Hrm......

So I might be a little crazy--
they don't call me Lolo for nothin', right, Wendy?
or perhaps I'm exiting the "Honeymoon Phase" as it's commonly called.
But even with all of the connection I was feeling before--which is fantastic--mostly because it showed me an interesting view of the world, and more importantly, of myself and the places I want to go in life--is now accompanied by a disconnect. I am really enjoying my current project for Tamarack (the teaching guide--I really resonate with the intentions and the language there) but I also have a hard time connecting with some of the greater philosophies here, and some of the things that I'm working on as an editor or researcher. In fact, there seems to be a bit of hypocrisy happening with what we say is good, and what we do--
like the food situation--we're "against" agriculture, in many of the teachings, but instead of growing food ourselves, which would be a pretty welcome effect for Pachamama (Mother Earth) I should think, we are buying organic produce in bulk--but it's not local. Obviously. It's the middle of December. Still---even in the summertime. That's a pretty general one, a simple one--but basically some of the "preachings", if you will, that are totally radical or unreasonable to present to the world on the whole.

this is probably not news to any of you. It's not really news to me, either. In fact some of us have definitely chatted about this particular problem. I guess I'm finally getting around to expressing it here...since I hadn't been a very good blogger lately, I realized today why that is.

I don't have much to say, I guess, especially that's positive.

So...I need to let this settle a bit, sift around in there some more, and talk with Tamarack. Decide what, if anything, I feel I need to do right now. Or soon. Either way, whatever I decide, I'm sure I will consider living here a positive experience. Otherwise, I just wouldn't continue doing it.

I'm currently reading, among other things, Arthur Koestler's Darkness at Noon about Revolution in Russia. Here's something to ponder (I know I am)

How can one change the world if one identifies oneself with everybody?
How else can one change it?
He who understands and forgives--where would he find a motive to act?
Where would he not?

more soon--hugs and love to you all--
Lolo

Back to the Future

Which is not, necessarily a good thing--considering I am trying to live in the moment.

Today I have come into Three Lakes to the library to work on some things--mostly a story about a Moose--my own story, not Tamarack's. I have been feeling overwhelmed, distracted, by the massive amount of daily "circle" activities. Although it is wonderful to be a part of a community, I am finding that I need to balance self-time, work-time, and circle-time, more than ever. It's a bit of a struggle--I am feeling pulled in different directions, not totally sure what my place is here.

Sometimes I so deeply feel that all I want to do is write. Nothing else. Don't want to eat or sleep or walk or run or dance or talk to people. I just want to write!!!!! I just told Kai, a newcomer from Germany who will be translating some of Tamarack's work, that I could sit here contentedly all afternoon, simply because there are no distractions (except, of course, those that I choose--such as this little blog). I have written more--worked on a couple of poems, and the middle part of the story, which I keep getting stuck on.

I am future projecting, as we call it here--I can't wait to leave, which is strange because each time I leave I become anxious to get back. Personally, I blame Derek. And Santa Claus. :)

Can't wait to see you all very soon.
Lots of love, and big hugs.
oh--and everyone, send out warm and peaceful thoughts to Reid Levin, a great and wonderful man and a friend from high school. Thinking of you, Reid...

The Guitar Man

He accompanies the clatter of dishes
and the whirring cappuccino machine,
the ornament of laughing voices,
the clicking of keys,
the clean sounds of creation
muddled by grubby restaurant hands.

His gentle fingers pluck stretched strings,
stroking the body of an old spanish guitar,
fingers I have seen somewhere before.

He strums,
one knee raised like a prayer,
fighting the noise,
but then there is nothing else
in the world but fingers
and familiar songs
and the silence between.

Little-Mystery Moon

Manidoo Giizis

(This is the Ojibwe name for the month we are in).

It has been a whole month since I last wrote on this...naughty blogger!

So I promise, my upcoming projects include getting this blog back on track, including some photos and stuff. Part of the reason I've been so bad is because I'm cheating on this blog, with my Creative Writer's blog--come see it sometime.

More soon, but today's a busy day--
Lolo

A Picture Paints...

