Alternative-Family Holidays

This year was the third time I've spent Christmas without my family and the second time in two years. I remember the first time. I was living in Chicago and out of work just scrapping by on unemployment. I was living in this small, two-room studio in Lakeview and the heat was totally inadequate. It later became an issue that I had to fight over with the landlord. The building had little or no insulation and whatever heat the radiator could generate just seeped out the walls. Anyway, I stayed in Chicago that year and spent the day with my friend Matthew and his mother. And, while, I love that I've always had somewhere to go during the holidays, I do miss my dysfunctional family especially at Christmas when our dysfunction is in high gear.

How does our dysfunction manifest? If you've ever seen the film Home for the Holidays, which is set during Thanksgiving, you get a pretty good idea. Don't get me wrong. I know we all love each other and don't intend to push each others buttons but during the holidays all bets are off. The holidays are like a truce in the family tribe. The truce being just the opposite of what truces are for. It's a truce that any feelings hurt during the holidays are forgiven because it's the holidays. All the forced gaiety and songs of good cheer, which should be practiced throughout the year, are built up from Thanksgiving to New Year's Eve when they're obliterated in a drunken debauchery and people return to their normal cynical selves by the first of the year (on the Gregorian calendar).

The second time I stayed away for the holidays was last year. I had just relocated to California from Florida right around Thanksgiving and was living in a two floor loft with a dysfunctional married couple. How did their (our) dysfunction manifest? Keeping with the film theme, imagine Whose Afraid of Virginia Wolf SOBER! I wont go into the dirty details here but suffice to say I was down with a cold, sleeping on a couch, and isolated in a small (what is it with small spaces/places and depressing holidaze?) beachside community in Southern California. I know, I hear ya. How could living in a beachside town in SoCal be anything but great? I guess an unhappy home life has a way of coloring everything else. As it happened, Christmas morning was actually a lot of fun but later that afternoon everything broke down as it did most days in that environment. However, what doesn't kill us makes us stronger.

I still live in SoCal and chose to stay local for Christmas again. However, this time around it was actually very pleasant, relaxing, and celebratory. Is it because I don't live in a tight, little studio? Was it because there was no pressure to find the perfect gift for everyone on my list? Is it an age thing? Ultimately, I think it is both a mind set and being in the right environment. I love living in Carpinteria and the people I've met here. I spent Christmas day with friends I made while living with the couple I moved to California with. This family, the Fullers, have a great tradition where each year their family and friends of theirs from Ventura, the Allens, come together and pig out on menus decided by a different member(s) of the families each year. This year it was a Mexican fiesta with a huge basket of candy for dessert. We played Balderdash with eleven people while grazing on chocolate until late into the evening. It was low-key, casual, and altogether enjoyable. There wasn't any of the dysfunctionalism I have encountered in past years. It seems when it's all said and done that it doesn't matter so much where you are or who your with but that whomever you are with are people that genuinely care about you, not just at the holidays but all the days. Then, if your with people who genuinely care about you, the place you are in wont have as much an effect on the way you feel.

I hope everyone had a great holiday, but if not then it's time to change something so that next year you will. Whether you're with your blood family or an alternative family, choose to be with people who love you. It'll make all the difference in the Universe.

Can marijuana be legal?

Marijuana has always been available wherever I've lived, it wasn't until I moved to California that I could go to a store (a.k.a. collective/cooperative or club) and just buy for a fair cost whatever I needed. There are limits to how much one can have at any one time but the max is half a pound which I'd be hard pressed to go through in under six months. That's me. I've used it off and on recreationally and medicinally for sleeping, anxiety, although it wasn't until I came to California that I actually became educated about different strains and the two main types of pot. Indica and Sativa. Indica brings you down and Sativa takes you up, basically. Of course, there are hybrid strains that have percentages of both Indica and Sativa in them and the craziest of names for all the various strains on the market like NYC Diesel, Purple Headband, SB Kush, Strawberry Cough, Majesty, etc. Currently, Santa Barbara, where I live, only has a handful of clubs with more on the horizon. I've only been to one so far which I have to say was very professionally run. It was like walking into a doctor's office. There was this very sweet receptionist (another Florida native) who took my info and reviewed my medical recommendation (a formal document each patient must have in order to buy). I was then escorted into another room that was set up like an herbalist shop. There were approximately 15 different strains in glass jars in a glass case with matching samples jars on the counter for you to inspect. In another case, there was a small variety of edibles including lollipops, cookies, and assorted baked goods. The prices for all the merchandise were as low as $8 bucks for an edible to as much as $350 for a half pound, which is the legal max any one person can have at one time. Although, it's interesting that one can also grow up to six mature plants that could potentially yield way more than just a half pound. Loophole. Shhh. Ultimately, I believe this is a good thing as my friend Martha would say. It takes the power away from the illegal cartels and brings new revenue to the state or county. All the fears associated with its use can also be said regarding alcohol but the evidence would suggest that the two really don't compare. I'm not going to go into all that here as there are plenty of sites out there to discuss the pros and cons. It's just liberating to see a progressive action take place, not just in California but in 13 states and accompanying bills emerging in Congress.

Where do you stand on the issue? Let me know.

Below are some sites for further info and an article from the Wall Street Journal on recent developments regarding the issue.

For states that have legal marijuana use laws on the books click here.

For a copy of California's law regarding medical marijuana use click here.

From the WSJ by Justin Scheck at justin.scheck@wsj.com and Stu Woo at Stu.Woo@wsj.com

LAKE FOREST, Calif. -- Sellers of marijuana as a medicine here don't fret about raids any more. They've stopped stressing over where to hide their stash or how to move it unseen.
Now their concerns involve the state Board of Equalization, which collects sales tax and requires a retailer ID number. Or city planning offices, which insist that staircases comply with the Americans With Disabilities Act. Then there is marketing strategy, which can mean paying to be a "featured dispensary" on a Web site for pot smokers.
After years in the shadows, medical marijuana in California is aspiring to crack the commercial mainstream.

"I want to do everything I can to run this as a legitimate business," says Jan Werner, 55 years old, who invested in a pot store in a shopping mall after 36 years as a car salesman.

State voters decreed back in 1996 that Californians had a right to use marijuana for any illness -- from cancer to anorexia to any other condition it might help. But supplying "med pot" remained risky. The ballot measure didn't specify who could sell it or how. The state provided few guidelines, leaving local governments to impose a patchwork of restrictions. Above all, because pot possession remained illegal under U.S. law, sellers had to worry about federal raids.

But in February, the Justice Department said it would adhere to President Barack Obama's campaign statement that federal agents no longer would target med-pot dealers who comply with state law.

