Limestone Mellow Harshed

Okay, it has been long enough after the loss of my limestone holey rock for me to register a distinct difference in my life.

But first I must back up to explain a theory I developed quite some time ago.

Back in the 80's development boom in Austin, spurred by Reaganomics, deregulation, and the pillaging of the S&L's, one of the things us lefties, democrats, and environmentalists worried about was that all the new people moving into Austin for the blood feast would be the wrong sorts of people. You know, weathy, materialistic, uptight, and Goddess-of-Liberty forbid, Republican-voting.

And it was true that the newcomers did have that profile, and some bad things happened to our city and continue to happen, like Les Amis being eaten by a Starbucks. But although we gre at a scarey rate, and attendant cost-of-living increases have made the slacker lifestyle a thing of the past, the political center square of Austin has just moved nary an inch. They were Reagan youth when they got here, now they eat mushrooms and play guitar at First Thursday like the rest of us.

I theorized that it was because of the limestone. You see, on the average a human beings bones are replaced every seven years. New calcium molecules have been installed, and others have eroded away. And the calcium comes from our water, the limestone of the Hill Country that dissolves into our drinking water. After seven years of living here, your bones are made out of Glen Rose and Edwards formation.

Think about how the limestone formed. It was when a shallow sea covered most of Texas. Over millenia, single celled creatures in the water died and drifted to the bottom, and gradually deposited their bodies to accumulate this massive limestone formation. A patient, longterm, peaceful process uninterrupted by cataclysmic events like riting or eathquakes. Shallow seas, not deep scary emotions of the big ocean.

I proposed that the limestone makes us peaceable, mellow Austinites, if we stay long enough to replace the calcium in our bones. And that the limestone itself has a natural, magical power to promote peace and calm. Over time we Austinites have come to resemble in temperament the Tonkawa Indians who lived here before us. They were so mellow that they were easily made into victims of genocide, between the white settlers and the Comanches who were displaced here by white settlers on the Plains. But some of what is recorded about them sounds familiar: how their women wore little or no clothing (it was hot) and how they loved games and spent lots of time in passtime activities (some settlers looked down on them as being lazy) and how they had a habit of showing up to parties and events to guff food and booze, and they loved to adorn their bodies with jewelry and tattooes. So us slackers, hackeysac-playing, underemployed, pierced and tatooed, going from swimming hole to keg party and barbeque are really reenacting Tonkawa lifestyle. Our bones are made out of the same mellow limestone as was theirs. I don't think it is such a bad approach to life at at, in fact it is what makes me proud to live in Austin and take part of it's laid-back freakiness. Limestone, soft enough to chew, thank you Kevin Gant.

Which now takes me back to my personal limestone holey rock that I wore for seven years around my neck until it decided to rejoin its kin at Krause Springs. I had thought of it being a talisman of my connection to the Barton Springs Edwards Aquifer and Barton Creek, which I fought so long and hard to preserve, and a direct connection to that first recharge feature where the water begins to flow underground towards Barton Springs. And as a connection to the UnderWorld realms of Faery, for holed stones are also known as Faery stones, and through the hole in a rock you are supposed to be able to see the faeries who are otherwise invisible.

But now I am seeing that my rock also served another natural magical function for me, and that was to absorb and mellow down strong emotions for me. Both those coming towards me from other people and those coming from me towards them. I feel very raw, as I come to grips with anger, disappointment, fear, and love unmediated by my mellow limestone shield. Friends, lovers, coworkers, be easy with me, and be forwarned if I throw out some strong stuff at you! There are really valid reasons I needed protection from harshness then, and now I get to learn how to do it myself. Those are the lessons to be learned before I wear a Faery Sone shield again.

Turn the Peace Sign Rightside Up

This is something I have been meaning to tell you about for some time! The peace sign is upside down! Let me explain:

T offered to teach a class - Introduction to the Runes. Runes, an ancient magical alphabet of the Norse and Germanic peoples, which most of us became acquainted with on the cover of "The Hobbit There, Back Again" in the 8th grade.

