only of pleasure, but of both stillness and flight, ease and unattachment. The ocean somehow takes me over... my whole being reflects its basic nature, becomes liquid and unseparate from every molecule, spread out and shifting over thousands of miles, with no need for direction or worry of fate.

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the flock

The Gods know how to do it, all right, to give me what I need when I need it most. Sure enough, here I have a day off at last, and it's a perfect winter day out there waiting for me like a patient suitor. For this girl, what a dreamy date - warm sun on my face, sweet wind songs in my ears, all the huge universe right above my head to converse with.
I can rest up this weekend, now that I've cleared off the heavy work-load, and really just play. I'll have to do a bunch of practicing, but it'll be fun and easy, just keeping things fresh for my show next week. The CDs are finished, stacked in boxes in my room. They look beautiful, and I smile everytime I look at them, knowing each package has an unknown fate. Each is like a carrier pidgeon, with potential to take some kind of a message.... to someone.
That's all for now - my legs are itching to move.

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My grandmother makes more money than you do

Well well-a-well,
I printed off the last sheet and got to the post office 5 minutes before closing, got the precious post-date stamp, got the grant application out of my hair. Then I went next door and spent 10 dollars on gourmet chocolate for dinner. Well well-a-well, I think I deserve it. I ate some on the way home and laughed out loud when I heard myself think, "This is it, baby. You're an artist. This is your life." Jesus Mary & Joseph - so it is.

Now I get an hour of lying-around-reading-Bukowski time. Nothing takes the edge off a grant-writing-hangover like Bukoswki. Real plain, real dirty.

"You and your typewriter. You and your tiny checks. My grandmother makes more money than you do!"

This is it, baby.
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Brain surrealism

Not much blogging time right now. Spent all day at my desk working on a very intricate handmade 'promo kit' yesterday. (I hate that term.) I'm so hungry for more time to spend this way. In my quiet cozy room in front of the window, busy with my hands, ears free for listening to music or interesting lectures or videos. I discovered 3 amazing science specials about brain development, genius, etc. I love listening to this kind of stuff while I'm crafting away. But sadly, the day seems over in the blink of an eye. That was it for my weekend- now I've got to go into town to work a concert, and then my week begins, with a big grant due and a festival application to submit, rehearsals, work, and the interminable commute. I'm not complaining though. It's all by my own choice, and it's all totally worth it. 3 amazing videos:
Brainman
Shortstuff the Genius
Chess Queen

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this is where i live

This is my backyard.

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The Squamish

Well, the wind is up again, and it's extreme. Here on Bowen it's known as "the squamish"... it comes roaring down Howe Sound all the way from the Arctic, down through the Interior, 80 km/h and freezing cold! We live close to the most exposed and wind-beaten point of the island, so we're feeling it full force. It's absolutely howling out there - the windows are rattling, things are crashing around the house... the power situation is touch and go.

But it gives me comfort to think that if a tree comes down on top of me in the night, at least I'll die warm and comfy in my bed, having lived a good life. :)

I loved the weather today though. Had a fantastic walk in the morning around the cove - the air crisp as an apple. Later, in town, I noticed that the streets felt empty, deserted almost. Paper cut-out mountains, the roads ghostly pale... it was a bit surreal. Like 6am on a holiday.
Just can't get over how much warmer I am this winter. So snug in my down coat. Makes me really happy to be aware of my well-stoked fire keeping me warm. I often think of the amusing irony that I could probably handle Jan and Feb in Vancouver this year - now that I've planned my escape. Well, hell. What can I do? Hawaii is already booked and paid for... I'll get through it somehow.

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Camp styling

Yesterday we had no power all day. It was out when I woke up, and only came back on as I was heading to bed last night. And now, I'd like to say a brief prayer.

God bless the woodfire stove
God bless the woodfire stove
amen.

It's still windy as Kansas out there, but nothing like yesterday. If this is just high wind, I don't even want to imagine a hurricane. It was unnerving to have all those giant firs bending over and thrashing around us. But it was great - such a deep silence, such an immediacy of the howling wind and scuttle of leaves. No internet, no humming fridge, no microwave or washing machine.
Spent a lot of my day crafting around with papers, and doing small things. But mainly it was just all about the wood stove. Lentils were stewed in a big pot on the stove. Bread was toasted on the stove. Coffee was brewed on the stove. Books were read, in cozy chairs, around the stove. God bless the woodfire stove, giver of life.

Some stunning sights these last few days:

Walking down to the ferry in thick whirls of snow. Huge flock of coots making wide black banners in the icy water. (I saw a picture of a coot recently- so I think they were coots, but I don't really know.) Coming across a stag on a trail - huge steaming body just yards away from me - seeing the same one out back of the house, violently grating some branches of a lilac tree with his antlers.

Last Wednesday's gig went well, by the way. The crowd was not large, but who cares, they were attentive and responsive. I played my tunes from memory and we carried it off with really connected energy. Our band chemistry feels damn good. What I noticed most was that old familiar feeling of crossing over an abyss... the only thing that keeps you from falling is to suspend disbelief that there's no ground beneath you. Don't allow yourself the split second of doubt, cause that's when you fall. Trust your body to do what you've trained it to do - your brain is babbling freaked-out jibberish, and you ignore it and distract it by thinking things like, "Where is my breath?" "What do the drums sound like?" and other childishly simple questions. That just seems to be the trick. I was high man, high high high after the show. There IS no better feeling.

Now I have 10 days to book tour gigs and write a huge grant application, and get press kits and posters out. It's time to get busy.

