January 25th, 2025

January 24th, 2025

1:07 pm

I’ve just finished listening to Amy Goodman on Democracy Now, educating myself, and I am feeling just a smidge of fear, for these poor people, and commit to not staying or dwelling in fear, but moving forward.

What can you do when you feel fear?

Look around you, are you physically safe?

Yes

If you are not physically safe can you go somewhere safe?

I have nothing to fear in this present moment, because I am a citizen.

I am not however a Christian in terms of a person who goes to church and reads the bible, nor am I a Republican, and I am aware, that for some, this state of being constitutes being an enemy.

Do I feel fear about this? No, not yet.

Do I feel for those terrified of sending their kids to school? Yes

Do I feel for those afraid of the raids? Yes

What can I do?

Keep calm, and carry on, keep doing things moment to moment, such as, aware that energy needed to move and going to yoga, getting in the pool, getting in the sauna, then coming home and fixing our Latin workers a nice lunch of grilled cheese sandwhiches, tangerines, cashews to supplement their own lunches, then fixed my own.

Sigh... keeping on keeping on.

January 25th, 2025

The image, in my minds eye, is to journal every day as my way of resisting what is occurring about me, the chaos, and find fresh ways of being, and I realize, I do not want this blogging and journalling experiment to center around this. I observe, my dreams seem more alive, and dreamt of seeing two young brown skinned boys knowing the zone to stay in in the surf without being harmed, and I myself was carried away in a remarkably pleasant fashion in a rather quick current finding other brown skinned people all about me, and thinking, I have found my people, I am amongst others, at last like me. My sister, who I cannot feel or sense of late was in the dream, and she was just coming out of hospital and seemed well organized speaking in her usual discoherent way, and seemed as if she was caring better for her hygiene. When I awoke, I immediately fixed myself a cup of black tea, wondering, in this moment, what I can do about the way it staiins my teeth, and sat on our lanai for a bit to watch Lono slowly drifting in, rain, rain clouds, with a burst of gratitude for rain, us living in the fire zones, an earthquake zone, where it seems all of humanity seems to be in more troubled times.

I took a moment to actually handwrite my dreams prior, and I find myself back on the lanai, the call of the smell of this coming rain, the damp cardboard, the damp earth, the unfinished driveway, the morning birds sounding, the sight of our neighborhood trees.

I am touching the memory of yesterday, the final day with Juliana and the boys, and the gift of fingerpaints, them never having painted, and ordering a set from Amazon, a company I would prefer not to purchase from, but needing something swiftly, and their absolute joy with painting. 

I had absolutely no desire to paint, none whatsoever, and found myself taking on the task of taking their paintbrushes full of paint to the spigot that releases well water to wash them so they could have fresh brushes with which to paint.

I had brought the entirety of my paintbrushes and they revelled in try out each different paintbrush as my spouse painted, and their mom painted, and Thunder the German Sheperd dog came along to get his share of attention.

Their grandma was there as well, and she seemed so relaxed, and ease, and knew to sit in the sun, and drink in its warmth, having picked up something that had gotten around.

And now, I cry, and weep a bit, because they are going home today, and wonder why children like this are not a part of my life day to day.

I realize, in part, the pocketbook, because lavishing love in the way of spending money on paints, on picnics, other things, seems to come with having small children in your life, and lavishing on my own small child seems to be a part of the journey as well.

I also touch on the memory of actually being able to motivate, and get a yoga class at the Y, and also, to spend time in the pool, and the new connections being nurtured, and the part of me that is social and talkative, talking, connecting, and realizing, I am no longer triggered by people, I am able to use a little technique to raise up my boundaries.  

I am able to be with people, face to face.

There is the sweet memory from yesterday, also, as I touch upon tears of people being deported, not knowing their stories, and seeing them in shackles about their wrists, knowing this, from my own experience of loss of sanity from a urinary tract infection that impacted my brain, and having been shuttled to a jail rather than a hospital for the infection to be taken care of and going through the system in a way you do if one losing their marbles and can’t find their way back until strong medications are given to qualm the infection.

I feel so much sadness that there are communities of people with brown skin that are being terrorized by this administration, and I am crying because of that, I am crying for my own ancestors and their terror throughout the ancestral line.

I cry out for an end of this craziness that is seemingly brought on by the patriarchical white society, when really, we are all the same family, aren’t we? 

Or are we a different species.

A species that hates, a species that is greedy, a species that is war hungry.

I do not want to be greedy, I crave generosity.

I do not want to hate, I want to heal the wounds that might cause me to hate, and I want to love everyone.

I do not want to be at war with myself or my neighbor or my family or my friends, I want to dance in joy, in peace.

So, this morning begins with crying, sitting on the lanai crying, crying for those who are in terror of I.C.E. raids that go to peoples homes, places of worship, churches, schools, kids not going to school.

I cry buckets of gratitude for the two workers who have been helping us meet the insurance companies requirements to fix our driveway, and the memory of preparing them lunch, to supplement their bean and rice burrittos they were eating out of styrofoam containers. Grilled swiss cheese sandwhiches with cheese from the foodbank, peeled tangerines from the foodbank, lettuce from the foodbank, delicious tomatoes from traderjoes with mayonnaise, filtered water in quart sized mason jars and lemon, cashews from traderjoes from my husband’s nut supply.

Muchas grasias por su trabajo.

Thank you for your work.

Thank you to all the migrant workers who pick the harvest of American farmers.

Thank you to the illegal immigrants who repair our homes and help us with our insurance needs.

Thank you for helping the American business owners.

I am sorry for your fear.

I am sorry for being returned to your countries of origins.

I do not know your story, but I am sorry, I would like to see a path to citizenship for you who come and are contributing in such beautiful ways, such as the two workers, tending our simple driveway, so that we can manage to get insurance for our home.

Thank you.

I see the blue inbetween the swift moving couds

I hear the call of the crow

There is a single trill of I amnot sure which bird and the zoom of the towhie

Come rain come

Come lono come

Bring your life giving waters

Weep with me

Take this sorrow, and feed it to earth.