everybody has a brain, & everybody's brain is in their head. to facilitate honest & open interaction, to facilitate inspiration, we have to be willing to spill. welcome to my puddle.
Do you know which of the herbs on my list this is?
I'm just leaving the list and a few notes, in the hopes that anyone who might happen upon this and find an interest piqued will be inspired enough to some more digging. This is important because not every herb is for every person, and it's important to be aware of possible contraindications before using a particular herb. This is one area, like most, where it can be said that the more you discover, the more you can use. It is also important to note that not all herbs are appropriate for use in all people. Conditions such as pregnancy or diseases such as cancer can turn herbs that heal in many cases into herbs that can potentially create dangerous or otherwise undesirable situations in others. For example, the hops flower, as you will read below, is an extremely valuable herb for women, but it should not be taken by men because its estrogenic and sedative properties can have a depressive effect, especially on the libido. So it is important to rely on multiple sources and be thorough in all research, paying special attention to dosages recommended course lengths. Consider seeking the advice of a professional herbalist, homeopath, naturopathic doctor, midwife, or other kind of holistic health practitioner whenever possible. And yeah, you can try an allopathic doctor or nurse, provided they can respect your desire to treat yourself originally (my usage, as opposed to traditionally), and back that up with some professional attention. Again, he more you discover, the more you have to choose from to make an informed, safe and effective decision for your health. So here's the list!
Life is like surfing. I know this because I watched that movie Blue Crush like, mad times, and because I am one of the five people who thought John from Cincinatti was a totally awesome show (that number includes my dad, my brother, and two open slots for people I haven't met yet but will probably totally click with if I ever do). Watching people surf on a television or computer screen, I am always struck with the thought that these are people who fully understand my relationship with anxiety. Surfing is a little bit like going on and on about the calm before the storm, or the calm within the storm, and then going outside to do an overstated rain dance to illustrate your point. The ocean and its waves, for a moment, seem almost under your command, and you are like a little fish with a big name: Poseidon. For just a few of those precious seconds that feel like hours, you live up to your name.
At least that's how it looks from the shore (read: couch). The wave that curls over its rider and yet somehow fails to swallow her is so perfect, and seems deceptively gentle -- it is almost possible to imagine that this is an isolated gift, completely disconnected from the rest of the ocean and the forces that created it. But then it crashes, she crashes, I crash, wave becomes sea, horizon connects and there is nothing so lonely as being tossed about and spit out. We crash.
Sometimes I am riding the wave, and sometimes I am on my hands and knees in the wet sand, coughing while I scoop handfuls of sand out of my bathing suit.
In case the title of this blog doesn't make this clear, I grew up in Princeton, New Jersey. I lived there with my mother, father, brother and for a large part of the time, two beagles named Ashleigh and Copper. To say I had a good childhood is a gross understatement; I had an incredible childhood. I was loved, and learned to love, in a safe, nurturing, information-rich environment that I have come to realize was an incredible blessing that fills me with a resolve to make and give something equally or more incredible of myself so all I've been given won't have been given in vain. That said, on some level, everyone's childhood sucks. Meaning, growing up is hard no matter what you have or don't have. We all carry our burdens and to some measure our success as adults is predicated on how well we travel above and beyond the not at all accidental accidents of our births. So here is a story about how an awesome childhood has its moments, and how who I am now wouldn't be here without each and every one.
When I was somewhere around 9 or 10 years old, I went furniture shopping with my mother and one of her best friends. I remember that I was wearing jean shorts, a t-shirt and one of my brother's old Laker's hats. I was also wearing my glasses, as I would continue to until my prayers for contacts were finally answered during the summer before 8th grade. I don't remember how I felt about the shopping; I was somewhere in between those ages when spending time with mom is either at the top or the bottom of your list of things to do. Knowing the kind of kid I was, I think I was probably happy enough to find a comfortable chair to sit in while they shopped so I could read my book in peace.
My memory is fuzzy, but one of them must have made a purchase, because on our way out we had enough time at the counter for the saleswoman to make a completely ridiculous and embarrassing comment that I can now only hope she meant as a compliment. She studied me as I stood in between two full-grown adult women I would soon be taller than, her face quizzically scrunched as if trying to come up with an appropriate remark. I admit this is hard to do when the subject of your virtually thoughtless comment is a black child caught in that unspeakable quagmire of black childhood -- not quite old enough to be strikingly beautiful and not quite young enough to be cute. Finally she lit up and made the common mistake of speaking when the only thing you have to say will reduce you to exactly what you are and not at all in a good way. She said:
9.20.2010
scorned imago of
an adulthood wasteland love
was simpler back then
(Since this is the first installment of this particular series, let me say I am attempting to write a haiku using the Dictionary.com word of the day, every day. Which will probably soon transcend into "every once in awhile," which is why I decided against compiling them weekly & blogging about them in that way.)