Instead of writing much tonight, I thought I'd share some photos. Jaz, one of the other editors, is a great photographer. She offered to share, so I've added some in to the blog.

Scroll down and take a peek--I've added them to some previous posts as well.

Love and hugs.

This first picture is one of the many ponds between the Center and Camp Mashkodens.

Day...lets not keep count anymore

I am very excited-heading back to MN for a few days. I will be gone from Teaching Drum for quite some time, which feels a little strange.

I'm also gearing up to go home to Colo. So, whoever's reading this, let's get ready to do some skiing!!! YAH! (Okay, this may have to wait till after Christmas, but still!)

I am, at this point, planning to come back and sit out the winter in the beautiful Northwoods. I may regret it, cold-wise, or snow-wise. Yet, I will not only accept, but embrace it. I am learning so much here--world-wise, people-wise, self-wise. It's worth it to take a longer gaze.

The days are full-somehow a duality exists, where about 3:00 hits and I think-- Dang, I'm ready for bed, but also, Wow--it's three o clock already? And then of course there's the--who cares what time it is? Why am I even wearing a watch?

This morning, we all gathered and went out to Nishnajda (the year-long, way-out-there Seekers' camp) to gather boughs and chop wood to prepare for a Sweat lodge ceremony which is taking place tomorrow. It was a great day--I'm glad I went instead of nursing this cold. I don't think I'll be participating in the Sweat tomorrow, partly because I'm sick and partly because I'm just not sure...I think I'll wait till I'm a little more comfortable with everything else and then decide. Perhaps in one of the coming moons.


PHOTO: Call me crazy, but i think it's a leaf on a pine bough.

Day...um.....twelve?

Ok so I am starting to lose track. Lost, down the rabbit hole.

I will not admit that I have a cold. But I feel like crap. So I'm going to bed and this is going to be short.

I am quite happy. We had a women's circle today.

Before I explain anything more, I'm just going to say that it is really hard to explain anything that is going on here. Lety (my boss's wife) said it just perfectly: it is like trying to explain to someone what a mango tastes like. You can tell somebody for three days that a mango tastes like this, or doesn't taste like that. But if you give that person a mango and let them eat it, they will know.

So. With that said. We hiked to Nishnajda, the wilderness camp. I met the one woman who is currently still enrolled in the wilderness guide school's year long program, Denise, who is really craving some female energy, and is going through all sorts of struggles on her incredible journey. We made a fire in the pit at the Moon Lodge, which is surrounded by forest, and sat in a circle, passed the talking stick, and listened to each other as we discussed what we are feeling and thinking.

It was sort of like hiking with Jess or having coffee with Wendy...only a ceremony. I decided that I will at least take this one practice away from here. I can't believe how much I feel better just having been a part of it one time. Now--we do this, supposedly, a couple of times a month. Maybe even every week (hey--that's just about how often I'm taking showers! Coincidence...?) Yes, I know. I stink.

Anyway. Tomorrow is a Grandmother Moon Ceremony-up on Lake Superior, and I'm looking forward very much. I hope I don't wake up with more icky in my throat and nose...think healthy.

And...I love you. Whoever is reading this right now, I love you.

Goodnight, giant moon, spinning light throught the clouds and the trees. Somewhere out there, the same moon is spilling over us all! Or, as wonderful poet Joy Harjo says, from the moon, we all look the same...

Remnants

I wish I could have seen it happen.
what's left are the remnants,
an unsettled mystery:

a huge, old pine stands not a foot
from where the incident took place;
the other tree exists only in bottom half,
and split down the middle by someone's giant axe

the debris scatters across forest
for a few hundred feet;
some pieces are as small as fingers,
one is an eight-foot-tall ladder to the sky

and it has plunged, stuck itself into
soil knotted with rocks and roots
and it sits, awaiting a climber,
perhaps red squirrel will find a perch there.

I can still feel the buzz of sky and wind,
hear the crack of exploding fragments, and if I really listen,
each of them tumbling lightly down with the falling leaves.

Down the blackened trunk,
something sharpened its claws,
zigs and zags extend down the wood
where Lightning left her mark.

Day Eight/Nine

Yesterday ROCKED.

