Spoken Turning Meditation

A collaborative performance and meditation brought a tranquil and inspiring space for the transition to 2017. Sound vibrations by Gbeda Sundries and the energies of my photographic series Spoken saturated us at CAMBIAart gallery on Saturday evening. It was a beautiful group of people who came out and participated, it was an honor to share the space, images, dance and sound with everyone.

Photography by Javier Garcia

House cleaning of the mind in Gratitude

“And then a man came forth and said, Speak to us of Houses

… But you, children of space, you restless in rest, you shall not be trapped nor tamed. 

Your house shall be not an anchor but a mast. 

It shall not be a glistening film that covers a wound, but an eyelid that guards the eye. 

You shall not fold you wings that you may pass through doors, nor bend your heads that they strike not against a ceiling, nor fear to breathe lest walls should crack and fall down. 

You shall not dwell in tombs made by the dead for the living. 

And though of magnificence and splendour, your house shall not hold your secret nor shelter your longing. 

For that which is boundless in you abides in the mansion of the sky, whose door is the morning mist, and whose windows are the songs and the silences of night.”

- Kahlil Gibran, from 'The Prophet'

Without much amazement this morning, I see clearly that a "flushing out" is needed. An internal purging and balancing must take place, as I work through a similar filtering system of my external life and possessions in preparation to move in my Tiny House.

As asked on a tiny house blog for house prep....or in zen texts:

What is essential to me?
What do I no longer need to hold on to?
What is the too much?

Recovering Violation of the Feminine

In the darkness and shadow, hidden for many year, a memory. Since 2002 I have known the bump in the night. A night of too much in Washington and an evil hearted cab driver. I was in college then, recently back from living abroad.

At times a flash comes to me, a new part of the memory I have suppressed comes to the surface for me to recognize, to acknowledge so I can let go, forgive and have peace.

My close friend asked if I had been abused.

He wanted to make my person in bronze for a body of work. with Text

 We began with my bottom half. I assumed the posture of my nightmare. Extreme Yoga to hold a pose. This pose. Feel deep into it until my muscles ached and sometimes I lost all blood. As the silicon dried and then the plaster was applied, to harden. The weight growing heavier and I became glued, forced down, to the ground, to the slab bellow me.

 I felt certain that it was my time to process. It is my time to process. Each step up become harder to breath, out. Each leg, then arms bound above my head, the chest plate and lastly, very finally my face.  As each took away a different movement, a capability. At the end I held my heart. I am thankful to have the opportunity to work this way. For my friend to help give me palace to process. My book will be made of Tabacoo. My story i will intertwine with my prayers. In my four part binding and sacred plant I will not hold on any more. He will have no part of me anymore, not even in remnants soon.


I now look at these pictures as I post. I can smile seeing that my Krav Mega (Israel hand to hand combat) tank is what I am wearing while my face is covered. These are memories I have not shared. I think it's important to speak and share. To be strong together.

Miami Dolphin spring break 2003

Strange I try to write our story. Just for me to have. A love story yet I find the words, I have so come to play with, are lacking on this one. Maybe its not over. So here is one I wrote...maybe not love but timing and location and something else …
The diversity of love by a woman with a bad memory…

Spring break filled with saying goodbye. The woman, core backbone of our family is on Hospis in the condo. The man, who didn’t show tenderness, sitting in deep emotion and processing with my mother by his side and me over her bed. I am loving, confused and photographing our angel.

A friend has come for me…to spend a few days on the beach and at her moms. Next door to Celine Dions and then to South Beach…to be some proper Spring Break…meet up with a crew of her friends at the hotel..and find myself alone one phone call. Sorting plans to get picked up and head back to the condo and airport.

I walked and the clouds moved. Grandmother there saying goodbye, saying hello, as they splash in the pool. I wander to the beach. Feel the water as I wade in, the pressure so much and I lay back to float. The rain has started to come down softly and I close my eyes as I allow all the water to wash over me. All the warm water, my tears washed into the sea and I am flying. Heavy and light and lifted out of the water, I am in the arms of a man. As I open my eyes I watch concern turn to a smile and he asks if im alright. I nod, he is not placing me down but I am still at peace and he does some introduction, Miami pro football player. He asks if he can support me. I can’t remember more. I close my eyes again, in my state of collapse the support brings grounding in some stability. I am laying back with the rain falling and breathing. Time passes slowly. Still with the water everywhere in motion, freeing me. I lifted my head and rolled back into the water and stood facing the quite stranger that needed no explanation. A soft small kiss of rainfall shared and I turned towards the beach and walked. Towards the people, to await my ride, to join the family, to take our flight …and to her say never goodbye.