Since then, vendors who had kept a low profile have begun to expand, and entrepreneurs who had avoided cannabis have begun to invest.
Some now are using traditional business practices like political lobbying and supply-chain consolidation. Others are seeking capital or offering investment banking for pot purveyors. In Oakland, a school offers courses such as "Cannabusiness 102" and calls itself Oaksterdam University, after the pot-friendly Dutch city. As shops proliferate, there are even signs the nascent industry could be heading for another familiar business phenomenon: the bubble.
Medical use of pot now is legal in 13 states. It is also facing some resistance. New Hampshire's Democratic governor, John Lynch, vetoed a med-pot bill this month, citing inadequate safeguards. Los Angeles, which passed a moratorium on new dispensaries in 2007, is trying to close a loophole that has led to an explosion of new ones.

John Lovell, a lobbyist for the California Peace Officers' Association, objects to "the notion that marijuana is safe and can be used for any and all purposes to heal any and all ailments," adding: "There are 34 different elements in marijuana smoke that are shared with tobacco." He and others also complain about the ease with which patients can get pot recommendations from certain doctors.

Still, at a time of deep recession, the med-pot business is attracting career switchers. Mr. Werner was the sales manager of a Chrysler dealership, and dismayed with the collapse of car sales. He had a doctor's recommendation to smoke pot, for pain from a spinal condition. One day a car-dealer friend, Bill Shofner, who also had a pot recommendation (for migraines), suggested: Why not become pot vendors?

The mellowing of federal regulations for selling medical marijuana has created a crop of pot entrepreneurs with dreams of taking their homegrown businesses into the stock market. Justin Scheck and Stu Woo report from California. Each invested $40,000. Following state guidelines, they set up as a nonprofit, called Lake Forest Community Collective, from which they would draw salaries. It is on the second floor of a strip mall in the Los Angeles suburb of Lake Forest that also houses Mexican restaurants and a Peet's Coffee shop. A customer first encounters a brightly lit front room with a security window and an Obama poster, then is buzzed into a vestibule with an ATM. Beyond that is a spotless room with glass cases displaying pot in pill bottles. Scribbled on a board are prices, from $10 to $25 a gram, for different strains: Sour Diesel, Purple Urkel, Bubba Hash. Sour Diesel is popular, says a volunteer, and "really potent."
This still is a far cry from, say, Amsterdam, where pot remains illegal but authorities are so tolerant that pot is available in coffeehouses.

In California, pot sales, legal and illegal, are estimated to total $14 billion a year. Medical marijuana makes up maybe an eighth of that, says Dale Gieringer, director of the state's chapter of the National Organization for the Reform of Marijuana Laws. He estimates the state has three million pot smokers, including 350,000 with doctors' recommendations.
The state taxes med-pot sales, and on Tuesday, the city of Oakland added its own special tax.
In Lake Forest, Messrs. Werner and Shofner pay about $4,000 for a pound of marijuana, retailing it for about $6,000. They don't break even yet, the two say.
The business is a little like selling cars in one way, Mr. Shofner says: The longer they hold their stock, the less it is worth. Aging marijuana loses both potency and weight.
Med-pot sellers say they generally avoid marijuana from Mexican cartels; the risks are higher and the quality is lower. Messrs. Werner and Shofner say they at first bought largely from far-northern California, where clandestine growers also supply the underground market.
For reasons of cost and consistency, they have been taking fuller control of the supply chain. A few months ago they gave money to members of their collective for grow lamps and other equipment, and now they get much of their supply from them. "It's like McDonald's" making deals with potato farmers, Mr. Werner says.
Some vendors are toying with another familiar business model: vertical integration. In pot, that means growing as well as dealing. This was a risky approach when a federal raid could cost an owner his pot, his computers and maybe even his liberty. Now, one Los Angeles-area med-pot vendor says he has acquired land in Northern California and begun to grow his own.
Mr. Werner and his partner recently decided to expand. They signed leases for two new outlets.
They also have lost their wariness of advertising. The proliferation of dealers makes promotion essential. The two now pay several hundred dollars a month for ads on Web sites like Weedmaps.com, which helps people find medical pot.
Justin Hartfield, who started Weedmaps, says it has grown quickly to about $20,000 in monthly revenue, half from ads.
The rest comes from referring people to doctors who recommend pot. Mr. Hartfield bills the doctors $20 for each patient he sends them. The American Medical Association ethics code says payment for referrals is unethical. Mr. Hartfield says the doctors are keenly aware of the ethics issue and consider their payments not to be fees for referral but "advertising fees that change every month."
Shane Stuart, 23, says he used to buy weed from street dealers but in February saw an online ad for a pot-friendly doctor. He realized then, he says, that medical marijuana was becoming more mainstream and having a pot ID card wouldn't hurt him with employers. He came away from a $200 doctor visit with a note recommending pot for pain from a hyperextended knee.
Mr. Hartfield, the Weedmaps impresario, has a doctor's recommendation for marijuana "to ease my anxiety and help with my insomnia." Mr. Hartfield says the med-pot system is really just a way of legalizing marijuana for anyone who wants to smoke. He says his anxiety/insomnia isn't really serious enough to require treatment. "I'm fine. I don't really have it," he says. "The medical system is a total farce. I'm an example of that. It just needs to be legal."
Med-pot advocates say marijuana can ease chronic pain, spur appetite in anorexics or chemotherapy patients, and relieve eyeball pressure in glaucoma patients. The law voters approved in 1996 listed several conditions that might be helped but said so long as a doctor recommended pot, all "seriously ill Californians" had a right to it for "any...illness for which marijuana provides relief."
David Allen, a former Mississippi heart surgeon, last month opened a general practice in Sacramento and listed himself on a Web site as a pot-friendly doctor. Marijuana, says Dr. Allen, 57, "helps the common conditions that affect every human being -- for instance, anxiety, depression, insomnia and anorexia" -- and can relieve certain arthritis symptoms and muscle-spasm conditions.
Still, he says, many of his patients are people who already used pot but just wanted a doctor's recommendation to avoid legal trouble. "If I was to deny them, I would put them at more risk, and I'd be hurting society by doing this as well," he says. "Cannabis is safer than aspirin."
Dr. Allen smokes pot for insomnia, anxiety and stress. He says he quit heart surgery because what he does now is more lucrative. He says he doesn't pay for referrals, a practice he considers unethical.
As the business matures, ancillary ventures are springing up. In Oakland, OD Media manages advertising and branding for about a dozen pot clients. An Oakland lawyer, James Anthony, and three partners have started a firm called Harborside Management Associates to give dealers business advice. A pot activist named Richard Cowan has opened what he envisions as an investment bank for pot-related businesses, called General Marijuana.
Mr. Cowan is also chief financial officer of Cannabis Science Inc., which is trying to market a pot lozenge for nonsmokers. It was founded by Steve Kubby, a longtime medical-marijuana advocate who a decade ago was acquitted of a pot-growing charge but briefly jailed for having illegal mushrooms in his home. Mr. Kubby says there is "no more alternative culture" at the company, which went public in March and has hired a former pharmaceutical-industry scientist to try to win Food and Drug Administration approval for the lozenge. Mr. Kubby left as CEO this month in a dispute with the board.
Part of the opposition medical marijuana continues to face is rooted in concern that unsavory characters from the illegal-drugs business will get involved. The city attorney of Lake Forest, where Messrs. Werner and Shofner have their store, recently sent a letter to the landlords of pot dispensaries asking them to evict tenants. Mr. Shofner says he reached a settlement with his landlord to stay.
To defend their interests, some pot proprietors are hiring lobbyists. Messrs. Shofner and Werner pay consulting fees to Ryan Michaels, a political organizer with an expertise in med-pot compliance issues.
There are signs medical pot's increasing business legitimacy is crowding the market. A 20-mile stretch of Ventura Boulevard in the San Fernando Valley now has close to 100 places to buy. "So many dispensaries have come along, the prices are dropping," says one operator, Calvin Frye. Two years ago, his least expensive pot was about $60 for an eighth of an ounce. Now it is $45.
Across the country, a med-pot bill is working its way through New York's state legislature. If it makes it, entrepreneurs are getting ready.
Larry Lodi, a 49-year-old Little League umpire from Long Island, spent two days at Oaksterdam University in May, learning the fine points of cultivation and distribution. Mr. Lodi envisions a business that would link the growers and the sellers of medical marijuana. "I want to be the middleman," he says.

