manitou de mi arte

2011-03-07T08:04:00.000-08:00

*A step back into memory. It is 2008. I am in my last semester as an undergraduate*

In the morning, the sun creeps through the window and spreads itself across my bed. I rise with the sun and move my limbs with breath in ritualistic celebration of living. In these moments, asana, dharana, and pranayama create a space through which I am able to transcend my mind and become something more, something whole. My life has been a difficult venture riddled with memories that weigh down my body. I find often that my body resembles more of a vacant haunted house then a human figure. In the postindustrial western world, we are so fragmented and disconnected from our bodies that no one notices those who develop an unhealthy disconnection from their bodies, like me. This year has been particularly difficult, transitional, and amazing. It seems that life is not static, every gift comes with a cost and every burden comes with a gift.
I have a lot of healing to do in my life. I have started the journey and yoga has been helping me. I am not sure if I will ever heal completely from some of my experiences. Perhaps, the goal is just to be happy now, like Sri Ramana Maharsi explains. This year, I have had to deal with the passing of my adopted mother from cancer, as well as other family issues. I have walked away from a four year relationship, the only relationship with a human being that has ever been healthy in my life. I have discovered that life is not static and that although I thought I had discovered my authentic self in the first few years of college, I had not. We are always in the process of developing. I am graduating this year and for the first time in four years I am letting myself live without weighing down my future with rigidly defined goals and expectations. I am scared, frightened, overwhelmed, vulnerable, intoxicated, excited, liberated, and relieved. In a couple of months, I will be homeless and done with college. For four years I have worked and slaved in the name of learning, in the hopes of finding the liberation that knowledge is said to give you. In the Bhagavad-Gita, Krishna explains that liberation does not just happen in the mind but also in the body. Yoga embodies this philosophy, allowing me to connect with my body and to experience the kind of knowledge that only comes from authentic self. Yoga gives me wisdom in the form of Samadhi. Yoga gives me time to breathe and to acknowledge the wholeness of life. This is where I draw my strength that centers me in the midst of all the transitions in my life. This is where I learn about myself, a type of learning that is often denied us in traditional lifestyles.

I have found that yoga has been a source of strength without boundaries. Entering all aspects of my life, yoga has offered a place of comfort and clarity that I can carry with me wherever I go. I am scared of what the future offers and the risks that I have chosen to take in daring to live an unconventional lifestyle. However, knowing that I will always have a place to come back to and a center within myself encourages me to continue in the face of fear.

Every morning that I offer salutations to the sun and every time I meditate in yogic positions, I affirm all that I have learned from yoga and I learn more. I am a practicing Buddhist and the Yamas and Niyamas in yoga align with my spiritual tendencies. Even more so, they expand my beliefs by validating my desire to practice my beliefs in all areas of my life. I know that all politics are personal, that we must live what we preach and through offering our lives as testament, we offer strength to others who wish to do the same. Yoga allows me to see myself in the midst of all the progressive social change that I work for. It allows me to stay grounded, to realize that part of revolutionary change is taking care of oneself. In our cruel world, taking care of oneself in an egoless way is indeed a revolutionary act.

Yoga is a path, a way of life, a practice that aligns breath, body, and mind. Yoga is a means to create balance and to reach Samadhi. The creation of modern yoga is derived in large from the Yoga Sutras in 200 B.C. Thousands of years later, it is still incredibly important and applicable to our lives because of its ability to adapt to all different lifestyles and evolve with the practitioner. As I step out of one phase of my life and into another, I am comforted knowing that others have been living this way for thousands of years. Right now, my deepest desire is to live a life that is not fragmented and that is truly alive. I cannot beat death, but I can beat death in life by staying awake and connected. Yoga will help me remain connected and awake regardless what the circumstances are.

