Tenth Post of the New Blog:

I am moved to write and decide to do so here.  I am not sure what causes this motivation, but I don't really care.  I am thankful for the urge and my mind wanders.

The sounds of the garbage truck and cars passing by down below fill the air, with that of a symphony of birds that live here and their different calls.  What are they saying to each other?  What do they need?  Somehow I doubt they are talking about their needs.  Seems to me that they are singing in delight like a girl with a guitar putting on a harmony.  Either way, sounds good to me.  It is beautiful to hear the sounds of a tiny Coastside town waking up to another gorgeous, sunshiny day.  They are all so thankful for sunshine and fully engaged in the weather and elements, myself included.  We are living closer to nature and allowing it to effect us.  I know I can always easily go to the sea and feel instantly calm.  It is re-assuring and comforting to know that, which naturally makes me feel more relaxed.  I know it is a privilege and that many people do not have this opportunity.  I try to remember to be grateful for it and give back to protect its bounty.  It is a living entity and it is my home.  It is not a house or location, but a place where I feel free.

It calls to me to go out and experience it.  To see the brilliant blue of the sea and sky, the shells and seals, pelicans, porpoises, whales and rabbits I will encounter.  To put my headphones on to some Pandora shuffle as loud as I can and walk until it is time to do yoga on the beach and break into song.  Such a fabulous release.  All of my other responsibilities start to fill my mind and I ask myself: what is the most amazing thing you can do for yourself right now?  Go on that soul-satisfying walk.  Then, go.

Off I go.  To clear my sinuses with ocean water and head with the power of movement and nature.  Such a gift.  Do something that makes you feel free today, wherever you are.  It is so healing and will take us so much further than stewing in our suffering.  What energy wants is to move, to flow.  It is fear that makes us feel stuck.  The only way to become unhinged is to literally unhinge.  Take the door off the hinges and open up the energy field for it to expand and take over you, like a flood of joy.  Music helps.  As does scent-like sniffing an essential oil for that get up and go like eucalyptus, rosemary or lemon thyme.  Happy Jupiter direct everyone. May we create with joy, freedom, and whimsy, knowing that the greatest creations come from a beautiful place.  We will be still for a while as Jupiter returns direct, but the stirrings are there and I for one, am feeling them.  Party!

Cheers,

Tara
  

Nineth Post of the New Blog : 17 Months Later

It has been 17 months since my last post. I have no idea what I have been doing during this time. That's not entirely true, but on a bigger picture level it may be so. For over 60 hours a week during this time, while being on call 24/7, I helped start a home care and geriatric care management firm serving elders in the Bay Area in their homes. I worked harder than I ever have, saved lives on a daily basis in a very real way, laughed very hard with the elders, caregivers, partners and staff and as always, greatly benefitted from the wisdom that only elders can share.

I just re-read this blog and am aware of what a different place I am in now. Much less free and easy, more burdened by the responsibilities of so much engagement and service. The service has been deeply rewarding, in allowing me to transcend myself and give back to elders and caregivers, who give so much to everyone. It has been gratifying to provide the caregivers with jobs and tackle the many extreme behaviors of elders and caregivers with compassion and love. It has also been inspiring to teach people how to take better care of themselves and others. Yet I am not so sure I did the same for myself in my pursuit to help everyone. I became imbalanced by the weight of so much critical responsibility and by the nature of dealing with people in crisis whose illnesses may not allow them to improve their lives or allow anyone else to do so either in their learned misery.

So, I am bringing myself back into balance by spending more time doing other things that I love, like: writing, updating this blog, designing, playing guitar and singing, cooking, taking long walks and doing yoga at the beach, having fun with friends, returning to my life that involves activities other than work. Now don't get me wrong, I have more fun and a better quality of life than many folks, but I also have a commitment to fun and happiness that is demanding. I am remembering, as I work with elders who are looking back upon their lives, that I am creating a legacy for myself that must involve a dash of all the things that make me truly happy. Otherwise, it is like making bran muffins with too much baking soda-an old memory of mine from childhood. I can still see myself standing over the muffin tin on the old Wolf grill w/ the mint julip muffin liners, filled with apple-bran muffins whose recipe I made up with a heavy dose of baking soda. No one would eat them and I ate all 12, even if they were terrible, while trying to convince everyone that they were great.