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Breakfast rainstorm

It's a wild mess out there - the colour all but gone from the trees. Strong dreams mixed in with my thoughts again this morning. Every night I dream of travel and of something to do with performance. My subconscious is mashing it out non-stop, 24 hours a day, kneading like a breadmaker. Turning that dough over and over. I can feel it, you know. Rising. Go to sleep, and whack-whack, pulverize it, work out all the air bubbles. Then it rises again. I'm outside, walking fast as my legs can take me, sucking in that sweet air, and there's that rising in my chest. Like wings, like a hot air balloon. And I have this sense that one of these days, it's going to just lift me right off the ground, and I'm going to float up to the very tops of the trees, even higher. Maybe like tonight, or at some other show, it will suddenly inflate in me and I'll go drifting up and hover above all that anxiety and dread and insecurity and look down at it and laugh and wonder. I don't know how to put this into words... I keep getting flashes of a vision of who I really am and what that means for the life I live - flashes, big pieces of the puzzle. It gives me the greatest sense of excitement and peace. There's some kind of truth about myself that is struggling to rise up to the surface, and I can wait for it.
I am looking forward to tonight - even though it's just a little gig. I might not be the least concerned what anyone thinks. Actually, for real. Free from that binding self-consciousness - is it wholly possible? I don't know yet... but I feel like I'm going to be met by my child self who acted and danced and played and dressed up, just for the joy and thrill of it and for the pleasure of sharing something. Maybe a part of me that has been quashed for - 20 years?- is alive and is able to take the reigns again. Excited, saying, "Come look what I made !!"

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Practice, hee hee

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old wood, new paint

See this hair-do? In all my years, I don't think I've ever been as happy with what was on my head. It took a fair bit of time for my Mom to braid it all, and then pin it like a crown, with little bow-tie barrettes. What a transformation - like the fairy Godmother waving her wand. Pink dress, princess hair, and rock-star face paint - I felt like a million bucks.

I'm going to paint myself up like this tomorrow for my gig, just for old time's sake. It will match my new dress just perfectly.

It's nice to see a picture of my old piano too. Spent so many hours with my fingers on those keys - I can recall exactly how they felt, and the smooth wood, and the wiggly old pedals, and the lamp and the bench and the carpet underfoot. I felt so traitorous when we said goodbye to that piano and bought a grand.

Now that all my music is tucked securely into my memory, I feel totally different about the songs. The best part has been sitting at my keyboard, with headphones on, in my room at night - playing in the dark. The keyboard is right in front of the window, so if the lights are off I can look out at the trees and the water while I play - my fingers just know where to go and my mind can sort of float. Sounds cheesy and romantic, but that's how it is.

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Review

Big lungfuls of misty forest air - mmm! It's like a dream out there. Ma mere took this shot a couple days ago. So magic!

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So, this man I barely know somehow found out about my last CD, gave it a surprising amount of attention, and recently sent me a message about it. He gave me some really honest feedback, which I appreciate.

"... I even uploaded the album to my Ipod, thinking that repeated listenings would enable me to better appreciate it.... with mixed results.... I haven't really changed my position... certainly, you have a wonderful voice.... but... um... I still find your musical idiom... a little distressing."

Funny, eh? I don't think anyone has ever listened to my lyrics so analytically before. He said he found them 'disturbing.' Most people don't pay much attention to my lyrical content - certainly don't take the words too seriously. I'm pleased that somebody really delved into my songs. It's an honour. Even if, in the end, I've won a critic and not a fan.

Which reminds me: Art should provoke thought and feeling, not just admiration.
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Evolution

Look at this guy! He's one of many new species just discovered in Papua New Guinea.

ODE TO THE TUBE-NOSED BAT

You burrow your
rough face in the
saffron crocus
all day long
and then pretend
that you have just been
napping in the sun.
But your fuzzy mouth
and trumpet
nostrils are stained
Yellow, you little
bearded
devil.

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3 - 2 - 1 ...

My masters arrived yesterday. So here I am, listening through the CD to check for glitches and digital errors, before I take it to press today. I gotta say, it feels good to finally be at this stage. In a couple weeks I'll have a mountain of CDs and suddenly will have to do something with them.

Yikes!

I think maybe I'll just keep a bag full of em at all times, and sneak them into people's handbags, leave them on bus seats, throw them into open windows, drop them off buildings...

You know - whatever it takes.

Hey people, if you want a CD, just say the word. More than anything, I just want my baby to get listened to.

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some necessary acknowledgments

Here are some of the great things about living where I do:
1. Coming home from the city: It's so dark when I get home (and I always forget my flashlight) that I have to walk slowly, feeling the ground with my feet before each step down the long black driveway. I always get a little thrill of fear from the total darkness. And it jolts me out of my city haze back into reality.
2. I don't spend any money over here. I don't think about things I want to buy - I don't get object envy. The build-up of material wants from the city just dissolves when I step off the boat.
3. People smile and wave when they pass you in a car. They smile and say hello when they pass you on the trail. I feel like I actually belong to this place, but I also have a comfortable anonymity.
4. There are no distractions or empty fillers here for me. A day off feels long and luxurious, full of quiet and space. It feels like there is ample time to both work and to relax - I practiced for hours today, and went for a long walk, and had a nap, and read my book, and still the evening is young.
5. The ocean is just right there. Right there.
6. I can walk out my door and smell all my favourite things about life in one big gulp of air. Rain, woodfires, ocean, wet leaves, pine...
7. I never give any thought to how I look or what I'm wearing. I never feel inadequate or self-conscious when I'm out - and you can tell most everyone feels the same. It's completely the opposite from being in town.
8. Even though I mostly keep to myself, I know there's a lot of community I could get involved with, if I chose to. I don't feel isolated.
9. Beauty is thick and lush everywhere and I see deer and ravens and eagles and all kinds of creatures everyday. There's so much nature, that creativity is just a given.
10. Silence. I get to hear SILENCE !!

