i like it cheesy...

straight up with orange and white sprinkles
littered like stars across my vegetarian pizza
i like it cheesy like your grin spread from ear to ear
as you strike the same, reliable pose - your best! -
for the ineffable camera, i like it cheesy
like sugar pop pouring out of the loudspeakers
as i bump along this journey called life opening up the engine
when the convertible pours itself off of the merge dumping me
onto a spot of road in the middle of our county
in the center of a place of a vibrant space and time where story
continues to unfold like the waves washing up against these southern shores
cheesy like the holes in my spirit that simultaneously let the light in even
as i crash and screech from one moment into the next hoping to fill it to fill it
to fill it back up to bursting but, instead, it's full of holes like a thin slice of swiss
cheesy like me when i'm singing obnoxiously loud on the dance floor
in the car in my heart because this song must be let out this cheese must be shared
this ounce of nutritious milk sliced from my beating chest deserves to be
received.
received.
do you receive?
 

what we give away

foggy, like morning breath,
it's a valentine's day after.
did your hallmark love arrive
neatly wrapped and perfectly packaged?
is the illusion you're seeking firmly contained
within your grasp?
or, does it still elude your grip, as you take what is
offered while thirsting for that which you seek?

how did you roll out of bed this morning?

just another day in paradise, of rising to the humming alarm,
turning over, alone and awake, celebrating, "this is it."

"really?"

a big, empty space, four walls separating you from the rest of the world,
four, little walls, in every direction you turn
in the corners of your mind
in the recesses of our hearts
in the armor around our bodies
four little walls
imperceptible
inconceivable
raised to believe that in blocking the world out,
with borders and resistances
by erecting walls and digging trenches
in digging moats and drawing bridges,
is normal and necessary.
to protect, and isolate, to make distinct and mark as special
to delineate what is yours and what is mine
because we are certainly entitled
and apparently prefer this perception of lack,
as we chase after an iphone carrot, goaded by recent fads,
measuring value and comparing worth along the way
yet that which our sharp lines and steep angles keep out is the very same
as that which we desire most...

simple. easy. uncomplicated. no words. no borders. no boundaries.
touch. contact. connection. making do with what is.  taking what is necessary.
leaving what's not essential. abundance is always what we give away.

Puncture My Existence

consciousness is not for sale.
it's not simply a tagline that you can apply
to your department store brand name.
it's not a crystal placed in the palm of each of your friends' hands.
nor can it ever be an attempt at playing someone else.

consciousness is not a consumptive jewelry piece.
it's not a noun or a name that you can
haphazardly fling at the most innocuous places
hoping that it will stick
like glue
to shiny, reflective surfaces.

consciousness is not a sound bite added to the frame
of your conscious media.  it's not a thing to be purchased, another item to have.
it doesn't tout a green economics and consciousness is not found in your back pocket.
it's not a gimmick to consume
or a habit to have.

consciousness is fluid and certainly dynamic.
it's not the robotic flatness that we are taught to believe.
it's in how we do and what we say.
it's in how we allow and what we notice.
it's the quiet stillness pecking at your resolve as you stand naked
in front of the streak stained and fogged mirror.

consciousness is the dog that you left behind
when you fled your ex-boyfriend's chaos.
it's the dew laden grass on a misty morning after
you knew that your life would never be the same.
it is a beam of the sun's light, as the ray
falls upon your toned and tanned biceps.  it's the lightness that flickers between our eyes,
as we gaze past the melding of past, present and future

consciousness is the cry that you allow to escape
from the deepest pit of your psyche as you lay warm and nestled
in the dark of your cave.  it is the sweetness that lay between two people -
the silence thick with all that can never be said.  it is the womb, heavy and full with life.
consciousness is pregnant with possibility - with the belief that what has never been done, can bee.

consciousness is love, without the complication of trying to understand.  meaning, like this moment, just exists.  hence, we call it
existence.

On My Insanity (& the Heart of the Buddha)

This time now IS personal.  Because the evolution we are all speaking of and feeling isn't about the "awakening" of others.  It isn't about "changing" the planet or creating a new world.  Rather, it's about our very own personal transformation (duh, as this is only ever the way forward).  

