Brave Voices

2009-12-14T22:01:00.000-08:00

October 2, 2009 - by Di

Grand Lake at Bernice State Park

BIRD BRAIN

When I get still enough

and the thinking stops

I can feel the gliding sensation of the birds just in front of me

If I hadn't come to this very spot today

They would certainly still be here ...

The birds, the fisherman, the ever-rolling waves of the lake on this windy day

Yet, maybe the birds changed their course

Didn't come quite as close to the bank as they would have had I not been here

They stop their wings, point their heads down

And dive head first into the water

It's amazing to watch

So far tho, it has appeared to be a wild guess and produced nothing

But the beauty of the bird brain is, there is most likely no conversation

about how there is something wrong with them or they are not doing it right

Just try again and again and again, it's enough just being alive ...

flying, making noise, diving into the water and catch a fish, or not ...

And everyday is a good day.

LOST 9-22-09

2009-10-04T08:16:00.000-07:00

I search the house

Like I’m looking for my keys

She’s got to be in here

She was here just the other day

Round and round I go

Faster and faster

Determined to find her

If only the house wasn’t such a mess

I revisit the same places I’ve already been

She’ll be in the last place I look

I remind myself

Round and round I go

Again and again

Determined to find me

I check the places I’ve already been

If only my life wasn’t such a mess

I know I could find me

Round and round

Faster and faster

Again and again

Round and round

Faster and faster

Again and again

2009-07-21T17:34:00.000-07:00

Legend of the BVDs
(from found words in the Wikipedia article on BVDs)

The day was a great
depression of a bulky
tight-fitting garment.
A heavy squeeze.
Hard-hearted lock-and-key blues.
Cellophane next to my skin.

Second verse:
Changes…
Two wild sisters…
Dark satin women…
A supporter stone…
A pocket of electric sound…
A loose lyric song…
An open letter window…
Briefly,
beautiful.

~ Amy K.

Lyrics

2009-07-11T15:55:00.000-07:00

Daddy’s Girl

The mountainside is unforgiving and the woods are wild.
A mining town is no good place for a woman-child.

Mama got married when she was fifteen,
‘Round here that’s the way it’s done.
Wore herself out sweeping up coal dust,
Went to her grave only thirty-one.
We hide our lives behind closed doors,
We all pretend there’s nothin’ to know.
No one to trust, nowhere to turn, just
Take it day by day and blow by blow, so

(Chorus)
When you fall, I’ll start running,
Fast as I can on my strong, bare feet.
Down in the mountain the devil’s humming,
Fanning his flame, turning up the heat.
Call it vengeance, call it justice,
By my hand you’ll be leaving this world.
I may be bruised but I’m not busted
And I’m through being Daddy’s girl.

When he leaves at dawn I get on my knees,
I pray the tunnel takes him straight to hell.
But if he comes back, I got my own plan,
So many things I can never tell.
I have to be the woman of the house,
‘Round here that’s the way it’s done.
I sweep the coal dust, I cook the supper,
And then I clean and reload the shotgun.

Chorus

I can’t open my eyes.
I hear his boots drop to the floor.
The smell of moonshine,
The feel of stubble.
I can’t take this anymore.

Chorus

The mountainside is unforgiving and the woods are wild.
A mining town is no good place for a woman-child.

At Ease

2009-06-20T12:36:00.000-07:00

This is not the river, but it is the only photo I have of a river:

At Ease
(with homage to Whitman)

Once I was naked
on a rocky river bank
sweet flesh on granite
tender curves
over rugged stone

Chorus: And I was at ease
and at ebb with the ebb-tide
At ease and at ebb with the ebb-tide

Once I was a stoic
baking in a summer sun
squinting at the world
and wondering why
why am I still
at water’s edge
while fine spokes of light
glance like shimmering gems
off the River Klickitat.

At ease and at ebb with the ebb-tide
At ease and at ebb with the ebb-tide

Once you told me
you like to read the obituaries --
“Not ‘like’ as in it brings me pleasure
to read them,” you said,
happy to be alive and 50,
“but take this one, for example:
Only 23 years old, dead, gone…
makes you think, don’t you think?