“Real attainment is to be fully conscious, to be aware of surroundings and the people around, to move among them all, but not to merge consciousness in the environment. One should remain in a inner independent awareness.”
-Sri Ramana Maharsi

2011-03-06T19:03:00.000-08:00

I got these shoes
and when it rains
my feet get wet
and
I don't know how
the water gets in
The thing is
all my shoes are like that
and I think
its because my life is made up
of the stuff of the poor
where
every single thing is
there
to remind us that we are
different
than the others
you learn
to thank the rain
and deal with the cold
love the wind for testing
your limits
but then
you are left
with the bitter taste of
acid anger
residue that
lays on your tongue and
ties your stomach
into burning knots
and ruins that subway
sandwich
you thought about all day
allowing yourself
to squander money
on yourself
and your told
that you shouldn't
that you are responsible
for your poverty
as though
its not bad enough
to work so hard to be see through
invisible
but to then
be told that your worth this
essentially worthless
because
its your responsibility
and therefore
your destiny to amount to
whatever your worth
and that, folks, is
nothing.
EXCEPT
that burning anger
is your soul
rebelling
knowing that you are
invaluable
infinite potential
divine creation
absolutely beautiful
and dont
let anyone
person
or thing tell you otherwise
even if you die before
your first bite of cheap
food like
substances
that only clog your insides
You are
divinity,
Chanel the anger
and speak your words
though none of the shiny
people are listening
in their
toy
plastic synthetic worlds
because the ones that matter
are
and they delight in your voice
your silence
your
BEING

2011-03-03T10:05:00.001-08:00

The myth of contemporary culture, that we are all separate, becomes naturalized in the very buildings we construct.

Walking through D.C., there are empty bus stations that leach memory and words which have long since lost their power-unspoken. These buildings house “throw away” people. Here, in this rubble exist the hiding places of our collective amnesia. Our collective story that we tell in each house, building, product, fence, book, and cup of coffee we manifest.
MYTH- That we are all separate. Shadow play.
“ ‘Oh, yes’ Todd said, this is all a myth….”

2011-02-26T10:56:00.000-08:00

We are now an overstimulated people. This is not conducive to the creative process. You can not write or create art of any sort in the mist of noise. You can not be in two universes at the same time. The land of creating is one that is solitary in the midst of a sea of movement. The space necessary is private and separate from everything that surrounds it. When someone speaks directly to a person in the process of creating, the bring that person, unwillingly into the world around them. They are no longer capable of being that separate, parallel universe so ripe with the juice of creativity.
It is difficult for people to understand what SILENCE and PRESENCE actually is. The ultimate gift you can give someone is your presence. Presence is an immersion in the totality of the moment, the depths of the present. It broken the moment words are spoken, particularly, to another. Words have a place of value and power. One of aspects of this power, is the ability to define and shape the space they fill. The environment changes and the person speaking changes from a creature of BEing in the moment to a creature of analyzing the moment. This process of analysis is on that has its place and its own reason for existing. Its place is not in the realm of the creative.

The realm of the creative is a sacred space devoid of external influence and yet built on the external world as though a muse. It is not to say the world is merely a muse or a construct that lacks its own merit beyond the inspiration of the artist. The outside world is just that to one in the process of creating. It is outside. It is as though we are inside and the world is beyond the window pane.
From inside we are able to observe and to create by listening deeply to the song that is playing and watching closely the dance that is performing.
To participate in that dance and create at the same time is possible within certain contexts.

Yet, set in the current environment beyond ordinary stimulation to a world of HYPER STIMULATION, there is a need for a quality of silence consistent with a state of detox. We must detox ourselves, our lives, our relationships, so that we can create from a place of absolute clarity despite the abundance of stimulation that we have in our modern world.

Artist must struggle twofold. We must struggle for the privacy and space to create and the money to afford such space. It is a rare and precious commodity. It is something that cannot be measured.

Art as Resistance in the African Diaspora

2011-02-25T11:14:00.000-08:00

Deconstructing the Myth of Silence

I Lack imagination you say

No. I lack language.
The language to clarify
My resistance to the literature.
Words are a war to me.
They threaten my family.