My face is so damn pressed up against the glass of my own evolution.  It's uncomfortable and it's been centuries, perhaps even millennium, in the coming.  I feel it in my bones, in my blood, in my cells, in my ancestry and in the way I have spent too long chained to a suffering that I do not have to call my own.  The question now is can I trust ME to fully show up in my light, to vibrate at my highest frequency and to truly live my Soul's destiny? 

(only time will tell.)

I'm still perpetuating some of my baggage and it is causing others in my immediate world pain.  I've very recently sown bad karma and, as as a result, by this weekend I was reaping it in every direction I turned.  My pain rendered me confused, which only complicates the process.  So, on my way to a downtown train with a basket full of musical instruments in my arms, a light mist began to fall and I, feeling the burden of all of my own actions, laughed at the sheer ridiculousness.  "I am bonafide insane!" I stated to the Universe.  "And, insane people get committed," I thought. 

Wearing a purple bindhi at my third eye and a bright red kaftan made in Pakistan and gifted to me by a beloved sistah who emigrated from the region and who I had to flake on, at the last minute, in order to get to where I was then going, I boarded the Coaster, noticing.  The borrachito (the little, drunk man) whom I had observed popping tall cans of Budweiser open on this same, "quitting time" train just the day before was sitting in my section.  I gave him a nod of "Hello" as I also observed the woman to my left.  She was busily distracting herself with her iPhone.   There were two, young GI's sitting in the compartment above me, and I wondered what they must have thought of my choice in dress.

Borrachito tried to engage with me but I wanted to climb up and into my reflection of misery.  "I'm insane!" the cry went as I entertained playing the victim on this train headed north.  But, I found myself kinda bored and lonely, so I recognized that I might as well bee who I am.  It was then that I invited him to take a seat.  His name was Andreas and the second time around, I allowed myself to receive his offering of a beer.  "Might as well," I thought, shrugging my shoulders, "I'm already insane." 

The tall can popped.  Andreas and I toasted, "Cheers!" y "Salud" to this now.  The GI's grins began to widen as I motioned toward the basket of instruments.  "Quieres a jugar?" ("do you want to play?")  I asked him.  We brought forth two, small, hand-held drums and I offered the borrachito a quick rhythm lesson.  Soon, a fellow traveler shared his insights, "What you're doing is annoying me," he whined with a book in his hand as he stood on the steps that separated our compartments.

"Yes," I responded.  "Thank you for letting us know.  And, next time, maybe you could offer that you love what we're doing while asking if we could take our sound down a few notches?" I reflected.
"Whatever," he pathetically dismissed with a wave of his hand as he returned to his seat.
I shrugged my shoulders again, and raised the tall can to my lips.
Andreas and I exchanged the drums for shakers and returned to our wild ways.

Across from us, our neighbor's head remained ducked within the safety of her iPhone.
I breathed out, feeling, "I'm already here and I've already decided that I'm insane.  What's there to lose?"  So, I leaned over and asked, "Excuse me.  What's your name?" 
"Andy," she replied, easily. 
"You know, Andy, I was just sitting here, thinking I'd cry about my insanity but, instead, I thought I might as well bee what I am."  She smirked at my statement.  "What do you think of that?"

From there, our conversation flowed naturally into talk of evolution as well as this here and now.  "Give, yes!" she advised.  "But don't deplete yourself."  Subtly, she was referring to Andreas, who - with all of my allowing in to my microcosm, which included the sharing and the music, the beer and the convivial exchange - I also had to clearly delineate my boundaries with.  ("Sus manos aya," I instructed him as his touch & desire to hug me began to border on my uncomfortable). 

"I hear ya," I told Andy.  "And, yet, I think it's a much crazier world when we want to enforce boundaries of impenetrable walls around our fields and spaces.  When things like music on the train and dance in the building bother us, that's problematic," I spoke. 
Indeed.

The train arrived into a drizzly Encinitas.
"Namaste," Andy bowed and I chuckled at the heart of this Buddha.

Yeah, I'm crazy.  And I'm Committing to My Self (once again).

What will it look like when... ~ who can I bee-come if... ~
I LOVE MYSELF, deeply? 
When I embody that I can trust myself to support and take care of ME?!?!  
When I choose to no longer suffer?!?!

My Statement on SOULAR POWER

The General Commands from her Heart that all of the Mindless Head Talking Stop & the True Movement Bee-gin!!!