This is a blast from the recent past. Sort of. So far in my career as a vocalist, I've been extremely blessed with a partner-in-art who is as much of a renaissance man as I am a renaissance woman. One of his many, many talents is in the art of video. To date, he has directed & produced 4 videos for songs for the Black Beckee album I released in February. I pretty much really, really like them. Yes, that is an understatement. Things spin & float & fly, & so do I. Lots of colors & lots of light. To me, they're kind of like a pretty good example of the kind of videos a super creative person who really took the time to get to know me well might make. Which is awesome to find in this business, what with all the politics. And let's face it, video gave birth to the internet dom. The songs are sung; the eyes listen, too.
So here they are, in chronological order, with a bit of off the cuff commentary that will probably be different from whatever I say about them a month or two from now. Or more. Or less.
enjoy the journey:
one.
so as a caption to this one, i'll just say that this joint is a special one because it's the bridge from hazel black of the tao of slick to megan livingston. it's a bit of a time capsule for me; it describes a point in my life that is somewhat different from where i am now. one of the benefits of diy art is that it creates restore points for the most yummy kinds of nostalgia. through the song, i am transported, & so might the listener be. through the video, the transformation is metastatized, & off we go to the nether regions of our shared body. in this, i have an opportunity to celebrate how generous life is for creating situations one simply must convert into song, & songs that must be converted into video, if only to listen to and/or view later for a good chuckle or smirk.
two.
this is the out of place, out of touch, out of time, out of luck, out of fear, out of hope, dammit-i-better-just-get-in-the-tub-with-my-clothes-on video. need i say more? it's also the video with the killer icicles. which isn't funny if you've ever been awakened in the middle of the night by the sound of a 20-lbs icicle crashing onto the roof outside your window, or if you saw that grey's anatomy episode when christina was impaled by such an icicle.
three.
little known fact: both of the scarves i rock in this video were made by my little woman-child hands. far lesser known fact: both were stolen from people i know, either actually or in theory. need more explanation? the grey scarf in the alley scene was made as a birthday present for my brother a couple of years ago. sometime between escaping to & from my parents' house during a brief stint back in the womb, i took it from him & started wearing it everywhere, including the day we got this shot! the cream/taupe scarf in the driving scene was a holiday gift for a homie, knit during the fall after the aforementioned escape to nj. i said i'd mail it as soon as i sewed the ends in, but then somehow didn't get around to that for almost a year & a half. i made plans towards the end of the following winter to meet up with said friend in queens, brought the scarf (along with a needle for sewing the ends, because of course i still hadn't done it), & once it became apparent that i still wasn't going to get around to it (what with all the hipster vibes warming the icy astoria night), promptly asked him if i could borrow it for a video shoot, to which he obviously said yes. for the record, neither recipient has yet seen his gift since, which leaves me wondering what exactly a gift is. maybe one day i'll make you a scarf that you can lend back to me sometime.
other important thing to note about this video is the fact that i am a world-class, tried & true, rigorously tested & defending, driver of automobiles. i've taken on the roads in more states than i can count, & that is without the district of columbia (where i've also driven exhaustively, paid hundreds, possibly thousands in parking fees & destroyed at least one cars hopes of old age through acute pothole disorder). if you need to get there, ask me. but don't, because sometimes i need a break from the open road. if you must ask, offer to do half the driving or feed me snacks along the way.
four.
i like this one because it's happy. the sun, the sun, the sun is my supporting cast of characters, along with one of our most brilliant sister-ancestors (if you don't know who, get to the library & ask somebody). shooting this video was like being on vacation, in part because i was on vacation! guerilla location style; driving around unfamiliar terrain, guided by equal parts intention, faith & googlemaps. plus, i have on stripes, & a cool shirt that's cool because it wants you to want something because it's right & not because it costs you anything. i'll leave the discovery of the location for those who really got into carmen sandiego. another important note is how i got on my 21st century ranger rick vibe & observed, recorded & catalogued my first broadhead skink.
videos in the dark has been brought to you by black beckee aka beckee black. ahem. more to come.
Everything is disappearing: bees, frogs, many ocean friends. I feel myself returning to my 4th grade animal rights activist mindset often these days. When I left that behind what replaced it was a mixture of human rights/social equality/racial & ethnic justice jargon that I felt better reflected my passion for loving my brothers & sisters & wanting to raise them up & for someone to raise me up. Now I see that the oil in the Gulf is my own blood spilling, my own life force gushing out, weakening me. I see that I've been arguing the same rhetoric the whole time; it was just the glossary of terms that changed.
My life is an exercise in personal responsibility. Does it matter that I care? Probably not, if I'm still hopelessly consuming the toxic meal that will almost certainly lead to not just my own death, but the deaths of many others. What about spiritual death? Spiritual awakening? Can it be said that in comforting myself with my own righteous indignation I hasten the speed at which my intentions distance themselves from my greater purpose?
There's a lot of "I's" in there. There is a lot of me in someone like me -- who grew up flitting about the lower extremities of the me generation. Will I ever think of a question, much less a solution that isn't so self-centered? Yowzas.
We are no more or less in trouble than we have ever been. The potential for the catastrophic events & losses we experience daily has been there since the beginning. Some part of me lingered in the loins of a woman who died thousands of years ago; when she died, I died, too. She and I came from the sea -- the balance of salt and water in our bodies while we live is evidence enough for a poet like me.
So when I say my blood is spilling, it's ok if you feel weak and light-headed. It is to be expected.