I'm not trying to convince anyone that everything is so great anymore. I'm not trying to convince anyone of anything anymore, even if it is for their betterment. People have to figure it out on their own unless they are ready to ask for or to receive help. They will just resent you if you try to help without such. You may be the only person who ever tells them the truth, and that alone is powerful, but often times the truth teller is simply taken out because folks don't want to hear the truth and then both suffer. Living in illusion is much easier, or so we think. The secret is to speak the truth to those who can hear it. It is the speaker's job to discern who can truly hear and see them.

It is not difficult, but when the truth teller doesn't tell themselves the truth, that's when the distortion starts and the false words that others say about them start to take effect. If this ever happens to you, walk away from whomever is not seeing you in a polite fashion and go find somebody who does. This person will never see you. It is not a matter of education or training or time. It is a matter of awareness. While I believe in self-realization and the power of change, it is a fact that humans change and adapt very slowly and the likelihood that most of the people you have this experience with will change any time soon in a remarkable way, is slim. It's taken me a while to figure this out, being a big believer in quantum physics and transformation. But, fortunately or unfortunately, I believe it is true.

That means that in this moment, riding on the Solar Eclipse and New Moon energies of yesterday, I choose to see myself and surround myself with folks who truly see me. They don't want me to be different-but love me for exactly who I am, flaws and all. It is not new information, but it has taken me a while to fully get it. It does not mean that I do not engage with people who are very different from myself. It simply means that I don't have time to explain what I am talking about all day or debate with people who don't want to know what I am talking about. It means that I only want to be around people who inspire me in every aspect of my life. I am blessed to have so many people who truly see me in my life. I try to offer this to others and do not always succeed. I try again.

Don't ever give up on trying to see yourself and others in the most authentic way possible, free of judgment and distortion with a relaxed gaze to put things in focus. It clears so much of the crap and allows us to truly relate and be with one another in honesty. Not honesty without compassion = brutality, one of my Dad's favorite quotes, but heart-felt honesty. One that only comes from people who tell the truth to themselves first. You'll know the difference when you see it.

In truth and love,

Tara

Eighth Post of New Blog:

I haven't written for some time and I am choosing to write in a non-ordinary to me blogging environment because I am moved to share what I am witnessing. I am sitting in Peet's Coffee as I wait for a meeting and utilize their Internet, soy white chocolate mochas, and hazelnut blueberry muffins. It is impossible to not be aware of the other patrons as most of them are speaking in tones so loud and abrasive that I try to will them to lower themselves. This behavior crosses gender, racial, ethnic and generational lines. The common denominator seems to be the desire to be heard and the competitive...I can't even get the words out because the voices are so damn loud.

My horoscope for this week said that I am to use my intuition to observe my society and share these observations, leading to a deeper level of creative understanding of their functions. I remember this as I listen to these people. I practice extending compassion to them as a redemptive function. I do not wish to allow myself to be upset my their lack of awareness. It's a cafe, I think. Folks should be talking, sharing and learning from each other in such an environment. Yet, why are they so loud? Are they trying to drown out existential, non-ambient noise, including machines, each other, closely situated seating? Who are the minority who talk quietly amongst themselves? They do not exist in this space. The people who are alone are absorbed in some task-reading, staring into the black abyss of their cell phones, talking on their phones.

