Prayer Flags on Everest Cerebrum

Some time ago I discovered the delightful artifacts known as prayer flags, those humble yet amazing pieces of cloth whose purpose came to fill me with delight. Their roots are in India, they blossomed in Tibet (known as lung ta or darchor depending on the style) and somehow ended up flying in the cool winds caressing the Mount Everest of my mind.

It is my understanding that traditionally, the flags are used to promote compassion, strength, wisdom and peace. The idea is that the prayers and mantras written on the flags will be carried by the wind into the surrounding space. Thus, by power of the wind, good will is carried to all. Hanging the flags in high places, especially those with frequent or powerful winds, is considered to be especially effective.

Lately I find myself struggling with the ideas of compassion, strength, wisdom and peace. How to find them within myself, and how to help spread them throughout the world. It seems to me that all of us could use more of each. I am acutely aware of the struggle within myself to overcome the base impulses that led me away from those four elements. I see and hear what is happening in the world and am saddened but also amazed at the feelings created within my head and heart.

I have written "flying some prayer flags for you on the Everest of my mind" quite often in my correspondence with my friends and acquaintances over the interwebs. I don't recall the first time I used those words, but I do recall thinking I was quite clever in my turn of phrase. It has not been until recently that it occurred to me it was more than triteness meant to convey solidarity or sympathy. I mean, it is that, but has also become much more to me.

I know now that I will almost certainly never climb Mount Everest, or even venture into the foothills of that majestic, legendary mountain. My life path and circumstances will most likely not allow it. At one time, that notion made me very sad; I don't have to climb it, but I would love to at least see it with my own two eyes, breathe the cold crystalline air sweeping down it flanks.

At the same time, I know that I may never get to see some of the dear people I consider to be my friends of the electronic age, as much as the notion pains me. This does not stop me from wishing them love, peace, and good fortune in whatever life is serving up to them. So if I can't get to the mountain, I will bring the mountain to me.

The space within my mind may be infinite if I wish it so. I could build cities marching to the horizon, oceans unbounded or invisible forests if I so desired. But with all that is going on in our lives, dear ones, I have chosen to create a shield against the negative energy that threatens us. I am forcing up a mountain range from the tectonic plates of my soul, the anchor of which is this Everest I think has grown from my heart.

It fits there, in the space behind my eyes, a stereo vision overlay on the shared hallucination that is our world. The winds blow strong and swift in the crystalline cerulean sky around the Everest I see. The flanks of the mountain are dotted with bits of bright fabric, seeming almost alive as the flags I have hung for you swirl in their eager arabesques and tarantellas and tangos upon the wind.

Lately my heart has grown weary of the hardness and stone of its typical existence. There are cracks, like those of a shell surrounding a chick. My heart is trying to break out so as to share in this world...to share with you, my fellow humans. In the foothills, I kneel and turn my gaze toward the mountain. In my hands are lung ta, inscribed with prayers and the names of those I know and those I wish to know.

The shadows hang blue upon the valley, dear ones. I fly my flags in the wind. May they bring you compassion, strength, wisdom and peace.

Lemon Fresh Souls

Air shimmered, souls joined,
We sat with cookies in hand,
lemon cooling tongues

Adventures in Sub-Saharan Virginia: A Wedding Story

Ah, summer.  Long days. Hit nights. Vacations. Travel. Hit nights. And hot days.  Chillaxin'.  And hot days and nights.  We all love summer, right?  What better time than to load up the car, throw the chillun in the back, and road trip out of state for family visit and a wedding!  Woot!  That is precisely what I did this past weekend.

Well, I'll tell you what would be a better time:  a road trip that doesn't start in the afternoon of one of the hottest, if not THE hottest day so far this year around these parts.  A road trip on said hot day during which the car air conditioner stops working about a half-hour into a 4-1/2 hour road trip (excluding dinner break and hopefully not getting any speeding tickets).  A road trip on which I have a nearly 7-year old daughter in the back with nothing but a Leapster to keep her occupied.

It. was. hot.  Like, hell hot.  "Hotter than the Devil's hatband" as my dad often says.  Temperatures were in the triple digits and humidity was near or at 100%.  Not to put too fine a point on it, it sucked donkeys.