The class was fascinating from beginning to end, and T had a factual, historical skeptical/agnostic openmindedness towards her spiritual studies that I could relate to. Iconoclasm might have been one of my first spiritual tendencies, so when she told us that the peace symbol was upside down symbol meaning the reverse of its intention, I was all ears.

If you look at the peace sign from the Norse/Runic interpretation, it is the opposite of the Algiz rune for life. I had previously heard of it as the rune for protection, but the story doesn't change. According to her story, the symbol was adopted for the Anti-Vietnam peace cause erroniously. The symbol in its reversed position, T told us, was an attempt by unidentified Allied forces to force SS out of hiding by pamplet bombing hideout cities after the war. To the SS (who knew and used runes) it would be the upside-down (inversed, opposite) rune for protection, a spell against protection and life. But because of the context in which it arrived, at a time of deliverance and end of war, the rest of us missed the psych-op message and took it directly as the symbol for the end of WWWII, i.e., peace.

Therefore, according to T, my source, the peace symbol is a rune, a powerful magial symbol, being misused. It is the symbol for death, and if you look at the peace symbol and compare it to Algiz you can see the picture it makes. Algiz upright looks like a stick figure of a human being with head and arms spread and upraised. Life and joy of being alive. When you turn Algiz upside down, (to resemble the peace sign) it looks like a human diving down into the earth, diving into the grave. It was a psych-op warning from the Allies to the Rune-reading SS that they would not be alive much longer because they would be hunted to death.

"Could that be why the peace symbol hasn't worked so well?" I asked. "Hmmm, hmmm, you have to wonder, don't you, said our teacher T, smiling on one side of her face.

One of the students for T's class, of of the deep wise age of 13, came in a few weeks later, and looked at some peace sign window decals we had on display, which were displayed in the usual peace-symbol orientation. "Can I turn the peace symbols rightside up?" she asked. "Go for it!" I said. Maybe we all should. It couldn't hurt.

Absolutism Sucks

Here's what I wrote to Digby when he admonished the Democratic hand-wringers for wailing about how Kerry lost the election:

If you like to scare yourself with the rightwing blogs as I do, you will notice a COMPLETE and TOTAL lack of any of this sort of self-doubt and self-analysis. Blind adherance to one point of view is not strength, it is an amoral personality defect that lends itself to bullying and fascism. So we could congratulate ourselves that the ability to be self-critical is not a loser trait, it just means that we are still capable of critical thinking.

I was paraphrasing the intent of a long-lost essay about the perils of absolutism. Thanks to the writer for the inspiration, I would ref. you if I remembered.

Those jocks and frats who are today's dittohead bad-boy Republicans were the bullies who beat up my friends in high school and college for being queer, black, stoners, goth, or brainy. They are just self-centered and mean, and they NEVER question themselves about what is right or wrong. So they never have to flip-flop on an issue, or admit that they were wrong.

So maybe those handwringing gloom and doom Democrats are not so bad. Maybe they will talk me into voting for Kerry after all.

When I talk to younger people today, I am often really impressed. Smart, worldy, mature beyond their years, they don't seem to think that cynicism or Rottweiler meanness is cool. So maybe they will be the ones who change the election and the state of the Democratic Party after my Reagan youth generation and the Limbaugh attitude have gone out of fashion.

Do I Matter At All?

Or do you, if you don't live in a swing state?

Because of the institution of the electoral college, my vote against Bush is not even counted.

I have no one to vote for.

Kerry is not my man, and Nader has not won my heart.

I have no candidate, and no reason to vote, even though this election is the most important one to me, and perhaps to the world, in my lifetime. And I remember Nixon.

