day nineteen......

Wait a minute!  What happened to days fourteen through eighteen?  Haha I warned you time in the Other World followed no “logical order”, so here we are, a week out of time but skipping forward because this day was far too fantastic to wait for me to play catch up......

Again I must make apologies to your conditioned sensibilities for the affront I must seem to be making when I say that this day began the morning of two days before.

I have a few sistars, really amazing women in my life that have a way of directing me to places I would not normally have made my way to.  Yes, it's true, I'm a “nothing on my plate should mix / eat one thing at a time so as to maintain a uniform and famillar flavor” kind of person.  Quite routine really.  Virgo moon, what can I say.  This often causes me to sit indoors and knit, or type a blog day in and day out because it's what I know and what I do.  On this day however, my sistar sent me a link to a video:

She then proceeded to tell me about an intimate concert with Lulacruza at 10th House happening two days later.  Which is also currently last night.  You see why it's just too confusing using linear time?  The concert was incredible.  A roomful of friends and strangers became a cozy family gathering with people on pillows, rugs and chairs all over the floor of a gorgeous artistically renovated Victorian, one of the last original homes restored, in Seattle.  Music wrapped us and cradled us gently as Alejandra & Luis spoke a lullaby with voice and instruments of the past and future.  A perfect harmony of tradition and evolution.  I am very much looking forward to the creativity that comes out of the Vincent Moon & Lulacruza music & film project in Colombia.

*sigh*.....time has manged to sneak up on me,  the night is getting on and a Cascadia ' 10 show is next in the line up.....it seems that the rest of this incredible day (that is actually even still continuing on it seems) will have to wait to be documented on another...day.

day thirteen......

 The Bee Photographer Éric Tourneret

“The sweetness of the honey is what is most significant.  This, along with its rarity and the difficulty -- even danger -- involved in getting it, made it an apt symbol for Bliss.”

Most of my life I have used honey therapeutically from making garlic and onion syrup when I need to rid my body of excess mucous to adding it as an ingredient in my Xunca Skin Food line.  I'm not sure why this post is coming up now, perhaps I came across the following story and it felt so poignant, a perfect parable for our modern lives, I wanted to share it here with you.  Whatever my initial reason, be it my entomological nature or tendency towards abstract philosophical thinking, this was something that stayed with me.

The Parable of the Honey

The most famous example occurs in the great Indian epic, The Mahabharat (Book 11, sections 5-6) where Vidura the Sage, whose father is Dharma, relates the parable known as "the drop of honey" to blind king, Dhritarashtra:

A certain brahmana, living in the great world, found himself on one occasion in a large inaccessible forest teeming with beasts of prey. It abounded on every side with lions and other animals looking like elephants, all of which were engaged in roaring aloud. Such was the aspect of that forest that Yama himself would take fright at it.

Beholding the forest, the heart of the brahmana became exceedingly agitated. His hair stood on end, and other signs of fear manifested themselves, O scorcher of foes!
Entering it, he began to run hither and thither, casting his eyes on every point of the compass for finding out somebody whose shelter he might seek. Wishing to avoid those terrible creatures, he ran in fright. He could not succeed, however, in distancing them or freeing himself from their presence.

He then saw that that terrible forest was surrounded with a net, and that a frightful woman stood there, stretching her arms. That large forest was also encompassed by many five-headed snakes of dreadful forms, tall as cliffs and touching the very heavens.

Within it was a pit whose mouth was covered with many hard and unyielding creepers and herbs. The brahmana, in course of his wanderings, fell into that invisible pit. He became entangled in those clusters of creepers that were interwoven with one another, like the large fruit of a jack tree hanging by its stalk. He continued to hang there, feet upwards and head downwards.

While he was in that posture, diverse other calamities overtook him. He beheld a large and mighty snake within the pit. He also saw a gigantic elephant near its mouth. That elephant, dark in complexion, had six faces and twelve feet. And the animal gradually approached that pit covered with creepers and trees.

About the twigs of the tree (that stood at the mouth of the pit), roved many bees of frightful forms, employed from before in drinking the honey gathered in their comb about which they swarmed in large numbers.  Repeatedly they desired, O bull of Bharata’s race, to taste that honey which, though sweet to all creatures could, however, attract children only.

The honey (collected in the comb) fell in many jets below. The person who was hanging in the pit continually drank those jets. Employed, in such a distressful situation, in drinking that honey, his thirst, however, could not be appeased. Unsatiated with repeated draughts, the person desired for more. Even then, O king, he did not become indifferent to life. Even there, the man continued to hope for existence.