A Disturbing Experience

In my quest for deeper understanding of my own being and spiritual nature, I sometimes take extreme measures. I recently read a book called 2012: The Return of Quetzalcoatl by Daniel Pinchbeck and following his own shamanic lead, decided to try a visionary herb widely known as Salvia Divinorum. Usually this particular entheogen is smoked and very quickly brings on an intense visionary experience that doesn't last very long but I had heard about a tincture form of the herb known as Emerald Essence that could be taken internally and deliver a much longer and satisfying experience. I had read that one could experience profound insights into the earliest memories and sometimes previous life memories while others have had reality bending experiences similar to LSD or Mushroom trips. Also, unlike nearly all other entheogens, Salvia is still legal in most states and I could simply order it off the web and have it delivered.

Once receiving the small dark bottle, I waited for a time that I could be in the right meditative mind set and have the privacy to under take what I hoped would be a fantastic inner journey. I read all the accompanying literature that came with the product and followed the instructions carefully. You have to keep the tincture in the mouth, under the tongue, for no less than 15 minutes. It's active component Salvironin A can only become active when absorbed through the mucousal lining in the mouth and would become inactive if simply digested. I was warned the tincture might have a intense stinging sensation due to its grain alcohol base, but I wasn't concerned because I both make and take tinctures regularly; however, I don't make them with grain alcohol. The first time I tried the product, I placed three droppers full or shots directly under my tongue. I had planned on doing four but my mouth became so salivated that I couldn't get any more in. While I waited the appropriate amount of time, my mouth did burn quite noticeably. After fifteen minutes, I swallowed the salivated tincture and waited for what was described as a moderate undiluted dose. Unfortunately all I experienced was a sense of drunkenness, I had to lay down, and an extreme pressure in my temporal lobes. There was the faintest hint of hallucinogenic patterns emerging behind my eyes but I almost had to strain to make them out. I waited for the effects to diminish and chalked it up to a false start.

The second time, I pre-poured five droppers full into a shot glass and took it all at once. I waited the appropriate amount of time and decided to spit out the remaining tincture. The sense of drunkenness was much more increased this time. I nearly stumbled to the bathroom while my house swirled around me. I had no sense of balance. I barely remember spitting green into the sink and attempting to wash out my entire mouth to relieve the burning that had somehow gotten focused on the roof of my mouth. I kept thinking one of my roommates would hear me and come to see what was up. I thought I was being so noisy, but no one came. I also thought about calling out for help which is something I've never experienced with a hallucinogen before. I made my way back to my room with much difficulty. I kept loosing little spans of time. It was like watching yourself under a strobe light and all the while I had little balance. I went immediately to my bed and crawled under the covers. I felt an intense pressure again but this time it was on the roof of my mouth. It felt like something was pressing hard against it. I remember my feet were ice cold even though I had on socks and was under two comforters. I kept drifting for moments on end through incomprehensible vistas that were nothing like either LSD or mushrooms. I felt decidedly uncomfortable. I had no profound insights except to not attempt this again. I guess I had the infamous bad trip. Once it finally subsided, it seemed as if only twenty or so minutes had passed but it was actually like two and a half hours. I got up again and wolfed down some ice cream to cool the burnt parts of my mouth and then I returned to bathroom to brush my teeth and try to get some of the tincture stains out. Did I mention that the tincture stains the inside of your mouth green? The roof of my mouth felt numb as if I had burned it on hot food. I was warned of this effect and had experienced it slightly before. It's no big deal and wears off after a day. I went back to bed and slept fitfully for the remainder of the night.

The following morning, this morning, I awoke to a dull headache but otherwise okay. I think I have a Salvia hangover. Ultimately, I'm disappointed that my experience was more disturbing than anything profound. The costs to achieve it were more than I would probably undertake again. And, truthfully, I preferred the effects of smoking the dried leaves much more than what the tincture brought. I suppose if you are a modern day shaman then this experience would be no big deal and perhaps there might be some deep insights to have gained, but for this soul seeker the Salvia tincture journey is over.

Return to Center

There's something about the Fall that always puts me in a ultra-spiritual state of mind. I'm always in a state of spiritual progression, but this time of year I feel drawn to do more to increase my spiritual karma. As each year progresses, I begin my spiritual odyssey in the Fall and it reaches its zenith in the late winter but during the spring and into the summer, I'm so relieved to receive the sun and its warmth that I become surfaced-centered and the spirit gets neglected. While this may be a natural progression that many other people go through, I want to work on preserving my deep spiritual practices throughout the year, which for me is from Fall to Fall.

Last night, after doing nearly everything I could think to do, and all the while knowing I wasn't doing anything that mattered, I finally gave in and sat for some light meditation. Sadly, I found my meditational muscles to be extremely out of shape. It was uncomfortable to sit in any cross-legged position. I needed to place pillows under my knees to relieve soreness and not to be distracted by their weight. My back ached, right in the middle, and it was difficult to take deep breaths. However, I was determined. Just a year ago, I could easily sit in a half-lotus for nearly an hour! I lit incense and attempted to relax my roving mind which, of course, went into overdrive. "Don't even think of trying to shut me down," it seemed to say. "What about this... what about that... how about this... how about that," it taunted me. So I did what every beginning meditator is taught to do, I returned to my breath, my center. At first, it was almost an exaggerated action. I could hear myself inhale the way you do when a doctor is listening to your lungs. But with each exhale, I felt a little more relaxed and slowly my mind began to quiet. I imagined a white light coming toward me from out in the infinite distance, beyond my third eye, and growing brighter and larger as it neared. Eventually it was as if I had entered the Sun and was completely enveloped in its magnificence. I sat with it for a short time. Yes, it was still a short meditation. Even with all my strives to be exactly where I left off months ago, I still found it difficult to just be. However, no worries and no judgements. Each night, for that's when I feel most ready for meditation, I will continue my practice and strive with all my being to keep it going full throttle throughout the year.

