1.20.2008
Celebrating my date of birth today, 55 years
ago.
In a place called amityville, new york.
Haven’t strayed far from this northeastern
state, spent most of my life in upstate new
york, at least physically.
“Without going out of your door, you can
know all things on earth”, according to
laotzu, and parphrased beautifully by george
harrison in his song, “the inner light”. I had
forgotten that song was the “B” side (I’m
dating myself; oh the days of 45’s)to “lady
madonna”, and the first g. harrison song to
be released on a beatles 45.
This is the beginning of my musings on my
“website”. Never would have thought that I
could do this 30, even 20 years ago.
Technology brings us gifts if we don’t
misuse them.
The air is crisp and cold, the wind is
speaking loudly today. Heading down to
woodstock, the not-site of that
otherworldly music festival of rock and
hippie culture of ’69. I love the characters
down there, so diverse and colorful,
unashamed to make connections to a better
and higher place, urging us to be free and
open the door to our souls. Amid those
characters are the tourists looking for
replica of that archetypal Holiday of Free
Love and Expression.
Sometimes it’s good to shake off the
mundane and remind ourselves how
interesting this blue earth can be.
Place and time are just vehicles we pass
through.
If anyone is reading this, I am glad you are.
Thank you, and may each day be a blessing.
featherwoman Musings |
3.20.08
ahhh...vernal equinox, at last! this winter is going to take her sweet time picking up her stuff and
going off to rest until the seasons roll around again...
i wrote "into spring" in 2001. it was the first spring i experienced at this old creaky farmhouse that
betsy, our 2 dogs and 4 cats, and i call home, and as a result of wandering around the 2.5 acres
here, discovering little life forms popping up underneath the decaying leaves in the many gardens
our predecessors had maintained while they lived here. recently, i could tell the change of
seasons was finally approaching when betsy noticed the very first red winged blackbird singing its
classic "hurdy-gurdy" song. that one bird must have inspired the rest to follow, as we witnessed
murmations of soaring
black dots in the sky overhead, in their cacophonous symphony, landing in various locations
throughout the pasture and gardens. it is also the anniversary of the beginning of the iraq war. i
sense the weariness in people these days, our lives so caught up in being busy and rushed,
stupefied by the news, what feels like the endless lies and bullying. it's the feeling i wrote of in
"purple smoke", and in that song, too, i acknowledged love and the angelic presence of animals,
of nature, in
my life...to remember the beauty, because there is an abundance of it as well. there was a wealth
of abundant beauty in the living room at ginny and kymn's
a week ago, when i had the honor of sharing my music at the first house concert i've ever done.
there were almost two dozen beings gathered, some knew one another, some had never met, but
by the end of the evening, the comfort and peace was palpable.
may each of you find presence and inspiration in your lives in times of weariness and frustration.
ahhh...vernal equinox, at last! this winter is going to take her sweet time picking up her stuff and
going off to rest until the seasons roll around again...
i wrote "into spring" in 2001. it was the first spring i experienced at this old creaky farmhouse that
betsy, our 2 dogs and 4 cats, and i call home, and as a result of wandering around the 2.5 acres
here, discovering little life forms popping up underneath the decaying leaves in the many gardens
our predecessors had maintained while they lived here. recently, i could tell the change of
seasons was finally approaching when betsy noticed the very first red winged blackbird singing its
classic "hurdy-gurdy" song. that one bird must have inspired the rest to follow, as we witnessed
murmations of soaring
black dots in the sky overhead, in their cacophonous symphony, landing in various locations
throughout the pasture and gardens. it is also the anniversary of the beginning of the iraq war. i
sense the weariness in people these days, our lives so caught up in being busy and rushed,
stupefied by the news, what feels like the endless lies and bullying. it's the feeling i wrote of in
"purple smoke", and in that song, too, i acknowledged love and the angelic presence of animals,
of nature, in
my life...to remember the beauty, because there is an abundance of it as well. there was a wealth
of abundant beauty in the living room at ginny and kymn's
a week ago, when i had the honor of sharing my music at the first house concert i've ever done.
there were almost two dozen beings gathered, some knew one another, some had never met, but
by the end of the evening, the comfort and peace was palpable.
may each of you find presence and inspiration in your lives in times of weariness and frustration.
7.1.08
i was waiting for a cup of coffee the other day in a cafe, and there on the counter,
among the magazines and assorted fliers, was a brochure for a benefit for Sudan
featuring a performer by the name of Sam Waymon.