A number of black and white rats were eating away the roots of that tree. There was fear from the beasts of prey, from that fierce woman on the outskirts of that forest, from that snake at the bottom of the well, from that elephant near its top, from the fall of the tree through the action of the rats, and lastly from those bees flying about for tasting the honey. In that plight he continued to dwell, deprived of his senses, in that wilderness, never losing at any time the hope of prolonging his life.’"

Then Vidura expounds:

‘They that are conversant, O monarch, with the religion of moksha (Sanskrit term for release or liberation from the round of existence) cite this as a simile. Understanding this properly, a person may attain to bliss in the regions hereafter.

That which is described as the wilderness is the great world.

The inaccessible forest within it is the limited sphere of one’s own life.

Those that have been mentioned as beasts of prey are the diseases (to which we are subject).

That woman of gigantic proportions residing in the forest is identified by the wise with Decrepitude which destroys complexion and beauty.

That which has been spoken of as the pit is the body or physical frame of embodied creatures.

The huge snake dwelling in the bottom of that pit is time, the destroyer of all embodied creatures. It is, indeed, the universal destroyer.

The cluster of creepers growing in that pit and attached to whose spreading stems the man hangeth down is the desire for life which is cherished by every creature.

The six-faced elephant, O king, which proceeds towards the tree standing at the mouth of the pit is spoken of as the year. Its six faces are the seasons and its twelve feet are the twelve months.

The rats and the snakes that are cutting off the tree are said to be days and nights that are continually lessening the periods of life of all creatures.

Those that have been described as bees are our desires.

The numerous jets that are dropping honey are the pleasures derived from the gratification of our desires and to which men are seen to be strongly addicted.

The wise know life’s course to be even such. Through that knowledge they succeed in tearing off its bonds.’" ~ 19th-century KM Ganguli translation.

 The Nature of Honey - Khandro.net

day twelve......

Angola prison in Lousianna  has a rodeo.  As I drove along my daily routine I happened to catch a radio show on NPR called KUOW Presents and it just happened to be the bit about Angola.  The thing that stuck with me the most was the statement;

“At the time of the hurricane, I really felt that so much of culture in terms of our music and food would be lost.  It was ironic for me to realize as we had the rodeo two months after Katrina and Rita struck, that the smells and tastes were still alive in Angola through the inmates who were from those devastated areas.

The inmates are preserving culture from prison.  They kept a unique beloved part of Louisiana culture alive for people who had traveled all across the world to come and see this wild rodeo show.  It was ironic to see how much of our culture had not been lost because so much of our culture happens to be in a maximum security prison.”

Much of our culture had not been lost because so much of our culture happens to be in a maximum security prison.  I am left wondering several things, why is it we turn to those people who have been locked away, those discarded from society to be our keepers of culture?  Why are we so out of touch that we no longer keep track of our cultural heritage individually, as if who we are is no longer something to take pride in?  As I struggle to find my cultural heritage, from West Africa through Freetown, to Mexico where it remained hidden along the coast of Oaxaca and hopefully soon back again to Freetown, I struggle against the loss of such culture and am reminded at this moment just how important this story is for myself and for us all.

day eleven.......

As far as work is concerned I consider myself to be quite blessed.  A well fed albeit struggling artist with more part time jobs than anyone else I know but in love with all of it. On this particular day, after the cats had been played with and fed, the big dogs walked, payroll run at the small local record store and a little bit of crafting had been done, it was time to go for a bike ride.


The sun was shining and we decided to roll the long way around to Golden Gardens, a park aptly named for it's western facing view of the Olympics and the glorious sunsets that graced the shores of the Puget Sound.  we stopped along the way only long enough to lay in the grass at the top most overlook point before plunging downhill through the cool green cover of the park, bursting out onto a perfect summertime scene.


At six in the evening it was all barbeques, volleyball and little children running with shouts of pure joy erupting from all sides.  One of my favourite locals was sitting with his field easel, giant turquoise ribbon sunhat flopping around his wiry grey mane and a look of stoic concentration on his face as he furiously mixed and mixed and mixed his paints.


Rolling along we got to the northern end of the park and dismounted at the sand.  Walking further north still we talked about the childhood we spent running along the same rock walls along the Pacific while never actually meeting each other until we'd lived all over and come back again at the same time.  We both enjoy the type of scrambling along boulders that can really only be best experienced with the salty tang of seaweed in your nostrils and the grit of sand beneath your fingers.  As we stumbled along, exhilarated by the thought of missing the next step but also compelled by the faith in seeing the next step at the last moment appear, the perfect sitting spot materialized before us.