To gain the word
To describe the loss
I risk losing everything.
I may create a monster
The word’s length and body
Swelling up colorful and thrilling
Looming over my mother, characterized.
Her voice in the distance
Unintelligible illiterate.
These are the monster’s words.
-Cherrie Moraga

"...In “The Colonizer and the Colonized,” Albert Memmi assesses the internal impacts of colonization and oppression on individuals who reside within the oppressed or oppressor group.
In addition to the vast social inequalities that those within marginalized communities are exposed to in the United States, the historically violent relationship between European and African culture exists in subtle ways. The prejudice inherent in our social structure and the experiences of existing within a particular identity creeps into daily interaction and frames the perspective of individuals. Memmi explores the intimacy and interdependence of this relationship between those who colonize and those who are colonized . In fact, the position of the oppressor class can only exist as long as there is a distinct and different under class that is not objectified to the extent that their lives are deemed unnecessary. The existence of the colonizer depends upon the existence of the colonized. Of course, those that are colonized and those who are placed in marginalized positions by dominant culture understand this intimacy as a result of double consciousness. This double consciousness is an understanding of ones own position and culture as well as an in-depth awareness of the larger cultural context. Living within a space defined by those in power and being part of a group defined as “other”, the oppressed experiences both worlds simultaneously. This awareness creates the possibility of a critical consciousness. This consciousness is the ability to analyze one world or aspect of identity in the context of the other .
Double consciousness can be understood in the context of displacement and Diaspora. The racial “other” exists within a larger social structure that can be defined as a home. However, there are at least two realities existing simultaneously that result in an understanding of home that is broader than geographic location. In other words, to those ascribed the racial status of other, who are not white, there are two forms of home. This sense of home exists both within the concept of national identity and within the site of everyday lived experiences. This meeting of identities has and is being used by black artists as a tool to critically analyze one’s experience, deconstruct the impacts of colonization, and to empower communities in the United States labeled as other, different, or marginal. "

An excerpt from my "Art as Resistance"

The world is ours

2011-02-25T09:31:00.000-08:00

Here we go. Again.
Here we go.
The people are pouring
Their words
Are humming
A song
Of anger
And discontent
And in the eyes
Of the tired
There
Is
Yearning
For Freedomland
Freedomland.
Oh, my family
Freedom is not a land.
We are free.

Homeless Voices: Frederick, MD

2011-02-22T18:10:00.001-08:00

One aspect of Frederick that I loved when moving here years ago was the lower numbers of visible homeless in comparison to Baltimore City. Not only was it visually pleasing, I took it as sign of lower homeless numbers in general. The Community Action Agency shelter and the cold weather shelter provided by the local Rescue Mission allowed a sense of reassurance that we, as a community, would not tolerate such life threatening poverty in the midst of splendor and wealth. Assumptions like these are not always correct, however, and with the recent visible swell of homelessness in Frederick, I decided to do my research.

According to a report published by the Government’s Homeless Services Planning and Coordinating Committee, Frederick has seen the largest increase in homelessness within the D.C./MD/VA Metro Area. The report, “A Regional Portrait of Homelessness,” establishes a 43% rise in the homeless population since 2006. Put in the proper national context of having the highest levels of economic inequality amongst western industrialized nations, as reported by the CIA in its recent “World Fact Book,” I suppose this finding of increasing levels of homelessness should not be surprising. However, within the context of the Frederick that I know and love, it is quite jarring.

Alarmed by these findings, I wanted to find out exactly what it is like to be homeless in this community. What kind of life does one have when homeless? What is Frederick like from the perspective of our increasing homeless population? At 8pm, on October 27th, I entered Baker Park to seek out a few of the homeless I have come to know and to speak with them about their life.

Immediately I came across an older gentleman whom I have talked with on a few occasions while walking downtown. Michael Allan Cruse, homeless for two years, has spent his time migrating between states along the East Coast. Invoking images of the Great Depression as conveyed in Steinbeck’s famous “Grapes of Wrath,” Cruse explained the need for migration in order to find work. He is what has come to be known as the “Working Poor.” Currently a truck driver and construction worker, Cruse has managed to maintain employment the entire time he has been homeless. Cruse, having lived in Woodsboro Maryland for the ten years, found him self without a home when his landlord decided he no longer wished to rent the property. Due to the rising costs of living in Frederick, Cruse was unable to afford to rent a newer apartment. He quickly found himself without a home or residence. Since then he has been living day to day, sleeping either outside or in his car at night. When asked about a typical day, Cruse outlines a daily schedule of ten hour work days followed by a meal at the soup kitchen and a search for a comfortable place to sleep.