I had left straight from work and in an effort to save time skipped going back home to change into shorts.  I ended up driving down the highway with my pants legs pulled all the way up to my knees, and leaning forward in my seat so I wouldn't sweat out my kidneys.  The Wee Lass usually complains about wind in her face but this time she had her window down all the way, face into the breeze blasting through the opening.  From time to time I would glance in the rear view mirror and see Her Royal Cuteness lolling around like a boneless Weeble, slumped in her booster seat with tongue hanging out.  Fortunately, I did have some water on hand, and we topped of big cups of iced tea at our dinner stop.

The drive through Virginia was, to my relief, not as bad as it could have been.  Traffic cooperated, and to her credit the Wee Lass complained almost nil.  We sang songs and looked for traffic signs.  Amazingly, we arrived at the ancestral Gumbo homestead with sanity intact, if a little soggy and wrung out.

The next day was wedding day, for my nephew (Son of Big Bro) and his fiancee.  They had planned an outdoor wedding, on the water, and the show was going to go on.  Poor things, there was no way for them to know that on their wedding day, the temperature was going to be over 100 degrees.

Did mention it was hot?  Like hell hot?

But in the end, it really wasn't that bad.  The wedding party held up well, no one fainted or threw up and the ceremony was beautiful.  My nephew is quite a handsome lad in a tux (and taller than I am!), and the bride...well...the bride was in a word, gorgeous.  Watching the two of them exchange vows, and the emotions that crossed their faces, reminded me of just how precious love is, and what we as human beings can mean to one another.  For a few minutes, the heat and the discomfort and the fatigue of travel disappeared, and we all basked in the radiance of love.

It was wonderful.  I know my Big Bro was watching from somewhere, with pride, at the joy that is his son and my nephew.  He was there, too, I think, because we carry him in our hearts.  

Later, as the newlyweds were leaving, we blew bubbles and wished them well.  Their road trip is just beginning, and it is my dearest wish that it be a long and fruitful one.

Sometimes a little adventure is what we need, to appreciate the quiet beauty of life all around us.

Union

Bright flowers, white lace,
Syncopation of heart strings
while we cried and smiled

In honor of my N. and S., beginning life together.

New Day, Monday and Gratitude

Life here in the People's Republic of Gumbolia, and for yours truly, the President-For-Life of said republic, has been breathtakingly busy lately.  Between that which I do to earn my daily bread, personal biz and of course the writing...oh, and matters domestic (like lawn care)...my head is spinning.  I'm real dizzy, dear readers.

Part of that busy-ness is correspondence.  I get a reassuring amount of personal emails, many of which are the result of comments left by many of you kind folks out there on the hot mess that is Irish Gumbo.  I am grateful for the connections, and it has been a grand avenue to getting into the thoughts of others, exchanging perspectives and ideas, and sometimes just plain silliness (more of which I could use).  As many of you may already know, I am almost pathologically incapable of not responding to the digital equivalent of a letter.  I like to answer as many as I can, and most of time I do, within the limits of time, energy and technology

However, even with that success rate, I regret that I haven't been able to respond to all, especially in a timely fashion.  One thing that has compounded that in the past week is the pleasure and honor I had to be selected as a BLOG OF NOTE, which certainly surprised me.  I was amazed and astounded by the number of comments and new readers and new followers that joined me on board this strange and wonderful trip.  As you may imagine, I haven't been able to keep up with responding, and with the current level of activity (see first paragraph) I have a feeling I will miss getting back to some folks.

So if you don't hear from me, know that it is only because I'm caught up in a mad stampede running downhill on the Mountain of Life.  Please know that I am humbled and grateful for the attention, and when I catch my breath, I'll try and stop by and say hello.  Thank you, from my heart.

Happy Monday, one and all!

This Tree

We are on the road again, my daughter and I, heading back to my house after an all too short stay at the ancestral homestead.  A hazy Sunday afternoon somewhere in the Middle Peninsula region, with the Rappahannock River whispering to us from beyond the trees and fields to the east.  The trees are in full leaf now.  It is a very different scene from that of the winter, of the Februaries I wish to leave behind.

It was an occasion to celebrate life and a growing of the good green things in our souls, rather than assemble in the woods to mourn the falling of yet another mighty oak.  It was the first time in many years that I had the blessing of being among extended family for the sole purpose of being in one another's company because we could.  I saw some cousins I had not seen in too long, and met the next generation of the family.  Wee Lass was able to meet some kin she had not seen before, and I...well, I had the honor of basking in her glow, while she played in the pool with the other young ones.

