Tuesday, December 21, 2010

It was a Gift

Ten years ago we made vows before the moon and wrote eternity in the sand...in a world of impermanence and constant change, of growth and destined decay, we found immortality in US... Knowing that silver and gold can be melted away, taken off and abandoned ,we instead committed ourselves to Jatta...the blessed knots that adorn our heads and forever hold the Ganges close by. Ten revolutions of the sun and ten revelations of the moon have brought me to your answer my love. "What was life like before the endless 3"......just you and me...You and Me.

Ten years are just the beginning.
From: Aaron

Siddie's Dreamcatcher

Monday, December 20, 2010

Eclipse and Solstice

Full moon, ecliptic lunar, rich merlot, and a dark solstice.
Couldn't have run into a more magical night.

Happy Solstice!

Thursday, December 16, 2010

An Ode to Love

True blue.

I only have eyes for you.

Ten years, five babies. Weed, whiskey, and slayer; Down with a southern boy.
An eco-village, a few pipe dreams, a quest for the past, the primitive ways.

North Beach and a cliff house. Vegan.

Feeding off of moon-lite nights and treading on sand. Machine Head and babies in baskets. I street and the Red Vic. Dreadhead, Brother Jay, that class together. Commi Ben and all of your other homeless friends. Walking away together, breakfasts and the studio.

Gautama, Malcolm X, and the way Johnny Got His Gun. The bookstores, SF, a true anarchists plan. Zendik, Enota, Deadwood Oregon. The Evil Dead bridge.

Dracula 2000, gross, why did we go? The stage, Land Park, and that mid-summer night's dream.

Incense and ash. The bluest god we know. His third eye. Varanasi, Baphomet, and calling down the moon.

Our days before the boys and that little girl. Ten years ago.

An oath. Under a star, the moon, and ocean. The meditation cliff.

Gita, sand, hemp. Rudraksha.

Sealed. Ten years ago.

Happy Anniversary, my love.

I could only find this song live.
Anyway, enjoy...

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Thursday, December 9, 2010

A Big Day for a Little Dude!

I couldn't have more fun with any other boy. You little Mahatma.

Your havavy house, I'd come over any day!

You're a big bother to two. You've come a long way to be with us.

You little man of many costumes. The cutest turtle tot.

It's hard to let you grow up, you're way too much fun this way.

Easy breezy baby.

War Machines and Men of Iron, your world is full of so many warriors.

Somedays, I don't understand a word that you say.

May your world be forever filled with animated play.

Cherished five years.

Happy Birthday Mahatma Judah!

Saturday, November 27, 2010

A Hat for Haile

Within the few spare moments I've had recently,
I've played with colors not so common to me.

A hat for Haile.

Life with a baby girl.

Monday, November 1, 2010

Welcome Nalini

In the middle of the night, someone else was with us. Govi and I sleeping together, as always, but this night, someone else was in the room. Some sort of shrieking and bitter scream, a giant's footsteps, a blow to the head, and the collapse that made time feel final. A strange, sudden moment of darkness. And then, Aaron screaming in my ear, "Stay with me, Arch." My numb lips asking him to stop. Children. Judah, jumping up and down, frantically yelling. Four sets of terrified eyes upon me. Dizziness and drool and barf and sirens. Medics. A bunch of them huddled around me, most of them useless, asking me all sorts of necessary questions. I could barely recollect my own name as the questions came. Large boots and swift footsteps carried me away as I laid strapped to a board, carelessly duck-tapped. I felt the night's chill reaching for my toes, my legs felt frigid, as I realized that half of my body was entirely soaked. Drenched. And I knew that something strange had happened, in the middle of the night, and that I would labor soon. And I realized that Haile would not be born at home. And I slept.

IV's, antibiotics, and some other weird shit that made my tongue feel as though it might slip right out of my mouth. And bags and bags and bags of blood. I felt like a vampire.

Dr. Leon. All that I remember are his dark evil eyebrows, inducing my labor only to kick me out of his hospital. Thank the gods that Tosi stayed with us through out all of this. Another ambulance ride. It felt like Nicholas Cage was driving and I was on my way to Hell.

It wasn't as bad as I had imagined. The birth, wild and magnificent, was as I had dreamed it would be and, fortunately, I was able to remember every movement, mine and hers. Until the moment when I held her tiny body against my chest, did I realize that six sets of arms were waiting to whisk her away from me. And the nightmare became my reality again.

Eleven days in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit for a baby that didn't exactly need to stay so long. Laissez faire doctors, stubborn 'know it all' nurses, my rage and helpless bitterness, and all the while, a little lady's very first days upon this planet.

Certainly, our bravest little star yet.
She rumbled her way unto Earth, waking up her momma,
and setting a striking presence right away.