I Love Homework In My School

To the creek and ‘neath the Hawthorne wood
I laid to bed upon the ground
But woke much sooner than I should
To the scritchy-scratchy sound
Of Thomas’s quill pen writing it down
True Thomas I said, give ME a poem!
But bring me safely back to home
For I care not to spend six years and one
In the faery realms as you have done
A punctuated flourish - then he looked
Up from that dog-eared ink-stained book
And pierced me with his eyes so blue
That I knew then what I must to do
We picked stalks of the wild ragweed
To use that night as a faery steed
With a an affirmation to my aspiration
I inhaled a breath of inspiration
And let out such a powerful sneeze
That it launched us both into the breeze
It’s a different journey than mine we’ll take
He said, a different poem that you will make
Concerned by his frown
I dared to look down
And gasped for fear that I might drown
In the mighty flooding river of oil
That flowed to every coastline spoiled
By that unhealthy thirst for the unmet need
Exploited to profit by corporate greed
But with no excuses or confessions said
He pointed ahead and ahead we sped
Towards the fiery river of hate I spied
That burns every soldier, civilian and child
And war-torn women cursed and cried
Widows on this bank, mothers on the other side
Next a river of ice did chill our bones
T’is frost of apathy, where nothing is done
And drugs and numbness still our breath
So to make us will a living death
Thomas, tell me that it is not true
Else tell me where to go and what to do
From whence do these rivers so foul spring
What healing or atonement can I bring?
Thomas and a whole faery host
Then took me to the place I fear most
A giant chasm between continents three
Living beings, humans and faery
With three gods pushing them further apart
This broken place reflects in every heart
They’re your gods not ours said the faeries and flew
I was left in silence with Thomas True
He flew me home, put me to bed
And maybe it was he that said
Courage, truth, love and embraces
May yet heal the heart and these three places
And staunch the rivers that divide the races
Call your gods home and give them new work
To mend the rifts that threaten earth
When I awoke his plumed pen was at my side
Proof of the dream and that Thomas never lied.

Holes in Rocks

The water goes in through holes in rocks. Recharge features. The water comes out through holes in rocks. Springs. As a Walker Between Worlds, the hole in the rock, the Faery Stone, the Friendship Rock, has held a fascination for me as it does for many people who seek to see through the apparant into the underlying, the alternative realities, the Other Sides of the issue, of the world.

This weekend I made a trip several counties over to a sacred Spring, a hole in the rock which happens to be on private land where the "owners" choose to use their land for the benefit of the people, a privately run park and swimming hole with attendant camping grounds. They could have built a hotel, a cement staircase to the springfed pool, or any number of sacrileges in typical texan tack-headery, but they are satisfied with with what they have, a regular income that pays the taxes and the help and keeps the place well maintained.

And in spite of the fact that there are no Parks Police to inspect your fireplace, and in spite of the fact that a number of regulars are beer-drinkin YaY-Hoos the place is at least as respected and harmonious as any State Park in comparible situation.

It was in this sacred spring that I lost my Rock. This Rock, with a Hole through it, which I have worn on my neck as a talisman for seven or nine years, I would have to check records that do not exist.

The Rock came from a Recharge Feature. The water goes through the Hole, then re-emerges at Barton Springs. We have done what we could, also known as not nearly enough, to make sure that the water that goes through the Hole is clean enough to become clean water that comes from the Hole at Barton Springs.

On our trip out to this sacred swimming hole, we passed by the Gallerias at Bee Caves, which is one of the examples of how we did what we could but not nearly enough, to make sure that the water at Barton Springs emerges cool and clean. I knew that it was a battle fought, but I didn't know that it was another one lost, and I wept and wept, seeing that land on Little Barton Creek razed clear, where I once learned the names of frogs in zoology class.

So further away from the grip of Overpopulation and attendant Sprawl Development, we were able to remember without regret, how this Hill Country with its Springs and Holes in Rocks once attended to our joy.

And then, I lost my Rock. My skin's acids had for years been wearing at the limestone, and with one tug, the rock crumbled away from the ribbon that held it to my neck for seven years, as a reminder. What I drink, the water from the rock. What my bones are made of, the limestone in the water from the Rock, which I drink. Where my Other Side and Self walks and lives, the Faery realms underground and in the Aquifers. And what I did that was not enough, to save the limestone hills with the Bugs and Birds and Wild Lands, which has now fallen to sprawl overdevelopment like the Shops at the Galleria on Little Barton Creek behind the Backyard.