"Power Hour" at Mashkodens:
I touch metal to dirt,
the square head of the shovel semi-inching its way slowly down.
I shove it down in with my foot, jump on the edge to push it harder.
I pull back, lifting the last corner of a square peice of "sod."
I toss the shovel back, and Sarah and I squat down,
pick up the Earth, our bare arms tickled by roots.
We place it on the map of sod squares next to where we're digging.
Near twenty of us: Digging, pulling, lifting Earth.

Jaz runs up. She has three tomahawks in her hand.
"Here we go guys," hollers Ty. "Let's get a group to scout some poles."
I yield my shovel to Ray, anxious to try something new.
Next thing I know, I am running through the forest,
looking for "straight, non-rotten, downed timber."
I find one.
I grasp the tomahawk in my right hand, a branch in my left.
I strip the fallen tree of its arms,
drag the lodge pole back to the trail,
and enter the woods again, a wild and unseparate woman,
wielding my tomahawk.

PHOTO ABOVE: a gray-jay's view of the wigwams at Mashkodens. The huge pile of dirt is where we are constructing the Earth Lodge.

Today we also celebrated the naming ceremony of five-year-old Diindiis (which sounds like "Dindees" and means "Blue Jay"). Which means: Feast! Venison, pheasant, smoked fish--I tried the pheasant, it was pretty darn good--and then steamed veggies (including squash and pumpkin today!! YUM), a HUGE salad with everything one could want, wild rice, sourkraut, and, best of all, a delicious apple crispy thing for dessert. The ceremony included an offering (by the elder, Mani, and Diindiis) of tobacco, (kinickinck) as well as an Ancestor Dish, placed on Birch Bark, which must be burned in honor of the spirits before any food can be served, a blessing in Ojibwe, and many stories and wisdoms. We also sent or made Diindiis a gift--I could only think to make him an origami crane. There were many beautiful rocks, arrowheads, feathers, furs, leather straps, etc. which he also received--and most importantly, a beautiful Eagle feather. A very special honor. And an honor to have been a part of the circle today!

PHOTO: Diindiis and Cedar, climbing around in the woods. They are both avid tree climbers.

Day Seven

Wow. Day seven? Even as I said it out loud this evening at our Quarter-Moon Meeting, I couldn't believe it. I have been here for one week. In many ways, it feels comfortable. Like maybe it could be a good home. Like I could do some gooood healing here. Some good writing here.

Today I woke up in the mood for a run. Halfway through, I had a "writer's epiphany." Suddenly, a project that has lay dormant for some months suddenly presented an idea. I ran back to the office as quickly as *pant pant* my little legs could carry me.

I worked on the Teacher's Guide, which is coming along pretty well, but at times I get frustrated, wondering if I am heading in the right direction. There is a lot of material there, and I am looking forward to connecting with Tamarack tomorrow or the next day on this project.

The Quarter Moon meeting was a way for the whole circle--19 of us--to connect on several different topics. We also had three guests in camp. It was a beautiful evening--although the meeting was lengthy, I'm happier to spend 5 hours sitting outside under the stars and learning about the community members than to be...well a lot of other places.

My goal for tonight is to remember my dream. Tamarack is an excellent interpreter, and it seems that everyone around me here is having very clear "dream messages." I hope to get to a similar place. that's all for now. Good night--or as we say here, Gigawobomen!

Day Six

going to town,
I can't decide whether or not I'm excited for
a cup of coffee
or at least breakfast at some place nice
a trip into the library to get a card and continue with my long reading list
shopping for a new mouse and keyboard,
a few more groceries,
and running a few errands for Tamarack.

But once I get there,
I spend an hour with paperwork at the health clinic,
and a cup of coffee doesn't sound that good.
I'm craving a sip of water from the well.

The gal at the library says I need proof of address
before I can get a damn card!
So I figure I'll just keep reading the dozens of anthologies I have leftover from school.

Comparing prices on mice is not something
I feel like doing.
The restaurants don't appeal, even though I am
as hungry as a post-hibernation bear
and it isn't until we get to Golden Harvest (the natural foods store)
that my stomach agrees.