In addition to sleeping outside, Cruse has also utilized the local cold weather shelter on occasion. When asked how he takes care of daily hygiene needs, he laughs and rubs his unshaven beard, stating “Well, it’s hard.” He explains that he is able to sometime utilize the bathroom of an acquaintance or a public restroom. When asked how he is treated for being homeless in Frederick, Cruse harshly states that “people are very judgmental against the homeless” and that when he meets someone and they realize he is homeless, they often “stop talking to you.” He has noticed the recent changes in the benches found in Baker Park, calling the additional middle armrest “ignorant” because “they are just to keep the homeless from sleeping on them and we know it.”

I thank Cruse for the insight into his daily life and continue my walk through Baker Park. Within a couple of minutes I run into another homeless man. His name is Ryan Watts and he is 24. He too would like to tell his story, so I sit down and listen, eager to learn what life is like in Frederick from the perspective of the homeless and humbled by his eagerness to be heard.

Thought Streams from the Holidays (2010)

2011-01-24T00:21:00.000-08:00

The holiday season has arrived. I have been vacillating between acknowledging this through light celebration and ignoring it all together. Despite having a nontraditional childhood in the foster care system, I had similar child like attachments to the holidays. More than anything, I adored the smells, the special allowances to stay up late, listening to old records and dancing with my foster brothers and sisters. That was lifetimes ago...
*******************************************************************************************

I get lost during the holidays. I get lost somewhere between the moments, snapshots, and a blur of activity. Somewhere in the recesses of my being I am aware of different holidays past. Separate softer days that passed covered in snow, late night records, and the smell of baking. Sometimes, I catch a smell in the wind and for a brief solid second I am in a parallel universe where these thanksgivings and Christmas holidays are still going on, faithfully in the contours of memory.

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What does it mean to be a professional young adult during the holidays? How do we build family and community under the growing weight of work, transition, and domesticity? For the young working poor, we make do with our tribal family. Gathering strains of individual lives that are somehow tied to witness each other’s stories.

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Gastronomy is the study of culture and food. The relationship between culture and food during the holidays in our community is one of paradox. We deny ourselves while also stuffing ourselves. As an adult, Holidays pass in a mixed blur. Snapshot moments stand still and solitary but there is also the general chaos of work blending with ritualistic conversation, traditions to be upheld, cooking, cleaning, and creating lists that never seem to end.

For Love of Hijab

2011-01-11T09:14:00.001-08:00

Why would an independent American woman want to wear a Hijab?

A Hijab, the Arabic name for either traditional Islamic head covering or modest dress in general, literally means “cover.” Although the modern day Hijab is not directly mentioned within the Qur’an, modest dress for both men and women is mentioned. These modest ways of dressing have a long history, spanning a wide array of faiths, including orthodox Christian sects. When Islam began to incorporate these Persian and Byzantine customs, it was impractical for average women to wear the Hijab; rather, it was a sign of royalty and status.

I am Irish, French, and Native American. I am in my mid-twenties with a college degree and currently enrolled in graduate school. I work as well as volunteer in the local Frederick Community. I am not a Muslim, although I do love the Islamic faith.

I love wearing the Hijab.

It began with a recent obsession to know how wearing a Hijab feels. How does it feel on the body and on the mind? More so, how does it feel in society? I spent a long time yearning to experience this before I finally gave myself permission to do so. It was the night of my swearing in as recording Secretary for the local NAACP. I found that after making the decision to do this, I was actually terrified, I was anxious and my heart was racing. It is one thing to fantasize about something and quite another to do it. What if I offended, upset, or angered people?

I took a deep breath and stepped out of my front door with my white Hijab neatly tucked and pinned into place. I also made certain to dress modestly as to really authenticate the experience. I found to my relief that most people welcomed the change in appearance kindly and very few even questioned it. There was the feeling of being watched more closely, of certain separateness from those around me.