Weeping with the Rock in my hands (it still has the big hole that is not broken), at that beautiful fern-laced cliff under the waterfall of clean water from that Hole in the Rock, what was I to do. Seven years of it's protection and guidance and company?

I threw it into the Springs.

Whaaah-Haaa

While I was distracted posting the previous post, that dog came and returned my blog without me even noticing it. I couldn't decide which one I liked better, so I left them both there, even tho they say much the same thing.

Dog Ate My Blog

Last night a dog ate my blog. He came running out of the misty darkness of the Blogosphere (my nomination for inclusion in Matt Groening's "Forbidden Words for 2005" which he publishes in his Life In Hell cartoon at the end of the year) and I was so startled that I forgot to click "Select All" then "Copy" before he grabbed my tasty little blog entry and went running back into the Web. So I will try to paraphrase my "Where to Go?" entry.

Where should I go with this blog? So much is happening in the news, good, juicy stuff on the election. I keep up with Jonathan's Past Peak blog and get info faster than LoverMan, who listens to news on the radio. Then there are my friends returning from NYC and the stories of abuse from police and detention in the cages at Guanatamo-on-the-Hudsen as they call it now. All the contentious email on listserves, people judging the protesters as "commies" "idiots" they got what they deserve attitude, and leftyliberals defending their action and trying to deal with disparaging and defamation.

Or my own life is very full now, my (successful) efforts to enjoy life, dining out, cooking in, seeing all the lefty documentaries (Patty Hearst Story tonite!), mixing liquors, my hoola hooping meetup, and my (soon-to-be-successful) attempts to put down the Flea Invasion in my house with my own natural Flea Death formula, and (as yet unsuccessful) search for a new housemate, and the wondering if the boom of "infill" development is the reason why there are so many For Rent signs all over town, and everyone including me looking for a housemate, and if suppy and demand had anything to do with the market these days, RENT PRICES SHOULD GO DOWN! Also, I am offering several classes thru my shop, in magic and botany, and I have a few ideas for promoting The Picture Tree project. Oh, and yesterday was officially the beginning of Ragweed season, so I will be on heavy medication for the next three months...

Any of these topics could have drawn out one of my drawn-out expository writings, but I guess I am just overwhelmed. If anybody is curious I can provide more details. Right now, I think I'm gonna go start a fire with the pecan wood LM and me drug home for grilling, and roast some Hatch chiles for future use as green enchilada sauce. Pecan roasted green chile sauce, YUM!

Which Way to Go?

For days I have not known which way to go with this blog! So much news has been coming in, from mainstream sources and from Post Peak and his network. I have friends incoming from the protests at the Republican National Convention and their reports of being held in guanatamo - on - the - Hudson, and lots of rightwinger dismissal of said protesters and the concept of political dissent in e-lists that I had the poor judgement to join. Bush is ahead in the polls for the first time since January and yes I am afraid. Afraid and disgusted with the Dems. that they could not make this season a dead zone for Bushite neocons, with so much ammo provided. And in the midst of all this, trying to (successfully) enjoy my own life, going to parties, sampling the food and culture of Austin, TX, (where magic is real and dreams come true) rocking hard to local music, organizing hooola hoopers at meetup.com, keeping the Picture Tree going, helpingpeople with family, health, and relationship issues at work. All while fighting an outbreak of fleas in my house and trying (unsuccessfuly) to find a housemate so that I don't go broke in this economic slump-which-somehow-has-engendered-a-building-boom.

And the bad news is...? Ragweed season officially began today, and my drugs of choice kept me from another sneezing fit while pleasantly zonking me out. (Successful? Unsuccessful?)

Any one of these subjects could have kept me awake all night writing one of the too-long-essays that some of y'all seem to like, but jeez, I have been at a loss as to which one to go off on. If anyone does not know about the overload I am talking about, they have they head stuck in a pot of oatmeal.