I wanted some inspiration as I was planning my classes for tonight. I dug out Arabic Cafe, the most amazing 3 cd set of pure arabic chilled beats, I bought when I was in london several years ago. It has beautiful soothing tunes, with some funky chillin’ songs, with some melodic songs, and definitley some groovin’ beats. For the longest time you could not find it in the states, but now you can, I am so glad to see. 3 cds of so many different artists, you can’t beat it, and you sure can dance to it

So this is what I am dancing to, listening to, getting inspired by….

The dancers have been busy with a lovely and wide variety of shows lately, from International Women’s Day, to Pagan Faire, several benefit shows, to Rock the Casbah last night in Portland, which was Bhrigha’s first performance with us. Just a few pics to show you how delicious these dancers are!

That would be me with my girls! Just like a proud mama

Farmgirrrl Divas…
Thank you for a lovely afternoon, those of you who made our first meeting soiree! I can’t wait for the rest of you to join us…
We knitted and crocheted, ate some yummy food, drank tea and wine, and visited the goaties and dogs as we got to know each other.
Our plan is to meet about once a month, and we came up with ideas about what we want to do–make cheese, knit, help with each other’s farm animals, make candles at Christmas time, support and participate in  the farmer’s market in Rainer, among other things!
We even received farmgirl connection certificates and farmgirl bumperstickers!
At the next gathering, let’s make cheese,  (I”ll get the supplies, and let you know how much to chip in) bring your projects to show and ideas to share along with a vegetarian potluck dish.

farmgirrls paulette, mama lee, karen, kim,

sorry I missed photos of the other gals, and they were great knitters too!

next time
AND
Please check out maryjanesfarm.com
or
http://www.maryjanesfarm.org/farmgirl-connection/
to learn more about being part of the growing collective farmgirls! and something to think about…
I have joined the farmgirl sisterhood (no it’s not a cult! )
and am working on my merit badges, the first  is going green. Whether you want to get a badge or not, these are things you can work on!

Cleaning Up

1. Going Green
Beginner Level
Get rid of all cleaners in your house that are not “green.” Make sure to check your laundry detergent, bathroom, and kitchen cleaners.
Write a mission statement for your house pledging to only use green cleaners in the future
Keep a thrifty, nifty and green journal of recycle and green living ideas, recipes, plans and projects and share it with someone who wants to change their habits or share it with your chapter if you are a member of one.
If your household is already “green,” make a gift basket full of green products for a friend or to give away as a housewarming gift.

Intermediate Level
Make your own laundry detergent.
Make your own soap.
Make your own all purpose cleaners, window cleaner, floor cleaner.
Share your tried-n-true recipes wherever you see fit.

Expert Level
Get your house totally organized around “green.”
Install and use a clothesline for all drying. If not permitted, use an indoor drying rack instead of the dryer.
Use non-toxic paint when repainting the interior of your house.
Get carpets sealed against out-gassing or remove carpets from house.
Donate six hours of your time to a girlfriend whose house needs “greening up.”
Turn your books having to do with a hopeful future into a lending library with a check-out system. Give the list to friends and neighbors and invite them to visit.

names going into the turban….. and out comes…

Mary Donnelly and Duane Wall! awesome…

Duane chose Zeffa for the mizmar action that Jeff brings to his tunes!

Thanks everyone for writing and entering into the free book giveaway. It is delightful to hear why you like which songs…the gypsy c. musicians were definitely a prolific bunch, so many songs in so many years, and all so fun to dance to.

Stay tuned for next month’s givewaway…and don’t forget to check out the March Souk Special of Missy P Zen pants on the Gypsy Caravan website. www.gypsycaravan.us

http://www.gypsycaravan.us/shopping/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=75&products_id=324

alright folks, thanks for writing in, I love to hear what songs you like… still have  few days to go before the deadline to win my free copy of Tribal Vision, deadline March 25th, see post below……

Mary and Duane choose Zeffa, from Migration

11-zeffa

Lorraine choose Queen of Hell, but it is too long to post here, it is from the Awakening CD!

and Jana choose Lamentation

from the Quest CD, it is also too long to post here!