A quick aside into my personal history for those of you who don't know me all that well, ever since I was a very little girl I have always had magickal experiences when out in certain places in nature.  Animals that may not always show themselves to humans tend to make their prescience known, leaves fall off of trees in interesting patterns at specific times, sunlight breaks through the clouds to illuminate a moment as if angels where singing in heaven and various other such occurrences.  Today was no exception.


The place we sat was tucked nicely around a small corner with very little visibility to the rest of the park full of everyone else.  Here the Sound caressed the smaller rocks at our feet and rolled the various types of seaweed around in gentle circles with the motion of the waves coming in from the ocean miles away.  Here I found a nice rock surrounded by other nice rocks that looked like they might all work together to hold me back from falling in if I were to drape myself across them and reach my hands down to the briny wetness below.  Indeed I had found a very magickal healing place.  I felt an influx of energy fill me when my fingertips connected with the rocking waves and the sunlight warmed my back as I stretched my body full length along the shore.  Maybe I didn't make a ton of money.  Maybe I didn't have a fancy house or a fancy car or a fancy life with fancy clothes but I was happy and at that moment, sitting with the one I love surrounded by beauty there could be nothing of more value to me in the world.


A magickal healing place can hold that kind of power for people if only we actively seek them out.  I hope that there are many people in this world searching for all of the places of power that exist and I hope that they, like me, see that true wealth comes from the experiences of being in these places.  The diamonds sparkling across the surface of the water reflecting the sunshine above are all the more precious to me because they are forever a memory of a fleeting time that manifested for a moment then dissolved back into the sea.

day ten.....

A few days ago a new and wonderful thing happened.  With the help of our good friend and neighbor we managed to replace the thermostat in our old beater truck.  Now it's true that I took a short course in auto mechanics when I was 15,  living down at 24th & Mission in San Francisco, it seemed like the thing to do to help build my general toughness persona.  I also really love cars.  The funny thing is, it took us almost a month to finally get around to trying our hands at doing this simple task ourselves.


This story will always have a moral in it somewhere, this is after all, a blog about my life and the fact of the matter is, this is how I think.  With every new adventure I am ready to have my perspective changed, to learn something new about myself, my world, or both.  At the same time.  This adventure in basic machinery reminded me that it can be quite a blessing to be able to do manual labour for your own benefit.  In a world where things are made and mended by others or perhaps by the capable persons independently taking care of themselves, we have very few opportunities to feel the satisfaction that can only come from seeing a project through to completion by the sweat of our own brow.  Yet another reason I bless my days out on Jubilee CSA Farm.


UPDATE:  how odd, speaking of stranger things being known to happen and coincidences.....in searching for the link to post for Jubilee Farm here in WA, I came across Jubilee Farms in Kansas which is a non-profit dedicated to teaching sustainable farming practices to people in where else....Africa......might be time to send an email.....

day nine......

 “Our music makes people wanna kiss on the dancefloor.” said my band mate at rehearsal today.  “Hahaha! I'm stealing that!  I'll write a whole post about that!”, says I. 


So here we find ourselves, contemplating what it means to have music inspire such a direct release of emotion.  The fact is, our music does make people wanna kiss on the dancefloor.  Not because it's particularly romantic or sultry.  I think it's because it makes people dance!  It makes people move when perhaps they were previously not the kind to hit the floor.  It climbs up your legs and crawls into your belly where it proceeds to get hot and heavy with your insides and comes flowing over your whole body....I've seen it happen.


I consider myself fortunate to have such amazing people in my life.  Cascadia '10 is the first genuine musical pursuit I've ever been a part of and in the time that we've been together I have absolutely grown.  With this band I've become a more creative person finding my love of percussion and dance taking me beyond my traditional practices, into this new world of performance.


Later in the evening I was at an intimate party with other musicians and folks in the music industry catching up with a friend I hadn't seen in some time.  She and I were talking about music (naturally) and she mentioned how she hasn't been playing her acoustic guitar as much lately.  She said that she walked past it and could see that dust was beginning to settle on it which of course only served to taunt her as a reminder of how long it had been.  Amused, I told her she aught to pick it up and rub it, maybe a genie would come out and grant her more time to spend with her guitar.  We continued on with this train of thought for a moment saying that ironically dusting it would be the thing it took to pick it up again but that it was precisely the dust itself that created the aversion she felt towards it now.