Most of the people who are listening in conversations are intermittently staring off into space. I've picked out my favorite-the elder man in the cap and MIT sweatshirt, reading a new release physics book, talking about travails or taravails to his partner in conversation, who is staring off into space. The speakers are unphased by the listener's lack of attention, indicating their primary need is to be heard, to be seen. I think of the title of this blog and my memoir, 'To Be Seen' and am aware of how the being seen that I am talking about is miles apart from the physical function of seeing something, say with one's eyes. I am talking about seeing something or someone (including oneself) with your heart and your soul that enables the receiver to state, "I feel seen by you". The type of perception and listening that requires one to get themselves, their needs and their judgments out of the way long enough to glimpse into who another truly is and to accept such.

I am seeing these people in this cafe and I am accepting them for who they appear to be, who they may be. I may not like how loud they talk, or what they have to say, but I can still respect them as human beings with love. I guarantee you that before I leave, at least one person will approach me and ask me a question of some sort. This has already occurred four times today. Why wouldn't they consult the employees of this establishment, you might ask? I believe it is because they get that I hold this love for them and gravitate to a person they intuit will actually help them. And they will tell me how rare it is that a stranger would help them and actually give them helpful, accurate information. And I will sigh and wonder why folks are this way these days. Not because I am depressed and think negatively of my fellow human, but because I sincerely want to know.

I want to know how I can help these people and how I can help our society as a whole get along better. I want to inspire someone who asks me for help to help another, as we continue to spread kindness and concern like wildfire in a desert of apathy and despair. I want to encourage individuals to connect with each other in person, in real time and be unafraid to present and be whom they truly are. This allows all of us to see and be seen so much more easily. There are no masks needed to guise a soul who lives in truth and encourages that of other. Underneath the feelings of lack and fears of not being enough which we all endure, there are all the people in your life who truly love you and support you living in your highest truth. Those who do not, do not belong in your life.

This is a simple compass I use to determine who to spend my time with and environments to spend my time in. While places like Peet's Coffee can be mined for sociological observations and generalized freak shows, they are not organic farms, beach sunsets, dew-drenched redwoods, and music-filled natural amphitheaters. The concrete jungle does not hold the negative ions that moving water and nature do, no matter how we try and no matter how enticing a city might be. That is not to say that a balance of varied environments is not excellent fodder for creativity and genius. The point is that, all too often, nature is removed from the palette and similarly in places like Half Moon Bay, city trips are desperately needed to balance the hill billy credo. The point is: balance is needed, plain and simple. These are not new ideas, they are merely the pondering of my mind and the product of Peet's Coffee in Half Moon Bay and the feelings that induces.

There is gold in these hills and it is spiritual in nature. It can only be minded by the esoterically rich and only in one place for so long. So, keep moving, keep your compassionate lenses on and allow yourself to get out of the way long enough to truly see another and yourself. There is no need to speak so loud when what we have to say is the product of silence and contemplation.

Be well in your love,

Tara

Seventh Post of the New Blog:

Here I am in the writing incubator created via dark Peet's organic hand pressed coffee, rice milk, double creme brie and heritage crackers, Matt Costa Pandora radio and no other name drops.  Feeling scattered and unmotivated, I re-read the first 10 pages of Dave Eggers' 'A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius' and was left with the energy I was looking for-oh yes, this is the written word that is worth its weight in page.  Honest, microscopic, humble, unassuming, raw, real. 
And with this energy I begin to write and see how the music carries the words as I begin to bob my head and tap my toe and match the tap of the keyboard to the drums and piano.  Even the space space and then I don't want to stop, not for a contraction or a....................song's over. 

Next.  Jack Johnson, skip.  The Shins...yes-never trite.  Too mellow, depressive?  No, calming, requiring focus.  Good for zeroing on in.  My mind wanders enough to trace my body's aches and pains and wonder why the hell I hurt so much and only remember the past days spent constantly in a hot tub being massaged by jets and the alpine strong sun of Tahoe.  Of a long lovely snowy Donner Lake walk with Jennaji and the many years we have traversed with one another and how we have watched each other grow in our Geminian wanderlust and quest for all things truthful and gay.  Of choices that we did not recognize as such at the time and of which I largely still do not recognize as such and appreciate the awesomeness of being present and the beautiful lives it sews.  Like Irish lace. 

