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    

Third post of the new blog

Here is the third post of the blog, written while I have the energy to do so.  Why I think it takes energy out of me is another story, altogether.  The good news is that I am listening to 80's UK Rock on Soma.fm and this music is such unabashed self-truth, yet not obnoxiously so.  Oh, yes-this is a good mood.  One in which I wish to stay.  I remember whole years of my life where my sole purpose was to maintain this state as much as possible.  Not in a hedonistic, bratty way but in a-why wouldn't I-type of way.  I feel like I am writing to myself because I haven't built a readership yet, at least an acknowledged one.  Though I have yet to minorly advertise these actions, there is something in me that resists doing so.  As if to do so somehow would corrupt my attempts at honesty and integrity.  Low how the perception wonders.  These concepts of reality and perception I no longer believe are illusions but more the fantasy life of our dreams.  And why not delve into this sphere rather than the ordinary, tangible worlds which are all too talked about?  Do we all not search on some level for the extraordinary, for the unassuming yet painfully clear genius of a liberated mind?  Liberated, in the sense of one feeling free and ignited by what lights them up.  The transfer of focus from self to other for a moment long enough to feel the power of oneself, not squashed by other, but completely independent of other.  Self-focused in a way in which is not vane.  Hard to imagine at times but clearly possible.

That's all I have for now.  The sun beckons-come soak in me and go beyond your thoughts, words, impressions, the desire to share such.  There is so much everywhere-in the mind, the Earth, the other, the whole.  There is no differentiation in the space of all that is, in the deer I saw on the side of the road today or the dolphins I spied playing in the surf.  The Earth is alive and magic is afoot.  That phrase never grows old and neither do we.

All the love,

Tara 

The second post of the new blog

This is the second post of the new blog.  I decided not to edit the blog any more, which I don't usually do at all other than basic spelling and grammar to maintain a certain semblance of integrity.  Or so I think. 

It has stopped raining now and I'm listening to Graham Patzner's 'The Greatest Flood', the chorus tells me as I struggle for the name.  I notice there is a chill in the room, now that it has cooled off and the vapors of the fresh rain have seeped into the room.  I gaze out the window and gaze upon an open gate to a Kelley green field, blooming Japanese maple and cherry blossom trees.  A small shed off in the distance, a saddle on a fence, a eucalyptus-lined skyline and the faintest periwinkle trying ever so hard to break though the clouds.

The music is over, colder still.  Time to play something else and turn on the heater.  It reminds me of when I used to automatically write in an effort to literally interpret the landscape as much as possible.  That anything less what false.  Now, I'm not sure exactly where I am but I do know that I...need some music.  Pause.  'Brother Jim', the next song plays.  It reminds me of something but I'm not sure if this is because I am repeating the album I just listened to, because I know the song or because of the feelings it evokes.  "I said: take everything from me".  There's that chill, that one felt like a blend of cold and psychic chilling.  Everything is a blend, even these words.  I am compelled to sing.  Oh how good it would feel I imagine to have everything taken from me.  I recognize that this is the mind of someone who holds freedom above all else.  The desire of the human spirit to be, at any cost, truly free.

Wow, wow...this next one's loud.  Assertive in a I feel the need to stand up for myself kind of way.  I stand up to turn it down because I cannot hear my own mind.  It's better quiet-I can hear the words.  Like a Dylan-Lennon hybrid.  It sounds like it is time for me to make some music or dance.  I will torture you no more with this tracing of this album, landscape, place in time.  The moment is good and the mind fulfilled.  Thank you kind reader for taking the time to entertain the thoughts in my mind.  If anything, they are at attempt at communicating my experience in the most honest way I know how.  Head lifts to the espresso machine and the organic neighborhood blood oranges I have cut for myself.  Back to the heater and then again the music, a violin being plucked.  Such are we.  It could be any place in any time and the rhythm of the mind and the music would never change.  They are the constants which ground and sustain us like the food we eat.  I am reminded that writing is therapeutic for me.  I hope it is for you too.

With gratitude,

Tara   

The first post of my first personal blog...

Firsts.  The culmination of a first is always significant to me, denoting a maturation point where something is ready to be birthed.  Today it is the first post of my first personal blog.

I decided to embark on this experiment for the following reasons:

1. To encourage myself to write for an immediate online audience
2. To build a readership for the memoir I am writing and to build an online component into it
3. To support my life coaching and consulting business, Bradley Consulting
4. To connect with other bloggers and readers who care about the written word
5. To give voice to my viewpoint and share it with others who might find it interesting

Previously, I have only blogged for political candidates to support their election campaigns, such as Hillary R. Clinton and Barack Obama.  This blog will focus on the process of writing my memoir: 'To Be Seen: The Art of Seeing Yourself' derived from 52 journals I have kept over the almost 36 years of my life.  It tracks my development from wanting to be seen to the art of seeing myself as a vehicle for such.  It includes such gems as living in squatter cabins in Alaska, to a spiritual journey to India, to the fruitful outcomes of political and civic action.  The focus of self-perception and self-realization, particularly within the Eastern perspective, are laid against the Central Coast Californian landscape that inspires the continual integration of these aspects every day.  A truly organic work in progress! 

It will also include my day-to-day living processes, helpful links, political and holistic action items, my writing, pictures, paintings, music, Bradley Consulting life coaching and consulting offerings, and existential musings.  I will attempt to be as authentic as possible and am open to feedback about all aspects of this blog.  Rather than post an extensive bio about myself, I'd prefer to say that I am a human most interested in enjoying my time here on Earth and helping others who seek to, to do the same.  I will also be processing and tracking my transition to an increasingly self-sufficient permaculturally-based lifestyle in Pescadero, California amongst other artistic/mythical undertakings, known and unbeknownst to me.  And of course, engaging in a certain level of social commentary informed by everything I have ever known.  I will make a sincere effort to transcend self-absorbed pontification but rather to provide content and context I myself find most inspiring.

Now for a sample of my writing.  In this moment I am pulling this from a deteriorating journal that had been misplaced until a few weeks ago from the page I opened to.

"Bows and arrows are aimed, ready, fire
Young Eskimos play Indian, content in combat
One pair of blue marbles escape the kill
Precise and playful they are a balanced circle
They sing a song of chance and freedom
Their reward is a peaceful warrior's journey
A moonlit sled ride, a picking and a playing
They ride the crest and stoke the fires of compassion
They are the sparkling eyes of the world
Son of midnight sun and brother to all."

-November 22, 1996 Fairbanks, Alaska (Age 20:  for a friend)

That's it for now.  Here's to firsts and today's setting sun that is calling me to the beach, as always, to move and breathe and to transcend my mind.

Thanks for reading,

Tara