I realize:
I am learning to live here,
I am learning to miss the woods even when I am away for a mere day.
Today was the first day I did not go for a walk.
I knew something was missing.

I am learning to live here,
and to enjoy what I eat, whether that's a
locally owned and growed
broccoli cabbage onion beet egg stir fry
or even, occasionally, a bite of mystery meat
from a poor creature who attempted to cross the road,
and didn't quite make it.
Even then I can chew and swallow, as long as I don't think too hard...

So bring it on, Wisconsin.
Bring on the clouds,
Bring on a thunderstorm when I'm out,
soaking and looking for a spot to pee.
Bring on a soggy day, bring on well-water
and a date with a tree.
Hell, bring on winter, I look forward
to this enchanted forest under a blanket of snow.
Bring on more veggies cooked in bear fat.
But please, I beg ya, just
no more muskrat.

Day Five

Tip of the Day: How to Sh*t in the Woods


Scout out immediate area for local plantlife pre-squat. Realizing that you may be crouching amongst a patch of poison oak does not make for a pleasant pooping experience.

So...Tip #2: Read up on local plantlife so as to have a better idea of what you are, indeed, squatting into.



I made chopsticks today.
I decided that making chopsticks requires very little work. It is in many ways like learning to play Chopsticks on the piano.
Tomorrow, I move on to Mozart...attempting a wooden spoon.

I also spoke with Leah (other editor, who has been here at Teaching Drum for about a year) and Tamarack (my "boss") about the Teaching Guide, the project I'm working on. I found some answers, namely to the question...what in the heck am I doing with this? Turns out, I'm pretty much "writing" the whole thing--a series of explanations, exercises, and questions that all relate to Tamarack's book "Whispers of the Ancients", about storytelling in Native cultures. So. There you go. More on that later.

On a more spiritual note, the sun came out and played in the tops of the birch trees while I was on a walk. I was so happy to feel sun that I started stripping down. No more sweater, no more shoes, no more socks, no more hat. I sat in the middle of the woods and made my chopsticks. Then I walked back to the Center in my bare feet. Ya.

Day Three

The best part of waking up
is the tickle of rain on the skylight above my head.
Then it is the smile of a girl named Jaz
who stands, stretching her leg up onto
the post of the front porch.
It is the sharing circle,
one at a time, we talk of our day plans,
each one of us finishes with "aho"--
"I have spoken"--
and a collective "aho" echoes back.

The strangest part of finding one's inner child
comes when you realize it was never lost--
it has been stifling a giggle,
smirking just below surface, waiting for the right time.
mine was set free this morning
on an orange blanket of maple and oak leaves,
when I asked the question
what animal would I be today?
I ran, arms wide, wings spread,
swooping through the forest,
hooting like Owl and flying with Wind.
That was also the best part of waking.

this has recently turned into this poem, about Cedar and Diindiis, two boys who live here:

Waking the Child

Cedar dashes through the pines,
the dazzled weave of eyes, hands, feet
and red squirrel’s queried voice
bear out his unspoken bond with the
life of the forest

His marvel over things seen and unseen
repeats this motto: “Be as a question.”

Through his wonder
I awake to find:
we all ask questions within—
but a child puts his Heart in his mouth.

Diindiis hangs in the balance,
the giggled twirl of golden leaves
and blonde upside-down hair,
the feet of a blue jay wrapped nimbly
around Birch branches.

His monkey’s eye view reminds me that the
seer chooses his every perspective.

Through his delight,
I awake to see
we all desire joyful lives—
but a child puts Heart in his action.

Their Heartspeaking
is what teaches me,
not about finding my
inner child, (for she was never lost)

She has been stifled, sleeping and dreaming,
waiting for the right time to awaken.

I set her free this morning.
The question: what animal would I be…?
I ran, arms wide—wings spread—
swooping, the call of Owl on the wind:
Wake up, child! Wake up!



Today was a great day--
I read some wonderful, wonderful stories from Tamarack's soon-to-be-published "Whispers of the Ancients," which...might be found on the website. to check: www.teachingdrum.org/ and link to Snow Wolf Publishing. Otherwise, I'll share them all in time.

