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There are lots of things I do "daily" (or almost daily) in order to keep myself feeling relatively ok. I went to a therapist this Winter who said to me, "You sure do a lot to just stay feeling decent. You sure you don't want to try medication?"

Made me laugh. Made me get a new therapist, too, but that's another story.

I write a daily gratitude list, I have just started writing a "daily one sentence journal, and for September I am trying on the practice of Daily Contemplative Prayer. Right now, I am focusing on "Peace" as explained by the pastor of my church on Sunday. Peace as Wholeness, Peace as Completion. I appreciated that so I am following its call into my prayer life this week.

And, as I shared yesterday, I do a daily self portrait... the most recent one is not the world's most flattering and I appreciate its brute honesty.

So - I am not going to blog about politics or sports or entertainment (directly) today. I am going to blog about daily-ness. My own staying sane-ness.

Gratitude:

 Today I am grateful for my Grandfather, who was born 112 years ago today. Because of his willingness to sit outside with me for several hours while I practiced balance, I learned to ride a two wheeler on the fourth of July while I was six years old. The Jordan Family didn’t do training wheels or the whole “running behind the kid while holding on” but apparently Grandpadaddy (that’s what we called him) sensed this Grandchild needed a witness. The next day I learned how to turn and the day after that, Granny and Grandpadaddy headed back to California and if you look on the family movies of their exit, you see me, riding in circles around them in the driveway.

Today I am grateful for my friend, Jennie – who I helped last night write her artist statement. She took me for dinner at one of my favorite places and we had some great, deep conversation.

Today I am grateful for David, with whom I shared a brief phone conversation yesterday as he drove West again. I can’t believe we have only been friends for only two years. Admittedly, they have been a very full, densely lived two years within which he was mostly absent yet ever present in that absence. Mmmm. Poetically felt, my friend, poetically felt.

Today I am grateful for each of my three children for very different reasons. I am grateful I have become such an education advoccate….

Today I am grateful for my American Women in History instructor. She inspired me in ways she probably doesn’t realize yet and it just reminds me that showing up wherever I am called to show up always always always is fruitful… often in surprising ways.

Today, I am grateful.

Daily Sentence Journal: 

Jennie and I wrote, reflected, ate, revelled in our senses and shared deeply while I wondered, aloud and silently – “What is this?”

Processing about Daily Contemplative Prayer:

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Sometimes I feel embarassed to admit I take a photo
self portrait almost every day. People tend to
think this is awfully ego-centric. They further
think that one who takes self portrait photos
every-single-day must have some form of bloated
opinion of oneself.

Nothing could be further from the truth in my case.

I started taking self portraits every day as
a sort of game, an experiment. I didn't really
think I would make it all the way through.

I didn't realize how much I would discover along
the path, either. It was more "here is another
way to practice my photography skills."

What I created was a way to keep in close contact
with myself - my soul self - while I was in the
midst of a lot of turmoil in my personal life.

I was able to step back for a moment each day and
simply aim the camera and shoot, most of the time
without a definitive plan or idea.

Just live in the moment and click.

Check out the composition and what was captured
and try again.

I don't work with a remote, I can't see what I
am taking as the image is caught, I don't have
a tripod or any extra equipment.

What I do have is a desire to live passionately
in each moment.

It must be a divine thing, this project.

This was a year when I often fell into a wordless
place. There was too much emotion coming into play,
emotion that wasn't easily encapsulated with
letters-strung-together.

The images of myself in photos helped bridge a gap to
greater understanding. I was doing two distinctively
different tasks simultaneously.

I was following the guidance of Czeslaw Milosz when
he suggested, "Love means to look at oneself the
way one looks at distant things."

I was also following the wisdom of
Georgia O'Keefe, who has a different perspective when
she said, "Nobody sees a flower - really - it is
so small it takes time - we haven't time - and
to see takes time, like to have a friend
takes time."