"what is this this language i speak this tongue that spits
words too silent to hear
sounds too precious to share
saliva too potent to bear
what is this this dream i feel vibrating in my core
humming in my heart singing in my ears rattling my beeing
daring me to cry out
to scream to dare to stand up and shout and say
yes
this is
we and
we are me.
without you i exist not
without us i cower and wither
without is within with in each other
with in our one beating pulse our one giant
step together towards this
one now
this is what it is
one now
we
are."  (posted to Gina Tang's Soular Power blog)


THE SOULAR POWER BRIGADE RETURNS
Sunday, February 26th 7pm
Bring Your Food, Your Instrument(s), Your LOVE!!!
music, dance, song, spoken word...

Evolution, take one

she wears a single plume,
plucked from the tail feather of a hawk. it hangs over
one shoulder as brown, ringlets fall idly beside it.
frida and diego now comfortably reside within her;
isadora and diaghilev are here too.
there is no longer any separation between.
she writes poetry
for herself
because if she doesn't, who will?
flying with the night, a chaste wind at her back,
her sharp beak punctures consciousness.

words are simply an agreement, spoken between
flickering tongues. the transformative fire of love
burns
our hearts wide open.  holes let the light in.  illuminating
the once dark caverns of our collective psyche.

if i told you i was lying, would you believe me?
if i told you anything, would you hear?
do you care to listen to the stirrings of this now?
can you see the vision unfolding?

look up.  it's you.  soaring through a bitter sky.
feel in.  it's me.  hurting just like you.
taste it all.  take it out.  experience the unknown.
tap into the center and know, we're almost here.
and, there we are.
home.

Food Justice Made Simple

"Look, Ma!  I grew it myself!"

I was raised an American girl.  Traversing fluorescent lanes on supermarket journeys, I
hung a hand off of my mother's metal cart as she filled it with plastic, packaging, carbohydrates and sugar.
Bright orange boxes of Trix cereal.
Plastic jugs of 2% cow's milk.
Frozen containers of peas and carrots.
Small pints of corn syrup and juice.
Slabs of red meat bleeding onto styrofoam.
Down the frozen aisle, we would traverse - my salivating tongue imagining hot pockets and toaster strudels,  Toasty O's and Entenmann's, Dorito's and, maybe, some ice cream too. 

I wasn't raised to cook, and I certainly wasn't taught how to choose the ripest fruit or the firmest vegetable.  I appreciated my parent's attempts at Sunday night dinners of steak and potatoes, while the weeks were pockmarked by alternating BLTs, Taco Salads and hamburgers.  My college years guided me towards steamed zucchini and broccoli over rice as well as bowls of granola for breakfast.  And though I always consciously knew that food came from the Earth, my relationship to and with it was distantly removed.  I still struggle with being present to my food - especially when I am eating it.

It drove my ex nuts how I would just come home to hunt and peck through the kitchen refrigerator, looking for anything to put into my mouth.  He was the chef and I was the consumer.  "Mira," he instructed, as he taught me the Mexican ways of fruit salad y chili, of bbq'ed corn, and mole verde.

Today, my habits are better than they've ever been.  A root stock soup sits on the stovetop.  I relish strolling through the Little Italy Mercato as I buy local avocados, walnuts and butternut squash.  I hug my farmers and I play with their children.  I especially enjoy breaking bread with friends as we remember how to give "thanks" and how to offer a little ceremony for all the time that came before - growing. 

So, I guess, FOOD JUSTICE for me is simply the reminder that the very beet that grows in the Earth is the very same as the heart that grows in my chest.  And, I guess, FOOD JUSTICE can be the notion that the closer I come to tilling the soil and churning the land, to planting the seeds and growing the plant, the closer I'll come to me.  Growing food in a pot is an easy, first step.  All you need is a container (like a 5-gallon bucket or a milk container), some seeds (you can even harvest your seeds from the fruits you eat and plant them!) and nutritious soil.  Add water, allow for lots of sunlight (windowsills work great!) and watch the magic unfold.

Yes, my beets may be small and, perhaps, my still unfolding heart is too, yet there is little that compares to the knowing that I can feed myself by cultivating and growing that which I need.  

(Which is LOVE.  Always love.)

I grew it in a pot, on the rooftop.