Like the finest Varanasi silk of the type we hand-picked as we sipped chai in tiny cups and smoked bi-dis and drew embarrassingly simple drawings of the Hindu peasant prayer dresses we wanted.  And the look on my face when I was presented with the alfi, which I thought was a bharfi, and kept referring it to as such to the insanely naturally amped up master sewers and spinners in the hole in the wall shop down that endless alley in the fantastical back alleys of Varanasi.  The disbelief I felt when the dress I had designed resembled a potato sack of raw rose pink silk to be worn over Indian pants of whose name I cannot remember.  And of how it hugged me in all the wrong places and the pockets that were so low but how almost instantly I fell in love with it, loaded my roodrock malas over it and a sadhu I did make. 

I decided  I would wear it every day and thought I would throw the rest of my clothes away in renouncement and because the alfi was all I needed.  Somehow some of the other clothes lasted the rest of the trip but the bharfi was the second skin.  It made it back to the states, I married some friends in it, participated in numerous women's gatherings in it, maintained the feeling of connected grace I felt in India in it.  I may have given it away a few years ago in one of my particularly dis-attached moods, in an attempt to let go of all religious, spiritual, non-existential thought....the very thoughts that had led me to the alfi making.  I just decided that I am going to start arranging paragraphs by subject rather than some format standards I don't believe in.  Stop.

That was the last drop of the mud of the coffee mug.  One of four of a set I bought at Peet's when I worked down the street at Midpeninsula Citizens for Fair Housing on Emerson Street in that historic mansion that housed all things good and non-profit.  The grief group, the peace and justice center, the anxious church-landlords next door.  In the end on our wing, myself and one volunteer/unpaid full time employee from Stanford whom I recruited and trained after all the other employees were fired and I inherited a non-profit of one and taught her everything she needed to know to run the ship in a minute's notice.  Of which she did.  Of how when I started out there I worked in an office the size of a small walk in closet and spent most of my time rearranging it for the optimization of space when I wasn't sending testers out to pose as potential renters at properties I had received housing discrimination complaints against and calling attorneys we worked with begging them to take these poor folks' cases. 

That was when I was not conciliating myself which I prided myself on and then, everyone else was gone and after this intern and I single-handedly cleaned out the basement of this creepy mansion where achieves of cases were stored since the organization, the first of its type in California, was founded, for the purpose of giving space back.  All we were left with was old letters from MLK and the moth-ball encrusted responsibility of keeping this organization and its legacy alive.  The Stanford intern/protegee and I and we did it with pastries from the French bakery down the street, a lot of coffee and the Peet's yellow and blue-flowered coffee mugs who were joined by the creamer, sugar jar, pitcher, tea pot, and cookie jar at this point.  Now, how the cookie jar that was filled with hand-made macaroons years later was accidentally stolen by the county mental health worker when it was brought to a clinical supervision weekly dreaded meeting as a peace-keeping function and assumed to be hers, therefore bereft of its collection, is another story altogether. 

One that will be saved for another day as I am reaching that expiration point where the desire to walk outside and take in some of this brilliant sun that begs me to continue with the memory-making that never stops, even in its reminiscence.  Not a therapy to be guided but a basic human function that allows each of us to enjoy how we have spent our time while inspiring us to create more new memories that it does not matter if we-we will-forget one day because the importance of enjoying our time here is so very pressing. 

'Love It All' by The Kooks comes on and its the isn't it crazy how these songs match my mood feeling but I know I have created this station and I am not surprised but more grateful for the choice of that which feels good and supports the betterment of a mood, a time, a place, an attitude, a desire and a courage to reach for something else.  Back to the tap tapping of this snappy song as my words trace the mood of these songs.  Up and down, all over the place, organized by the beat and the refrain.  The chaos is organized and it is beautiful.  Thanks for reading and listening to the ponderings of my mind.