I had forgotten how good that felt.  Back in the day, we used to have these gatherings all the time.  As you may have guessed, I didn't fully get how cool that was when I was right in the middle of it as a boy.

But I know now, yes, I do.  I knew it with each hug given, each kiss on the cheek and every laugh shared.  I felt in in my core as I watched the kids playing in the pool.  I live too much in my own head most of the time, which is really no true home; there in that backyard and for a few precious hours, I was home.

I had the singular gift of holding a four-month old baby, the beautiful daughter of of her equally beautiful mother (a second cousin of mine), and when that baby snuggled her face into my shoulder I felt a circuit trip somewhere in the earth.  The current I could feel flowing through my veins and into my heart.  It was still humming along when we had to leave the next day on our road trip home.

The corn and soybeans are beginning to sprout in the fields.  The crows and the hawks watch over everything, and the trees stand green and proud and harboring deer and rabbits among the undergrowth.  I could see those stands of trees across the green-gold of the planted acres, and it was then I felt another circuit close in the blood of my blood, the laughter in my ears, and the arms across my shoulders.

In the white gold sunshine of the eastern Virginia countryside, I had a revelation. I know how the tree feels to sink its roots deep into the soil from which it sprung.  I know how the tree feels when it becomes aware of the forest, and knows that it is home.

---

It is Memorial Day, and a time conducive to meditation amongst the cookouts and the sales, and the hoopla of modern American life.  I had plenty of time to think while driving home on Sunday, about what we are supposed to remember, and what we seem to actually do.  I've never been one prone to overt displays of patriotism, but neither have I totally lost sight of what this day is about.  Regardless of where we stand on the subject of the wars and aggressions America has initiated or been drawn into, it is certainly true that quite a few have given so much, including their lives, in the service of an ideal that does represent the best of our desires and intentions.  That service, in part, has made it possible for me to live the life that I do, and for me to enjoy being with my family.  For that, I am truly grateful. 

Homecoming

Old bed, new boyhood,
Worn wood, white plaster above
Dreams of youthful sun

Bookends: Eighties

Me and Big Bro, circa 1984

I was browsing some '80's and '90's music files tonight and I could not help but think of my brother.  The music led me to some pictures, specifically the one above.  It's a Polaroid, and my parents have the original.  I never used to get sentimental over old pictures, especially ones of myself, but things are different now.  As far as I'm concerned, that picture up there needs to be archived in a museum-quality case, suitable for framing.

I am struck particularly by our expressions.  Mine was showing a lot more self-assurance (youthful arrogance?) than I really possessed, and Big Bro?  Well, he was the shizznit, as that expression says it all.  He certainly could pull off the Look.  It gained in strength when he had a guitar in his hands, something I could not (and still can't) do.

I think that picture was taken at a time when I was beginning to feel I had any confidence at all of dealing with the world, out of high school and on my way to college.  It was a time I felt like I was right, even when I wasn't.  Untested youth has a way of doing that to a person.

I'm glad I didn't know then, what I know now.  I see this picture, and I cannot help but marvel at the power we didn't know we possessed.  Me and my Big Bro against the world, two saplings as yet unbent by the storms of life...the hurricane that took him down struck much too early.  The one that might take me, well, I hope its a long way off.

Until then, I'll think of him, and sink my roots deeper into the soil.

---

The following link (to myspace.com) is to a song by The Jesus and Mary Chain, that came out in 1989, which is kind of the cap on what I think of as my first (hopefully) Golden Age.  I listen, and I wish I could have sung this live with my brother on guitar.  I know he would have liked that.

Blues From A Gun

River in Our Veins

I have had much on my mind (as usual) since I wrote this post, and my hindbrain was chewing on some ideas for responses to commentors' thoughts on what I should write.  The one that has piqued my interest the most was TaraDharma's (although they all are good) and was what I had planned on writing about for this post.

The universe had other ideas.  I was redirected by small miracles and revelations, profound and terrible, beautiful and sad.  They all had me thinking about love for our families, our kith and kin.