Our wee little beauty.
Her brothers waited so patiently to have her at home.
And when she finally made her way here, they loved her so deeply.

An overwhelming pregnancy, a sudden awakening, her hurried hello.
We called her Haile, at first, she is nothing we've ever known before.
A delicate little gift, the Universe does answer all prayers, and our tiniest beam of light.
Welcome to Tribe littlest one.

Sunday, August 8, 2010

A Little Lion turns Seven!

Birthday Wishes

Born under Jah's blessed light, he's simply the softest baby I've yet to know. Sahaj Jahson Sharma, his ember puppy-dog eyes, irresistibly luscious lashes, each blink allowing fireflies to roam.

Born on one of the sunniest days of the year, our first home-birth, Sahaj means natural. He's yogic, ayurvedic, and kind. He lets me put beads and braids in his dreadlock trend.

Stung by so many bees, he never wishes them harm. He is one that truly lives, faithful and hopeful. Pure and wise.

A lover of creature: amphibian, that big dolphin, the ones that are brilliant with wings, and especially, those prehistoric guys.

Easily a favorite. The best-est friend to have. Speckled fairies grant him gifts, wicked gnomies steal his many treasures.

Wishing the happiest birthday to my liOn-heart...Tribe would be nothing without you.

Seven years ago today. Sunshine will never allow a brighter gift, happy birthday my darling son.

Saturday, June 19, 2010

Sunday Scribblings: Birth

The Sunday Scribblings prompt this week is birth.

After giving birth to four babies, as clean and pure and close as possible, I am in that birthing realm once again. I've written about birth a number of times and this is an ode to the beauty of birth that I wrote last year. A home birth, a baby boy, and that fertile place: the Full Harvest Moon...

The Moon-Blooded Boy

Each baby arrived early, but never in this lucid way. The boys, ever so ready to tread their way about, could not be late. More so than his brothers, hungry little Govinda, beckoned by an autumn sky, embraced a graceful yet sudden welcome. Little did I know, he would not wait for a dim-lite night.

I was asked by my mid-wives to consume a healthy dose of Vitamin C, for he had ruptured the first seal early. Off to the Co-Op we went, all the while, Govinda(who we referred to as Shani, of the Navagraha, then) breaking his way through blood and womb. Allowing my senses to fall from reality, an endearing acceptance of pain I had willingly developed by the forth pregnancy, I paraded on.

Waddling from aisle to aisle and back home took quite a while. A ridiculously bumpy ride in Hildagard, our 1969 Volkswagen bus, was the escape Govinda anticipated. Under the light of the golden sphere, my flesh, quickly becoming a servant to pain. An invitation from the night's sky, Govinda would leave his cloudy ocean behind to devour a hearty brew of oxygen and hue. Senselessly drunk on a melange of milky midnight, mother, and moon.

I nudged him to stay and swim a bit longer, not knowing that his blood belonged to the moon. And Mani must have his way. So, there he came under the glittering ball in the sky. I closed my eyes, painfully shut, accepting his mulberry bottom in my right palm. And in that moment, I was immediately conscious of who he was, the bringer of a full night's glow.

His papa insisted on holding him bare under the Samhain sky, listening to Autumn's cry. I watched and danced against cold concrete on achy nude feet. Aaron, always humming a whisper to Jah when his newest son is born; Govinda, a silent Hare; me, accepting the shallow howl from a distant breeze; the Full Moon, placing a spell: every twenty-eight days, the moon thirsty boy and his herd of the many who are hungry and free, must come out and play.

Dance in the light of the Moon, Govinda Hare!

Sunday, June 13, 2010

Sunday Scribblings: Superhero(ine)

The Sunday Scribblings prompt this week is superhero or heroine.

As much as I love Batman: his dark dilemmas, his dusky disguise, and his dreadful ego, and I realize that much praise should go to his creator, Bob Kane, I'll have to admit, the real superhero in one of my favorite graphic novels is Sam Kieth. I don't usually discover new comics at the library, but when I came across Batman: Secrets a couple of years ago, I had also discovered who would become one of my most admired illustrators and writers.

As writer and artist, Sam Kieth has placed Batman inside of a dark tunnel where his most beloved nemesis, Joker, waits and watches as Bruce revisits some of his most strange and dreary childhood secrets.

Sam himself seems to have a clear grasp on images of strange. His faces are always lenghty, hair and chin showing some sense of liquid. He has a way of illustrating Joker's sinister smile, his hellbent eyes and bloodthirsty lips. "Bang" and "wham" and crimson streaks and very nice girls in polka-dot dresses. Mr. Kieth has an incredible eye when it comes to lay-outs. He cuts and he pieces, one stringy scribble on top of another. His idea of interlude in this trade, are dark pages of debate between Batman and Joker while they are "...trapped in the same hell together, on opposite sides."

