Distortion

Jessica Simson, the most recent (celebrity) woman to be attacked and accused of hiding her mortal, human skeleton (and soul) behind healthy, beautiful, protective, mortal HUMAN flesh. The names of Jennifer Love Hewitt and Trya Banks (to name a very few) have also appeared on the ongoing and ever growing list of women (particularly celebrity women) who have been accused and attacked for the same dysfunctional society's social crime. I am sure that in this very moment; somewhere in the United States (where our Hollywood standards for women vs what real, healthy women look like are the equivalent to Disney vs the Brothers Grimm . . . worlds apart) a young girl is doing something to ensure she will fit inside the tiny plastic mold of the ideal woman as she grows (but shrinks). And somewhere else in the United States - a young woman is dying or has died from an eating disorder.
And we all must take responsibility for this thinking. Every time a woman strives to live up to these airbrushed, photo-shopped, nutritionally starved, cosmetically altered (NOT enhanced, for enhancing is completely different than altering) . . . every time . . . we give POWER to the image and take the POWER from ourSelves.
Every unnecessary piece of clothing we strip from our bodies in order to expose more and more flesh to the world (for profit and for vanity) - we also strip away at ourSelves and our souls. This may sound prudish to some - but that is only because our standards have bottomed out - we have lost our class and our self-respect. I am not referring to art . . . I am referring to INTENT - the intent behind our actions and our thoughts.
I don't have to say more. Not only because I don't have the words to express my sadness, my anger and my outrage for this modern day 'witch hunt,' but rather because there is nothing more to say. It's preposterous - contrary to nature, reason, and common sense. It is absurd.
I don't want to partake in a society that thinks this way.
I don't want to live in a society that thinks this way.
I am ashamed of this society.
If we, as a society, do not collectively shift our thoughts about body image, and return to love, acceptance and GRATITUDE for our outer shells, our God-given flesh and bones . . . the temples of our SOULS - then I wish not to participate in this ill-minded, man made society.

There is Pain in the Knowing

The annual seal hunt is on in Canada . . .

Good St. Francis, you loved all of God's creatures.

To you they were your brothers and sisters.

Help us to follow your example

of treating every living thing with kindness.

St. Francis, Patron Saint of animals,

watch over the Harp Seals

and keep them safe and healthy.

Amen.

“Blessed are you, Lord God, maker of all living creatures. You called forth fish in the sea, birds in the air and animals on the land. You inspired St. Francis to call all of them his brothers and sisters. We ask you to bless this pet. By the power of your love, enable it to live according to your plan. May we always praise you for all your beauty in creation. Blessed are you, Lord our God, in all your creatures! Amen.”












Heavenly Father, the bond we have with our friends of other species is a wonderful and special gift from You. We now ask You to grant our special animal companions your Fatherly care and healing power to take away any suffering they have. They trust in us as we trust in You. Give us, their human friends, new understanding of our responsibilities to these creatures of Yours. Our souls and theirs are on this earth together to share friendship, affection, and caring. Take our heartfelt prayers and bless these ill or suffering animals with healing Light and strength to overcome whatever weakness of body they have:

The Harp Seals and all animals being tortured, killed and sacrificed in the name of fashion, vanity, greed

Your goodness is turned upon every living thing; Your grace flows to all Your creatures; Your Light touches each of us with the reflection of Your love. Grant long and healthy lives to our special animal companions. Bless their relationships with us, and if You see fit to take them from us, help us to understand that they are not gone from us but only drawing closer to You. Grant our prayer through the intercession of good St. Francis of Assisi, who honored You through all Your creatures. Empower him to watch over our animal friends until they are safely with You in eternity, where we someday hope to join them in honoring You forever. Amen.

March 28, 2008: Canadian Fishermen Have Started
Killing 275,000 Harp Seal Pups

HARP SEALS .ORG

I love my Canadian neighbors, and I mean NO disrespect to you, my friends, across the river from me . . . I am sure many of you are against this cruelty . . . I am NOT attacking Canadian people - I am simply exposing a terrible thing endorsed by their government.

VIDEO FOOTAGE
Extremely disturbing images

Aquainted with Evil - Innocence Lost

As a people, have we changed at all? Have we evolved at all? To loosely quote from one of Castaneda's books; "If you think you've changed a little, you haven't changed at all."
When I think back . . . back centuries . . . back millennia . . . I have little hope left. Little hope for all of us, for mankind as a whole, and for me who is a part of this whole.