Voice of the Drum I

Voice of the Drum II

Last evening I finally returned to my drumming practice and took part in a local drum circle here in Santa Barbara. The experience, as it almost always has been for me, was exceptional. The circle gathered across from the beach and played until well after the sun went down. Throughout the evening, the circle grew in numbers and then began to shrink as it became closer to ten. The rhythms would vary as if on cue but the signals were felt intuitively. Admittedly, I'm a bit of a one beat wonder or I have a tendency to follow one pattern throughout a particular session. I find in very difficult to change it up as some of the more advance players do so effortlessly, but then someone needs to keep a foundational beat going so the others can play off of it too. This is what I tell myself anyway. However, what's so awesome is it doesn't matter within the circle. It doesn't matter if you've never played before or you've been playing for decades. The voice of the drum speaks for itself and everyone around the world has the ability to speak through the drum beat, if not the forethought to do so. In other words, drumming is a universal form of communication and it universally creates spontaneous communities wherever it occurs. When people hear the beat of the drum, they will come. People are drawn to its rhythms whether to play, dance, or just listen.

Dear Diane,

What a beautiful and amazing person you were
in this life! Thank you for coming into my life
for the brief period that you did. I remember

the first time I met you at the weekly drum
circles in Cocoa Village. You came with your friend,
whose name escapes me, and were totally game

for drumming even though it wasn't really
your thing at all. I remember when
we had talked about getting a place together

in the Village and I showed you and the gang
the house I had found. I remember
your red hair and your big smile.

I remember all the times you came to
the Herb Corner and I channeled Reiki
for you and you told me I was a monk

in a previous life and I was meant to be
a healer. I remember your laugh and your bright eyes.
I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when

the cancer progressed despite all our efforts to
stop it. I'm sorry I was unable to visit you when
the end of this life was near. I'm sorry

I didn't call more often. I know you
have no regrets and I know you hold no
ill will for me, but I wanted you to know

that I valued our friendship and that I'll look
for you in future lifetimes. I know
our paths will cross again.

Safe journey,
Your friend,

Michael

The Shadow of the Wind

Every once in a while you come across a book that just takes your breathe away. These are those books that were not given as gifts or recommended by someone or you saw on the NYT bestsellers list. You just happen upon them. It's not to say that they weren't NYT bestsellers, as this one was, but that when you came upon it, wherever that may have been, it wasn't due to any recommendations. I recently came upon such a book at my local library. I noticed it for the second time in one of those rolling carts libraries use to return books to the shelves. In my small town library, this cart is always by the new books section and perpetually stacked with books of all genres. As I perused the assemblage, this book caught my eye. I think it was first the color of the spine which is a deep brown like old leather and then it was the title. The Shadow of the Wind. It's written by one Carlos Ruiz Zafon, a writer I knew nothing about nor had ever heard of before. The novel was first published in 2001. Translated into English in 2004 and later published in a paperback edition in 2005 by Penguin. It was just such a copy that I picked up at the library. I don't know how to describe the magnificence that is this story or the depth of wonder it evokes as you become absolutely immersed in its pages. It's a story of love at its center but also of hatred. It's a story that spans decades but easily jumps back and forth through time without loosing the reader for even the briefest of moments. It's filled with mystery, suspense, intrigue, and real life. The language flows like that of a beloved poem but it isn't overly stylistic. I realize I've praised this novel without giving a single element of the story away and with good intention. If anyone reading this has any love of good literature, then you must read this novel. I dare you not to love it.

Wings of My Lord

Princess of Pop

Leslie Ditto

More info: Artist site

Leslie on her work:

As far back as I, Leslie Ditto, can remember I have always been drawn to self expression through visual arts. As a young girl, growing up in Memphis, Tennessee, I was not exposed to any classical surreal artist until I attended Overton High School for the performing and Visual Arts.

I was accepted into Otis Parsons in Los Angeles. After only two months of training my father had become terminally ill and I was forced to return home to Memphis. I was never able to return to school but could not deny the artist in me the opportunity for expression just because I had never been formally trained.

Over the years I researched techniques of the “Old Masters” such as Leonardo Da Vinci, Rubens, Raphael, and Rembrandt. I fell in love with the technique of glazing transparent oil color over a neutral colored under painting. With strong influences from fantasy artist, surreal artist, and the “Old Masters”, I create disturbingly beautiful oil paintings that interpret to the viewer my deep emotions that are conceived from my views of current social, political, and religious dynamics. My ideas come to me in an organic fashion. Starting with a seed of a simple idea and growing into many complex symbols and images. My main goal is to capture my audience and bring them to my emotional state in the hopes that my test for an echo will be a success.

Serenity

While this isn't a lotus flower, it looks close enough to one. The blooming lotus always takes me to a place of serenity.

Pure Luxury!

My idea of luxury is sitting in the grass with the sun on my face and my feet bare to the world.

California Fog

What is it with this part of the California coast? It is so prone to fog. One day it can be beautifully blue and sunny and the very next the sky is gray, flat, and lifeless. I readily admit to being directly affected by the weather. In scientific circles they call this S.A.D. or Seasonal Affected Disorder. While S.A.D. is often associated with the fall and winter seasons, its effects can be felt at any time of the year depending on one's disposition and/or sensitivity to weather patterns. For me, a cloudy day makes me introspective and lazy and in this part of California, those days have been more often that I care to admit. Yesterday, for instance, was great. It wasn't hot but it was very comfortable and very sunny. Today is gray. However, the one saving grace is that the fog typically burns off by early afternoon and I can only hope it will do so today too.

If Your Life Ain't Working, Feng Shui It!

Recently my friend Heather introduced me to the energetic world of feng shui. She loaned me this book by Karen Rauch Carter called Move Your Stuff, Change Your Life and I've attempted to apply the principles both to my room and to our house. If you're not yet familiar with feng shui, it's basically an ancient Chinese system of arranging things both in your home and in your life so that they activate energies and make positive changes in your life. It's part decorating and part sympathetic magick where everything comes into play and can have an affect on everything else around it. I've boosted up the good vibes in my prosperity corner with purple things and my relationship corner with pink and red and things that say partner as opposed to single. I put up a map of the world in my travel section and pictures of living holistically in my career area, which happens to be my closet too. This morning at the monthly flea market, Heather bought some chandelier crystals to create vibrant rainbows all over the house. Strangely, when we got back to our place, someone had left a bag of these crystals at our door. Manifestations! Now if I can just manifest some surplus prosperity. Hm.