(i gotta mourn too)

"When the moon is in the Seventh House
And Jupiter aligns with Mars
Then peace will guide the planets
And love will steer the stars

This is the dawning of the Age of Aquarius
The Age of Aquarius
Aquarius! Aquarius!
Let the sun shine, Let the sun shine in
Let the sun shine in"

February 6th 2012 5am

"the early bird catches the worm"

for this hawk, it is gazing upon saturn sitting plumply in a morning sky,

right next to spica.  it took me some investigating to answer my own question of

"hmm.. is that a planet?" the brilliant, orange heart of scorpius, i could never miss, however.

i climbed out these south facing windows with some trepidation - my body remembering

the excellent fall i took on a new year's day, just over a month ago now.  

i'll miss this - this view of a southern hemisphere sky from this location, on the rooftops above 

the downtown city of san diego.  and, i guess i spent some time mourning its loss, while licking my wounds.  one has to mourn, too - its all a part of this life & movement forward.

plus, a bird without her nest is like a fish without water.  so, this little birdie is a little perplexed with being booted from her warm cocoon high in the sky.  where will she flutter to next?  only time will tell.

as for this little peace of heaven

(which is always here no matter where we each are - just look up and into that glorious sky.  if you need to, you can reflect on how i too might be looking up at that same star, planet or moon.  you can rejoice, then, in our being together right in that very moment on this spinning kaleidoscope called earth) 

she'll bee back. 

When Cesar, Martin & Nelson Walked Out the Door (Or, "Leaving is Moving Forward")

(To contextualize the above title: the Prosperity Hive is moving out of the Art Center come the end of February.  It's an exciting development and none too shocking, as it has been a bit of a rocky road wanting to drum, dance & sing in a big, wooden container with thin walls and flooring (among other things).  Plus, this model - as brilliant as it has been - has not been sustainable.  So, I'm revisiting the initial vision that the Prosperity Hive unrolled from without rushing headfirst into any hasty decisions - in other words, I/we are OPEN.  We'll allow things to unfurl as they are meant to just as we simultaneously, and once again, vibrate our intentions to the Universe.)

"You must become a servant of the people. When you do, you can demand their commitment in return.  --Cesar Chavez"

It has been an undeniable privilege to spend the past seven months living underneath the watchful gazes of Daniel Jaime's Cesar Chavez, Martin Luther King Jr, and Nelson Mandela paintings.  We know about these three icons so, instead, I will turn my lens to the relationships that we haven't heard of, yet.  

Allow me to begin with Dan.  I met him a few years back at a Claire de Lune (that infamous cafe on University Avenue, in North Park) anniversary party in the Sunset Temple (which is in the back of the building and has an unmistakable design of movie theatre-like seating surrounding the four corners of a dance floor.  This is where I first started actively holding community space).  That night, and per his usual, Dan was standing in front of his art; it decorated the hallway's walls on the way into to party.  Of course, I had noticed the prolific work that included every pop star I could think of off the top of my head and, truth be told, I wasn't an immediate fan of the work.  Even when, during conversation that night, I learned that Dan is a fairly new painter and re-creates most of these images with  pointillism (or tiny, little dots.  "Pixellated," as he might say).


A year and a half later, I walk into the front lobby of an old North Park hotel where Jon Block was holding his second "Here & Now" Convention, and I am sweetly caught off guard.  My breath is taken.  "Ah!" I gasp and I wander over to where Dan was standing in front of these three paintings.  There, in the dark belly of a San Diego icon, boldly sitting upright on easels, three portraits proclaiming an inalienable right to occupy this here & now, to loudly proclaim - without asking for permission - that we will not go quietly into the night.  With burning love and a bursting wide-open heart-chakra we will work toward what is equal, just and true.


"I have a place now!" I eagerly announce to Dan.  "Can we hang this work there?" I am foaming at the mouth.  The following week, last June, Cesar, Martin & Nelson came to keep me company.  On many occasions, looking up and into Cesar's all-knowing eyes filled me with an immediate shot of LIGHT - a beam that punctured my ordinary, and very human, BS, sending an immediate electro-current of love, a shock!, to my heart.  YES! 