I had a few revelations during my time wearing Hijab:

I found myself reminded on a constant basis of the divine, the sacred, and the holy nature of life. I held myself to a higher moral conduct as a result. Although I tend to not separate the spiritual from my everyday life, I have wanted to really be centered in it, to keep it at the forefront at all times. In this way, the Hijab served as an anchor for me. It also is a beautiful and humbling fashion that offers a refreshing break from focusing on artificial beauty. It is powerful and reaffirming of my worth as a spiritual being and not just as a body, gender, or class.

The Hijab offers a certain type of freedom. For those of us who yearn for a more humble, simple, and service focused life, the Hijab counters Western ego, it whispers of peace, humanity, and devotion to the spiritual welfare of our world.

For me, it is a joyful and humbling experience that also is aesthetically pleasing. The Hijab within contemporary American life reshapes beauty by bringing the spiritual and sacred to the forefront of everyday life. For these reasons and more, I love the wearing the Hijab.

Generation Transition: Trust

2011-01-11T08:50:00.001-08:00

The difficulty in growing in old is losing faith in the ability to truly trust those around us. The older we become, the more walls are erected not only to keep pain out but also to see if there will be anyone who is willing to break them open. We tell ourselves, that if someone is willing to break these walls open, they will be trust worthy because they got past the barriers, they put in the effort, and they must truly care. In the end, is anything conditional, anything that relies on conditions such as these, really true?

Losing faith in others, losing faith in the system, losing faith in our leaders, losing faith in ourselves: All of these trials and tribulations are byproducts of the aging process. Personally, despite my often violent and turbulent childhood, I was a flower child. Inside, I had rock hard faith in the creator, the power of good over evil, the beauty of the world around me, and the importance of living the best we can. My faith gave me a lightness of being despite the heaviness of the world around me. As I grew, I maintained some level of faith. No amount of violence, instability, or poverty in my childhood shook my faith in the essential goodness of mankind or the probability of a positive ending to our collective story and my individual path.

The daily grind can have an effect on a life in a way nothing else can. It is possible to gather our courage and overcome obstacles. It is possible to even learn from our dark hours, when we are broken open and to utilize these vulnerable moments to center our lives, reaffirm what is truly important, and to deepen our compassion through a broader range of empathic understanding. Yet, if we are the working poor, the marginalized, or an adult with the burdens of our chaotic and rapidly changing society, we are exposed on a daily basis to horrors and obstacles. These images of violence, political turmoil, familial stresses, and rising necessity for constant productivity in the form of work, education, or even paperwork (Now, I enjoy making lists but I do not enjoy the paperwork required to do anything or open anything or pay anything or buy anything…), wears away at the soul, body, and mind. We begin to truly lose faith; we forget how to reach out to each other and to trust that another can be reliable. Adulthood brings with it the realization that at the end of the day, recycling may not matter and no matter how many crunches or pushups we do, we still have to accept what we see in the mirror and love it because no one else will love you as unconditionally as you will love yourself in this lifetime.

How do we press through and continue believing that little actions matter? How do we open ourselves up to another person in a world that requires us to shut down our empathy in order to function within the system? I think that this question is very important for those of us who have graduated from college in recent years and find ourselves in the midst of a world in constant transition and without any economic stability. Is it that we must learn to trust despite the probability of pain? That we must love unconditionally and play the game despite the fact that so many moves are charted for us? I think that as we move forward in age, we must answer this question for ourselves. We must find what we love and let that light our path. If we give ourselves forgiving space in our lives to reflect and to appreciate the smallest of blessings, we can continue to breathe air onto our dwindling supply of faith. The realities of young adulthood in our world today allow us the chance to define what we are individually and as a species. Will we submit to autopilot and give up faith in our lives and collective future or will we make the world a place we can once again have faith in and love each other in a way that inspires our children to remain open to ideals and trust, even as they age?

Dreamer

2009-11-29T20:18:00.000-08:00

Dreamer of this dream
hold onto the threads
that filter
through your conciousness
and do not let go
or allow those ribbons of light
to be stolen
from under your pillow as you slumber
asleep in a world
of wonder
Hold your heart
as a weapon
flower
peace with each breath
forget the illusion of your limitations
you are stardust,
you are eternity poured into
a transient body
creator of dreams
and whisperer of possibility.

Artwork by light_Ingstar

2009-10-14T21:53:00.000-07:00