There is the anniversary of the Apollo Moon Landing, the idea of live satellite broadcast television, media and its lustful thrill-ride on the expense of others dismay, a young Bruce Wayne, the Joker with a story to share, and a creeping secret, a single shell and the feeling of feathers and the smell of foul.

It is full of a lot of Joker's "Ha, ha, ha's!" and all of Batman's suppressed rage. And as always with Gotham's Dark Knight, never a redeptive feeling.

Monday, June 7, 2010

Sunday Scribblings: Mess

The Sunday Scribblings prompt this week is mess.

If this is not true testament of how mankind has diseased itself, I don't know what else is.

Our insatiable thirst has left so many peoples of the world displaced and hungry and riddled with war. And we continue to ask for more.

An ocean that has defied a beginning and an end. Its existence stretches far beyond our minuscule capabilities and our simple thoughts, yet we have skillfully mastered a way to clog and burden and stain.

Is it too much to ask for urgency? How can we hold a corporation accountable for a mishap of this multitude?

There is more to this place than us.

Blood and our lustful thirst for war, this desire to drill, constantly initiating unjust sanctions, Earth and her silent call, our pathetic idea of a 'left' who denies the necessary progressive leap onward. And most importantly, our water and Her air and yet, another filthy mess.

Monday, May 31, 2010

Sunday Scribblings: Mantra

The Sunday Scribblings prompt for this week is mantra.

गु रंग हा

When I gave birth to my first son, Siddhartha, I was a mess. The hospital made sure that I went home with as much distance from him as possible. When I became pregnant with Sahaj, I cried, laying next to Aaron in our bungalow-style apartment, for months. Within the eighth month, I called Amy. Her name was passed along to me by a clinic run by midwives and they referred to her and Susan as Full-Circle Midwifery. I've never forgotten about what they have shared with me. When I first spoke with Amy she told me that they would find me and help guide baby anywhere, a rented room, outdoors, if it had to be. They would come anywhere to make sure that I wasn't a mess.

I remember when Amy walked in. Her footsteps were small and her smile, lasting and sweet. I watched her set up. Her movements were subtle and I didn't realize that it was time for the new one to come, when Amy had arrived. She looked over at me a few times, there was a touch and a few slow sighs, never an interruption.

I remember my midwife, as near as she could be, the comfort of this type of distance, and I remember her listening. There was a mantra that day: Gu rang ha. And she listened to me breathe in gu ranga, as I took in Brahma and she listened to me exhale ha, as I vaporized Shiva. I didn't hold on to the mala that was given to me; my hands were held by Aaron, his breath was larger than mine and his eyes were so close to me. I saw everything in green that day.

Little Sahaj came and it was something as simple as life could be. And there were many salty tears and a stream of sweet whispers. There was this midwife, Amy, and her delicate glow. The way that she sighed when she closed her eyes with me. There was the happiest man in the world, grassy, he was an emerald forest for me. There was that baby, he was hardly there; so quite and clean, for months, he would be. Only through ra, could he be.

There were mudras and bandhas and plenty of bhakti. There were beads, not as many as one hundred and eight, but just enough to breathe in. There was a mantra and a world that became forever infinite to me.

Wednesday, May 19, 2010


We went to the Whole Earth Festival in Davis recently and, as always, it was sublime. Wicked drum beats, Zeke the clown, bunches of happy old hippies, friends, the girls in flowing skirts and dancing bellies, the ones that we call 'family', colorful children, the smell of smokey dreams, beautiful people, and mid-wives.

Dad and Govinda in the drum circle.

My mid-wife Tosi, mystic and amazing. Listening to the sound of me, ever so delicately. Her presence is necessary, on another occasion.

Tosi, a comfortable me, radiant Rachel, and someone new.

The Universe clearly lied; there were no more to come. Yet, with each lucent breath, laying under a sun-spotted sky, I listened to the familiar sound of another. A mermaid laugh, my nacreous pearl; you are lucid in trance, iridescent in soap with glossy butterfly wings. I can hear the trident god, under the sea, shaking the shell and making lightening spring.

I spent the first couple of months silently wishing you away; I had nothing let to give. My silent good-nights were really goodbyes. You stayed; you did nothing more than grow. Invading my space and sending my senses through another maze. I spent those days sitting in my shell and when I did speak, it was nothing but a yell. Your brothers knew nothing of you then, so they made little sense of what I would say. You've continued to swim, gather, and grow.

It was Mother's Day weekend when I laid on a tiny quilt at a noisy college campus, Tosi and Rachel and Amy and Tricia, where I found it impossible to resist any part of you. Especially your sound, the ocean and your wave. No more moments of strayed faith.

A sweet little thing I captured this year at Whole Earth.
A tiny tribute to Che, whose change was not extreme.
Where faith was not buried and only in tribe life was free.
A small someone will don it soon. 'Viva la revolucion' with us, little one.