..

textile torture

What a perfect afternoon. So quiet and now rainy. Been thinking these last few days how much easier Autumn is to handle than Winter. The big explosions of colour on the trees and the bright leaves on the ground make the gray skies so much more beautiful.
I had a FNC last night - the first one in a while. Man, I'm bad at this stuff. From the moment I woke up yesterday morning I was all tangled in a knot. Irritable, cranky, discontent - just had this vague anxiety all day without even realizing it was because of the upcoming 'night out'. Blech, shudder, yuck, gross. When the time came to go out- and as usual it took me 5 times longer than necessary to get ready, because I was so nervous - I almost squirmed out of my skin, March to the Scaffold running through my mind. I used to wish I had an invisibility bubble to go out in. Now I wish I had an obscuring bubble. I want to see people and have them see me - I kind of like some of the social interaction. But I dread the scrutiny... if I had a film of haziness I could drape around myself so that I was like a blurry picture, that would make me feel safe.

A lot of this anxiety comes from not quite knowing how to express who I am in a visual way. I hate fashion and I hate trends. And I hate the stereotypes that different styles create. In my day to day life, it's not an issue. I wear something that's comfy and is suited to the weather, go straight from Bowen to work and back, end of story. But for a show, suddenly it becomes a crisis... I like to dress up, but everything I try on feels like a disguise or cover - some kind of false statement. I want to perform, but I don't want to be seen. Kind of a problem.

I've been thinking about this lots, and thinking about what it is that I would want to wear, that would feel like me, and wouldn't feel like me trying to look like something I'm supposed to be. End result: I've hired a seamstress/designer to make me a dress! Late 1700s-inspired. We went fabric shopping the other day at this amazing Indian fabric store, and chose some gorgeous satins and chiffons. I'm super excited. Now I don't have to search in stores for something that doesn't exist; I'm just going to have it made, dammit. Garment #1 of my future Wardrobe.

..

wolves

"Why everyone so crazy here?!" asked the old Iranian man sitting beside me at a bus stop last night. He was drinking Orange Crush, and wearing sunglasses in the dark. I said I wished I knew.

It made me think of an encounter from a few weeks ago. I was walking around the lake on Bowen, and a lady jogged passed me. A few minutes later she came running back and yelled at me from down the trail, "Are those your dogs?"
I didn't see any dogs around. "Uh, no- what dogs?"
She looked really anxious. "Are there any... scary things here?"
"Er, like what?"
"Wolves?"

Can you imagine if we did have wolves running around on these islands? There are only fierce beavers, and otters and minks that squeeze into chicken coops and eat the chickens. And I guess the occasional ornery stag. And owls. Owls are pretty tough. They'll try to eat your head if you have a pony tail or bear any other resemblance to a mouse. Yesterday, in the silvery early morning, there was a big owl sitting atop a fence post in the back yard. A pretty awe-inspiring bird.

My cat is still sick and it's pretty sad to see him so out of sorts. He's home from the hospital though, and is definitely bored with not feeling good. People and animals are funny. I just found out that this really quiet and conservative guy I know used to own 5 snakes, and would let them just roam around his house. One of them was badly poisonous, and it bit him. Now he doesn't own snakes.

..

femme-in-ism

I've been thinking more about the 'roles' I was talking about for men and women, and arguing with myself about all that. Maybe it's all the stories I've been reading, set in olden times, when women were just child-bearers and slaves. It's jarring to realize how recent this whole gender-equality issue is. In all the thousands of years of our existence, only a few dozen of those years have given women much freedom. Weird, eh? Makes me think of my late Grandmother, shaking her finger at me, her eyes sharp and her chin set strong, proclaiming, "I'm a feminist!" and ranting about 'useless men'. She saw some tough times for women, that's for sure. So let me be pretty clear about one thing: I say that it would be nice if we could relax into our 'natural roles', but with the stipulation that all roles be viewed with equal repect, given equal value. And fully realizing that there are men and women who would, quite naturally, feel natural doing the opposite of ' natural'. (?) In my Pearl S. Buck book, O-lan gives birth to a baby girl (alone in her room and crouched over a basin) and when her husband shouts at her through the door to ask what it is, she says, "It's not worth mentioning. Just a worthless slave." Whoa.
Yeah - I'm bloody grateful to live in a time and place where I have total freedom as a woman, and I also know I've got pressures and burdens that men don't have to face. But my generation of men are feeling pretty mucked up about this stuff too - and they also carry burdens unique to their sex. Guys don't know whether it's cool to offer a lady a hand anymore with her heavy groceries, or let them walk through the door first. They know they're not supposed to look for a wife to cook and clean for them, let alone bear them sons, and that they're also supposed to be less macho and more sensitive, but still dashing and buff. And women know they're supposed to have fulfilling careers and be able to handle their own financial affairs and mechanical issues, and defiantly look good for 'themselves' and not for men, and have children casually but perfectly, and maintain eternal youth and slimness.
So I don't know what I'm saying - it's all crazy and confusing. Where o where will we be in 50 years? I guess I'll just stick to my original thesis that we would all be better off, somehow, with more time alone, and more time spent in creativity. Oh, and more time outside too.
..