Looking at my self portraits is like taking a tiny
flower into my hands and staring at it, detachedly,
close up and minutely and then, from a distant
place, a wistful and reminiscing place as
Milosz suggests.

Soft, undemanding, curious, slightly fuzzy AND
microscopic, intense, tactile,intimate.

What way are you looking at your life?

What can you do to actively see yourself as a
flower, taking time and stepping away and looking
at yourself from a distance?

Consider. Take conscious action. Activate Your Passion.
 

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Two years ago I sat at a large, square table with a group of exceedingly cool women thinking “these women are all way more cool than me, I don’t think they will ever accept plain ol’ me.”

I just laughed out loud as I re-read that, but even as I typed I could see the faces gathered there as we discussed something brand-new and exciting called (burn the witch) – I had offered to perform my poetry that first year and had no idea I would be swept into something that has become a phenomenon and is now going into its third year and can now be known as the Award Winning Burn the Witch… in this case Burn the Witch III.

I remember that first year I almost chickened out. I was afraid to share my art. It was scary for me, edgy, stepping way beyond my comfort zone and I was so stuck in the mirey goo called “they will all just think I am completely nuts anyway.”

Yes, some people did think I was nuts but other people thought, “Wow. She did it.”

I am now among another group of women – some stalwarts from the first year – organizing this year’s Burn the Witch III scheduled to be held at the Empty Space during October with opening events on October 11 and October 18.

This year I am not only performing my poetry (that was what got me started in all this way back when) I also will have some photography on display as once again, this art show tends to get under the skin (and heart) of the participants and we start creating… more and more and more.

I am also working as the Entertainment Coordinator and Stage Manager – and we are still accepting artists into the show through August 10, but only until August 10.

I have been speaking with a bunch of performing artists today and there is a gentle witch-bumpy feeling right underneath my skin. I can’t wait to see what is going to happen this year, I can’t wait to see what art is created and performed and what cool alliances take place that never would have happened prior to Burn the Witch.

You could say that witch-bumpy feeling is what happens when we women get together and Burn, Together, in Bakersfield.

Mmmmmmmmmm. I can’t wait.

since I posted!

Well, its been busy! Getting VDay up and on its feet... was a lot of work. All those gorgeous women to hang out with all the time. It was tough.

I kept commenting that I was straight and planned to stay straight but believe me, there was more than one occasion when my mind just wandered... what can I tell you?

And then there were rehearsals for Eleemosynary. We are prime time this weekend playing at 8 pm both Friday and Saturday at the Empty Space. The script is phenomenal and the cast top notch (and I am not talking about me, I am talking about my cast mates, Jennifer Sampson and Samantha Gonzales... there are times when I just feel lucky to be along for the ride!)

My son is doing great at his new school. He is getting two awards on Friday. I am considering making poster sized prints of the photos I take and perhaps mounting all the praise in writing he is getting and hanging them up directly in front of the principal's office at his old school.... but what., who, me... bitter?! I haven't written much poetry lately, except for a quickie titled Kiss Drunk which I intend to read tonight at Refresh Rhyme Scheme at Sandrini's.

Mostly I wanted to touch base with my blog and all of you over here at Bakotopia. I have missed you guys.

Saturday afternoon found me sitting across from my daughter, Katherine, every muscle in my body tight in concentration. She was lounging on her bed, purple binder in her hands, and I was hunched over in my old desk chair, staring intently at her face, wondering, hoping, praying…. I would get my lines down. Quickly. Accurately.

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My eyes scanned the day’s speedily written to-do list, outlined
fetchingly in black crayon.

I looked at my mood indicator on myspace, where I had for unknown
reasons declared I wanted to explore the river, but I wasn’t exactly
sure what that meant. On my list of “to-do’s” I had written “collect
wood” so I figured that would combine with river exploration.

I read a quote from Maya Angelou and again, wondered what
syncronicity was doing tap-tap-tapping on my heart.

“A woman in harmony with her spirit is like a river flowing.
She goes where she will without pretence and arrives at her
destination prepared to be herself and only herself.”