I left the party that night determined to keep writing this story no matter how much dust seemed to gently cover it when I find myself too busy to put in the time.

day eight........

Anyone with a vague understanding of Tibetan Buddhism understands that developing compassion is a major part of the training one undergoes in establishing a solid practice.  I have been re-reading  “Training the Mind & Cultivating Loving Kindness” by Chogyam Trungpa while riding the bus in part because it's a wonderful book but also because of it's delightfully small size.  Of course nothing in life is coincidental.  Well nothing in my life anyway, but what do I always say? “stranger things have been known to happen, especially to people like me”.....

I suppose it all began some weeks ago when I was on the bus one day riding home in the afternoon.  In fact it was right before I decided to apply as an Earthship Biotecture intern on this mission to Salone.  I have a habit of sitting at the back of the bus not because of any social stigma, because it affords me the best vantage point for observing the other passengers.


On this particular day there was already one young West African man sitting back there when I got on.  He introduced himself with a garbled hello as I sat down.  He was quite obviously drunk from his swollen hands to his blood shot eyes rolling around in his head.  At the next stop a couple of street punks got on and joined us back there.  The drunk man pulled a smallish bottle of some cheap brown liquor out of his pocket and offered it to the two punks before helping himself to a giant swig.  Both of the other two men laughed at him as they said no to his polite offer and looked to me for agreement.  I simply said in my quiet way;  “aren't we so lucky we live in a country where we aren't confronted by so much direct violence....that type of torture and scarring is what causes him to drink in this way”.  The two punks, surprised by my statement, instead nodded their own heads in agreement and joined me in feelings of gentle compassionate kindness towards this young man.


Side note:  I had literally just finished my review of the section on tonglen practice in my book.  If you are not familiar with this term please take a moment to click through to a nice descriptive........


So here I am practicing tonglen on this young drunkard and absorbing what is so much deep pain.  The young man is now telling us his story.  Not in so many words but by describing various scenarios of violence either seen or done or both.  The other two young men are watching him and watching me and watching my reactions to him.  I continue to practice tonglen.  At a certain point the confused young man is so lost in booze he tries to ring the bell to get off of the bus and falls down onto the floor.  Immediately I help him up and begin to walk him to the front of the bus all the while yelling to the driver to stop and gently guiding the man from falling on the passengers who are now also all watching me.  When we get to the door the young man, puzzled, turns to me and asks if I am following him to which I reply, “no my friend.  I am just helping you.”  He laughs aloud and giving me a high five exits out into the sunny afternoon just a bit lighter of spirit than when I first saw him.


Back in my seat the two punks are still looking at me.  One of them leans over and says,  “That was the most amazing and ballsy thing I have ever seen!”  Coming from a street punk that was quite a compliment.  I said two things, I mentioned that I thought it was funny I was reading a book about the practice of tonglen (which I explained to them) and that I was at that very moment also deciding if I should apply for this internship in Sierra Leone.  They marveled at the coincidence and I smiled, saying to myself, “stranger things indeed...”

day seven.....in which we celebrate a full week

“I am a new more professional person.”  This was the ending statement to a nice evening in the recording studio with the Mr.,  working on some songs and improv percussion play.  For some time now I have been really enjoying taking time to practice in everyday moments. I sing while walking the dogs.  I do mantra while riding my bike.  I practice Malinese dance,  I knit & I tap out clave patterns while I stroll down the street.  A very wise drummer friend of mine made a statement about practicing the basics on a daily basis & how that was the way to really improve (I paraphrase).  This immediately brought to mind what Bruce Lee said in an interview about how in the beginning a punch was just a punch and kick was just a kick but that as one went through the training and learning of various punches and kicks one finally came to a point where the tao in the fighters style flowed free and indeed a punch was simply a punch and a kick simply a kick.....

As I sit here contemplating the twists and turns in my life that have brought me to a place where I can apply simple daily practices to all I do,  I realize that in my own small way I've come back to the basics.  It's late,  I've had a full day of taking myself and my life seriously, time for gentle repose.  As I generally like to leave something inspiring on the page, I give you said interview, please enjoy......

 

day six.....