Inward

From "Gift from the Sea" by Anne Morrow Lindbergh:
I had left off with Anne talking about the importance of being alone, and finding "that inner stillness." Then she goes on with:
"The problem is not entirely in finding the room of one's own, the time alone, difficult and necessary as this is. The problem is more how to still the soul in the midst of its activities. In fact, the problem is how to feed the soul.
...Mechanically we have gained, in the last generation, but spiritually we have, I think, unwittingly lost. In other times, women had in their lives more forces which centered them whether or not they realized it; sources which nourished them whether or not they consciously went to these springs. Their very seclusion in the home gave them time alone. many of their duties were conducive to a quiet contemplative drawing together of the self. They had more creative tasks to perform. Nothing feeds the center so much as creative work, even humble kinds like cooking and sewing. Baking bread, weaving cloth, putting up preserves, teaching and singing to children, must have been far more nourishing than being the family chauffeur or shopping at super-markets, or doing housework with mechanical aids. The art and craft of housework has diminished; much of the time-consuming drudgery - despite modern advertising to the contrary - remains. In housework, as in the rest of life, the curtain of mechanization has come down between the mind and the hand.
..(One) must consciously encourage those pursuits which oppose the centrifugal fores of today. Quiet time alone, contemplation, prayer, music, a centering line of thought or reading, of study or work. It can be physical or intellectual or artistic, any creative life proceeding from oneself. It need not be an enormous project or a great work. But it should be something of one's own.... What matters is that one be for a time inwardly attentive."

Lindbergh's book is primarily about women. But I think it is universally true, for men and women. Why do we love to go camping? Men chop the firewood and stoke up the fire, pitch the tent and devise clever ways to hang tarps over tables and chairs, women putter around, fixing meals and fetching water and wringing out the wet clothes... It's like we all just suddenly relax into our natural roles. (Lots of women will fight me on this point. For some stupid reason, it's considered anti-feminist. Whatever. If I swing that axe, it's gonna end up in my leg. Please just let me cook the stew. Other women, do what you want.) And these comfortable and natural roles, separated from all the complications of technology and culture, often compel us to be creative, to figure out our own methods. I think it's really hard today for men and women, because these old-fashioned roles are so scoffed at, and undervalued. We're told in school that each of us needs to follow our dreams, and reach for the stars. Be lawyers, vets, astro-physicists, journalists. They don't teach us that we also could bake bread, and that that is also very important and worthy. We're fed a bullshit line about one lifestyle, and one type of work that follows a linear progression, from school to career. Even artists get fed this line. Since when did artistic development follow a linear progression? I'm straying from my point, but basically I'm trying to say that we are struggling with identity and self-worth, because our natural roles as men & women are being more and more looked down upon as irrelevant and out-dated. And that a simple and fulfilling life full of simple but creative work is not on the list of post-graduate options. It's in our inherent, birth-given gifts and natural abilities that we're able to most effortlessly express ourselves, and people so easily lose touch with these creative sources when they are pushed into molds. I think that's my point. We step away from our inherent tendencies and desires to strive for big and important things, and lose all our creativity in the process.

I really do believe that this lack of creativity rots out the core. If I look to all of my depressions I find the common theme. When I'm not doing my music (I don't mean for a day, but for a period of time) I start to feel like I'm dying. Like a bud withering on the stem. It's awful. And even if whatever I'm doing is seemingly creative (like when I was working full time as a choral singer and accompanist), if it isn't coming from inside me, it's worthless. If there's no room for your own expression, you may as well be stuffing envelopes in a dark cubicle. It's a really tricky balance as an artist. Projects come your way that offer good pay, and look great on a resume - all that ego seduction. But a lot of the time, the people who hire you just want to use your sharpened creative tools to express their own art. You end up feeling weirdly used, and bored, and sometimes compromised because the drivel you churn out for them is something you don't believe in. It's really tough. On the other hand, sometimes collaborations can turn into fantastic opportunities for lighting all your artistic fires. You gotta play the field carefully, all right, and make your choices wisely.

I count myself really fortunate right now, because my job allows me creativity (even though it's an office job), in that I devise all my own methods and get to constantly look for ways to improve my systems. That's fun and creative, and in a way I wouldn't normally get to explore.
The memory work is going really well, and I'm finding it so fulfilling. You'd think repetition work would be boring, but it's not. It focuses my mind, and puts the body in line with it. I'm really rediscovering my songs, am constantly being surprised by what I've written. Sometimes I can't resist just stopping at a chord and thinking, 'where did I come up with that?' and playing around with it for a while. The thing that really blows me away is that I have no memory of writing this stuff - no memory of the process - and know that it didn't really come from me. I don't want to sound too spiritual-spooky, but just indulge me for a sec. The good stuff, the best of my music - it comes from somewhere else. That's all I'm saying.
..

dress-up

I almost forgot that it's Halloween. Considering how much I like to play dress-up, it's a bit of a shame that I'm not doing anything tonight - no costumes. But really, I don't care a bit. Last year I was in Japan on Halloween. A few times I saw some Halloween decorations in store windows in the trendier districts, but that was the extent of it. I don't get very excited over holidays anymore. Even Christmas - which used to be a big thing for me - has lost its sparkle. Why don't they make Labour Day a proper holiday? That, to me, is the real New Year. I don't give a hoot about January 1st. That's just the start of really crappy weather. I'd like to celebrate the New Year at the beginning of September, and then the Winter Solstice, cause it's beautiful, (and also my nephew's birthday), then coming of Spring, and then mid-summer. Costumes could be worn at all four events. When I was a little girl, I played a witch many times at Halloween. Once, I got to be a clown with this great costume that somebody made for me. Boy, what a great suit. I was a princess several times, a ghost, Medusa and many other witch-variations, the Sky, and... I think that's it. Maybe I was a cat once.
Speaking of cats, the Mouse Gut diagnosis was incorrect, and Charles is still at the vet, awaiting blood test results. It feels weird without having my buddy here. He's more social than some humans I know.
Well, Happy Halloween. I hope nobody blows off any fingers with firecrackers tonight - I was always afraid of that when I was a kid.