"Clergy say, "I won't"

July 10, 2009

Since gays and lesbians can't say "I do," some churches are getting out of the marriage business

By Lilly Fowler

Art Cribbs leans forward in his pressed blue shirt and pink tie, wide-eyed and wistful, exclaiming his love of wedding ceremonies while sitting in his office one morning.

"It's just glorious," he said. "Every time I do a wedding, I go back to my wife and reconnect. It's like reliving our own wedding vows."

But Cribbs, a 59-year-old African-American minister with the United Church of Christ in San Marino, Calif., isn't attending many weddings lately.

As part of a nationwide movement, Cribbs is refusing to oversee the union of couples until the right to marry is granted to all, and laws like Proposition 8 in California, which deny the right of same-sex couples to marry, are repealed.

Headed by John Tamilio and Tricia Gilbert of Pilgrim Congregational United Church of Christ in Cleveland, the Refuse-to-Sign campaign seeks to make the division between church and state clearer, as it concerns the issue of marriage.

Supporters of the campaign argue that faith leaders have, by default, become agents of the state, signing off on marriage licenses -- whether or not they agree with the state's policy on marriage. By asking clergy to refuse to sign marriage certificates, they hope to make a distinction between the obligation of the state to afford equal rights to all and marriage as a religious sacrament.

In short, the Refuse-to-Sign campaign says, while churches have the right to choose whether to bless same-sex couples, states should not have such a choice, and have a duty to extend marriage certificates to all who seek them.

Clergy aren't the only ones participating in the campaign. Couples can also join the movement by voluntarily going to a local judge or court clerk for the signing of the marriage license, rather than to a church leader; they look to their congregation strictly to provide a religious ceremony.

Tamilio says the movement is just now gaining ground, with a couple of dozen interfaith leaders already signed up. But he believes that there are thousands out there who are interested in such a campaign, although the specific way clergy participate does vary.

Cribbs, for example, isn't just refusing to sign marriage certificates. He's refusing to perform at weddings at all.

As an African-American who grew up in the impoverished Watts area of Los Angeles, famous for the large-scale 1965 race riots, a backlash to the lack of social services in the area and discriminatory behavior by police, Cribbs says he can't see doing anything else. The discrimination faced by African-Americans in the '60s is not unlike the challenges homosexuals face today.

"I cannot with good conscience perform weddings for heterosexuals knowing people who are gay and lesbian are being denied that opportunity," he said.

Molly Holland Avery, founder of the Organization for Cultural Competency, a group dedicated to bringing people of diverse backgrounds together, voluntarily forwent a civil ceremony as part of the campaign, opting solely for a religious one. She says she understands the discrimination same-sex couples are facing today.

"We're a mixed-race couple," 67-year-old Avery said, referring to her African-American husband. "Forty years ago, there were several states where we could not be married."

All Saints Church, an Episcopal church in Pasadena, Calif., is one of a few congregations that has joined the campaign so far, declaring, "We are no longer in the civil marriage business."

"We are not going to allow the state to make us agents of discrimination," Susan Russell said, the congregation's senior associate. (Russell issued this statement from the Episcopal Church's general convention being held in Anaheim, Calif., this week and next. The convention is set to consider resolutions that would allow same-sex blessings in the church, as well as the appointment of gay bishops, resolutions that many Anglicans disagree with and that have resulted in friction among members.)

The inability of a church's leadership to unanimously agree on the issue of homosexuality or same-sex marriage has led to troubles for some who have joined the Refuse-to-Sign movement.

Anne Cohen, a minister at First Congregational Church in Glendale, Calif., had at one point spoken out about her refusal to sign and her decision to withhold her services from heterosexual couples. Cohen, however, now says she has promised her congregation that she will no longer talk about her "personal decision."

Still, John Witte Jr. at the Center for the Study of Law and Religion at Emory University says, a movement that asks clergy to stop signing is likely to gain ground. Witte says prior to the American Revolution, a strict separation of church and state, specifically as it concerns marriage, existed. And he suspects we're heading full circle.

"I think it's probably a start to a new trend," he said. "Clergy are going to get out of this marriage business."

Canada and Western Europe already operate under a two-step process, not unlike the one advocated by supporters of Refuse-to-Sign. People in these countries are used to looking to churches to experience marriage as a sacrament, and to the state for the signing of the certificate. And Witte says certain denominations of Baptists, Quakers and Catholics chose to remove themselves from the business of marriage long ago.

In fact, Witte says a parallel can be drawn between what is happening today with regard to marriage, and what has happened in the past with regard to adoption. Although the Catholic Church, like other religious organizations, has traditionally acted as an adoption agency, when faced with pressure in states like Massachusetts to allow same-sex couples to adopt, the church has opted to quit the business altogether, rather than continue to deal with the controversy stirred by the state's mandate.

Of course, unlike in adoption, which is an all or nothing proposition, churches could decide to quit the business of marriage, while still overseeing unions; they would simply extricate themselves from the civil side of marriage, that is, the signing of the certificates.

It's an idea that organizers think both conservatives and liberals can get behind.

The Refuse-to-Sign movement, despite being made up largely of liberal organizations, is actively making an appeal to conservatives: We want your church to be able to decide for itself on the issue of same-sex marriage, even if, in the end, it chooses not to bless same-sex couples; we just don't think the state has that choice.

Although conservatives may not like the direction the country is heading, they could be satisfied with the knowledge that they will continue to have the freedom to deny same-sex couples the right to marry, without getting hassled by the state or other religious organizations.

And although the Obama administration has been receiving piss-poor grades from the LGBT community of late, there are enough who are afraid of what might be around the corner -- on both sides of the debate -- that a movement to seek more autonomy, and separate church and state on the issue of marriage, could very well be appealing. For supporters of gay marriage, it means avoiding the possibility that friends who are homosexual will never achieve marriage status, and for those on the other side of the debate, it means the religious communities they belong to won't be forced to comply with a state mandate with which they disagree.

Yoshi poses with one leg raised while sleeping

Yin Yang Ziggy

12 Annual Rods and Roses in Carpinteria

This weekend is the 12 annual Rods and Roses event in beautiful downtown Carpinteria. The event is presented by the Coastal View News and this years proceeds will benefit the Carp Cares for Youth organization. This years grand marshall, for his 10th year running, is "Mr. Indy 500" and former spokesperson for STP Andy Granatelli. The one day show features classic auto and tractors pre 1979. There are also food vendors, craft sales, music, and raffles. At the end of the day, there's a parade of all the vehicles in the show and live music at the Carpinteria Valley Arts Center. Below are some pictures I took at the event.