One of my all time favorites is still Mystery, off of Quest! But Lorraine is right, it is sooo hard to choose

01-mystery

You can go to Amazon or Itunes to hear more!

Dancers and friends,
Happy Equinox
I awoke yesterday to the smell of spring, a sense of promise and abundance coming with the newness of the season. It is here.
Wishing you peace in the chaos and uncertainty so many of us have been feeling, may the spring bring you comfort as well as inspiration. May your dance spring forth and your senses sparkle with life and wellness.
With gratitutde…

Earth Hour 2009 March 28, 2009

On March 28, at 8:30 PM local time, one billion people will go dark for Earth Hour. To demonstrate commitment to finding solutions, World Wildlife Fund is asking that all of us around the world turn our lights off to make a global statement of concern about climate change.

The Eiffel Tower in Paris, Sydney Opera House, Acropolis and Parthenon in Athens and The London Eye, are among the hundreds of icons and landmarks around the world who signed up to turn their lights off for Earth Hour 2009. Thanks to Shiva Rea for turning me on to this event.

Want to be a part of it?

http://www.earthhour.org/home/

Want to win a free copy of
Tribal Vision: A Celebration of Life Through Tribal Belly Dance?

Tell me which Gypsy Caravan or Mizna song is your favorite and why!
You entree will be picked out of a turban and we will send you a free book!
(out of US residents must pay for shipping!)
Include your email address so I can contact you if you win.
Deadline is March 25th!

****

and
Exciting Sponsorship Opportunities for you!
Be one of the first to be a sponsor on this website,
my monthly enewsletter, and the weekly blog.
Email
dance@gypsycaravan.us
and I will send you different options for sponsorship and advertising!

This is the final installation of my Heroes and Gods story. I hope it has inspired you to write for our April D-Quad edition! At least, I hope it has inspired you…Let me know…