..

the good earth

What a gorgeous morning... the grass outside is all fuzzy and wet and shiny, like a deer's coat. The ocean is kind of glowing with warm mist, and the sun is coming in sideways through trees and making long streaking shadows across the yard. Maple trees are amber, and the pines are blue-grey and look moist and heavy. I wasn't expecting sunshine this morning... the weather forecast had shown pictures of dark rainclouds for 7 consecutive days. I like that nobody can predict these little pockets of relief, and the sudden rainbows that appear in a dark sky, and the patches of deep blue opening up like big eyes. I like that we really are so hopelessly out of control when it comes to our environment.
I grabbed a book off the shelf this morning, and am happy with my random choice. Pearl S. Buck, "The Good Earth." Beautiful so far. I'm on a bit of a historical/period fiction kind of roll... I find it so much more interesting than reading about a book set in the present. I watched "There Will Be Blood" last night - and it was an interesting follow up to "East of Eden." Same country, same era, but a very different scene. Stunning film - disturbing in the best kind of way. Greed and emptiness, regret and pride.
I'm really glad I remembered to start the meditation back up. I've tried to practice mindfulness in the car, sitting here and there, walking, but without the anchor of having a sitting practice in the morning, I don't find it very effective. My cushion, my meditation bench, act like a trigger to my body - it's a physical cue to bring the attention in to the breath. And right away I feel the weight of whatever's on my chest, am suddenly aware of it underneath the nattering thoughts. Even if all I do for the whole 30 minutes is notice I've gone off into planning and thinking, and bring my attention back, over and over again, I know it's doing something good for me. Even when I fall asleep. Ha ha.
So I'm off to do that now, and then I'll go outside and maybe will be more present because of it. We'll see. I really want to smell that air today.

..

Mouse Gut

I finished the Steinbeck and am sad... it was so good. What should I read next? How can I follow up "East of Eden"? Any suggestions, friends?
My Charlie-cat is staying overnight at the vet, on an IV. Has a high fever. It sounds quite likely that it's not serious though. The vet said it's probably what they call, "Mouse Gut." Which I think is kind of funny and sums it all up. That cat is definitely hunting things all the time. Not funny to see him suffering though. Get better, Charles!
Oddly enough, my stomach is off too. I don't have a fever, and I didn't eat a mouse, so maybe it's sympathetic pain. Spent many hours on the memory work, and that was good. It's such an attention-focuser. After a while I noticed that my whole body was getting so loose. I don't seem to get a sore back anymore when I play the piano - unless I'm sight-reading or composing, and not paying any attention to my body. That Alexander work really has helped. I haven't felt this comfortable at the piano in a long time, and my technique felt really sharp because of it. What a great feeling - it made me want to bash through some Mozart and Bach, which I did. (And then realized that my technique wasn't really so sharp after all.) But anyhow - the fluidity and pleasure of improvising around little ideas, and around Mozart and around my own songs - left me feeling really really good. Refreshed. Ahh!

..

good bait

My cat is sick. It's oddly unsettling when pets turn unwell. Funny that we take for granted their health and happiness. Guess it's cause they don't complain all the time like humans do. Poor ol' Charlie. Taking him to the vet in a bit.
The rest of the day: practicing. I've been pleasantly surprised at how the memorization process is going. Maybe all that poetry-memorizing was a good primer. It's actually a huge relief to play without the music in front of me. So much easier to sing at the same time. And of course, I love having a deadline, and the sense of purpose that comes with it.
I'm really excited, because one of my favourite bands in the world is going to open for me at my CD release. Wee-ooo! I was cackling to myself pretty good whilst writing up the event invite. Mwa ha ha ha! Such spectacular bait...
And just you wait to see how purdy the CD cover is gonna look!

..

Declaration

Well, I've been humbled. Here it is, the plain old truth:
If I don't practice with every spare second I've got, I might as well throw in the towel. I've got so much work ahead of me, it's frightening. No more messing around. No more idling. I have to become so bulletproof as a performer that no situation in a live show can throw me. So that I'll be worthy of the musicians I want to play with, and deserve to rise to the level I aspire to. There just is no way around it. I need to memorize all of my music, even if it kills me. And then be able to play it, at the drop of a hat, anywhere, for anyone. This is my challenge: 3 upcoming shows. Nov 17th, Dec. 2nd and Dec 11th. 60% memorized for the 1st one, 80% for the second one, 100% for the third. By God, until Dec 11th, I must live and breathe my music.

Is this too much? No, I don't think so. I have been playing music with some people that just clobber and shame me with their dazzling ability and dedication. I can't deny it - a huge part of me is always motivated by wanting to win the respect and admiration of the people that I look up to. I wrestle with that a lot - trying to be clear about my intentions. Do I want this because I want it for myself, or do I want it so that I can feel accepted and somehow special? It's almost impossible to separate those strands. But I know that unless I push myself, I feel unfulfilled and unworthy as a human being. That never stops or changes. But the feelings of inadequacy do seem to be getting better. That is, I am no longer so convinced of my "just-can't-do-it-ness". Maybe I can do it. But I've got to light a fire under my ass.

On another note: I lost my journal. I don't know how or when. I take it everywhere with me, so it could be anywhere. What a gross feeling. I don't really care if it gets read by someone. It's just that it's like a piece of my history - gone. So many notes, lyrics, ideas, lists, drafts of letters, phone numbers, doodles, rants and raves. Ack... journal - come back to me! We weren't finished, you and I!

Okay - you know what I'll be doing tonight. And forever after if you don't hear from me again.