The only two things on my daytime carved in time-allotted stone
schedule were a phone call and to be home when Sam was due
back from school at 2:45. The phone call was to be at 9:00 o’clock,
nice and early, with my friend, Stephanie, who agreed to talk to me,
deeply and soulfully once a week while I dealt with some of this “stuff”
of life that came as a part of my reawakening. I felt like I hadn’t “done”
enough to merit a conversation of substance.

I stood back for a bit, though, prior to the prearranged time for our
phone call and I discovered that lo-and-behold there had been a lot
of growth this week, that I had taken what we had talked about
before and integrated much of what we spoke of and
amplified it… many fold.

I had gotten stuck in my self-critical inner dialogue of the day before
and lost sight of the beauty and wonder of the preceding six days.

“I just don’t feel like I have big enough swaths of time and yet I know
that isn’t so, I mean, I am aware that I make that up, that the swaths
aren’t wide enough… I know this lack based thinking is just creating
more lack rather than abundance… and… I mean…” and I tap danced
in circles of belief and misbelief during our conversation.

I continued speaking: “I just need more time in silence, and study,
and contemplation.” I told her. “I have felt such grace, such abundance
since we last spoke,” I said as  I told several stories of receiving,
abundantly, simply as a result of me being 100% myself – not trying
to get anything accomplished in particular or aiming at a particular
intention beyond simply being me and doing exactly what
my heart called me to do.

Maya Angelou floated back into my mind.

“A woman in harmony with her spirit is like a river flowing. She goes
where she will without pretence and arrives at her destination prepared
to be herself and only herself.”

The river was calling.

I climbed into my beloved Ford Explorer, Jane, and started to
drive east.  Live Oak, Live Oak, Live Oak was a chant running through
my veins – the echo of my heartbeat itself.

Live Oak is a daytime use section of the Sequoia National Forest, five
miles into the Kern River Canyon. I hadn’t been there since July and I
was curious how it was during the winter as compared to the Summer.
I figured the flow of the river would be satisfying given all the rain
and snow we were having.

I was excited.

Jane started making a sound I thought was weird and I felt fear grip me.
“Maybe I shouldn’t go to the river. Maybe it isn’t God calling, maybe I
should get an oil change first, maybe I should turn around, oh it looks
dark in the canyon, maybe I am going to get into an accident if I
drive in, maybe....maybe.....maybe.....”

The circle dance of belief and misbelief was taking up residence
in my belly.

“Maybe you should tune into that silence you said you wanted,” a
whisper-thought came into my heart.

I heard the Live Oak chant again as my car entered the canyon.

I drove into the call of the Canyon, into the call of the river. I drove
into the darkness of my fear. My heart was pounding rather loudly in
the fear places and I wasn’t comfortable at all as I drove into the
mouth of the Canyon. It was dark, the fog closed behind me – a door
shutting my escape, and I surrendered to the call.

I uncomfortably surrended, as Teresa of Avila reminded me,
“Surrender requires courage.”

The road was beautifully empty so I felt no pressure to go fast
along the curves. I could take my time and really see what I was
passing in each moment. I started to relax into my heartbeat
and to the rhythm of the call itself.

A red car came up behind me and the “Live Oak” chant became
“take a turn out” so I did and the red car behind me happily tooted
a “thank you” horn as it moved past me towards its destination.

I was almost sad when Live Oak arrived so quickly.

I took the “Road Closed” into the parking lot as a set back until
I realized there was a ready-made turn out parking spot to use so
I parked Jane and climbed out and just stood, stood, stood for a
moment breathing the chilled, crisp air.

I spent, in “human time” about 45 minutes by the River. I didn’t
need an enormous “swath of time” in which to experience soul
fulfillment. I could have stayed there for a lot longer, but there
wasn’t a need. I was able to celebrate the sounds of squirrels,
the sight of a tiny bird with yellow and green in its very small
flight across the sky. I was able to celebrate the sensual aroma
from an enormous pinecone, the sweet kisses of the wind on
my face and the divine direction telling me which path to take,
which tree to honor with my touch, my prayers, my tears.