For as far back as we can collectively remember through historical writings, art, stories . . . from the beginning of our existence we have continued to make the same ill-fated errors in judgment over and over again. To our detriment, we have continued to be the same 'people' we have always been, regardless of the difficult life-lessons we have experienced, the pain, the sorrow and the obvious karmic outcomes of our doings.

Since our beginning, we have engaged ourselves in wars, religious and political conflicts, prejudices, social hierarchies, poverty, rape, pillaging, addictions, greed, sexual exploitations, immoral and unethical behaviors, ignorance, denial and indifference causing us to be uninvolved.

Sure, we can argue that there also exists 'good' people: generous, caring, concerned, involved . . . just as there has always been.

WE HAVE NOT CHANGED. And that is fact.

A few days ago, the body of a young girl, Emily Sander - just eighteen years young - was found. She was a college student. She had her whole life ahead of her. She needed extra money. She found a popular-by-demand side job in the dark world of pornography; a world that would not exist if we were truly an evolving species. But, unfortunately, pornography does exist (as it always has) and it is raping us, especially our children, of the gift of innocence. It is an ever-growing business and our appetite has become insatiable. Pornography, for one, is destroying the fabric of mankind. I know from my own personal experience and the experiences of friends around me.

And then there is the recent news story of the eight-day old infant girl - sexually abused and murdered by her twenty-eight year old father. We can say, "He is a sick @*%&, " but the questions of "How could he . . . ?" or "Why did he?" should really be a question of "What happened to him that he, one of our own, became so filled with darkness and evil that he would ever have thoughts like that in his mind - thoughts that would lead him to do something so cruel, horrible and ungodly?"

The news continues to report the horrific stories perpetrated by mankind - stories we do not want to hear about, but must know about if we are to fully understand the crisis we are facing in this world.

All I can say, with much sadness and despair in my heart, is GOD HELP US ALL.

December 23, 2012 is quickly approaching. While I'm not a 'doomsdayer' by nature - I am actually an incurable romantic and optimist - I don't know where else we can go, what else we can do . . . except PRAY and clean our own minds and hearts of the trash and toxins that have accumulated within us by means of our mere existence and co-inhabitance among our fellow man in the outskirts of the garden.












Thomas Cole. Expulsion from the Garden of Eden (detail). c.1827-1828. Oil on canvas. The Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, MA, USA.

Non-Members Only, Please

The Smoking Redhead Club - I am not a welcome member. Need I be sad? I am a brunette now. I'm sure there's a club for (non-smoking) brunettes out there. Or, I could apply to redhead club, after a trip to the salon or the Clairol aisle of my local drug store. But for what? Comradeship? Sounds too Communistic for me. Respect? No, respect is earned not learned. Acceptance? Friendship? Popularity? Because of the color of my hair? Sounds too conditional and inconsistent for me. Too insincere. Then why? Power in numbers? I own my own power. Protection from the blondes? The only protection I really need is from a group's group mentality. Cool by association? As for coolness - well, much like class, 'coolness' can only be achieved going solo . . . being an individual. Most guys wanted to be like the "Fonz," but the "Fonz" did not want to be like anyone else or belong to anyone but himself. Most women wanted to imitate Audry Hepburn's class and savoir faire, but Ms. Hepburn imitated no one. She was her own woman.

I dislike groups, clubs, cliques (an informal and/or restricted social group formed by people who share common interests or patterns of behavior). I am seriously scared by anything resembling mass mentality, especially when the common denominator is hatred (aka misunderstanding) towards another group or individual, which is the case with most groups (though it it well hidden - i.e. the going to heaven club versus the everyone else is going to hell club - although the fear induced latter of the two is the real glue that binds)

I remember how my children would ban together and help each other clean up as long as they had one angry thing in common: being upset with me. They appeared cooperative, helpful and productive among themselves when they formed the "mom's mean" club. They felt safe within the group - safe from being singled out or held accountable for their individual behavior by being punished or rewarded. But, the group mentality was not as strong when the commonality was based on a positive / good goal such as a trip to the ice cream parlor if they worked together to clean up after themselves. Eventually, two of them would point fingers and blame the third for not doing his or her fair share. A sub-group was formed based on blame and the third was sold out for the 'good' of the group. Goodness and fairness seemed to segment the group while anger made them stronger.

So, it sounds like groups with a common dislike for someone/something is actually a good thing. I guess it is from the view point of society and government and religion. Think about it. As a mother, I admit, I used the mom's mean club to my own advantage. Their bedrooms got cleaned up and no one bothered me, the mean mom, in the meantime. And, I did not need to buy any ice cream.