Where is your cookie jar?  Is it filled?  What are the treats you will find today?  Build them in, please, for the sake of fun and frivolity and the power of enjoying your life and loveliness. 

May it be everlasting!,

Tara          

Sixth Post of the New Blog:

Oh dear...I am listening to Matt Costa's 'Oh Dear' and it's upbeat Beatle-like pop noise is frighteningly loud yet purposedly so.  As if, I am trying to wake myself up and it, the dark soy milked coffee, the blazing sun, and the new moon buzz tell me that I am waking up in such a natural way.  The strong sun is like a ray of gold in an otherwise cloudy sea of season-changing brilliant greens and blues.  I recall saying that I felt like I was in the video game Paperboy this morning as I swerved to avoid a derelict herd of sheep who were taking to field, squinted through layers of fog and God knows what else as I wondered where yesterday's sweltering heat went.

As I try to remember how to skip lines on this thing.  Shift enter comes to me.  Shift enter?  What is this crap?  Pause for ridiculousness.  Where was I?  How is it that I can notice the music and not my own thoughts?  Maybe it is the cutting of the beat, and the fact that I was going to write the word rhythm, which I just got, and couldn't remember how to spell it.  A former excellent speller, a former expletive that held on so tight to order and function until they failed and all she was left with was the music and the joy of everything that felt good again and again and didn't let me down.  These became my values and my world and now they are the background music to the visions of my life.  Minute Maid Mojo Meter or something-I just heard on one of those pesky Pandora commercials.  Thank God it is followed by Matt Costa's 'Heart of Stone'-a personal theme song.  I recall the countless times I ran down the beach signing this song at the top of my lungs, on the bridge over the river in the cold winter breeze, at Riff Raff beach, in cars driving to Tahoe and God knows where else.  Always thinking about how I must keep my heart open to the love alive all around.

The music stops and I want it to start again rather than listen to the pondering of my own mind which I spend enough time audiencing.  There's that red line.  I was thinking about that word audiencing the other day.  About how much it described and how theatrical the modern human is and speaking of theatrical-I am understatedly-another one of my favorites, shocked by the whole Osama drama.  When I tried to do some of the things I told myself I should before I started writing, without success, I figured I should write to be "productive" and because it was something I actually wanted to do.  I thought about the Osama episode.  I have to interrupt this with 'Darkness Between the Fireflies' by Mason Jennings.  This song is absolutely perfect.  The perfect beauty of a really good song is the redemption for every annoyance ever announced.  Ever.  Yet there is more conversation-making than music-making in this world and I heartfully believe the reverse would alter our societies with profound reward.  The transcendent function of the lyric and the melody is everlasting grace.  Period. 
  
There's that shift enter again.  But now I don't care because I am feeling so good that I am willing to accept it.  Reminded of Risa's sharing of the meaning of forgive: "to give for".  As a sacrifice for the greater good, as a contribution to the whole.  This I love.  To love and be loved.  To forgive and be forgiven-something to talk about.  I never did research 'the forgiveness project' but I know enough of my own experience to know that one of the polar opposites of love is hate and that in my mind, anything can be forgiven.  How else would we go on trying, in fear of committing a mortal sin so great that we could not be forgiven for it.

This is all I am going to say about the Osama debacle.  Yesterday Venus opposed Saturn retro or whatever it was and the theme was about forgiveness.  And I got to thinking: I think these Americans think they had to kill this man to forgive him.  I mean: why else would you feel the need to kill someone to forgive them, avenge them, bring about justice in a non-just manner.  Prove a point to a man from such a different culture that the two could literally not understand each other.  Wouldn't you employ an interpreter and if it was deemed that the situation was unmitigatable, would you not call a truce to avoid more suffering to anyone?  I will save my analysis of Times Square.  It tells me that some aspects of evolution are on serious delay and that the status of how modern humans are communicating with and relating to each other is circa 1700 on a psychological level.
As touted, yesterday was the anniversary of the announcement of the death of Hitler.  History and her archetypes repeat themselves over and over and over until the cycle is broken and this only happens when enough people solemnly cry: "No more!"