I mentioned back on January 17th in this post that a cousin of mine was due to have a baby in the near future.  That small miracle has come to pass, as of yesterday, and mom and le bebe are doing fine.  She has a little girl, a beautiful little girl of her own.  The pictures I have seen were quite the tonic for the weary heart I have been carrying through this winter that won't seem to pass.

The terrible, sad thing I won't discuss in detail here, but it involves a personal revelation made to me that took my breath away, and granted a clear bolt of insight and illumination into understanding another human being.  The context and the content were mind boggling, and truly altered my perspective on the life I have experienced in the past few years.

In sum, here's what I was thinking, as I drove home from work tonight:  Hold your kith and kin close, don't let them slip away, and make sure they know you love them.  The blood that flows in our collective veins is a mighty river in which we may sometimes not want to swim...but flow it does, into the sea which gave us life, and love.

In The New Year...

...wishing all of you a hyperabundance of this:

 

Happy Friday: The Nice Files

Let's just get it out there that this week has been a stinker.  Not catastrophic, not my-house-just-fell-into-a-volcano kind of bad, but a stinker all the same.  A big, greasy wurst of Too much to do, wrapped in a charred pastry Blanket of Angst, topped off with a nasty dollop of Too Many Bills.  Oh, and I was going to be home later than usual.  So it is safe to say that I was all prepared to get home, change into my sweatpants and hide under the pillows on my bed.

Fortunately, there was an alternative waiting for me, times two.

NICE THING #1:  The tea I ordered a week ago, shipped the cheap, slooooow way, finally arrived and was perched on my doorstep.  Hooray!  I likes me some India black tea, of the Assam lineage, and now I have fresh malty/smoky/brisky to warm me up these chilly mornings.

EVEN NICER THING #2:  Earlier this month, I commented on this post by Unmitigated, and made a remark about a book in the background of the photo.  Well, to my pleasant surprise, the lurvely and thoughtful Mary replied to my comment and offered to send me the book if I would read it.  So today, in my mailbox, was the package containing the book*.  How about THAT, dear ones?  That is all kinds of nice, and that made my day.  In New Orleans, they would call that a 'lagniappe', a little something extra, which warms the heart.  If you can, drop by her place and say hello.  Thanks, Mary!

*"The Dymaxion World of Buckminster Fuller" in case you wanted to know.  Yeah, yeah, I'm a geek. 

It's Not Just Fresh, Its 'Butt' Fresh

Yet another thing I'm surprised consumer products companies haven't made us worry about...

Earlier in the day, the Wee Lass and I watched an episode of 'Brain Surge' on Nickleodeon.  The Lass, she likes the burping noises and the references to flatulence.  I go along because it is a silly game show, and you actually do have to concentrate and pay attention to detail in order to advance.

Any one who loses a round has to leave the set via a twisty slide called the 'Brain Drain'.  It's not just a slide, it's a slide that has been partially filled with some sort of goop.  Of course, the poor sap who loses has to slide through the mess du jour, getting covered with shaving cream or Crisco or aerated dish soap, whatever it is the minds behind the show deem fit to use.

Wee Lass, of course, finds it hilarious.

Which brings us to the fast slide at a local amusement parlor for the kiddies.  We went to a birthday party there, the same day of Brain Surge.  It is one of those places that has all sorts of inflatable bouncy things akin to moon bounces, inflatable slides and obstacle courses, and they rent them out for parties and junior executive team building exercises*.  Run around like a maniac for an hour, bouncing (literally) off the walls and each other, then on to pizza or cake and ice cream.  It's quite cool, although a bit exhausting to watch.  Them tykes have some serious energy reserves.

So there is this slide there, a green plastic half-pipe attached to a small tree fort like structure.  At the bottom on the floor is a padded gym mat.  This gym mat is a good thing, because that slide was fast like so roads are fast: the kids were hurtling down that thing like they had been strapped to rockets.  Kids were crashing into the floor, each other, doing face plants and butt plants, and laughing like bastards the entire time.  Wee Lass was having a ball.

Later, she said to me, "Daddy, wouldn't it be funny if they filled the slide up with soap?"

I responded that, yep, I reckon that would have been pretty funny.  Then she got this gleam in her eye.

"Daddy, daddy! It would be better if they filled it with toothpaste!"