..

big ideas in the bathtub

Awake at 5 again. Weird. A couple weeks ago I would have set my alarm for 6:30, and if I didn't I could easily have slept 10 hours each night. This waking up at 5 thing is something that happens to me in the summer. There's only one explanation: the blue light.
Ha! I really didn't have any faith in the thing when I bought it. (I'm talking about the SAD therapy lights that blast special blue-sky-like-rays at you.) But the day after I started using it, the lingering morning sleepiness just was gone. I woke up and jumped out of bed. Hmm.
So, whilst in the tub and drinking tea, my mind started throwing out big ideas. Now that the Hawaii big idea is reality, I need another idea to work on. I've just booked 2 shows and hopefully will have a 3rd, bigger show, confirmed soon. (This is for Nov/Dec.) Somehow the prospect of nobody coming to these shows doesn't bother me much. It just needs to be done, audience or no audience, before I go away. So the next challenge, obviously, is to book a tour. I think it will be something like Toronto/Guelph/Ottawa/Montreal/Quebec City. I like it over in those parts. I think it has to be late April/May. And somehow I have to find the money for travel, accommodation, food, and wages for the band. I've been acting lately as though money is no object, and it's catching up to me. Money really gets in the way of implementing big ideas. So that means it's time to start writing grants, and perhaps planning some fundraising events.
Hmm... sorry, this is boring blog material- I'm just thinking out loud...
Obviously, the bigger the crowds, the more cash for the band... I'm going to have to put myself out there and ask some people I know with big followings to let me open for them. I'll have to be shameless. Maybe Leonard Cohen will write me back and suggest it... ha ha.
Whoo-ee. I've got to watch every penny I spend... I've made the nerdiest excel spreadsheet with a detailed budget and I cannot stray. The money has been flying out in terrifying quantities in every direction. Travel and CD production alone is breaking me. And I've got a band to pay for next month, and a designer whom I've commissioned to make me a performance costume (hee hee), a web designer and photographer, and let's not forget therapy etc etc. Maybe I should do a penny-drive? But somehow I'm not worried. I've got that feeling of whooshing possibilities and I know that when that happens, things have a way of working out.
And you know what I think is helping me feel terrific? Steinbeck's East of Eden. I'm nearly done, and I wish it was 5 times longer. It is absolutely heart-rending reading. So, so, rich, and in the subtlest, clean and simple way. It has this potency that moves me - I am just totally caught in the profundity of it. It stays with me all day - this feeling of being involved in something worthwhile.

..

early one morning

Awake at 5:30 this morning, but in a good way. It's only 7, and my day is well underway. Have done laundry, cooked lunch, written some emails, and made some art. I love this feeling. I am unabashedly a morning person. Have just enough time to finish making a new envelope - this time for a friend. I'm oddly cheerful, considering it's pitch black outside and I'll be heading out for my 2-hour commute in the rain soon. Did I mention the rubber boots? I bought them when I went up to stay at the Ashram. They're heavy-duty camo boots from Canadian Tire. I never needed to use them, so they've just been a home for spiders... until yesterday! Why did I suffer so many rainy days in sodden runners? What was I thinking? I'm indomitable in these boots. So here's the uniform for the next 2 months: Knee-length rain slicker. Peak-cap toque. Rubber boots. Woolen wrist warmers. There's a great feeling of independence and security when you're well-equipped for the elements. And I've gotta say, with all due respect to long-johns, that there's nothing like a decent layer of body fat to keep you warm. Thank you, peanut butter cookie.
..

Who wants A major anyways?

I am obsessed with counterpoint right now. Ack! Believe you me, it's not likely to win me too many fans in the pop music world. But what can I do? Both hands want to play running lines, and my ears want that big jumble of notes jumping off each other and forming split-second harmonies. It's all too easy to fall into the rut of left-hand accompaniment, right-hand melodies. And all too easy to place melodies in the treble register. Gotta switch it up! Our ears are getting laaazy. I've been writing a fair bit these days, with multiple pieces on the go. That feels good, feels right to work that way - I improvise, and exercise the fingers for a bit on one piece, make some notes, and when I cease to feel inspired, move on to another piece. Maybe this is not the most productive method... things come together patchily and slowly. But it's fun. Hoo boy, it's so difficult to not write the same thing in different ways, over and over. I find myself in the same keys, searching for the same kinds of dissonance, the same colours. I've got to cut myself off from the ol' B minor. (God bless it, the most haunting of keys.) Trying to work with A major - ugh. Or worse, F major. But who wants it? A is so bright. F is so comfortable.
Some big forward-steps for me - booked 2 shows and have rehearsals lined up. Won't go into it now, but this side of the music biz is hard for me. (Ah well, what side isn't?) But the CD is being mastered as we speak, and the cover design is practically finished - and looks gorgeous - and all I have left to do is take it in to the manufacturing company and get it pressed. Whoo-ee. Planning some kind of 3rd show, an unofficial CD release, for December. And then it's Christmas, and then Hawaii, and Manta Rays.

..

battlecry

Haha - take THAT, Inbox, you ol' bastard!
Bring it on - let the emails pour in - I'm not afraid - I can respond to anything. I can bat them back with a flick of my tail! Let the letters come from the tax people - let the facebook messages from old high school acquaintances roll in with the awkward questions and insinuations and demands for reply.... Hit reply, type like the devil, hit send, move to resolved. Done!
I'm TCB Woman today. Swatting down bullshit tedium like flies. And when the pile of corpses is stacked and burning, I will retire to my fresh-made bed and read Steinbeck, uninterrupted, for the rest of the day.

..

Orpheus VII

After following the stream for several days, the rabbit finally found himself emerging from the lowland meadows. He felt safer in these hills; he had once lived in this region, years ago, and it was pleasingly unchanged. He made for the home of an old friend, humming as he followed his memory through the purple heather and clumps of thyme. Rounding the last bend, he arrived at the little dwelling, and tapped lightly on the hollow bark of an old tree stump. 