No more writing for me.  Time to create something else before I am blessed to go for my walk/yoga/sunset session on this new Taurus moon and join in a 6 pm meditation for the new moon festival.  Living close to the Earth, staying in tune with her pulsations and matching mine to the same, keeping my eye on what is really real to me...I am sending this joy and gratitude to this planet and its lovely inhabitants who are each learning how to love and to forgive themselves for being exactly who they are and realizing how beautiful they truly are, as they are.  As we are.  As I am.  As I break into song...

In love,

Tara

Fifth Post of the New Blog:

The wind whips through the open windows as Jose Gonzalez's 'Heartbeats' plays on this Pandora Matt Costa station I have listened to so many times.  Bringing back memories of feelings and emotions, visions and dreams.  I have five minutes between tasks I've assigned myself after reading something today about the inability to control the mind in these accelerated times and the importance of flexibility.  I spy the new chaise lounge I received for free which makes me feel like a queen. 

Reading Risa's piece today about the importance of royalty as a manifestation of the divine from olden times and the English American relationship, of the English function of order and the American of leading towards the light, makes me thankfully see the romanticism of our current entanglements.  What a joy to behold!  And of my horoscope this week asking me to look for the hidden value in all.  Talk about a sweet way to see the world.  It reminds me to look for the love and magic in the mundane. 

Today I saw it in the local postmaster who took some political fliers off my hands in the most reasonable way.  I see that I am running short on time or time management skills or is it time to go?  Yet today it is Friday and I don't care.  I'm going to get more fliers delivered, go for a sunny beach walk/yoga/sunset session, cook dinner for my love, maybe play some guitar later.  The sun is shining brilliantly on the bright green fields, the wind whips, a guitar is strummed.  All is well and simple here.  I am looking for the love, the sparkle, the grace.  Low and behold, I am finding it everywhere.  And it is such a joy.  Such a joy is this almost May Day, pastel coated loveliness.  Yes, I will bake gingerbread cookies tonight and make May Day baskets to deliver to kind souls who will continue to be kind.  We can support the love that we are in every way and what a joy it is to behold!  Like the lily of the valley.

Merry Beltane,

Tara

Fourth Post of the New Blog

Passover:

I stuff the heating pad closer to my stomach as I rest my elbows on my thighs
To type on a removable keyboard on a chocolate ottoman that I rest my hands on
When I pause to catch up with my thoughts or answer the phone as I just did and
Wonder where I was.  Breath.  It is stuffy in here in a heated, crouched, down low
To the ground, basic fashion.  The cool sea breeze blows through the jewel toned
And plaid curtains.  A rooster crows.  The fridge buzzes.  A motorcycle rolls by this
Iconic country road that has seen so much and I wonder if my Dave Pine For
Supervisor sign is still there or if the good ole boys from the county have taken it

Hostage again.  The power of a sign to mean, convey so much is fascinating. 
An affiliation, an endorsement of someone's opinion somebody trusts of varying
Degrees, of the company we keep, of the judgments cast on one's perception of
Whom they think the other is, but not for certain of whom one perceives themself
To be and I for one say, I do not know who I am and I no longer care to know. 
After a lifetime of desperately seeking myself, it is more important to me
To feel my way through this life by enjoying the sensory...what is that sound? 
Wind chimes, a hollow drone, birds chirping, cranes, many different types-
I could listen to them all day...
The animals and sounds of nature call me back to the Earth.  The calm overtakes me.

Pescadero, CA