"Toothpaste?" I asked, puzzled.  She was giggling hard, and said "Yeah, 'cause then our butts would smell minty fresh!" and she dissolved in a fit of laughter.

I'm still chuckling over that one myself.

*Just kidding.  Although it could happen...

Gumbo for the Silver!

Two years.

Two years ago today, Irish Gumbo came to life in this here blogosphere.  461 posts, lots of tears, laughs and weirdness later, here I am still at it.  A small miracle, that.

Back then I really had no idea how this thing would evolve, or if it would evolve at all.  Mutate is perhaps the better word, 'cause I'm all about the mutations...

I say small miracle, because it is the second longest personal project I have ever undertaken.  The first was my personal (longhand) journals that I began in July 2003, the month my first children were born.  Those journals I kept up for almost five years, much longer after the twins passed away. 

And then I got tired.  Or something. 

Anyway, I decided I would put them aside for a while, just to see what it was like.  It was nice, not having that personal pressure in my head to "produce" something, to do that daily entry.  But as many of you know, and as I found out myself,  my fascination with and love of the written word did not fade away.  It was there, always, a presence or breathy whisper in my ear:  "Write."

I couldn't resist the call, I'm a sucker for a pretty lady who is kind to me, even if she occasionally makes me nuts.  If that isn't love, I'm not sure I know what it is.

Two years.  A few months back I considered giving up on this blog, too.  The pressure inside and out was piling on and I felt like I needed to hibernate.  Life and stuff, you know.

But I didn't so I'm here, for better or worse.  On this, the two-year anniversary of this the hot mess I call Irish Gumbo,  I want to say thank you to all you kind folks, new readers and long-time fans alike, who put your peepers on my page.  I've made some interesting connections, met some of you in the Real World (and hope to meet many more), and generally had a grand time sharing, learning and reading.

Thank you, one and all.  A long, strange trip...and I hope you'll stay on for at least a few more stops...

Gumbo gets Inked!

Get It Here!

What a fine way to get Wednesday going!  My story "Running Lights" is featured today at Indie Ink!  Please take a few moments and check it out.  While you are there, browse the other writers and artists, drop some comment love.  Good stuff, people, good stuff!

On The Floor of the Precious Commodities Exchange

She sat there, across the table, with that heart-stopping smile outlined in a ragged smear of chocolate ice cream. She was giggling at the same time, and there is no defense against that combination. I was lost.

Not the lost I usually feel nowadays, that fellintoadeepdarkhole kind of lost. No, let's not talk about it.

The lost I was feeling was more like ambling through wildflowers in the park on a bright, breezy day. A day with no agenda. A day with no real demands on my time. A day where I could feel free to not think and give myself up to love. Her smile and her laugh can do that, you know. She is a superhero in that regard.

I sat in my chair, blueberry ice cream settling in my belly. The ice cream had been laced with flakes of dark chocolate. Quite tasty on a warm summer eve. Watching her spoon up her chocolate ice cream, feeling the breeze in my hair, I was blessed with a feeling of grace. It was a reprieve from anxiety and fear. The antidote was right there on front of me, complete with that silver bell laugh and rose window eyes.

I would give a lot to be able to bottle that feeling, or turn it into something like incense. Or maybe a Glade plug in. One striking feature of that moment was not that I had been suddenly overwhelmed with happiness. There were no golden shafts of light, no choirs of angels. None were necessary. I had something perhaps more important than blatant happiness. I was content.

If contentedness were a commodity it would be at the top of my own personal precious metals exchange. The stock ticker would read CTNT and I'd have market feeds sent directly to my personal phone.

Not that such a thing exists, and it shouldn't. This feeling is a currency all its own, minted only by our hearts and backed up by our full credit and faith that things do go right and feel good all by themselves...as long as we let them.

I sat in that chair across from my Wee Lass, full of her grace and blueberry ice cream, and gave thanks for them both. It felt good.

This post was inspired by two very different sources: my daughter and the ever-intriguing Adam P. Knave, perpetrator of Stop Motion Verbosity and other assorted hijinks associated with the written word. Why? you may ask. Well, hearing my daughter laugh and reading Adam's post "Accentuate The Positive" pretty much knocked me into a new orbit tonight. A higher orbit, and one to be shared.

The Turning of the Spit

Is it hot in here, or is it just me? Ow, Ow, OW!