At ease and at ebb with the ebb-tide
At ease and at ebb with the ebb-tide

What if you only
had 23 years, or five
or just a 3-hour river run?”
Makes you think,
don’t you think,
about the choice
to flaunt away the day,
and just receive the summer sky.

At ease and at ebb with the ebb-tide
At ease and at ebb with the ebb-tide

“Are you ready?” you ask.
Are you ready to pass through the rapids?
“You know, it’s okay to back out,” you say
to suspend here and everywhere,
but then I go nowhere
so I know it’s not okay
to stop short of the finish line
shy of sunset.
It’s not okay.
So I catch one last gaze
from your thirsty eyes
and dig my paddle
into the white water
drenching me
I follow you
into the V
into the splash
of canyon shadows
and fears
and mere seconds pass
before I am soaked and grinning
the moment splendors me
then spits us out
from the river’s tongue,
alive, ALIVE and

At ease and at ebb with the ebb-tide
At ease and at ebb with the ebb-tide

by Wendy Thompson

I Asked God

2009-06-02T10:09:00.000-07:00

I asked God if it is ok to just write w/o thinking + she said, well you better 'cause if you're thinking, you ain't writing a thing!

So I write + write + don't think + what comes is what comes + what does not will if it's important in its own time And whatever I say will mean something or not.

I asked God, but what if what I write is just nonsense + she said there's no such thing as nonsense if it's sounds + syllables + spaces + sounds + syllables + spaces + space + space + space + space + space + space well then you're probably thinking again! So just write + enjoy the process.

Ok here I go God. I'm writing writing writing writing writing rhythms, sounds, syllables, do do do doo doo, doo da da, doo da da, doo doo da doo da wah wah wah wah, wo wo wo, don't u go don't u go w/o saying hello goodbye don't u stay w/out saying hey hey.

Well I'm writing God, I guess. I'm writing writing writing And she say yes yes yes you sho is. Write write write Let your thang go

And then God added, she said, you know, space is ok too, silence is sometimes the hardest to do well.

--By Maria Johnson, 5/11/09

Thigh Dwellers

2009-05-21T13:48:00.001-07:00

Now that I have your attention...some of you responded to this potential song title, so here is the poem (Fortunately, most of my photos were already on my computer, so losing the camera in the lake wasn't horrible). I know that some of you might not relate to this poem and have your own joys and concerns about thighs and other body parts. This poem is not a dis to you, but a celebration and poetry therapy for me. :-):

Thigh Dwellers

We are the thigh dwellers
peasant ankled worriers of bathing suite weather.
Suitable? Never!
Log-legged and land-locked by Gucci, Vercace, and Calvin Klein
we wish for elephant stampedes
along slender runways
to flatten fashion designers before next year’s line of micro-minis.

We are the thigh dwellers
who purchase nylons according to height and weight
and still must pack our legs in like pork sausage
and hear their rub, squeak, squeak amidst the skirt pleats
or stare at thread-bare, Blue-Jean crotches. Friction speaks.

We are the thigh dwellers
our fists fit into waist bands while pleats plot
and pockets crease at 45 degree angles
and “loose fit” is not even an aspiration.

We are the thigh dwellers
sturdy ancestral legs of Swedish descent.
Logger trees, “widow makers” that split wrong and fall toward men.
Pillared against pairing yet ample in love.

We are the thigh dwellers
fecund rounds of flesh wrapped round your hips
Quiver thick with passion.
Dance deep and wide as rivers and raw earth we spread
and give more than any bony-hipped, knobby-kneed lover, we do.
We do give all,
We do. We are,
we are the thigh dwellers
and we wish,
we wish
for no less.

I hear a raw, lusty drum beat...:-).

-Wendy

Frustration on a Zafu

2009-05-16T17:28:00.000-07:00

I put the palms of my hands together, close to my body, thumbs touching my chest. I bow to my little Buddha, the one I had to paint because it didn't coordinate with my bedroom. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut. I'm going to meditate, damnit, if it kills me.