Songs and words started to shape me in my rambunctious early teenagehood, and I still have some of those gods. Playing my first musical instrument began with organ lessons at age seven, but it wasn’t until my guitar strumming preteens that musicians started imprinting on me. The singer Melanie, inspired me to pick up the guitar. she was a hippie skirt wearing, vegetarian, guitar playing woman, who also inspired me to become a vegetarian, until my father made me eat roast beef at our Sunday dinner about a week later. I admired her intensely at first but she was a short-lived goddess, after the awful roller skating song she released, I moved on. She fell from grace.
I strummed along with my still much-revered goddess, Joni Mitchell, who sang poetry with jazzy, strangely rhythmic music. I played and sang along with the beautiful yet political harmonies of my gods Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young. I kept playing my guitar, writing my youthful angst driven songs along the lines of their song, “ Four Dead In Ohio.” I was living in Ohio, in junior high, at the time of the Kent State shootings, about 1970, and their boldness of words and politics through that song and others showed me rebellion and strength, how to stand tall.
There was my girlhood crush on Cat Stevens, a wild-haired musician whose smile made me swoon and his songs made me weepy. His words were poetic and poignant to me in my growing womanhood:
“I was once like you are now, and I know that it’s not easy to be calm when you’ve found something going on, but take your time, think a lot, think of everything you’ve got for you will still be here tomorrow, but your dreams may not”. (Father and Son)
I played his albums over and over again, never deciding on a favorite. My god could do no wrong, although I recall being crushed when I heard rumors of his homosexuality.  I got over that and I can still play his songs when I pull out my guitar. I play his CDs now and I still weep.
I have a vivid picture of sitting in my downstairs bedroom, listening to Ziggy Stardust, by David Bowie, another hero. He was the brilliant, androgynous, bizarrely sexual man, that made my heart beat with excitement of a new sound and vision of rock music and stardom. It must  have been about 1972, hanging out with my friend, also a David, who later got murdered for drugs. Not such a happy ending for him, but it’s a happy memory of him, for me. And Bowie, still prolific and brilliant today, he remains my god.
When I hear certain songs I have an abundance of amusing memories that play through my head like mini movies . Thoughts of certain heroes bring up colorful images  of the past. I hear a song and I remember the words, the music, sometimes the clothes I used to wear. I am reminded of my romantic idealism from my starry-eyed young womanhood by gods of that time whom have been permanently tattooed in my memory.  Like cruising down the highway in my dark blue Buick Skylark convertible, nicknamed the Buck because the ”I” was missing off the front grill, singing along loudly with Steppenwolf, “Born to be Wild,” and Traffic, “Low Spark of High-Heeled Boys.”  I felt invincible and free, wind in my hair and ready to take over the world in my sixteen year old  want-to-be-a musician way. How my gods shaped me back then, made me listen to the music and the words, offered me a chance to listen to the quiet as well as the stories. Their words taught me to take time to reach inside to find myself, and to take time to dream. I will not forget.
Forward again to art school, there was Elvis. Costello, not Presley. An inspiration. Prolific to beat all. Since 1977, the man has put out so many brilliant recordings, I’ve lost count. His words, so right on, were satyrical and cynical, were titillatingly honest, saying what I wanted to hear. How did he know? If I needed to think, I‘d put on one of  his albums. If I needed to cry or laugh, I would put one on, they could evoke so many different emotions in me. I would sing along, or pull out my guitar and play along.  I put him way up high on my “Inspirational Pedestal.” Always.
If I didn’t have my gods, would my world be different? They have given me many ways to think about life, what or how I wanted to be when I grew up, and now, too, what I desire  in my life. I enjoy having my gods. It’s playful, in a serious sort of way. My philosophy about living.  I think we all need someone to look up to, to be inspired by, to learn from.  Some may call them role models. I like that  added something. Why not make them extra special, give them an act of reverence? Like draping a velvet cloak on a priest’s shoulders, or bowing down before the pope and kissing his ring, or raising up the little white Eucharistic host as the body of Christ? My worship has nothing to do with being raised Catholic. Or does it? Looking back now, that catholic upbringing  did influence the ritualistic side of myself. I honor ritual and have raised my own traditions, like building altars and lighting candles, and I have my own way of meditative prayer. Changing water into wine, I’m all for that. It just doesn’t have anything to do with God the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.
About ghosts and all things dark, I read Anne Rice and The Vampire Lestat  also in those art school years. I found the book in the dumpster in my apartment building, having no ideas what it was about. This was before the book became a cult classic. I fell in love with it, the writing, the story, and the characters, dark and mysterious and sexual and romantic, everything I thought I was. Who was this woman who wrote it? She quickly became a dark legend over the years of writing seductive sequel after sequel and series of erotica, vampires, witches, ghosts and gods. Although I didn’t join the forces of gothic fan clubs that sprung up from her readers, I, too, had my goth days of moody music, big hair and white makeup during that time period. It was the books and Anne that I admired. An independent successful woman. I wanted to write like her. I respected her and her prolificacy, her ability to do intensive historical research, and her ingenious mind to make up those other worldly worlds.  Goddess.
There are those times when meeting someone in person can bring on hero worship. My husband and I were fortunate enough to stay with Michael Abelman and his family this summer on their organic farm in Canada, purely by accident. What a gem of an accident. We traveled to their B&B in Canada, not knowing who they were, but hoping the farm would be a delightful place to stay and celebrate our twentieth wedding anniversary.
Eating their most glorious breakfasts laid out for the guests was bounty enough, but we spent time chatting with them and observed them living their beliefs about the land.
What spirit Michael has, and a vision of a good whole earth. Through his organic farming practices, he  keeps alive old ways while building new ways of organic farming and sustainable agriculture, and he provides education and opportunities to those who seek his expertise. To use the land and sustain it, to work with the farmers, to grow and eat good food, of this earth, our bounty, not the world of biggie this or that, or processed items that resemble food, but this earth. Michael sticks to his ideals, works hard, honestly, without fail.  In his farmer’s spare time, he travels the world and writes books about farming. While at his B&B, I read two of them, On Good Land,  about his urban organic farm in Santa Barbara,  California land, and From The Good Earth,  about our planets land and the old ways of farming from around the world. Hero worship, in person.  Providing me with more inspiration for my own gardening and eating and way of life., and how I can continue with even my small good gardening deeds to support our earth.
How I admire Alice Waters for her advocacy for farmer’s markets and sustainable agriculture.  My heroine, the great chef, restauranteur, cookbook author, and supporter of local organic farmers, spoke at a book signing of her latest cookbook. She doesn’t just ride on the success of her world famous restaurant, Chez Panisse in Berkeley,  and multiple cookbooks. She uses her success to underwrite food programs for education. Supportive of today’s youth, trying to be rid of yet another McDonald’s in the the school cafeterias, teaching and preaching about good food and slow food and family meals.  She continues writing and lecturing locally and internationally, working on rebuilding gardens and food programs, to teach children about eating and gardening.  She’s a visionary and my hero. She’s on my “I’m Impressed” pedestal, for her her vivacity and dedication to spreading her work and her word. Amen, sister.
As my dining room table is now overflowing with books and CDs, on my walk down memory lane, my kitchen table, close by, is covered with the seasons local organic pears and apples.  I drink the wine of my favorite local organic winery, and if possible, I cook the food from the local farmers, to bring harmony into the lives surrounding me, mine foremost. My walls are covered with the art of people’s dreams, theirs’ that I can only fantasize about and honor. I dance and write my own dreams, inspired by those who have come before me, but they are mine.
As I have aged, matured, ripened like those pears into my forties, I don’t put so many gods on my pedestals.  I still have them,  it takes more to impress me now. I wouldn’t say that I am jaded, or have seen it all, not at all. I hope I never approach life with those views. I still love to be wowed, knocked off my chair, and given ideas to ponder. Now I am more selective who I choose for godhood. I have lived through drugs, rock n’ roll, promiscuous sex, spiritual searchings. I have found intense, romantic, and satisfying love with my soul mate. I have become a successful artist and career woman. I have worked my land and learned how to sustain myself. Not that my search for enlightenment and life meaning and adventure is over. Never. There is too much is this most fantastic world to experience
My gods, I thank them. Why not worship them, put them on a pedestal? Through words and music and art, they have helped to make and shape my life, to maintain my sense of humor, even through my darkest searches, and encouraged me to retreat or march forward with open arms.  Maybe I do romanticize them a bit too much. In my eyes they are living to their full potential. Courage, my gods give me courage. Courage to dream, write, dance, cook, love. To keep on.
Let the heroes be worshipped. And the gods be praised. I testify. Amen.