One of the best parts of working on a CSA organic farm is of course, the produce.  Tonight we are having one of my favorite meals planned around the bounty of the weekly harvest.....Ye'abesha Gomen!  This traditional dish from Ethiopia has got to be the reason I love collard greens so much.  Well that, and a fond memory of the Sunday afternoon community meals after an elating morning singing with the choir of the St. John Coltrane African Orthodox Church.  That little store front on Divisidero used to shake and thump so loud, the people would stand out in the street feeling the spirit of the sound baptism inside and get pulled in.  I was always a bit afraid we'd break the glass and all go bursting out onto the sidewalk!  What a sight!

Thinking on the story of my youthful appreciation and association with collard greens got me thinking on community and how we have foods that make us feel that connectivity even so far away.  Maybe that's why I love collards, it brings me closer to that community through the memories, no matter where I am, when I eat them, we're eating together.  

Maize is also like that for me.  In fact, I eat it everyday.  The smell of fresh champurado,  (a semi-sweet hot chocolate like corn drink from Oaxaca served in the morning)  not only makes me feel at home as I prepare it, when I drink it I feel a warmth of spirit in me simply due to it's corn nature! Silly I know pero aqui estoy far from home finding a little bit of mi tierra in a tiny seed.

I leave you today with three things;

A Love Supreme by John Coltrane

The History and Evolution of Corn by Steve Peters via Seeds of Change

Emah Nava's Ye'abesha Gomen southern style (sub honey for sugar & try it with ginger!)

day five......

Today is one of those days where you wonder about how we got to where we are as humans and why some of us are so incredibly out of tune with the others.  At least that's how I am feeling today.  I promised no politiks and I stick to my promises. 

None the less, today has been very difficult for me to stay balanced when it feels like some of us are living in one World and the rest in the Other World. Let's not dwell too deeply on that, as I like to say “neti neti” or “not this not that” which to me means all things in equal measure and therefor none at all.

To put this feeling of the day in perspective I decided to just ask my google search bar to tell me about everything relating to the title of this blog “heartbeat of humanity” and see who else came up with that term besides me.  Perhaps I would find out where I feel so different.  I came up with some very interesting finds:

The Heartbeat of Humanity by Steven Wright Being a drawing by Steven Wright from the Saturday Qwest Field event Seeds of Compassion “Thousands Welcoming Compassion and Embracing the Heartbeat of Humanity”

The Evolving Heartbeat of Humanity by Dr. Michael Thomas  Which is a blog from Thomas Chiropractic Care in Florida that starts out with; 

“There is a very old story about a frog and a scorpion. Both were perched on the edge of a river, and both wanted to get across to the other side....”

and ends; “We don’t have to be bound by our instincts. We don’t have to ravage the earth and plunder each other (and ourselves!) like the scorpion in the story. In these dark days of fear and terror, it is more important than ever before to open up to our evolutionary potential. We can open our own hearts up to the same love that drives the universe.”

Heartbeat of Humanity by Steve Hammonds  Is a story in a blog from May of 2011 that recounts Mr. Hammonds' observations of the storms that recently ravaged the southern states of this country.  His story is short but I really appreciate what he has to say;

“As I watched this man serve his community, as I watched the people come to him when they needed help, as I watched him give and give and give....one thing continued to come to mind.  God wanted me to tell this man that he is the heartbeat of humanity.  It was Christ living in this man that has allowed this community to mobilize and begin the process of cleaning up, recovering human remains, and eventually begin rebuilding.”

Lastly I found two videos, one from one perspective and one from the Other......both valuable.....both exist in our collective Heartbeat of Humanity......

 

 

  “The Pond is the World. the Pebble is your Heart. The Ripple is the Love and Positive Intention you send out with every Heartbeat.  Imagine your Heart sends out a Ripple.  It beats in time with another Heart.   And the Ripple doubles which beat in time with other Hearts.  And the Ripple grows.  Spreading from Heart to Heart...”

 

“Don't waste your tears pretending to feel sorry for the people in this video.  By the next click you will have already forgotten what you've seen and you'll go on living in permanent lethargy.  A lousy video won't change the world and you either!”

Ponder these things friends, feel in yourselves where you resonate and continue to live in that World..... 

day four......

August of 2010 found me in my first West African dance class with a wonderful Senegalese woman whom I have grown to absolutely adore.  From the moment I heard the rhythm of the live drumming and began to swing my arms in warm up, I knew that this was for me.  I have since been fortunate enough to have teachers come into my life showing me the dances of Mali, Guinea, Senegal, Benin and hopefully someday soon I will learn some dances from Sierra Leone.