I'm uncomfortable, though. My wonky right hip is splayed out too far, and the place where my tailbone used to live still aches with the pressure of spine on newly grown tissue. The lone ovary is bitching and moaning, and the shoulder blade that always has better places to be is trying to run away again, taking a vertebra or two with it.

My tongue finds a tooth with a bit of leftover glue where a bracket was adhered for two and a half long years. I hate Dr. Wisdom. I hate Dr. Wisdom. I mean, I love everything. My heart is an opening flower, or some shit like that.

Hmmm...that candle smells nice. I can't believe I made it, or rather, that I actually finished a project. I wonder what I should start next? Wait, I know - new music for my iPod, because this song SUCKS! What's up with all that wailing?!

Uh-oh, I'm thinking too much again. Screw monkey mind - I must have gorilla mind. ADD/GAD/OCD alphabet soup mind is more like it. Bassett hound mind, now that's what I need. Where can I find one of those? And what was that thing, something I wanted to order from Amazon...

Oh, fuck this! I want a cup of coffee.

~ Amy K.

2009-05-16T16:53:00.000-07:00

Brave Voice 09

Wild Women ride the Hay wagon... Working up an appetite for our last supper together at BV.

A Poem a Day!

2009-01-07T13:57:00.000-08:00

How about starting the new year ( I know, I know... I'm a little late) by writing a poem a day. Some of us are doing just that! We will review, revise and rewrite in February and then possibly have a reading in March and put out a small chapbook. Join us!
Nancy

Thinking of you.

2008-09-18T20:17:00.000-07:00

I hear voices in the dark yard.
sounding like the last day
we sang together,
chirping high sweet songs
filling the grass and trees with
our children of the heart.

You are twirling around.
Words spin like silver sparks
shooting from your fingertips.
Each page
floating up like the flag
of a new country.

I think of you
and you,
and especially of you
walking fast d0wn the street
of your town. Never looking
down but only up.

Knowing today is your day
to gin-rummy, find love,
sew the first doll, write the
next poem, sing a silly song
that leaves us all breathless.
Ah! I can hear ....
You are singing now!

You made it possible!

2008-07-08T10:38:00.000-07:00

My first CD is done, thanks to ALL of you Brave Voices and the wonderful assistance of four who made this baby possible:
Kelly, who told me it WAS possible and needed to be done!
Di, who volunteered to be the kindess coach and skillfull midwife;
Amy, who gave me 'of course, we can go' support, motivated me to actually DO IT and got me to the 'recording studio' on time!
And Caryn, the hopefully proud parent who got me pregnant in the first place! She hasn't seen the final result so we will hope she approves but I couldn't wait to share my elation with you all! I haven't finished the cover yet but the CD called Dharma Dog saw its first bark under your kind eyes on Day one of Brave Voice this year so I wanted to let you know. In essence, it is the wonderful braveness of all of you that made this little one possible. So keep it up, Ladies and Michael! Let's hear those brave voices singing and shouting and carrying on because it IS possible and it NEEDS TO BE DONE!
Love,
Nancy

Please bring musical things...

2008-06-03T20:15:00.000-07:00

I've had several requests for the Music Blessing and Initiation Passage from one of our writing circles. Thanks to all that contribute here. I LOVE coming to this board and being blown away by the depth I read here. Thank you, Thank you -- you are all a guiding light!

Please bring musical things...

-- let your day begin with the smell of serenity

-- let your body stretch and reach the stars

-- let the vessel be open and prepare for music

May you be open to hearing what has not been heard before;

May you be open to seeing the beauty of nature and in every human being;

May you speak and hear words of encouragements, inspiration and prosperity;

May you listen with your whole body and one-pointed attention;

May you continue to step into fear and be changed;

May you have a reflection of life on earth each day.