When Dan came to hang these paintings, he shared with me how it was, actually, Jon who had asked him to dig a little deeper, beyond just the superficial of popular culture and into the realm of world history.  Then, later, while hanging these paintings in the Hive, Dan shared how Jon was the event promoter who really helped him to land within the local San Diego arts scene.  "He's a catalyst," he said.  

cat·a·lyst

   /ˈkætlɪst/ Show Spelled[kat-l-ist]

noun

1. Chemistry. a substance that causes or accelerates a chemical reaction without itself being affected.

2. something that causes activity between two or more persons or forces without itself being affected.

3. a person or thing that precipitates an event or change: His imprisonment by the government served as the catalyst that helped transform social unrest into revolution.

4. a person whose talk, enthusiasm, or energy causes others to be more friendly, enthusiastic, orenergetic.

 

And, I guess, like these men are all illustrating, it would appear that how we touch each other's lives and affect one another seems to be a human responsibility as well as an endeavor worth taking.  Perhaps, the spools upon which fairy tales of gold are spun unfurl from these intersections of human interaction.  Whenever I feel down or am being a little too hard on myself, I reflect on the ways that I have positively affected and sweetly touched the lives of others.  And, I realize, "Hey!  I'm not so bad!"  ; )

In this here and now, the job is not to berate ourselves or experience envy about how others are currently showing up in the world.  

Rather, it is time to look at our own selves and ask, 

"How can I bee a catalyst today?"

 

And, it's so simple!

 

Smile at a stranger!

 

Say "hello" to someone you haven't met before.

 

Stop for the person with the flat tire on the side of the road.

 

Offer your assistance for no reason at all - just the other day, while strolling through the Gaslamp, a transient man's cane fell to the sidewalk.  Walking by him, I bent down, picked it up and put it back in his hand, and all in one swift, deft motion.  "It's okay," he wanted to let me know that he didn't need my help.  But I wasn't doing it to help him personally - I did it because it made the most energetic sense.

 

You show US how you're bee-ing affects the world around YOU! 

(We're counting on you.)

"Envisioning a Culturally Vibrant & Sustainably Just SD," a potluck merry making Mixer in the Hive, Sept. '11

(& i still don't know)

(i still don't know what's to come & i'm allowing for this.
deeply.
breathing it in.
laughing at the unknowing.
receiving its gift.

annoyingly, i can pretend that i "know" all too often.
it's a great tool for make bee-lieve and child-like purity and
it's not so great a resource for daily, intimate relations.
i apologized to a brother just yesterday for my "know-it-all" behavior -
as it can also just not be fun. 

my intention for 2012 & this year of Black Water Dragon remains, however
(spoken during a candlelight ceremony held here in the Hive with over 50 people) ~
allow unknowing & trust!!!)





C-o-n-v-e-r-g-i-n-g


death comes
as a welcome gift, its plumage outstretched
i wrap it around my chest.
swaddling the stilled baby,
there is no fear to be found, no wailing to be heard.

you offer ceremony, & i sink into 
our thick silence. bullfrogs illuminate 
the winter night w/ their resonance as a waxing, 
crescent moon hangs high above the sycamores. 
you dig, & i kneel.  you cut away, feathers and talons, 
& i smudge the air between us.

time, a fluid river, runs between the child 
who ran through these same coastal desert hills & the woman 
who now offers life right back to the source from where it came. body to body, soul to soil. one and the same, 
we are. together,
we sing the refrain. ♥

(i love you)

& i guess i'm struggling to show up fully to this love that burns bright inside of me because the sting of others' rejection does hurt - i.e. bee-ing kicked out of the Art Center; so-and-so's complete self-absorption; & etc.  yet, i feel that even this, too, is all par for course - that our most primal, Earth mother is a benevolent & abundant goddess who just gives, generously, even as we continue to take from her at an alarming rate.  & i witness my own behavior - my own take, take, taking - and i don't know if we will all balance ourselves once again but i know that my desire to give back is deeply rooted in this place. 

This Is It

lots of reasons
why
too many
why nots?
this love
burns

a hole the size of canada

deep pit of black gold,
nutritious soil of fertility and motion,

swirls this love into bee-ing.

stretching across my abdomen,
receding into a cavernous hole
the active womb of dark, nutritious earth

this love
screams
filled to bursting, pregnant, soul
cries to be brought unto this life
to be given form and expression
with complete surrender
and without martyrdom this love questions
have i such strength?

questioning ability
to offer
and then let go

trusting that 
i too will be taken care of
just as i have taken such sweet, deep care

care bear knows
this is it.