In my Heroes and Gods story, I write about some of my favorite books and musicians. Here is a quick link for you to check them out if you are interested! Amazon does make it easy to shop this way, and it helps support this blog if you buy from this link…

Henry Miller, Sexus from the Rosy Crucifixtion

 Diane Ackerman: A Natural History of My Garden, and A Natural History of The Senses. 

Isabel Allende: Aphrodite, A Memoir of the Senses

 Rainier Maria Rilke: Diaries of A Young Poet

Anais Nin

Here is a continuation of my story about my gods. Who are yours? and why? the subject of our April D-Quad in Caravan Trails enewsletter… Deadline is March 20th!

Someone asked me the other day, “If you could have dinner with anyone, dead or alive, who would it be?” What if I were to meet some of my gods? Have a meal with them? Were I to sit down with Elvis Costello for lunch, I would be tongue tied, I’m sure. Or Henry Miller, or Tom Waits, or Tom Robbins. I know how to have a conversation, but I’m not good at small talk. I can chat briefly with strangers, although these people aren’t strangers. I’ve grown up with them, in a way. I know quite a bit about them, at least what they have wanted me to know.  Would I want to sit and have a conversation with them? I don’t want to know they are human. They’re my gods, for gods sake.

            In some way, I would love to have dinner with Henry Miller. He always enjoyed himself and other people, but I’ve so venerated him on my book shelf, and in my mind, that maybe I don’t want to go that far.  What if I didn’t like him?  What if he pissed me off? All those years of reverence might have to be tossed, and I couldn’t bare that.