In following the call into the canyon, I slashed out sections
of misbelief that were whining or complaining or coming
remotely close to anything labeled “less than” or “not enough”
 or “I don’t have” or “I can’t.”

This very short “field trip” away from my cocoon like home
brought me to astounding levels of awareness and presented
me with a gift that I can continue to pass around to my friends,
my beloved readers, to complete strangers who happen upon
these words and say, “Yes, this is good.”

I tooks letters hastily scrawled on a black crayon written to-do
list and leveraged what was there and followed it to slicing through
fear and into the expansive soulfulness of simply being in the moment.

Passion rang out from the crayon, it was in the machete-like movement
of my car into the canyon, it is in being bold and courageous when I didn’t
particularly feel like being bold and courageous when I trusted
in the rhythmic call and kept moving forward anyway.

And I am so grateful I did.

This story repeats itself countless times in my life.

And each time it is richer and deeper and sweeter. I never fail to be amazed,
awestruck, grateful and so glad I am exactly who I am with exactly this
perspective in exactly this moment.

I hear Maya speaking again.

“A woman in harmony with her spirit is like a river flowing. She goes
where she will without pretence and arrives at her destination prepared
to be herself and only herself.”

Yes, Yes, Yes – so be it.
 

I was surprised at all the responses to my quest for soup blog so I wanted to share with you further adventures in my quest to get a bowl of warm, hearty soup... since somehow "out there" wasn't where it was to be found.

It was rather syncronistic that my friend, Keely, invited me into a Crock Pot challenge... a group of women who also blog and also take photos... to come up with a Crock Pot recipe every week which we will then share the recipe and photograph.

I am a nut with my camera, ask me about one of my photography goals and I will be off, running and ready to regale you with much more than you ever wanted to know.

But last night when I was battling the yucks I finally agreed to take a spoon full of my Black Bean Soup masterpiece.

Yes, it was a masterpiece.

I just had a bowl for lunch, too. It is still epic.

Here is the photo I took:

And yes, there are several of the ingredients.

Mmmmmmmmmmm. And I feel so healthy, too.

Here is the recipe:

3/4 of a 1 pound bag dried black beans
3 - 14 1/2 oz. cans vegetable broth
2 carrots, sliced thinly
2 - 10 oz. cans diced tomatoes (I chose the ones
with Lime and cilantro)
1 tbsp dried basil

Soak black beans overnight, and then later rinse and drain when ready to prepare. Add beans, carrots and tomatoes to the crock pot. and submerge with broth. Stir and season to your liking with salt, cumin or cayenne pepper. Cook on low for 8-10 hours. Some people might want to serve with shredded cheese but I didn't want to add anything with animal products. I think this was my first ever vegan meal, so I was very excited... but beyond that, it was just delectable and hearty and sooo tasty!

I am still hoping to find a simple pumpkin soup recipe to use up some of that canned pumpkin I got and didn't use for the Christmas holidays and I just adore the taste of pumpkin.

When that happens, I will let all of you, my Bakotopian soup lovers, be among the first to know.

and sometimes it is just this cold, wet fog that permeates the bones like we have had the past few mornings.

Today all I wanted was a good, hearty bowl of soup.

I was making copies at Office Max off of Mt. Vernon, close to my house. I figure, "Ok, Quiznos must have something." I stood there, staring at the menu and the only soup they had wasn't something I would want. And the guy behind the counter, with no other customers, didn't care that I was standing there, so I left.

I wondered, "Does Starbucks have soup? Their drive thru is empty."

Nope. If you were ever curious, they don't have soup. Too bad.

I drove north on Mt. Vernon. Decided, "OK, I know Carrows has soup that is at least hearty and warm."