I suppose there are some groups that will never gain popularity, like Posers Anonymous

After Love, There is Only Art

It is my feeling that the reality in which we live is not real at all. Our struggles, our battles, our wars, our religious beliefs, our political stances, our morals, our societal rules . . . We have been programmed. We have been overcome. We no longer have access to our own minds, our original God-given minds. Everything we feel, see, do, think, is being dictated to us in doses proportionate to our energy. We are helpless pawns in a game of chess played out by something we cannot see. Something we cannot comprehend. Something that the majority of us deny with every molecule of our being; with every vague and distant memory we erase; with every breath we forcefully take; but "it," the invisible transplanted mind, nevertheless, exists. When our suspicions surface as anxiety, extreme discontent, depression, madness, or the likes, we are deemed ill or crazy and our symptoms are quickly sedated . . . masked. I think it all stems back to the story of Adam and Eve and the Garden of Eden - a story that has a deep-seeded truth within its core: God (the Universe, our Higher Power, our Creator) gave man and woman everything by bestowing upon (us) the freedom of expression; the powers of co-creation; the God mind. We were once expressions of infiniteness . . . in other words, He gave us art - heart - and it was good. Our hearts and our minds were, once upon a time, ONE in the same with God. Then, the serpent "the foreign being" appeared and offered man and woman a new mind, separate from God. . . the chance (risk) to attain knowledge without having to look to God. "It" led us to believe we needed to find answers to questions that do not and never did exist in the completeness of our original mind. And with that new foreign mind came our first belief: the belief we that are separate, that we possess an individual mind. We based that belief on our newfound freedom (within our new mind) to conjure perspectives, opinions and judgments. We had fundamentally created our ego. And with the ego, came our second belief; self-awareness - we are different. We found ourselves naked and ashamed of our own skin. Then, our third belief; that we are better than . . . God . . . We created arrogance. As creators, we were on a roll. But, it was not our own mind doing the creating, for we no longer had access to our own mind. Subsequently, we kicked ourselves out of the Garden of Eden, and since then we have spent the rest of our time on Earth blaming God or blaming the serpent or blaming ourselves - which is actually our favorite pastime: indulging in self-reflection and self-pity. So, here we are; call us zombies, call us pawns, call us puppets, call us food for thought (the thought of a foreign mind, that is). Call us Pavlovian dogs that cry when stimulated in particular ways, that laugh when stimulated in other particular ways, that fight when stimulated in yet other particular ways . . . and we blindly and so foolishly call ourselves individuals. Our only way to salvation is to release ourselves from the grip of this predatory mind; whether you call it the serpent in the Garden of Eden, or the devil, or societal values, or political beliefs, or religious creeds . . . whatever you wish to call it is irrelevant. What is relevant is the fact it is real, it exists, it is the reality in which we live. "Wake up people! Stop being Pavlov's pets!" Easier said than done, I know. For allowing something else to do our thinking and the rule-making and the moral setting, etc. takes the responsibility off of us and gives us more time to do what we do best; breathe . . . exist . . . pay the bills . . . cry at the horribly sad stories on the news . . . scream out against the war . . . point fingers at Bush or the Pope . . . make it to church on time . . . shop the sales at Nieman's . . . drink another cocktail . . . bitch out the cable man or the grocery clerk or the waitress . . . complain about the high gas prices . . . reflect upon what terrible people we are, you know, all the really important things that affect our lives every day. All the things we deem as real in our lives. But NONE of that is real. None of that is important in the BIG picture - in the grand scheme of life. None of that exists - all that exists is love and all that is real is ART. Art is our only true freedom of expression as creators. It is possibly our last and only link left to our original GOD heart/mind. It is how we express and acknowledge the suppression of our minds. It is how we express the love we are struggling to remember. It is how we express our deepest, most intimate, REAL selves . . . the real selves that we fighting to regain (whether we know it or not) as our own (while engaged in this cold war). Art is our true expression of our infiniteness. In reality, there exists no religion, no politics, no borders. There exists only love . . . and it's purist expression, art. For every painting, for every crayoned picture hanging on a refrigerator, for every symphony and musical composition, for every 5th grade flute concert, for every opera, every ballet, every preschool tap recital, every song sung, every pastry baked, every reduction sauce perfected, for every undercooked cake from an easy bake oven, for every novel never published, for every poem misunderstood, for every floral arrangement on a dinner table, for every variety of fillings inside each chocolate in a box, for every engine ever built to be more powerful than the last, for every scarf ever knitted, for every letter ever written, for every snowman ever rolled, for every angel made by a child in the snow . . . Art is the finest, purist expression of love. Above: Guernica by Picasso depicts scenes of death, violence, brutality, helplessness, suffering people and animals, buildings wrenched by violence and chaos. One might say, this does not look like an expression of love and I say to that; this is the highest expression of love for this is the TRUTH. This is the reality we have chosen with our free will and the subsequent loss of our original God minds.