They're called classic for a reason

Is that ZZ Top?

They don't make em like this anymore!

"Saturday, what a day, rocking all week with you"

Sweet!

Eat my dust man!

Big Mean Orange Tractor

Heather and Michael let their hair down for Solstice

Summer Solstice brings seaside fantasy to Santa Barbara

Summer Solstice Parade began in 1974, as a birthday celebration for a popular artist and mime named Michael Gonzales. Today, the Summer Solstice Celebration has evolved into creative and original display of floats, whimsical costumes and masks of more than 1,000 parade participants of all ethnic and economic backgrounds. There is dancing, music, drumming and drama that enthralls the spectators. Each year there is a theme and this year's theme was splash.The Parade is the largest, single-day arts event in Santa Barbara County, drawing crowds of over 100,000 spectators from around the world. From these humble beginnings arose a celebration of life that is like no other.

Once the parade ends, the solstice festival continues in Alameda Park, but was originally held at the sunken gardens of the County Courthouse. When the number of people outgrew the size of the courthouse the event was then moved to Alameda Park. The Alameda Park is where everyone can enjoy a wonderful eclectic collection of live world music including famous local groups, food, arts and crafts. On Saturday only is a special free children’s festival and a DJ area for dancing and enjoying techno music and a large drum circle keeps the beat going all afternoon. The festival now opens on Friday night and that evening is a music, dance and performance extravaganza that also includes a peak at some of the participants in the parade on the following day. Local talent is showcased at this event. Our arts and crafts area features a juried “fine art” area as well as an area for crafts from local artisans as well as from around the world.

Check out some photos of this year's event below. For more info on the parade and past year's festivals, click here.

A head of the parade ... you might say.

What do stilts, make-up, feathers, and scantily dressed boys have in common?

Beach buggy of the future

or

Wheelie Gay!

Bella bends waaaaaaaaaaay back.

It's not The Girl in the Plastic Bubble



but it is a girl in a plastic man-o-war doing rope tricks.

Go girl!

A
bird's

eye
view.

This crazy monster thing was in the park after the parade. The children were having a ball twisting the creature's nose until it deflated, then releasing it and watching it bounce back to life.

Wouldn't you like to live here?

Roomies

Over the years I lived with quite a few people and most of the situations were not ideal. It's not normally easy living with others unless they are very compatible with your habits and beliefs. I have only had this experience twice in my life and both times have been in the last six months. I recently went through a very dramatic house guest situation that ended badly but I landed an awesome housemate situation that couldn't be much better. I live with two of the coolest people who just live and let live. Unfortunately, one of my housemates is leaving for grad school. Oh Universe, you giveth and you taketh away. However, I believe and know that the Universe will provide another stellar roommie. If you know of anyone in the area that is open to all the amazing things the Universe has to offer and believes in the sanctity of all life styles and living, then drop me a line.

Universe, we need someone by July 1st. Thanks!

8th Street Avenue Pedesterian Bridge

I just returned from an amazing experience where I was used in the best way possible. I had been on a long afternoon walk and was on the return loop when I came to this pedestrian footbridge suspended over a creek and surrounded by big trees. It sounds attractive and would have been except for the grey pall on the energy. It was as if the area around this bridge were encased in a dark bubble. It stopped me as I near the center of the bridge and was taken back by feelings of wanton need, loneliness, secretiveness, and sickness. I immediately drew upon the energy that’s part of me and part of the Universe and sent it out in a spray all over the area. My palms became very warm and at times cold depending on where I directed them. However the strangest thing was yet to come. As the occasional walker or bike person would come along, I’d keep the energy going but let my palms hang over the bridge and shower the area under the bridge. Well, every time I did it, the bridge shook as if something were trying to get deeper undercover and away from the light I was sending out. I worked with the energy is such a way as I have not done since I left Florida. It was as if the area called out to me and drew me there and the energy was also called and it answered. I could feel pressure coming off the water, almost pushing against my hands and continuous waves of warmth and cold. I stayed with it until my hands cooled and the area seemed a little brighter.

The pictures were taken after I got home from my experience. It didn’t even enter my mind to take some pictures while I was there, so I had to go back. I got up the courage to ask my housemate, Heather, to drive me there so I could snap some shots.

Coming onto the bridge the second time it still felt tired and sad but not as strongly as it had earlier. It also couldn't take any more energy. It wasn't called.

Tired and empty feeling area. This part of the creek is dry but not twenty feet away the ground is dank and fetid.

Down the other side, the grass was looking better.

Looking down one side of the bridge near the center.

Gaze at this one for awhile and let me know what you see.

Walking away the area seemed somewhat renewed and nearly inviting. It seemed please with itself, a sort of contentment but not altogether healed either.

my manifestation my time my peace

my creation station my pad my room my space my environment my sanctuary my groove palace my sacred space my spare room my meditation room my reading room my spirit place my sleep chamber my dream bank my taste myoriginality

Kind of Out of Focus

Exploits?

thicker and thicker and the view was
stealing round them like other things
existed in great profusion from dullness
in the wet in your white linen ignorance
is sometimes more remarkable
miscreant scorched black by the sun width
visible extract as if oozing from end to end
bidden to collect the factions of groping
bewilderment been caught in the accident
mumbled a temperature knot menace
belongs to the drawing room together under
an inadequate parasol simply slipped
into violets all blue and for a moment
rain and darkness came on neutral
like someone in a book story about lost luggage

The End

as if it were tangible they returned and made observations
at all events the reliable walls of youth looked
of elephantine interludes dancing

as if wild horses could not censure the attenuated bearing
it was the transitional passage in its dissolution malignity
panic and emptiness

dour gusts of splendor and demi-gods boil over a man
which could never be superceded and willfully caught
the poor cannot afford it

magnificence scattered the goblins of superhuman joy
took it as a sign breathing the autumnal statement persuading
to stop for Pomp and Circumstance

and a photograph frame more vigorously dashed
the same size eyes more anxious and hungary
and waste to steam flaming ramparts of the world

Carpinteria Valley Arts Council

Artists Studio Tour 2009

Yesterday I had the pleasure of visiting a number of Carp area artists in their studios. I had the unique opportunity to see the spaces where these artists create their work. For some it was a room in their home and for others it was a separate building on their property. The last studio I visited belonged to Rebecca Lovejoy Stebbins and it was over her garage. She had created an amazing country cottage that seemed as though it was right out of the early 18th century. While Barbara Baker McIntyre's studio used to be the garage to her home. Hers is spacious and yet filled to capacity with works in progress. She and I concurred that no matter how large one's work space was, it would never be large enough. As much of the experience was in seeing art, it was also about discussing inspirations and the creative process. This was certainly the case with Kathleen Lord who also gave me the abbreviated history on Carp and its Chumash Indian ancestery but also the exciting work she does through the Bellas Artes organization. I was admittedly surprised not only by the quantity of working artists in the area but the quality of art as well. Much of the work I saw was just as interesting as anything I had seen in Chicago, New York and elsewhere. Carpinteria has been home to artists for many years due to its ideal climate, inspiring landscape, friendly people, and a very relaxed atmosphere. It's ideally situated between Los Angeles and Santa Barbara and downstate from San Francisco.