A Gumbo Public Service Announcement for everyone: I am about to get roasted! Former ambulance man and current bon vivant Eddie Bluelights at Clouds and Silvery Linings has cajoled me into lashing myself to the spit for his Sunday Roast feature. I fully give Eddie his props, because you know how difficult (if not impossible) it is to put gumbo on a stick...but he did, so there I will be! 

Please set your reminders, the Roast goes on the fire this Saturday, June 12th at 10 a.m. Greenwich Mean Time, which I believe is 6 a.m. Eastern time in the US. I think. Ah, Google it...time befuddles me, often.

This is a real treat for me, because have you seen the list of past Roastees? Some fine company, indeed. I was delighted and honored to be asked, and I hope you can drop in for some roasted gumbo!

In other news, it hit me today that my previous post HERE was my 400th post. How in the world did that happen? Whew!

A Gumbo PSA

Achtung, liebe Jungen und Mädchen und Unentschlossenen!

Regarding last Sunday's post titled "Arrhythmia", it has come to my attention that many folks were concerned that something was wrong with Yours Truly. Looking back, in conjunction with This Post, I can see where that conclusion was a reasonable one to draw.

I am pleased to report that the event depicted was purely fictional, and I am fortunate to have no experience with arrhythmia, then or ever. As far as I know. 

To those whom I have not already explained, the post was the result of a boredom-inspired, "5-Minute Fiction" writing exercise I gave to myself. The photo just struck me in a way I could not define, and the idea just came to me.

Although I did not intend to cause consternation, I'm pleased to see that it seemed to work well as a story! Thank you all for reading, and for your interest and concern!

 

That is all. As you were, people, carry on, carry on...

Mobtown or Charm City: It Depends on the Mood

Baltimore, 8:13 a.m. intersection of South and Baltimore Street:

Just out of frame on the right is the El Basha Hookah Bar. I've never been there, but I've heard it is interesting. 'The Block' is just up ahead, you can see the Hustler Club peeking out above the car in front. Further up is the Baltimore Police headquarters...cheek and jowl with the seedier side. There used to be a sausage place up on the left called "Polock Johnny's", by all accounts a great place to get a Polish sausage sandwich or a hot half-smoke when hunger struck after a night in the strip clubs. Or so I've heard.

Here is another look at my sort of adopted hometown:

Baltimore...I'm not certain how I feel about you sometimes...but I don't know where I'd be if not here...

Photo credit, top: Irish Gumbo

I'm Good Enough, I'm Strong Enough, and Doggone It, People Like Me...

...now if I just had time to adequately thank them all! Recently I have been linked, and it is a testament to my distraction and general dearth of time that I am catching up to some fine folks of my recent acquaintance.

 

See that there pretty little thang above? Well, I was anointed with it by the ever-intriguing and multi-faceted Mike at Annotated Margins . I had the pleasure of discovering Mike's place earlier this year, and always come away with a new perspective on the Universe after reading over there. Plus, he makes music. Good music. If I wasn't so far away from his stomping grounds in Oregon, I'd be in the audience on a regular basis. Thanks, Mike! Everybody stop by and say hello, it's worth the trip.

I know the rules say to link to seven others, and come up with seven interesting things about myself...but long time readers will know that I suck at rules, plus the time factor is cramping my style. These days, I tend to have to glimpse things on the interwebs as I run past my computer on the way to doing something else, so I'll do my best to get something resembling a response to the rules (if I don't forget).

We can all use a little more sunshine! I need to give a shout-out to new bloggy acquaintance, one I'm taking a shine to, and she's a newbie (relatively speaking). I refer of course to the little ray o' sunshine known as Lola Sharp over at Sharp Pen/Dull Sword. I must have said or done something that caught her attention, because she has been commenting regularly on the hot mess that is Irish Gumbo, and has made me laugh out loud! She was kind enough to leave me some link love on her most recent post, in which she mentioned me in the same paragraphs as some other most awesomesauce bloggers, so please drop in and say howdy.

Whew. So that's my gyrations for the day. Busy like the beaver, I am, and hopefully soon things will settle down to where I can be more attentive...and blog about the things that have been keeping me so busy...

Nollaig Shona Daoibh!

Happy Christmas, one and all! -

from Irish Gumbo