Anna's Russia

Ann Politkovskaya was known as "Russia's lost moral conscience."

She was born August 30, 1958. Her life was constantly being threatened. Her family pleaded with her to leave the country for her own safety. She refused to give into threats and be shadowed by a bodyguard. She was poisoned and almost died aboard a plane - on her way to Beslan to report and possibly act as negotiator during the school siege. She lived in constant danger. She was courageous. She was fearless but never reckless. She continued reporting on the plight of the Russian people under the rule of Putin. She continued to expose the human rights abuses in Chechnya of which she accused Russian security forces of the abuse. She felt it was her duty to accept the risks involved as a reporter in order to uncover and report the truth (she compared it to a doctor's duty to aid in the healing of ill patients). She authored two books: "A Dirty War: A Russian Reporter in Chechnya," (2001); "Putin's Russia: Life in a Failing Democracy" (2004) and had just completed her third; "A Russian Diary." Her last article, an investigation into the torture in Chechnya, was never finished. Ann Politkovskaya was murdered by a gunman while leaving her apartment on October 7, 2006. She died at the age of 48, leaving behind her son, Ilya and her daughter, Vera. She became the thirteenth journalist to be murdered in a contract style killing since Vladimir Putin came into power in 2000. She was the third murdered reporter from Moscow's Noveya Gazeta.

Colleagues at the Novaya Gazeta, published a special issue promising that "her killers will not sleep soundly." The paper also offered a one million dollar reward (£534,000) to solve her murder.

Mr Putin called the crime "horribly cruel" and stated that Russian authorities would strive to find and punish the perpetrators.

But he also played down the significance of Ms Politkovskaya's work.

"This journalist was a severe critic of the incumbent authorities in Russia; she was well known among journalists and human rights campaigners and in the West. However, her influence on the country's political life... was minimal."


At a cemetery near Moscow, hundreds of mourners waited for hours in the rain to pass her coffin and say their last goodbyes.

"I think this was meant to show what happens if you speak out against the authorities. Unfortunately, we have very few journalists like her in Russia now." a women in the crowd said.

So much for Putin's theory that Anna's influence on her country's political life was minimal.

Her last article was released unfinished. It dealt with the horrific abuses of human rights, torture and humiliation in Chechnya by the Chechen Prime Minister Ramzan Kadyrov. Much of the footage of two Chechens being tortured was too bloody and distressing to broadcast.

Ten suspects have just recently been arrested in connection with her murder.

An excerpt from her book, "Putin's Russia:" This massacre of the innocents did not raise a storm in Russia. Not one television station broadcast images of the five little Chechens who had been slaughtered. The Minister of Defense did not resign. He is a personal friend of Putin and is even seen as a possible successor in 2008. The Commander-in-Chief himself made no speech of condolence.

"Living streets full of dead eyes."

In one of her interviews Anna warns us: " Putin is very influenced by the Western opinion . . . So, it means that only the West now could change him, could change him from tyranny to democracy."

I sit here, safely behind my computer screen, writing about this and that and THIS. THIS makes me want to do more. THIS makes me wonder what I have done so far? THIS is more than a story to me. THIS makes me see the importance of the written word. What are my responsibilities as a human being to other human beings, to my country, to all life in general and to this planet? What if all of us took a stance for human rights. What if we would not - not ever and under any circumstances - tolerate human rights abuses . . . indignity, suffering, torture, humiliation . . . untreated illnesses, homelessness, hunger, loneliness, despair, hopelessness, sadness, ignorance, illiteracy . . . any unkindness?

Are my glasses hopelessly rose-colored or will there ever come a day?

Anna Politkovskaya was a brave human being.

Follow The Rabbit-Proof Fence - And Another Landmark To Follow

For nine weeks and 1,500 miles, three young Aboriginal Australian girls followed a rabbit-proof fence (originally constructed to prevent rabbit infestation) to route their return home to Jigalong. In 1931, the girls were removed from their parents and taken to the Moore River Native Settlement, as part of the Stolen Generation. (From 1915 to 1969 the Australian Government made Aboriginal children wards of the State, denying all parental rights and sending the children to Internment Camps and orphanages where many were adopted out to white families.)