Quilted Portraits

Ranell Hansen

A wall of sewing machines in Ranell Hansen's studio

Figure study of organic form 1

When I saw this sculpture by Wendy Varnals, I told her it reminded me of a faery creature. A life dependent on and born from Mother Earth. Check out the work of Brian Froud or the stories by Charles de Lint for more on faery. Wendyvarnals@cox.net

Figure study of organic form 2

Wendyvarnals@cox.net

Assorted pieces in the studio

Barbara McIntyre

Art that literally touches you!

Barbara McIntyre

Noah Erenberg: Angel

Glamour Puss

Lindsey poses for my camera with the day's end shopping cart filled with trash. It's the perfect composition of sassy and trashy. Lindsey is so cool. Where does she get those outfits? Guess who does her hair? I'll never tell.

Cool People

I just met two very interesting people in a kind of unusual way. The first, Peter, I met online and we decided to meet in person at his place in Goleta. I've only been in that area once before and I mistakenly believed I could just as easily get there on the bus as I do everywhere else I want or need to go. Unfortunately, one of the drawbacks to the So Cal transit system is that it doesn't really run on schedule, the lines run at great intervals, and it stops running by eight in the evening. The fact that all the buses are hybrids makes up for some of the drawbacks but it doesn't make getting to places any easier. So, I ended up taking the bus to Santa Barbara but then grabbing a cab to Goleta. It was in the cab that I met this other interesting man named Able. When I got off the bus at the Transit Center, checked the time, and realized I'd never be on time to meet Peter, I decided to take a cab. I knew there would be some near the bus station and sure enough there were three on my side of Chapala and another across the street. What's interesting here is that I walked passed the three that were most accessible and chose to cross the street and see if the one there was available. Something about the three that were on my side of the street, they just seemed unreliable. Their cabs weren't clean and the drivers seemed as though they slept (lived) in their cars. So I crossed the street and got this other cab. Able and I begin talking immediately about how America has all these resources that other countries do not have but that it doesn't use those resources wisely. In other countries mass transit is much more utilized whereas cars are not as important. Able had recently returned from Amsterdam where his wife is working on a Ph.D. in microbiology (I think) and he was impressed by the number of people who ride bikes as their first transit choice. Cycling in the States is predominantly a sport. Granted there are people who do ride their bikes to work but by and large people drive if they have a car. He told me how when he came back through LAX that he had to take a coach bus back to Santa Barbara but he just missed one and the next one was not scheduled for another three hours. In many U.S. cities, public transport is so far down on the list of priorities that it doesn't even follow a convenient schedule for those who choose it use it. I'm generalizing, I know. I've lived in other cities that have much better city transit systems but why in the United States of America do we have any area that isn't able to assist all of its population in something as basic as local transportation. Speaking of transportation and thinking ahead, I asked Able if I could call on him when I was ready to leave Goleta and he gave me his card. At the time, I thought I would get a ride back to the bus station but that wasn't to be the case. I ended up spending so much time with Peter that I missed all the buses going back to Carpinteria. Peter is this sexy building contractor and world traveler. He and his ex go on these weekend adventures all over the world. They go to places like London, Paris, and Rome for the weekend. Also Peter lives in this amazing house he built. The house is wired up to a computer processor that controls many of the functions of the home including the lighting, the blinds, music, security, and more. He has this terrific koi pond under the stairs and a camera under the water so that he can project the fish onto his wide screen tv. Also, he rescues cats from shelters. He has about sixteen so far and he has gone to great lengths to make the felines feel at home. He has incorporated raised walkways, tunnels through the walls, and a even a special room for one of them. It was really a sight to see. Peter and I talked about so many things but more importantly we were able to connects as human being on a deeper level than maybe either of us had expected. I was surprised by the whole encounter. I had one idea going in and I came out of it feeling elated. I hope to be able to spend more time with him in the future. Thankfully Abel did come back and agreed to take me all the way home via the bank because I had exhausted my money just getting to Goleta. However, the whole evenings escapades were totally worth it just for meeting these two people.

You are The Magician

Skill, wisdom, adaptation. Craft, cunning, depending on dignity.

Eleoquent and charismatic both verbally and in writing,
you are clever, witty, inventive and persuasive.

The Magician is the male power of creation, creation by willpower and desire. In that ancient sense, it is the ability to make things so just by speaking them aloud. Reflecting this is the fact that the Magician is represented by Mercury. He represents the gift of tongues, a smooth talker, a salesman. Also clever with the slight of hand and a medicine man - either a real doctor or someone trying to sell you snake oil.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

Woeser, a Tibetan blogger

Voices of Dissent

April 25, 2009

The Saturday Profile

A Tibetan Blogger, Always Under Close Watch, Struggles for Visibility

By ANDREW JACOBS

BEIJING

WOESER, a Tibetan poet and blogger whose every word is of great interest to the Chinese authorities, described the nightmare that jolted her awake shortly before a reporter arrived for what some might describe as a foolhardy interview.

She dreamed that she was back in Tibet and that an army truck was passing before her, its cargo enveloped in green canvas.

One side of the truck was uncovered, however, and inside she could see a heap of black-and-blue bodies, Tibetans old and young, who had been battered into submission.

Desperate to record the sight, she reached for her camera but it was gone.

“The dream ends with me chasing the truck, wailing and yelling,” said Ms. Woeser, 42, who follows Tibetan tradition of using a single name.

The nightmare vividly reflects the anxiety felt by many Tibetans, both inside and outside China. But it is a particularly fitting reflection of the sense of helplessness that confronts one of China’s best-known bloggers as she tries to chronicle life in Tibet amid a continued yearlong crackdown on dissent.

Her books are banned here, and the blog she has kept since 2005 is currently blocked. Still, with foreign media banned from much of the Tibetan plateau, Ms. Woeser’s blog, “Invisible Tibet,” has become one of the few reliable news outlets for those able to circumvent what is cynically referred to as The Great Firewall.

Ms. Woeser has been kept especially busy by a run of politically delicate dates, including the 50th anniversary of the “liberation” of Lhasa by the Chinese Army, which upended the Tibetan aristocracy and sent the Dalai Lama into exile. This year Beijing christened March 28 a national holiday, Serf Liberation Day, but among many Tibetans it was a time for mourning.

This year’s commemoration was made all the more tense by a security lockdown that accompanied the first anniversary of the riots in Lhasa in which 19 people were killed, many of them Han Chinese migrants.