Return always, show up always and sing about all these experiences –

Daily, Weekly, Yearly and for the rest of this life. -- Ashe --

Prairie Song

2008-05-23T16:02:00.000-07:00

Hi all!
I wrote this song on a warm day in January, after many cold ones and an ice storm, when the prairie I saw on the way to work was so beautiful I had to write about it. But now it reminds me of the sacred spot on the prairie that we occupied for a week in May, and of my spirit brothers and sisters who spent that week with me!

The sun comes in showers of glory
and waltzes across the sky
then sinks like a ball in the firey west
while our lives fly swiftly by.

The birds of the air are singing,
to the beauty of the day
And the wildflowers tell their stories
As they dip and dance and sway.

CHORUS
Your thoughts are as deep as the prairie
Your heart is as wide as the sky
You stand tall and firm, and grounded to earth
While your soul is learning to fly.

The land is covered in whiteness
the snowflakes dance on the plains
but the ice and the snow
hold the promise and hope
of the warm summertime rains.

The winter winds come a calling
They howl all cold and forlorn
But as we live we know that after the frost
Comes the beautiful gift of the morn.

CHORUS

The wind waves through the grass on the hills
that shine like a vast sea of gold
And this beautiful spot
On God's good green earth,
Can't really be bought or sold

The night sky, it sparkles like diamonds,
like the sun on the morning dew
And as I stand and I gaze at the rolling green hills,
I begin to think of you.

CHORUS

I'm Ready

2008-05-21T15:48:00.000-07:00

And it's all true!

CHORUS:
I’m ready, ready, ready as I can be
I’m ready, ready, ready as I can be
I’m goin’ to Kansas, I’m ready to be me

STOPTIME:
I try to get centered, I try to get clear
I try to organize away my fear
REFRAIN: I’m ready, ready as I can be
I’m goin’ to Kansas, I’m ready to be me

STOPTIME:
Picky placing gear precisely in my ride
While my suitcase is still empty & my clothes piled high... REFRAIN

STOPTIME:
'Bout out the door, this pop stand to blow
But I can't find my journal, without I'll never grow! ... CHORUS

STOPTIME:
Finally on the road, headin’ outa town
I remember I forgot… my coat and turn around... REFRAIN

STOPTIME:
Miz Mazda makin' tracks, zoom zoomin' at last
The Prairie is the future, the Boot Heel is the past... REFRAIN

STOPTIME:
Eight hours later, almost to Council Grove
When the police pulls me over, now I'm goin' so slow… CHORUS

BRIDGE [Slow with rubato]:
I’m craw--lin’ across Kansas, craw--lin’ out’ my skin
But if I ever get there… [Fast with energy:]
I’ll be ready (I’ll be ready) to jump in… CHORUS

BRIDGE [Slow with rubato]:
I’m craw--lin’ across Kansas, craw--lin’ out’ my skin
But if I ever get there… [Fast with energy:]
I’ll be ready (yeah I’ll be ready)
Come on get ready (oh I’m ready)
Are you ready? (yes, I’m ready) [Stop:]
to jump in... jump in... yeah jump in... oh jump in... JUMP IN!

-- Maria Johnson, 5/08; rev. 6/08

Jubilee

2008-05-19T23:01:00.000-07:00

It feels as if
All my life I've been waiting
To arrive at this place
In the trajectory of my life.

The numbers speak differently to me
That it seems they do to others.
For once, the fractions make sense:

50--Why, that's half 100!
Grandma becomes that next year!

12ish--That's one-quarter of my life,
That's how long I've been farming,
Lived in one place,
Been a grandma myself.

In this exact moment,
I am crossing the bridge
To the second half of my life
Waving banners,
Requiring that trumpets announce my way.

How light everything feels,
Here on the other side of 50:
I let everything that is not beloved
Remain behind in the rubble
Of life before my Jubilee year,
And I skipped over the bridge by myself,
Laughing
With a new, brave voice.