Sam Waymon. i thought...i know that name.....
and then it came to me....
brother to Eunice Waymon. better known to the physical world as Nina Simone.
i first heard Nina Simone, i mean really heard her, in the late 70's. i lived in lock
haven, pennsylvania, and a friend had two of her vinyl albums, baltimore and
emergency ward.
i was addicted at first listen. she had the kind of sneer and strength and soul and
softness, all combined in one, any portions thereof revealed at any time, and was
a brilliant interpreter of songs, both originals and classics.
in her hands and with her voice, she could reinvent "here comes the sun" by
george harrison and "to love somebody" by the bee gees; invoke classically
influenced piano playing on the intro to "little girl blue" by rodgers and hart; spit
out her cynicism in "mosquito's tweeter" (which is how and where i first heard her
brother, Sam).
folks like Nina and her brother Sam play with a depth and passion i don't hear
much of these days, certainly not on the radio---wrapping beautiful songs with
messages and poetry in soulful arrangements, sometimes hitting funky notes or
rhythms, but real, just real playing. you can't do that with software(though it can
be a beautiful thing, too).
i don't have every album she ever recorded--there are tons of bootlegs and
imports and reissues as well as her classic albums--two of my favorites are little
girl blue ("jazz as played in an exclusive side street club"), for its cocktail jazz trio
ensemble in a small room kind of feel, and it is finished, a sinewy and soulful feast
of socially and spiritually charged songs.
she passed away in 2003, but i count her as one of my inspirations.
long live Nina. long live passionate music.
i was waiting for a cup of coffee the other day in a cafe, and there on the counter,
among the magazines and assorted fliers, was a brochure for a benefit for Sudan
featuring a performer by the name of Sam Waymon.
Sam Waymon. i thought...i know that name.....
and then it came to me....
brother to Eunice Waymon. better known to the physical world as Nina Simone.
i first heard Nina Simone, i mean really heard her, in the late 70's. i lived in lock
haven, pennsylvania, and a friend had two of her vinyl albums, baltimore and
emergency ward.
i was addicted at first listen. she had the kind of sneer and strength and soul and
softness, all combined in one, any portions thereof revealed at any time, and was
a brilliant interpreter of songs, both originals and classics.
in her hands and with her voice, she could reinvent "here comes the sun" by
george harrison and "to love somebody" by the bee gees; invoke classically
influenced piano playing on the intro to "little girl blue" by rodgers and hart; spit
out her cynicism in "mosquito's tweeter" (which is how and where i first heard her
brother, Sam).
folks like Nina and her brother Sam play with a depth and passion i don't hear
much of these days, certainly not on the radio---wrapping beautiful songs with
messages and poetry in soulful arrangements, sometimes hitting funky notes or
rhythms, but real, just real playing. you can't do that with software(though it can
be a beautiful thing, too).
i don't have every album she ever recorded--there are tons of bootlegs and
imports and reissues as well as her classic albums--two of my favorites are little
girl blue ("jazz as played in an exclusive side street club"), for its cocktail jazz trio
ensemble in a small room kind of feel, and it is finished, a sinewy and soulful feast
of socially and spiritually charged songs.
she passed away in 2003, but i count her as one of my inspirations.
long live Nina. long live passionate music.
7.16.08
i don't know why but i've been obsessed with a strange creature lately.
the octopus.
before this, i knew little about the fascinating being--that it had 8 legs, suckers,
and shot ink.
but on pbs the other night, i caught a little glimpse into one's life and behavior in
particular, and ever since i've been obsessing about it and telling everyone who'll
listen to me how utterly amazing and, believe it or not, cute, they--or at least this
one-- is.
this octopus, in captivity in a glass storage tank, came to play a kind of hide and
seek with the scientist who was testing its abilities to be cognitive and reactive.
the octopus would sit behind a partition that obscured its view of the scientist on
the other side of the glass. the scientist would then play a cat and mouse kind of
game, raising his head above the partition, then lowering it, and the octopus
would follow suit by then raising its head in search of that strange being on the
other side.
what followed blew me away even more, resulting in my obsessive behavior of
telling everyone about this creature.
on the bottom of the ocean floor, a scientist filmed an octopus hauling along a
dirty, broken brown bottle under one of its tentacles. it lives in this bottle and
carries it with it everywhere.
what's in all of this for me, i wondered?