I had spent the morning walking around Hart Park in the cold with Coryn and my chill had wrapped into my bloodstream so I really wanted to have that warm stuff fill me. I walked into Carrows and was seated in a seat right by the door. The waitress took forever to get to me and I thought, "You know, I really don't want to be here. I want to be at home. I want to have  a mug of warm soup to warm me up in my cold house. I will count to ten and if she doesn't show, I will leave."

She didn't show. I left, even though the manager tried to convince me she would take my order I said, "You know, I just don't think I want to be here." Right now I don't want to spend time anyplace where I don't want to be.

I looked across the parking lot. City Sandwich shop, they must have soup. Everyone knows that soup and sandwiches together is a natural.

No soup today, the counter girl told me. I turned and left. I didn't want a sandwich, I wanted soup.

So I decided it must be karma. I must be supposed to go to the Sequoia Sandwich Shop downtown even if they weren't in my little slice of Bakersfield between Union and Mt. Vernon and between Bernard and Panorama. Sequoia Sandwich Shop always has great soup. Not my favorite kinds were listed on the menu when I arrived there, but they did have a hearty creamy soup that sounded just right.

Yay. Finally.

I got it home and guess what I had? The other kind of soup. Which was good, but not what I wanted. I ate it anyway, looking for the metaphor .  Almost but not quite what I want? No. But yes. Must be something else.

Meanwhile, I have been on a break from theatre, needed to get Sam settled into school and needed to catch my breath after a very harrowing 2007.   Sam has done great in his first two weeks so naturally opportunities are now flying my way at a practically dizzying pace.

That's the flood part, the amazing abundance part of this journey today. The soup? That is the wet, damp fog.

I can't wait to write more about my theatre adventures. I forgot how much I missed it.

“Magic, unless it is written down, escapes.”

Anne Morrow Lindbergh, in North to the Orient

I have been very quiet here on Bakotopia lately. Not writing much of anything, silently living in my own personal purgatory. Some of you might have not even noticed my absence and that, my friends, is completely ok.

I liken it to being a creative hermit, the need for solitude out weighing the need to be heard by anyone outside my own head and the friends who were brave enough to venture in and see what was happening.

I sit at my desk with 11 more days of 2007 left to live, a piece of remnant fabric, wrapped up in a small roll with a paper price tag, waiting to be purchased and made into something new.

11 more days of my most Dickensian year in memory, of best of times and worst of times.

I once called a year “The Year from Hell”. 1990: the year my daughter Marlena was born and died, the year I quit the job I loved, the year I moved to Bakersfield and left behind a community of friends in Los Angeles who knew me deeply, the year I stopped being Julie Jordan and started being Julie Scott.

It was not what I would call a banner year.

This year – 2007 – is entirely different though yet with even more ups and downs and twists and turns. There are subtle uniquenesses, though, in how I have experienced these two years that in outer appearances look so pain-filled.

The first glaring difference between 1990 and this year, 2007, is I documented everything as it happened. I took the time to write stuff down.  Even at the darkest moments, I narrated my life as it unfolded. I processed my experiences with a pencil and paper
or with my fingers on the keyboard.

I breathed the moments into my being and wrote what came into my fingers and through the pencil. I gently kissed the words as I sent them off to be shared with readers of my six year old ezine, Daily Passion Activator.

I was aware, deeply and profoundly aware, of every ounce of emotion as it flowed from me. I felt cataclysmic waves of unknowing filter through my being, rivers and oceans of
tears, icy periods when I was only able to write my prayers.

And I wrote them.

And I published them.

And I reached to my readers to hear me, to listen, and in some instances, to respond to my plea for divinity-with-skin so I didn’t feel so alone.

I wrote all the magic, I wrote it down.

The magic of sickness, of grief, of poverty, of pain, of hopelessness and the magic of health, of joy, of abundance, of holiness, of peace, of wonder, of incredulity, of
quiet triumph.

I wrote all the magic. I caught all the sides of my journey in passion.

Eleven more days.

I wonder what magic is in store next?