            What I want is to see the world through the eyes of my heroes, which then, became my eyes. Not to become them. Absolutely not. It’ s a yearning, a desire for more understanding, and the willingness to experience other’s experiences through their words and music, without having to make them mine. They make a road for me to look down, walk on, or turn away from. I  admire from a distance.  Learning to be myself,  in my world, the ever-changing world, with it’s scariness and beauty. 

            Books are like prescriptions. Their words can be so timely, giving me what I’m  looking for, what I need, to heal, to laugh and cry, to find an answer at just the right moment, or after years of searching. I revere them, have shelves of them. Shelves of gods and heroes. Altars. Going to my bookcases, getting overzealous as I write these pages, I want to pull all the books out, my influences, my heroes, what has made my world go round, and what has taught me about  sex and love, spiritual beauty, darkness and pain, artistic freedom. I go back and forth in time with my books. Teenager. Adult. Poet. Druggie. Songwriter. Teenager. College student. Rocker. Healer. Dancer. The alls of me. There is no stopping me. The rampage has set in. Fertile wanderings. My books are now taking over the dining room table as I read and write. It is a feast. A feast of the senses.

            Diane Ackerman opened up my senses even more, as if I needed more opening, using words as aphrodisiacs in A Natural History of My Garden, and A Natural History of The Senses. She made me swoon, reflect, to behold first her world, then mine, with my eyes, nose, ears, mouth, and fingers. Reading her words was experiential. Poetic. She wrote how “the whole body ripples in orgasmic delight”, from a  sneeze. I can feel it. She watched “vines evolve from flowers to succulent purple fruits, sense-luscious and nearly bursting with fragrance”. If there was ever a time when I questioned myself or my existence, how could I not fall in love with words, again, as well as with the world, again, following her journey? Up on the “Writing Great Things” goddess pedestal she went.

            In Aphrodite, A Memoir of the Senses, Isabel Allende wrote about seduction and sex and love and food. These have become a theme for me, a mantra. Be still my beating heart. She wrote “…dusk incited me to sin…in my fiftieth year I find myself reflecting on my relationship with food and eroticism…”  “Aphrodisiacs are the bridge between gluttony and lust’. I too, have a constant love affair with food and wine and cooking and eating. Not only for pure sustenance, but pure pleasure, too, and adventure and the delight of a meal with a loved one or many. To read about it, then to open up every pore, to smell, eat, taste, touch, love. I believe it’s the “I Want To Experience Life” pedestal for her.

            From Letters To A Young Poet, by Rainier Maria Rilke writes, “Being an artist means: not numbering and counting, but ripening like a tree, which doesn’t force its sap, and stands confidently in the storms of spring, not afraid that afterward summer may not come”. Another art school read. That tree image has stayed with me, sometimes as a behemoth, sometimes a sapling, enduring, it’s own juices flowing. I  call upon it when I need strength to continue, to be honest with myself, with my words and my art, not be afraid of what may come after. Rilke, in this book, has a conversation through letters with one man, about creativity, writing, love, passion, spirituality. The pages are bent and worn from me marking outstanding phrases. I read and reread it at a time in my life when it was relevant and needed, art school. When my peers ripped my work apart, questioned my vision and  style, only trying to be helpful. When I felt sometimes as if I couldn’t stand on my own feet., I read Rilke. I was learning to express myself with words, art, and actions, always on that quest of and for experience, and trying to put it into a visual context. Rilke helped guide me, as any good god would do.

            Not only thoughts on how to be an artist, but how to be alive, Rilke writes to his friend, “For one human being to love another human being:  That is perhaps the most difficult task that has been entrusted to us, the ultimate task, the final test and proof, the work for which all other work is merely preparation.” Love, selfhood, he was writing to me, I was sure. “To walk inside yourself and meet no one for hours.” For me to be alone, listening and observing and not being afraid of the quiet.   As I reread him now, writing this, he is relevant still. He is god.

Part 3, to be continued!