Moments later, he was comfortably installed on soft cushions of hay, with dishes of carrots and turnips laid out before him. The pints of plummy ale went down easily and the rabbit's cheeks took on a rosy hue as the tumbling conversation of long-parted friends gradually relaxed its pace.
Orpheus stretched and sighed. “Ah, dear friend, it really has been too long. But I feel there's something you're not telling me. How are you really?"
“Ah, well enough, I suppose. Yes, I suppose...”
“Marvin- I am not convinced.”
“Well, you remember how things were when you left. We didn't know it then, but I think that was the beginning of the end for us. They’ve been digging and building non-stop, devil-driven, ever since.”
“What do you mean? Things look just the same as –“
“Yes, yes, I know,” Marvin's voice was sharp and bitter. “That’s their favourite line of defense. Nobody can see the difference. Well, the earth knows, the Gods know, and it won’t be long before there’s nothing but hollow ground beneath our feet.”
“Building underground? But they can't possibly -” Orpheus stopped himself at the look on his friend's face. He suddenly noticed the whitening hairs around his nose, the thinning quills on his back. “Marvin... this is terrible.”
“Yes, it is. They’re greedy, greedy and blind. Dining rooms, bed lofts, entertainment rooms – it’s completely ruined our community. Nobody gathers outside to watch the stars anymore.”
Orpheus shook his head sadly. “I just can't believe it.”
Marvin looked at him silently for a long moment. Finally, he said, “I wish you had stayed. You might have had some influence. Maybe if you'd shown them your plans, made them see.”
Orpheus looked at him in disbelief. "My plans?"
"Yes, your plans. Your blueprints- your bloody blueprints!"
"My dear Hedgehog, you have lost your mind. Nobody here has ever shown the slightest interest in, or even tolerance for, my ideas. That's WHY I left."
"But we could have fought them, convinced them... We didn't stand a chance without an Architect on our side."
Orpheus pulled on his long ears and rubbed his eyes. "Marvin, look... I don't want to argue with you. I can't carry the blame of this."
With a bristle of quills, the hedgehog tossed the rest of his ale down his throat and wiped his mouth with a grunt. "I'm not blaming you, Orpheus. But we need an Architect."

..

Orpheus VI

It was mid-day when Orpheus came out into the long meadows that stretched away behind the wood. He looked around warily, and crept along, staying close to the ground. His ears were keen and told him it was safe, but he stayed low all the same. Something in Eda's voice had stirred fear in him. He looked up now and again, into the cloud-streaked sky, wary even of the small birds circling above him. Finally the tall grass gave way to a thicket of brambles along the edge of a stream. Orpheus was able to follow the banks, under cover, till nightfall. Then, in the safety of darkness, he bathed in the stream and allowed himself a few hours of rest. He found himself thinking about Eda, and then Isadora and Rata, Briedit and Fantilee, Jeid, Susto and Meeren. He was no spring bunny anymore. He had been through a gauntlet of doomed romances. Never with a rabbit - no, there were very few rabbits left in the West - and maybe that was the problem. He shook his head and looked up at the great map of stars, rubbing his tired feet. "Are you there?" he whispered at the night.

..

The Boulder

Good things are on the roll. I've finished booking my trip this morning, and let me just say that I am basking in that most warming feeling, gratitude. I am so grateful for whatever amazing alignment of planets and molecular cosmic catalysts brought me all this goodness. January 3rd, I'll be off to Maui for two weeks. Then 17 days on Kauai, and then a month on the Big Island. Found 3 great places to stay - each with a kitchenette, balcony, private bath and high-speed internet. All near fantastic beaches, on the sunniest parts of the islands. You can hate me for a few moments, I won't mind. You can come visit.
Writing lots of music - or at least, conceiving of lots of music. In a phase of adoration/love for my piano, nodding off with my forehead on the music stand, fingers on the keys. Learning so much just from exploring. The best thing my best music teacher ever taught me was that the piano can teach me anything I need to know. After all these years it's still a complete mystery, still a total wonder. I wander around the keys, searchingly, and stumble into chords that startle me and surprise me. With 10 fingers on 88 keys, the pathways are so limitless, that it's frightening. So much music is written on the front lawn, inside the fence. Doesn't even look beyond the perimeter of the yard, let alone walk out into the forest. Hmm. Hrr. I wanna go out there! The forest is huge and humbling!
But making music, being a musician, maybe even trying to grow as a human being, is like pushing a boulder. You've got to just heave-ho to get it to go anywhere, and then once it's moving, it's a little easier. And every now and again you'll come to a downhill, maybe a long one, and you can just run alongside the boulder and whoop and holler. But when it finally rolls to a stop, you have to heave-ho once again. Sometimes you get to a hill - going UP. And then you lie down on the ground and gnash your teeth and beat your fists and maybe walk away from the damned thing. But you can't forget about it, and you keep coming back and trying to push it on your own. And one day you do it. Maybe it takes a bunch of friends to help you push it up the bloody hill, maybe you just get a surge of superman strength. But you do it, and then you get some nice flats again or a lovely downhill. It's always this way. The boulder doesn't get smaller or lighter. It's your companion for life, so you love it.

..

Orpheus V

Eda nudged Orpheus awake with her long soft snout. Her blue eyes smiled at him. "Breakfast, lovey." He looked at her through a haze of dissolving dreams, confused for a moment. Then he remembered where he was and smiled back, nodding sleepily. He felt pinched and worn, but was glad for morning. He lay still for a few more minutes, watching Eda as she returned to the fire. Lovely Eda. He had known her for many years now, had always loved her, and it was not so long ago that his heart had finally matured and stopped hoping to one day win her. She was a bear - powerful, dangerous, strong-willed - and he was just a rabbit. Manley was a mighty animal, fierce but kind; Orpheus had accepted him as Eda's rightful mate and that was that. They were beautiful to behold together this morning, rich coats glinting in the early sun. With a sigh, he hopped over to a mossy seat beside them and accepted a deep bowl of berries and honey.