In the weeks and months that followed, hundreds of Tibetans were arrested; by her own tally, based on accounts of those she said she trusts, as many as 300 people may have died at the hands of public security forces.

“It’s impossible to know the exact number because the bodies are always immediately cremated,” she said. “I am sympathetic to the loss of Han lives, but I am angry at the government for responding with such heartlessness. They have only made the situation worse by awakening the anger of the Tibetan people.”

A graceful, soft-spoken woman whose disquieting tales are often punctuated by nervous laughter, Ms. Woeser has become an accidental hero to a generation of disenfranchised young Tibetans. Like many of her peers, she was schooled in Mandarin, part of a policy of assimilation that left her unable to write Tibetan, and she grew up embracing the official version of history — that the Communist Party brought freedom and prosperity to a backward land.

HER pedigree is all the more notable because her father, the son of a Han father and a Tibetan mother, was a deputy general in the Chinese Army who oversaw Lhasa.

It was only at 24, after seven years studying Chinese poetry and literature, that she reconnected with her Tibetan DNA. During a visit to Lhasa, an aunt dragged her to the Jokhang Monastery, one of Tibetan Buddhism’s holiest sites, and she found herself overwhelmed by the emotional intensity of the faithful. “I was crying so loudly a monk told my aunt, ‘Look at that pathetic Chinese girl, she can’t control herself.’

“It was that moment I realized I had come home,” she said.

She moved back to Lhasa, found a job at Tibetan Literature, a government-run journal, and began delving into the history and folklore of Tibet. In 2003, a publisher in Guangzhou put out her first book, “Notes on Tibet,” a collection of prose and short stories that quickly sold out. It was just before the second print run that the authorities took notice. They promptly banned the book, saying it contained “serious political mistakes.”

In their condemnation of the book, her employer, the Tibetan Literature Association, said she had glorified the Dalai Lama, harmed the solidarity of the nation and “exaggerated and beautified the positive function of religion in social life.” They demanded a confession of her errors. She refused, and found herself unemployed.

With no means of support, she moved to Beijing. After gushing to friends about one of China’s best-known writers, Wang Lixiong, an introduction was made. They married a year later.

In contrast to Tibetan dissidents who agitate from places of exile, Ms. Woeser’s is a rare voice that emanates from China. Robert Barnett, a professor of modern Tibetan studies at Columbia University, described her as “fierce and courageous” but said she was never strident. “She is not a politician but a poet who quite late in her career started talking about politics,” he said. “She is an eloquent reminder of what’s happening in Tibet.”

One of her most startling recent projects is “Forbidden Memory,” a book of photographs taken by her father during the Cultural Revolution. Published in Taiwan, the book provides a disturbing glimpse of the tumultuous decade that destroyed thousands of temples and laid waste to countless lives. There are pictures of trampled relics, jubilant crowds bearing oversized Mao portraits and a female living Buddha, head bowed in humiliation, as she is hectored in the streets. “My father loved photography and no one dared stop him because he was in uniform,” she said.

The photographs also offer a telling window into the soul of a conflicted man. Ms. Woeser recalled her father as a devoted Communist who would publicly denounce religion by day and seek refuge in Buddhist texts at night. After he died in 1991, she found a dog-eared biography of the Dalai Lama hidden on his bookshelf. “He was like many Tibetans who work for the government,” she said. “They are divided inside. We call them people with two heads.”

In recent years Ms. Woeser has become less tolerant of Chinese rule and more vocally opposed to the Han migrants and tourists who she claims have diluted Tibetan culture and damaged a fragile ecosystem. Such outspokenness has only heightened the interest of the authorities, who blocked her first three blogs. (The fourth, she said, was destroyed by hackers.)

LAST year, she and her husband were briefly placed under house arrest after they spoke to the foreign news media.

Her visits to Tibet are even more tightly scrutinized. The police track her every move, interrogating any friend who dares to meet with her. “Most of my friends no longer have the guts to see me,” she said.

During her last visit in August, public security officials searched her mother’s home in Lhasa, confiscating computers and subjecting Ms. Woeser to eight hours of questioning. When she returned home, her mother, fearful for her safety, begged her to pack her bags and go. “That was one of the most heartbreaking moments,” she said.

Most of the news that appears on her blog arrives through e-mail messages or via Skype, the Internet calling service, although they are not without risk. She said 13 of her friends are still in detention, some facing charges that they illegally disseminated details of arrests and protests to the outside world. “Every day I cry because I don’t know what’s going to happen to them,” she said, glancing out the 20th-floor window of her apartment, with its expansive view of a hazy Beijing sunset.

Despite her relatively high profile both inside and outside China, she is well aware that her liberty is fragile. Since 2004 she has been waiting for a passport, which would allow her to travel and speak abroad.

“I feel so insecure inside,” she said. “I feel like I’m sitting on the edge of a cliff and I could fall down at any moment.”

real human and everyone else

into the lake at Girl Scout camp with all those shrieking girls
slipped ghostly into person sitting there with the hypnotist
like a Russian hunchback at the junior high dances, me pointing
at the lion on the wall, his cool yellow eyes, and listened to
passing cars, the rustle of leaves

remembered what it feels like to climb the stairs of New York City
so the adult me stepped into my own history saying, “you didn’t”
and my dad would walk along mulling like running water, like
seemed like a tiny stewardess on the verge of a nervous breakdown
you had arranged for this life

hands were still in fists and her face was full of humiliated catatonia
to keep my having read it a secret wavered away and came to the end
of copper oak leaves and acorns into the hands of the oldest person
who would sit at their table like graven images and ruin everything
in a dreadful smelting accident

thin needles underneath the top layer of fingertip skin were stitched
army greens, black greens, lime greens, heathery greens, and red
came to feel just the opposite depression secretly believed around
that people were insensitive shitheads and you were really broke
like that, I heard it with my own ears.

I took a few walks around lilac evening fields and then

the recitation of my complaints of an idiot’s ignorance
hands-in-pockets whistling across fields so bitter and
full of turkey sandwiches and Napoleons and chocolate

how high they were when they were only newspaper photos
of hundreds of months breathing and no air coming in
form or style into the sinking sun to the Pacific

summer resort out for a boat that was broken
in place together neatly into the pippin red carton
of French class with anticipation separated from

pretty girls in the office staff down in the lockers
insects in the snow because they were a bunch of wits
wisecracking and ad libbing on all sides

Academy of Incunabular face to lurching car wall
and secretly spitting between the twins swimming
to charge to Brazil with two million in a wheelchair

and they began to realize they liked each other as
this was, by the way, the happiest toys that hit their fancy
with epaulets and all over a sea-crashing cliff or a lounge

of a giant airline in the pool with great athletic forward
room all togged out and stepping fool around the poetry
come out of both ends of a box through slitted eyes