I was more satisfied with the eating situation today, after deciding that attempting to "go native" with such haste was just silly. I was happy with some granola and soymilk, and almond butter/banana sandwiches on Wendy's YUM bread. I also got munchies...dried fruit and veggies, and nuts, and chocolate...shhhhh.

A walk later, alone, had me talking to myself, to Dad, to the trees...asking a lot of questions and trying to see whether this will be right. Didn't find many answers, until...

Talked to Wendy on the phone, and then Paul--and happy reports from all around. Paul's truthful, sincere, and much-needed advice: don't ask questions yet. Just wait, settle in, and then see how I feel. Too many questions at this point takes me out of what's going on right now. Ah. Enjoy, relax, learn. Live.

Day Two

I woke up in the shape of a crabapple tree, grumpy as a dwarf, and feeling a little sick, maybe from smoked bass and ground bear meat, (I'm sorry, Pops, but the more I eat meat, the more I want less) or maybe just feeling a little homesick. I thought I'd go for a short walk to get the bugs out of my head and my belly. Hearing voices downstairs, I grimaced, feeling like I might want some privacy. No more new people to meet today, I thought, knowing I already can't keep the new names and faces straight.

I was sneaking out of the bathroom when I ran into her. Mahonia. Without any effort at all, she made me smile. We ended up having quite an interesting day together.

I headed quickly for an old road that leads out toward camp Moshkodens. I chose the left fork around a pond and back into the forest. The woods are enchanted with colorful fairy-wings of leaves which sing with the breeze--many floated down into my outstretched hand as I collected a bouquet for Lety (Tamarack's wife). Except for the leaves whispering, it was quiet, with only the smell of pine and the coming rain to fill my head. I can't believe how beautiful--even when the sky is so gray, the color is in the trees.

I returned to find Mahonia looking for a ride to town--I took her myself, did a little grocery shopping after dropping her off at church. Then, we stopped by her grandmother's house for a quick visit. Before long, the sweet and lonely woman was warming homemade Minestrone soup and rolls in the kitchen while Mahonia and I raked the leaves in her yard. She was so happy--she had been anxious about the yard and Mahonia and I were happy to help out, especially if it meant a delicious, piping bowl of soup, a roll, some old Wisconsin stories, and a smile from the beautiful lady.

What started out as a crabby day--turned out pretty amazing. When I stopped and thought about it--I just realized how giving something to someone else always makes things a little brighter for me, too. Thanks, Helen, for the soup, the stories, and the smiles.

Day one

First full day at Teaching Drum
a warm welcome:
the wood stove burning bright and warmed
my feet as I descended the stairs.

We pretended we were tall trees--
bad, ugly gossiper of a tree--
struck by lightning
for a morning warm-up.

Breakfast of cayenne
and apples
and set up my desk in the office.
Jaz, Leah, Cubbs all helping in their own ways.

Started in on a project already--
the Teaching Guide for "Whispers of the Ancients"
a job that has supposedly passed from hand to hand
but if I can, I will hold it for some time
before letting it go back
to Tamarack's hands to complete the circle.

Lunchtime
in the Staff Cabin--
at the stove with Jaz (a generous spirit!)
stir-fried broccoli and baked sweet potatoes,
and two slices of Swedish Rye Bread
which was a much-sought-after treat,
compliments to the chef.

More "work"
which I am allowed to say out loud
is fun and challenging
but the day was so beautiful outside
that I had to go out and sit,
and play ball with the boys,
and take a walk/skip/run/dance
in the falling forest.

Dinner
at the arbor-
the greatest challenge of my day
ground bear meat meets bear fat
and vegetable stew of cabbage and chard and carrot
and some other things I couldn't distinguish
and then, smoked bass which I knew I should try
and I did
but then remembered I never have really been a fish-eater.

The walk home--dark and cold
knowing how much time I spend using my eyes
and how unreliable they are
thinking of Kevin
and hoping he no longer must wait in the dark
to know his future...
and me, too, perhaps.
Is this the place for me?
Now I feel full of life, but not so full of fish
and I'm sorry for not finishing supper
but can I have a snack before bed?