Natalya Lowther

What I've Carried With Me

2008-05-16T16:22:00.000-07:00

Today I noticed my favorite boots
have lost their smell of cow manure,
which they picked up tromping dirt roads
by Vermont hay fields a couple of weeks ago.
They must have lost it in Kansas, scuffed off
in the grit of the camp lane we took back and forth,
rubbed out on prairie grasses and forbs,
rinsed in the rains, blown away
in those awesome cleansing winds.
My cats sure sniffed them over good
when I came back. I wonder
if they smelled the calcium-rich limestone,
or a breath of narrowleaf gromwell,
or carrotleaf lomatium, a crush
of burr oak acorn caps, or maybe some clue
to the struggle that lost one turkey
so many feathers by the path to Cedar Point.
Perhaps my boots smell, too, a little
like the nice meals Cathy valiantly cooked for us.
You may be thinking “No, it’s just the OFF
you sprayed on them, silly,” and that may be true,
except for the springiness they picked up
from soaking in hours of music and poetry
and pleasant company. But here’s
where words step back, and I am left
with image and sound and feeling – your faces
and expressions, specific little phrases,
voices speaking and singing, women dancing,
guitars, drums, piano and keyboard playing
melodies, cadences, grooves, harmonies:
memories that roll over the cells of me,
over one thousand miles away,
like a gentle river rolls
over its thousands of stones.

I Carry Your Heart in My Heart

2008-05-16T07:24:00.000-07:00

I carry your heart in me
oh beautiful grandmothers
of this sacred land
oh shining lake
in the storms that come
oh brightening green
of the trees that sing
I carry your heart with me
oh dear friend who gives me song
oh dear friends who open up the air
with courage that climbs and aches with love
I carry this place in me
wide green heart that holds its own
place of tribes and medicines long gone
but here, still here

The secret that nobody knows
grows rots to blossom
trees to stone
the earth alive in the wind and sun
right here
I carry all this heart with me
in my heart

-- Caryn

hungry for your words

2008-05-15T20:40:00.000-07:00

I tried to post a photo but didn't manage to manifest it. Maybe this one will work. I am working on a song that keeps rolling round in my brain pan and was inspired by this photo... enlarge it by clicking on it and you can see the spot where the sun is shining through on one spot of the road ahead.

I would love to see everyone's last day circle poem or comment. Or perhaps what you wrote todaty! My eyes and ears are hungry for your words. Antsy Nantsy

2008-05-11T14:14:00.001-07:00

So, what should the caption to this picture be?????

A halo for your every word

2008-05-11T09:59:00.000-07:00

I will not remember your name.
The names of people, of places
Are not what stays with me.
Your face, the sharps and roundness
Head turning, lips moving,
Eyes lively with concentration,
Will never leave me.

Today, our hands will open.
The unnecessary deeds and all
Encumbrances we carry,
All these will drop away.
Banished by the embrace
of voice and sound.
Only your face will remain.
Its light a halo for your every word.

Mother's Day Mantra...

2008-05-11T07:17:00.001-07:00

This struck me as a lovely thought for today ... Happy Mother's Day and Love to all ... Di

Dharma Dog

2008-05-10T17:12:00.000-07:00

RRRRROWF RRRROW OW OW OW OW
Dharma Dog
Hits hard with
His wake-up stick!

Dream will not let go
let go
Blowing mist,
the smell of white lilacs,
a thrill of feathers
or is it fur?

The sound of heavy
footsteps
Things focusing on other things.
Objects that whisper
"Carry me from room to room...
"Carry me from house to house."

Bhodi Dog
Barks!
Bites
Samsara to the
White Hard Bone.
RRROWWPT!

Nancy Still barking Hubble
Sending you all delight and love.

2008-05-10T16:19:00.000-07:00

2008-05-10T16:00:00.000-07:00

Taking y'all with me...

2008-05-10T15:29:00.000-07:00

Several times I have tried to tell my husband things about Brave Voice '08 and have resorted to doing that eyes-to-the-sky manic hand waving thing that is supposed to keep you from bawling your head off. But in a good way :)

I Carry You With Me

I am a prairie-sea

of your hearts,

tall and waving

to the sun.