In 1996, Doris Pilkington Garimara, the daughter one of the three girls, Molly Craig, wrote a book about her mother's ordeal; "Follow the Rabbit-Proof Fence." The 2002 film directed by Phillip Noyce, "Rabbit-Proof Fence," is based on that book. The film, visually stunning, presents a story of courage, perseverance and love in a quietly powerful way - without unnecessary dialog, overwhelming despair or tearful manipulations. It is one of my favorite movies.

So, what brought all of this on - talking about a movie that is five years old - the good news that came over the BBC yesterday: Bruce Trevorrow, a fifty-year-old Aboriginal man who was taken from his family as a baby was awarded A$525,000 compensation, a judgment delivered by Justice Thomas Gray in the landmark case. The Supreme Court of South Australia found that Mr. Trevorrow was treated unlawfully when taken from his family in 1958 and put into foster care with a white family. Justice Gray established that the taking of a child from his or her family in these such circumstances was wrongful imprisonment. This is the first time that a child from the "Stolen Generation" has been recognized as having been unlawfully imprisoned due to the Australian Government assimilation policies from 1915-1969.

"I thought that we would never get there," Bruce Trevorrow said. "But the day's come when I've got the peace of mind to start my life." The judgment alone took eighteen months to be delivered.

Although, outside of the court, he also said it was not possible to put a dollar value on the pain he had endured.

For more information on the movie: Rabbit-Proof Fence
For more on Australia's Aboriginal People and The Stolen Generation

Somewhere . . . a butterfly flapped its wings . . .

I suppose when the air became still enough (in hindsight it was only the eye of the storm) for the initial conditions to shift, ever so slightly, at the gentle flapping of the butterfly’s wings . . . the tempest emerged . . . uprooting my perennials, tearing at my shingles, flooding my basement . . . finding me with only one foot on the ground.

As the tempest created chaos in my life - the chaos created a new life in me.

Butterflies are bringers of change - they symbolize metamorphosis, transformation – it’s no wonder that they have such power beneath their fragile wings to turn the tides inward.

Now, after being flooded and nearly drowned – a forceful baptism into the sacred rites of all that is beyond the morning cup of coffee, the daily devotion to the hour hand, the tedious slow drive home, the forgetfulness of living – I understand the importance of air, I appreciate every breath, I have come to know that oxygen is free . . . as all REAL things are.

Did I nearly die – was this a near death experience . . . oh yes! I was as close to death as the salesmen can get before rigor mortis foils resurrection. I was one of the lucky bastards. I was asked to leave Dracula’s cave (by Dracula himself) because (this is where the curse becomes a blessing) my anemic blood type . . . and of course my wooden cross and pounds of garlic hidden under my cloak didn’t help things. I was deemed a trader of the cult, stripped of my name, cast out. Left almost soulless. Almost.

I was awakened by the high-pitched sound of the monitor flat lining. As I pushed the snooze button, I realized, that although this all felt so real, it was only a bad dream during another lazy nap . . . one that I cannot afford to take again and lose more time by closing my eyes . . . even if (especially if) I don’t want to see what is in front of me.

Where once a zombie tolerated a poorly written script (the endings are always so predictable) . . . a women leaves the stage without so much as a bow . . . and a butterfly’s job is done.

On Becoming My Own Product

SELLING OUT . . . What is the modern meaning of "selling out" these days? I used to tout the fact that I would 'Neeeeeeeeeeeeeever sell out!" Selling out was a sin. It was a lowering of one's standards. It was crossing the picket line of integrity and good taste. Looking back, I think I was setting myself up for a life of hardship, debt and privation by holding onto my arrogant and self-righteous claim.
I had girlfriends who 'sold out' and left our modern dance company to dance in 'Gentleman's Clubs.' (One went on the Vegas.) A couple of my girlfriends admitted they would never settle for anything less than a man who was very financially well of. (Which, by the way, my romantic ideals of love left me a single mother, while 'some' of my girlfriends are living in houses too big to clean - but that's what their housekeepers are paid for.) I swore if I ever went into show business I would never be in a commercial for something like hemorrhoid cream or that bad fire breath. I held strong to the belief that one day people would appreciate my ancient poetry and poetic prose because to admit I could write a mean Sara Lee jingle would be a nightmare in the literary community!
Well, well, well, could I have been wrong all along? I mean, maybe writing instruction manuals and information guides could have led to publishing my first book!
I am questioning my old beliefs, re-examining my ethics, morals and standards - maybe they are all TOO high.
My question has changed from, "What would I do for love?" to "What would I do for money?"