"I wish you would stay a few days, Orpheus," Eda said quietly, once the food was cleared. "You look exhausted."

"Oh - thank you. It's very kind of you. You're both so kind... But I am anxious to reach the valley by the new moon."

"We've been hearing strange things," Manley grumbled. "Disturbing things - not just about the marshes anymore. The gatekeepers are growing very restless."

"Yes, I am not surprised."

"Oh, I know you're clever as anything, Orph, and fast, but -" Eda's black eyes flashed with concern. "But you'll be so vulnerable out there. We should ask Hopkins to go with you."

"No. Thank you. But no." Orpheus' ears twitched several times, but his voice was controlled. "I must go alone. I will be safe."

..

Orpheus IV

It was black and starry when Orpheus suddenly woke. The bears were snoring softly, and everything was still. He shivered, soaked in sweat, and waited for his heart to slow. He had been dreaming about the Mountains. They were crumbling down upon him, and all the little huts were on fire. Closing his eyes, he remembered standing at the edge of a huge canyon, a mile deep. There was a wire stretched across - a mile long - and he had to cross this canyon, paw-over-paw, by dangling over the precipice. Someone was pushing him and he was arguing, "No, I'm just going to jump." Then, with a devastating sound, the highest Mountain peak had broken off, and slowly tumbled down towards them. In terror he had fled and found himself alone in the burning village.
Orpheus stood and changed out of his sodden robes. He wrapped himself in his cloak, took out his mirror, and placed it over his heart. He waited, holding the image of the shattering cliffs in his mind. Nothing happened. He looked in the mirror; his anxious face looked back at him. With a heavy sigh of relief, he lay back down and attempted sleep.

..

to sit or not to sit

I am a big fan of routines. I mean, the helpful, good ones. Basically, practice. But, this brings us to the difficult issue of Choice. There are only so many hours in the day, and it's really not sufficient time! But I realized today, with a bang, how much I need to reinstate a meditation practice. I used to sit for 30 minutes every morning, and it helped me a lot, with everything in my life. I remember feeling that it was the only thing I had ever discovered that could actually improve my life, and that I would never stop doing it, no matter what. Whoops.
You know what, though? It wasn't an accident. I got really mad at Mindfulness, and Metta, and all that beautiful stuff, simply because I duped myself. I was in a really depressingly flat relationship with a very kind person I couldn't bear to hurt. And I used the unattachment and wanting/not-wanting teachings to trick myself into thinking that it was just my ego-mind that was grasping at something 'better'... looking for the greener grass. When I finally left the guy, I went through this period of total rage - I was just so, so angry for being locked up for so long. Furious at myself and all of that peacefulness-acceptance-unconditional-love stuff. I wanted to rip myself to shreds, tear off all my niceness and softness and step into an iron tank and blow everything up GRARRR!
Hence, "Peace is Every Step" and "A Path with Heart" and all their gentle friends got chucked into a bin and gathered dust for a long time, while I started looking for a good way to hurt myself real bad. Or something like that. Grow some spikes that would keep the puppy dogs away from me. Or something like that.
So, well, I've lost my spikes now and am all covered up in soft cushy flesh again. And that rage comes back when I find myself getting caught in that cycle of shame and disgust about my weight, and I feel so trapped because I know I can't start starving myself again. I know I need to somehow learn to respect nature and the human body it's letting me borrow for this lifetime.
Anyhow, it's time to get back to the meditation and all that brilliant simple wisdom. But not passively this time. I've got to look for my Buddhist warrior.

..

Orpheus III

Some days later, badly in need of food and rest, Orpheus reached the edge of a wood. There was no light beneath the trees and the path was vague. He hesitated, and looked around carefully. He knew that somewhere, a gatekeeper was watching him from the darkness. Slowly, he removed his cloak and lay down on the grass, pressing his nose to the cold earth. He raised his white tail and waved it back and forth, back and forth, until he heard a soft rustle in the leaves. Without raising his head, he said, "Silver trumpet, leaf of my heart, Bellmaster of the ancient ponds, 3-9-16-8-trout-in-the-stream Birchbeak."
"Stand up, Orpheus. We know your kin. They told us you were coming."

Stretched out on a bed of leaves, pipe resting in one paw, he listened to the crackling fire and hearty voices with deepening contentment. Manley caught his eye and pointed at the steaming pot on the grill. Shaking his head, Orpheus gave his bulging stomach a pat and grinned. The bear chuckled softly and turned his attention back to his jug of ale and his tambourine, picking up the thread of music here and there, as it suited him. The ragged voice of Hopkins the Kodiak carried the lilting song, and told them tales of the Easterly East. The air was thick with pipe smoke and the smell of steaming fur. And as the laughter and murmuring thrum chased away all the creaking sounds of the night, Orpheus let his eyelids droop until the trees above him seemed to bend down and shoo him off to sleep.

..

Dear envelope,

...

.

Orpheus II

Though he was tired, it felt better to be moving. Sleep was sometimes deep and empty, sometimes cruel and tinged with dreams that followed him like a string of weary ghosts through the day. His heart always woke first, full to bursting, tugging his mind awake. Where these dreams came from, or why they made visits to such distant pasts, he did not know. He was heavy with shame and a sad kind of desperation, made worse by the knowledge that he should have grown beyond these fragile states long ago. They plucked at him and chided him and accused him of so many things. They sat on his chest and pushed long thin pins into his heart.
Orpheus pulled back his warm cloak and stretched his ears into the night. He aimed them at the distant peaks of the North. He closed his eyes and leaned forward and imagined he could hear some calm voice from a mountaintop murmur something like reassurance. Some lines of ancient verses came softly into his mind and he strode onward more quickly, reciting them to the listening darkness.

..