is it the curiosity? the alien-ness of this odd looking being that i like? its complete
disregard for how it looks to others? or is it that big rectangular eye that seeks
our gaze, and perhaps some kind of communication with us?
is it the hobo-ness of this thing that i love so much?
i'm not sure, but i feel like a whole new world opened up in my consciousness.
sometimes, it IS the little things.
i don't know why but i've been obsessed with a strange creature lately.
the octopus.
before this, i knew little about the fascinating being--that it had 8 legs, suckers,
and shot ink.
but on pbs the other night, i caught a little glimpse into one's life and behavior in
particular, and ever since i've been obsessing about it and telling everyone who'll
listen to me how utterly amazing and, believe it or not, cute, they--or at least this
one-- is.
this octopus, in captivity in a glass storage tank, came to play a kind of hide and
seek with the scientist who was testing its abilities to be cognitive and reactive.
the octopus would sit behind a partition that obscured its view of the scientist on
the other side of the glass. the scientist would then play a cat and mouse kind of
game, raising his head above the partition, then lowering it, and the octopus
would follow suit by then raising its head in search of that strange being on the
other side.
what followed blew me away even more, resulting in my obsessive behavior of
telling everyone about this creature.
on the bottom of the ocean floor, a scientist filmed an octopus hauling along a
dirty, broken brown bottle under one of its tentacles. it lives in this bottle and
carries it with it everywhere.
what's in all of this for me, i wondered?
is it the curiosity? the alien-ness of this odd looking being that i like? its complete
disregard for how it looks to others? or is it that big rectangular eye that seeks
our gaze, and perhaps some kind of communication with us?
is it the hobo-ness of this thing that i love so much?
i'm not sure, but i feel like a whole new world opened up in my consciousness.
sometimes, it IS the little things.
 |  |  |  |  |  |  |  |
who is featherwoman/featherhead??
she is the mythical being inside each one of us--the one we turn to for inner inspiration, to reach the deepest, most sincere
and sacred places within ourselves, to mine and bring forth the hidden gems...our innate gifts to be more than we think we can
be, to give more than we think we can give, and to receive more than we think we can receive.
what about "it's all good"? sometimes it's not. sometimes it totally sucks. that's when featherwoman/featherhead comes
to our rescue. i should know, i've been there. try it out sometime.
she is the mythical being inside each one of us--the one we turn to for inner inspiration, to reach the deepest, most sincere
and sacred places within ourselves, to mine and bring forth the hidden gems...our innate gifts to be more than we think we can
be, to give more than we think we can give, and to receive more than we think we can receive.
what about "it's all good"? sometimes it's not. sometimes it totally sucks. that's when featherwoman/featherhead comes
to our rescue. i should know, i've been there. try it out sometime.
2011-12
When I say I miss John Lennon's voice in the song "Purple
Smoke", what I mean is, I miss the Truths John spoke while
alive. John had an edge, an anger, a joy, and a brilliantly
tortured being inside of him that he eventually seemed to
make peace with. John learned much from his own mistakes
and owned that. What I miss is that kind of socially aware
honesty and awareness in general, that he expressed so well,
in songs like "Working Class Hero", and "Woman is the Nigger
of the World"(referring to this song--by its title-- on the
surface, makes me sound insensitive to racial justice and
equity, and this couldn't be farther from my Truths; yet I feel
it's important to make note of this and I apologize if I have
offended anyone by quoting this title of John's song. John's
artistry piqued much curiosity and discord, but his heart,
social perspective and consciousness were mostly worthy and
of true and good intention. He also said the Beatles were
more popular than Jesus and as an artist was misunderstood
more than once or twice.
When I say I miss John Lennon's voice in the song "Purple
Smoke", what I mean is, I miss the Truths John spoke while
alive. John had an edge, an anger, a joy, and a brilliantly
tortured being inside of him that he eventually seemed to
make peace with. John learned much from his own mistakes
and owned that. What I miss is that kind of socially aware
honesty and awareness in general, that he expressed so well,
in songs like "Working Class Hero", and "Woman is the Nigger
of the World"(referring to this song--by its title-- on the
surface, makes me sound insensitive to racial justice and
equity, and this couldn't be farther from my Truths; yet I feel
it's important to make note of this and I apologize if I have
offended anyone by quoting this title of John's song. John's
artistry piqued much curiosity and discord, but his heart,
social perspective and consciousness were mostly worthy and
of true and good intention. He also said the Beatles were
more popular than Jesus and as an artist was misunderstood
more than once or twice.