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This sweltering heat wave puts my head in a simmer and my thoughts bubble against the hard edge of the world. Summer has hit at last, the tomatoes will finally redden and the gardenias are popping with perfumed abandon in the lusty atmosphere. But the tender greens are scorching, the nasturtiums are crisply brown on their edges and our skin is burning beneath the SPF 30 sunblock. We're all wilted, housebound and draped over the furniture, panting and out of production. The face of global warming emerges. The House just passed the Climate Bill but will the Senate rise to the occasion? And is it enough and in time? So many "chaos points" arising. Now or never moments in history when we collectively decide, will we let it break down or will we find a breakthrough. Beneath the thin flashy veneer of sensationalistic news stories, scandal and celebrity, are the real cruxes and crossroads. The ACESA Clean Energy bill. The rare chance to have real insurance of health care in America (H.R. 676) and most riveting of all, the revolution taking place in Iran. I've been following closely the widening gyre of dissent that began when the election in Iran went sour. Ahmadinejad's "landslide victory" was declared before the polls closed and the "official" numbers were beyond belief. It was the proverbial straw hitting the camel's back. For Iranians living for decades with a government that professed "the participation of the entire people in determining their political, economic, social and cultural destiny" (article 3.8 of the Iranian constitution) and yet voting meant choosing one of a handful of candidates selected by the Supreme Leader, the country's religious authority. It must have felt like a mask finally being torn away when the government began beating old people in the street and shooting young women through the heart. People surged in protest and outrage at the unequivocal revelation that their vote was an empty exercise and their "democracy" a sham. After weeks of relentless demonstrations in the streets of the larger cities and despite a brutal and bloody crackdown on the "rioters", an air of determination persists. There is no turning back. Something's cracked, fallen away, a veil lifted, a sense that the wheel is turning. 70 percent of Iran's population is under the age of 30, most of them urban dwellers. A demographic that is most definitely tuned to the future and they want change.
(It has been illuminating seeing the photos and videos leaking out of the cracks in the communication lockdown. I saw a country I didn't recognize. A fresh impression of "the other" that exposed fragile threads of connection and kinship with these Muslim brothers and sisters caught up in this human drama. My thoughts are with them.)
Painting: Eye of Khaos-A New Green World by moi. Painted while the economy was crashing earlier this year.
Another September 11th. A Tuesday. Six years since those fallen towers triggered a tsunami of terror. A slow motion savage ravaging. Weary, swamped and threadbare now. Stewed in quagmire. What a mess. Every year I adjust my stance to the changing significance of that event and remember my own personal premonition. A vivid dream in February 2001:
I am standing with my family inside the Trans-America building looking out of the big windows facing a clear view of the San Francisco bay. Beloved city. The sense of peacefulness is shaken suddenly. An earthquake? I look out the huge windows and down toward the foundation to see that the sidewalks below are ruptured as if the building has twisted on it's axis. Before I can register amazement I become aware of a deep subterranean rumbling. As the sensation builds, all of us (my family) press up against the glass to see just what is happening. I sense that not only we but everyone in the entire city is clamoring to look. Our eyes seem to be drawn out to the waters of the bay. Alcatraz Island is somehow not out there but that spot draws every eye as the surface of the water begins to roil. Something is rising up out of the turbulence. An enormous piece of obsidian begins to jut slowly upward. Absolutely huge. As big as an island, tall, black and shining, somewhat reminiscent of the monolith in the film 2001 though roughly irregular. There is a heavy feeling of expectancy in the atmosphere. We are all waiting for something to happen. One smooth wide flank of the stone's black surface seems almost like a screen. We are expecting some kind of transmission. Collectively, we all look outward, open to receiving this message. A murky image begins to waver into view on this screen. It resolves into focus. An image of the Earth as seen from space. A small blue ball, white swirled, hanging in deep space. That is what we all see but the feeling that erupts is profound astonishment and recognition. As if we each had glimpsed a reflection of our own face in that surface. Then I'm struck with a deep knowing that something BIG is imminent. Sweeping in fast and furious, there is no stopping it. A tidal wave. Out at sea but pushing inland. My immediate fear is quickly replaced by resolve to model strength for my kids. I gather them in a huddle hug and excitedly tell them to hang on because something powerful will be crashing over us soon but that we will be OK. I'm fearless, brimming with the confidence of a woman who's given birth and knows intimately the relentless power of that creative force. To survive you have to ground yourself and yet give up to the momentum. Get out of the way. No resistance. Deep breath...
...I wake up.
Still riding out the chaos, walking that fine line between breakdown and breakthrough. Dreaming the future...bridging the abyss.
What a change. Home from Not Back To School Camp looking taller, slimmer, more thoughtful, composed, happily tired, creatively inspired, challenged and fulfilled. This morning, the coup: removal of braces. Just in time for her eighteenth birthday at the Autumn Equinox. After two long years of difficult orthodontics, enduring invasive oral surgery, implants and multiple gingivectomies to correct a bad open bite, the battle is won. I am counting on this being the last vestige of what I've called her Dental Karma, burning away. A quintessential chameleon, she shape shifts through the years. Cherub, chubby elf, whimsical imp, tomboy, wild child, spooky girl, shy misfit, awkward tag along, mother hen, intrepid soul, humble mentor, artist, budding poet. No knowing quite where she's going though it's bound to be a road less traveled. Just where a pretty smile might open doors ...and the wheel turns.
This sweltering heat wave puts my head in a simmer and my thoughts bubble against the hard edge of the world. Summer has hit at last, the tomatoes will finally redden and the gardenias are popping with perfumed abandon in the lusty atmosphere. But the tender greens are scorching, the nasturtiums are crisply brown on their edges and our skin is burning beneath the SPF 30 sunblock. We're all wilted, housebound and draped over the furniture, panting and out of production. The face of global warming emerges. The House just passed the Climate Bill but will the Senate rise to the occasion? And is it enough and in time? So many "chaos points" arising. Now or never moments in history when we collectively decide, will we let it break down or will we find a breakthrough. Beneath the thin flashy veneer of sensationalistic news stories, scandal and celebrity, are the real cruxes and crossroads. The ACESA Clean Energy bill. The rare chance to have real insurance of health care in America (H.R. 676) and most riveting of all, the revolution taking place in Iran. I've been following closely the widening gyre of dissent that began when the election in Iran went sour. Ahmadinejad's "landslide victory" was declared before the polls closed and the "official" numbers were beyond belief. It was the proverbial straw hitting the camel's back. For Iranians living for decades with a government that professed "the participation of the entire people in determining their political, economic, social and cultural destiny" (article 3.8 of the Iranian constitution) and yet voting meant choosing one of a handful of candidates selected by the Supreme Leader, the country's religious authority. It must have felt like a mask finally being torn away when the government began beating old people in the street and shooting young women through the heart. People surged in protest and outrage at the unequivocal revelation that their vote was an empty exercise and their "democracy" a sham. After weeks of relentless demonstrations in the streets of the larger cities and despite a brutal and bloody crackdown on the "rioters", an air of determination persists. There is no turning back. Something's cracked, fallen away, a veil lifted, a sense that the wheel is turning. 70 percent of Iran's population is under the age of 30, most of them urban dwellers. A demographic that is most definitely tuned to the future and they want change.