I look forward to bed--
last night was warm, cozy--but new.
Dreamt of sleeping on a tall, tall pillow
out in a meadow,
and it swayed in the wind
and was sniffed, mid-night, by a bear.

Tonight I have my own sheets and a fleece warmy,
and a blanket of stars to look up to
through a rectangular skylight.

She

sits, bent over the counter.
The last light is not yet turned out;
it spills over the top of her head,
auburn twirled with gray,
down her face, to her son's homework.

She
stares for a moment,
takes off her glasses and rubs her eyes.
She replaces the frames to her face,
lifts the next page,
pours over it, eyes following her finger.

Everyone is in bed;
She still sits
with the last remaining light
to make sure today's pages are precise.

It is in this same way, before the first frost of fall:

She
carries a single branch inside,
dangling a tiny chrysalis necklace.
Five days later, from a black cocoon,
the monarch emerges:
a winged witness to her care.

Desert Song (February 7th, 2005 from South Dakota) (revised version)

sweet, blossoming Desert:
your vast blue skies,
dust of distant lands,
fresh, warm, orange kiss,
sunshine, and cactus flower,
heat rising from your crusty sand;

watchful, towering Mountains,
wrapped in Thunderclouds:
rains sweep across your thirsty dirt,
blooms stretch to catch a drop
from threatening Sky,
buds thrive, saguaros swell with girth;

long and curved road to Saguaro:
throne of boulders lining Pima Canyon,
shaded by Palo Verde trees,
Luna llena,
bright Moon and Sky of stars,
fat saguaros sway like sticks in Breeze.

driving to Camino del Norte:
Catalinas, Tortolitas,
Tucsons,
I miss you.

I miss
prancing through Pima
and venturing up Ventana;
running up Esperanza

(I miss you,
sweet Desert)

endlessly and hopefully up and up
until sitting on Wasson Peak
watching Sun set across you, Desert,
listening to your spirit sing.

Nighttime Qualms

The sprinkler just quit,
and that's great
because I just realized that it was irritating

I can't think
can't sleep
can't find my way
home again

even the sound of the crickets,
which usually calms my nerves,
is instead tearing them into little pieces
of red fire.

Itch,
sigh,
twist my leg out from under the covers.

from the open window,
watch the moon slip behind a cloud
the way a woman's curves
slide into white silk.

watch it break out,
like a child from bathwater,
chilling the hot night
with its naked silver beam.

but right now,
all I want to see is the dark
places behind my eyelids.

Quiet

Sunday night:
the room still smells like skunk
or dead coyote
or whatever the dog rolled in today.
My hands reek of it, too,
lavender soap's attempt at masking the ugly scent.

Now she's asleep in the basement,
curled up behind the khaki chair.
why she sleeps on that cold concrete floor
instead of on the cushioned rug...

It's quiet now
but her nose still quivers after that rabbit.

If I could expend that kind of energy at day,
perhaps I would be so tired at night.
Then I wouldn't mind the feel of a cold floor
against my chin,
tail curled over my nose,
the fresh stink to fill my dreams.

Desert Song (Feb. 7, 2005, So Dak)

How I miss you, sweet blossoming desert.

How I miss those vast blue skies,

filled with dust of a distant land.

I miss your fresh warm kiss

of oranges and sunshine,

of cactus flowers

and heat rising from the crusty sand.

Oh, how I miss you, watchful towering mountains.

How I miss you wrapped in thunderclouds,

rains sweeping across the thirsty dirt.

I miss your blooms stretching to catch one drop

from the threatening sky,

each bud thriving,

knowing its life depends on you.

How I miss the long, curvy road into Saguaro,

how I miss Pima Canyon,

shaded by Palo Verde trees.

How I miss sitting atop boulders lining the creek.

How I miss that bright moon,

luna llena

and the endless sky of stars.

How I miss the drive to Camino del Norte,

and the view of the Catalinas, the Tortolitas,

The Tucsons.

How I miss Hugh Norris Trailhead,

and prancing through Pima

and venturing up Ventana

running up Esperanza

and endlessly and hopefully up and up until sitting

on top of Wasson Peak and watching the sun set,

listening to your spirit sing.