It seems to be the same tradition for us. Me: tired eyes, stumbling feet, and bellyful. Aaron: holding on, dreaming of someone new, that mellow man, becoming a new father again and again.

Under the sun, lit by the moon, in the haze of our days, that moment will come; welcome to Tribe, our newest darling one.

Saturday, May 15, 2010

Sunday Scribblings: Recipe

The Sunday Scribblings prompt this week is recipe.

टाइम तो यात!

It was simple and fresh

and green.

And yellow and orange

and red. Ayurvedic, indeed.

Rice, always sticky in this house. Chutney, it's tomato tonight. Vegan, with plenty of protein. Mustard greens and mustard seeds. Garlic, ginger, onion, whole. Haldi, masala, and the necessary garnish, cilantro. A cozy night and a blessed meal. Mama's roots and healthy brews.
Thank you Sunday Scribblings for this delicious prompt!

Bon appetit!

Sunday, April 25, 2010

Sunday Scribblings: Dinner

The Sunday Scribblings prompt this week is dinner.

I didn't think that a bottle of wine could make this any easier. Maybe two.

"A Cabernet Franc form Bordeaux would be great . And we've already decided. We'll start with an order of Mussels Marinara and then an order of your Chicken Sorentino. The same for the lady." Alex barely gave the waiter an opportunity to glance at me. I hated having to eat chicken when we went out.

The waiter collected our menus. Alex looked up at me, his eyes were still dreamy. "Well." He rubbed his palms together as though he couldn't wait to dive in. "Well. This, this is nice." I couldn't help stuttering; I felt feverish from the heat of romantic attempt.

"Two years together, Dev." He made my nickname so masculine. Why couldn't he add the i to the end and call me goddess?

The waiter delivered our bottle. I was almost too flushed to drink.

We sat together and sipped slowly. A small grove of lights decorated the outdoor patio. A Roman fountain splashed out in the center of the courtyard. It reminded me of the Fountain of Moses, of Rome; a place of such dedication and beauty at once and of tragedy and decay at its end.

I starred across the setting. He carried on about our two years together; our 24 months; our 730 days together, it felt so long to me. I was still amazed by the fact that my silence never bothered him; how the stillness agitated my senses, incredibly. How some people slip so easily into the delusion of love while others hunger for sensibility and a way out.

I sipped and then I gulped. I couldn't believe that he wasn't waiting for the dessert opportunity. His words carried him to a desperate gaze. I held it with him. I knew what was coming. He would present a tiny leathered box with a gem at the front, a magical stone would sit underneath a pillow of velvety cloth. My existence would become eternally sealed, a fate of chicken dinners, annual Thanksgiving football, and his family. I had anticipated that this anniversary would end in vow.

I couldn't hold on to a laugh. He asked what was so funny. My head was dizzy enough to tell him the truth. I had already missed this opportunity a few times. I held on to the heat from the Cab and from my excitement.

As I sat across from his smoky fantasy-filled eyes I waited for my moment of freedom. There was nothing to interrupt us but the sensitive voices of dreamy eyed couples and the serene state of Rome surrounding us. I would cry for him tonight.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Earth. Willow and Wings. and all of Her Wonderful Things

Butterflies, the last of the lovely moss, ginger and cinnamon finger nails, smudged palms, the taste of mist lingering in the air.
Swelling buds, wisteria, honeysuckle.
The Sun gods, Tonatuih; Apollo; Freyr, Sol; Lugh; Horus; Surya; sharing their light equally, their whispers so prevalent through darkness.
Pure and clean, everything in green.
Spring and all of Her living things.

When the neighbors invited Aaron to co-op a garden on their property, he eagerly became bio-dynamic. A bed went up first, but the double-dig earth layer sits to the left of this photo, on our friend's property, waiting for corn, tomato, zucchini, watemelon, and bean seeds. In the meantime, on our side of the fence, Aaron decided to set up a mini garden for me! A place for herbs, fairy dwellings, and zinnia seeds.

He came across a huge boulder. He needed a pick axe to remove it. That wasn't his only problem; he didn't realize that a small man was hiding behind him, waiting to start a bar fight.

I was crushed when I thought that we wouldn't be able to compost here. Aaron made it doable.
Can't wait to start filling it!

Lots more for the boys to do!

The boys are spending their Earth Day evening with seedpods and I think these guys will make it into the ground tonight.

They gave me a gift. The bottom layer of a nest that they've been working on. I'll gladly finish it!

Govinda won the fight with dad and dad won the fight with the boulder. Hooray!

A couple of wonderful books for the occasion.

Cedars and dirt, dust and clay. Let's take care of our marble everyday.
May it be the most blessed Earth Day!