I have been a dedicated danzante of the tradition of Danza Azteca from Mexico for nearly four years, a story in and of itself worth going into and absolutely to be recounted but at another time....

My love of danza grew in part out of my love of the harmony found in living a natural life.  The simple things like sunlight, wind rippling across water, watching a garden go through the seasons, animals, all of these things are present in la Danza and even deeper levels of such simple things.  That first West African dance class opened up within me the same place of natural harmony.  I would be lying if I said I was surprised, though in all honesty I'd never once thought to take a class nor had any interest in West Africa at all prior to joining the AfroBeat group I now play with. 

At one of my Malinese classes recently I happened to have a wonderful conversation with a friend, who upon hearing of my desire to explore the connection I found between la Danza and the West African dance asked me if I'd seen the PBS series Black in Latin America: Mexico & Peru, The Black Grandma in the Closet.  I had not seen it so I of course immediately watched it that night. I have posted it below in full and the link above will take you directly to the PBS site where it can also be found should the video below be removed. All I can say about the 53 minutes I spent watching is three things; 

1) uh wow? 
2) of course! & 
3) why didn't anyone tell me?!?! 

enjoy....

day three.....

As has previously been mentioned, I am very otherly.  What, you may ask, is otherly?  What do you suppose?  A person, a place, a thing, a thought all from a perspective different than what is classically considered.  An Other to this One.  A term I heard come up from somewhere below and to the left.....that resonated.  Then stuck.

In my Other World time is relative.  In my Other World days combine to create chapters of adventure.  In my Other World, “day three” that just passed started on Saturday morning farming beneath a turquoise sky and ended on Sunday night working in the studio on “Maria de la Huatla” as the quarter moon peeked through the trees.  A lullaby of a song about a ghost of a woman, a grandmother still watching over from afar....but we will come back to that later.....
 
Working out in the fields has by far been one of the finest experiences of my life.  I know that every single one of us, from all of the various places we arrive from, we are all there with the same dirt between our fingers.  We all work hard side by side to bring harmony and abundance to this farm.  Our farm.  We all bring that into our worlds with us and feed ourselves, our friends and families with that conversation, that hard work & harmony.  Back to the farm we go as the cycle continues week after week and season atop season.  The tamato vines are getting tall, fat green bulbs have been spotted meanwhile the sorrel grew three feet runners in only 7 days!  Yes, awareness of the world in this way and then sharing that with others, bringing that sharing out into the rest of the world, this friends, is how it goes in the Other World....

day two......

  

Please forgive any confusion regarding continuity but I must take a moment to digress back to a few days ago.  Also to my childhood.  Such is time in the real reality, constantly shifting....

I had the incredibly good fortune to be able to see the Afrocubism show out in a gorgeous green field on a perfect sunny day.  Hearing the instruments from Africa & Latin America that I had listened to when I was young made me realize just how deeply this music ran through me.  The harmony between instruments and musicians was inspiring to say the least...both as a musician and as a human being seeking to harmonize cultures in such a way. 

The amount of world class performance power all on one stage was absolutely tremendous and it felt as if for that space of time I was in the direct flow of my path with this project and where it seems to be leading me....all signs point to Salone by way of Aztlan....

day one.....

Today I paid my deposit for the trip that will change my life forever.  The trip that has already changed my life forever. 

If you haven't had the chance to take a look at yourself in a completely different light, from a perspective you'd never held before, I strongly suggest you start looking deeper into your roots......

I was born in what I now know is called the Costa Chica region of Oaxaca Mexico ........beautiful no? paradise too... sometimes.....but we aren't here for politiks.....we are here for the positive revolution and that is spoken in the language of music and dance straight from the heart out into the world.....

 
This on the other hand could be where the green river in Oaxaca finds the Pacific but is not. Actually it's where the Atlantic meets the shore in Sierra Leone.  No wonder I am already so madly in love with "swit Salone" and until May of this year I am ashamed to say I knew almost nothing about this little country at all...

Hello, they call me Bele-Bele and I am Otherly

My story starts as a tale along the lines of "a long time ago in a universe far far away".  Everything you read here is true and honest.  I hope that this will someday help to inspire anyone with a heart open to hear it.  Born of a companero father and ex-debutante mother, this is my journey of self realization and the adventures I have along the way.

We begin somewhere in the middle but also quite near to the end or dawning rather of the time that is still to come. In other words, right now. Right now I am wondering what the weather is like in Oaxaca as I appreciate the warm air and gorgeous sunset filling the sky above Seattle.