I am a star-cloud

of your voices

mapping out

the sky.

I am a feather-boat

of your spirits

set adrift

on sweet waters.

I am a love-note,

unfolded,

and read aloud

by the wind.

Much love to you all,

Amy

LANDED!

2008-05-09T19:57:00.000-07:00

LOVED this pic of our guides of great wisdom. You two are changing the world in miraculous ways with what you have started here. Thank you, thank you...

Had a great trip home sisters... processing the weekend for 5 hours made for a delightful afternoon. Listened to lots of old songs on the ipod from live recordings over the last 5 years and heard them in a completely different way today, because I am truly changed. Five of those songs are now definitely worthy of some attention and are to be recorded on the next CD!

I have the Envelope of Truth (as I'm calling it...) sitting on my "shelf of inspiration" near my desk ... It will serve to keep you all close at heart. I am grateful for every single one of you and look forward to checking in here frequently to get updates on everyone's life changes as a result of this incredible week. xoxoxo

Back to the Other World

2008-05-09T15:25:00.000-07:00

Well, I am home, unpacked, with a giant piles of laundry on the bedroom floor and a full heart. Soon I will crash, but I wanted to post my goodbye thoughts before the great crash happens.
Then, more later!

I carry away in my heart
The rainbow colors of each of the souls in this place
and I hear more clearly than ever the song in my own heart,
sung by each crystal voice in this place
and it is beautiful baby!

An Introduction to Brave Voice -- by Caryn Mirriam-Goldberg

2008-05-07T13:51:00.000-07:00

Several years ago rhythm and blues singer-songwriter Kelley Hunt and I started talking about how singing can open up our writing voice, and visa-versa, all of which couldn’t help but to enliven the rest of our lives. That was the impetus behind Brave Voice, the week-long retreat we developed that brings men and women together in the wilds of the weather and their own experience to recover, discover and express more of their voice and life.

As a writer, I’m long-acquainted with the value of entering a new piece of writing through the backdoor, which means being committed enough to write without making such a big deal about doing it perfectly that the words get too scared to show up. Instead, I show up, put myself out there on the page, and bring enough curiosity and respect for the art, for the poem, story, or song to unfurl and show itself. In bringing singing and writing together with Kelley, I realize we’re walking into all kinds of new places through back doors, opening up the physical voice through singing and then watching what happens with that voice on the page, or speaking from the heart and then leaning into a song to see what it has to show us.

This kind of engagement allows us to access far more of our lives, experiences, perceptions, magic, music and words than putting only our brain’s frontal lobe in the driver’s seat. Yet such engagements benefit from enough patience, time, safe enough space to take creative risks, and good enough witnesses to help us see what we’re creating. It’s a date with the mysterious to witness what wants to be said, written, sung or performed, and both Kelley and I believe in having outrageous fun and making sure to get up and dance on such dates.

At Brave Voice, we come together to listen deeply to ourselves, to each other, to the land and lake and sky around us, to the calling of our own voice, and the sightings along our own path. We witness each other, and in doing so, we learn how to listen more deeply to our own creative process. We are witnessed, which helps us feel and know the full weight of our music, writing, and art.

Where we meet has much to do with what we find. The retreat is held at a camp on an arrowhead-shaped peninsula surrounded by Council Grove reservoir. The location, in the center of the Flint Hills (endless hills of tallgrass prairie that look like voluptuous women lying on their sides), was key meeting ground for Plains-area tribes, which came together in council to share news, celebrate, meet and make and keep community. The location of the camp is the precise place where thousands of tribal people met for hundreds of years.

Coming to this sacred ground, we experience both resonance and reverence that’s inherently healing, grounding and renewing. We come to a particular place, and in doing so, we also find our ways into our own particular songs, stories, poems, plays, rhythms and motions. Such a place, combined with such a process, uncovers the utter bravery of our voices, and what we have to say, sing or write to the world.

Check out Kelley's new site: http://www.myspace.com/kelleyhuntmusic.