You say 'mulberry,' I say 'muliebrity'

When they cut down the mulberry, its sap shone on its final ring. I wanted to let my own muliebrity run down my legs to honor it, but January is here. That springy mulberry has to go. My activist self was thinking, I bet the developer doesn't know human zygotes, or blastulas, resemble mulberries as they divide and form more cells. I am not pro life, but mulberry, muliebrity, and the human mulberry all have a bit of woman in them somewhere. Best represent.

Muliebrity means womanly qualities, and is derived from the Latin word mulier, or woman. Although the word doesn't share a common root with mulberry, the feminine association is there. Their berries are described on Wikipedia as “fireworks going off in your mouth.” Let's mull it over a bit. Muliebrity is arousal and menses. Mulberries are wet, sappy spring trees. To be a woman or mulberry means dark, internalized yin. To be accepting of either, you must tolerate a little water on the brain.

As the arborists threw the remaining stumps on the pile, I felt the vibrations in my tail bone. Trees are the record keepers, you know. Early Christians used to cut down the Celt's sacred oak groves because they feared their juicy, Pagan festivals. Only the most pious monks would let the trees rest for eight days to honor the spirits living in their branches. Then they burned them up. Maybe it was the sunlight, but that mulberry shone like diamonds as it flew out of the chipper.

Do you remember Fargo? Cemeteries are filling up quickly. Cremation is good, but what if you need your body for an afterlife? Cremation requires fossil fuels and caskets leak formaldehyde, so dead or alive, we are fucked. Do we send our loved ones through a chipper and use the bone bits in our potting soil? City wide mosaic project? I don't know?

Before it gets too slippery, let's not forget trees make oxygen. I am a woman who thinks a lot, so I use lots of oxygen. Still, I think about these inconvenient truths while I watch a mulberry take its last breath and try not to drink my coffee at the same time because it seems irreverent. I remember the heart shaped stub where it lost one of its arms and feel phantom pain in my chest.

These mulberries aren't flesh and blood, though. They belong to the local contractor I work for. Well, they used to be his morning matinée until a wealthy developer bought his historic property so he could transform it into a ritzy family farm home. 'Ritzy' and 'Farm' don't click in my mind, but look! Dark-eyed Juncos pop in and out of their branches while we review my boss's busy schedule, but don't let that allure you.

Mulberries are meddlesome. They spread out over time and crowd out other trees. They also become gnarled and impossible to prune. In fact, the mulberry is so resilient it can grow against a wall if needed. No matter where you stick her, she will spring up and branch out when confined. She will be wily and stubborn; she will contort and twist until she can alight on another sapling.

Muliebrity, when left unattended, can kill. Their wetness attracts fungus and blight. Some have even been known to weep and stain cars. Let's face reality. We can't go on hiding the melted chocolate and cum stains with perfectly folded afghan blankets or reusable shopping bags. Best smush our sticky pleasures between the pages, no matter how sweet the back story, and keep them to ourselves.

Then again, no filibuster has ever been known to stop muliebrity either...   

Remedial English = Autonomy 101

In some ways, English is more like math than a focus on humanity.  If anything, as a remedial English instructor, I feel like a frantic human trying to get my students to appreciate the formulaic albeit nuanced rules of the English language.

 I was always fascinated by how grammar is half hear say and half logic.  When you encounter some of the reasoning behind our grammar rules, you want to go back in time and smack somebody.  Really, people?  We can't have a double negative because it cancels itself out? It's not balanced, so to speak? Huh?!

On the other hand, I completely understand the reasoning behind sentence structure because it mirrors a more endearing side of humanity. A complex sentence is only complex because it represents a relationship between two distinctly unbalanced people or in this instance clauses.  You have an 'independent clause' who pays the bills and a 'dependent clause' who means well but needs the help of the full blown 'adult' sentence to make sense of it all.

Of course, my students don't get this.  All they see are a bunch of rules they can't remember or care about for the life of them.  I suppose it is my job to teach them how to use these rules to enhance their essays and ensure they flow coherently, but I also want them to think critically in the process, so I have to provide more than a handful of grammar lessons.

Honestly, I just want to say 'Read and write all you can because it is a panacea for so many of the world's vices and pains' but I think they would think I am crazy or not really believe me until they tried it themselves. However, this is exactly what will teach them best.  I can be the Freire wannabe who tries to keep us face to face in the classroom, but after they leave, it's all on them to dig deeper than mere prescriptivism.

As a 'creative' writer, I don't really care about these rules, but I do care about being fully engaged with everyday life.  As long as I can convince my students that looking twice and seizing every teachable moment matters, the rest will follow suit.  Not everyone will walk away amazing writers, but they will have thought about why reading, writing and thinking rule the world, and ultimately, leads to them ruling themselves. Remedial English = Autonomy 101, I say.

How Hummingbirds Survive an Economic Recession

One of my dear friends made a totem animal chart for me last fall, and one of the creatures on it was a hummingbird.  According to Native American religious belief, certain animals guide aspects of our lives.  The hummingbird represents joy in living, as they feed on nectar from the most vibrant flowers.  Interestingly enough, there are quite a few stories about these frenetic spirits who bring life to all.  We are all familiar with Plato's allegory of the cave, but there is a much more endearing tale in a Mayan account, which claims the hummingbirds brought people from the subterranean realm to the world we live in today.  How did the bird do it?  It simply followed a twisted spiral of light.

http://www.hummingbirdworld.com/h/native_american.htm

I relate to this creature because I, too, find joy in life's blooming portals, and lately, I have a tendency to zip around from one tome or scene to another, trying to live my life as best as I can.  My search for employment has brought me into closer union with God, or what I call a multitude of names, as Spirit, Mother, Self, Brahman, Inner Guide, Daemon, Totem, Creator.  I take a monistic view of divinity, as I grew up very confused by the dogma of the trinity.  How is it possible to have God be three things at once?  Why can't God be manifest in everything, as this speaks to the poet's heart?  I have seen Spirit in the glaze on a hand thrown ceramic bowl and in the excited glow of a child telling me a knock knock joke.  As you can see, I am like a hummingbird in that I derive nourishment from finding beauty in every aspect of life, even the so-called 'darkness.'

I sporadically write here, and today I am writing to express camaraderie with my fellow kind who are struggling to live in this economy.  Ever since I graduated with my MA in English in June 2012, I have had eight different employers. Each job has been temporary, e.g. short and sweet or short and pungent as fuck.
To make the job hunt even more fascinating, I also was fired in February. It was a great relief, as the day before it unexpectedly occurred, I had a mild break/regression where I suddenly felt sick when eating and had to go outside. This was because I had a boss who was a poor communicator, coworkers who were in their computer bubbles all day and no real training whatsoever, even though I was told the job "had extensive training" and was basically "a paid internship." Long story short, I want to focus on the spiritual aspect of this experience.

The night before I was fired, I felt nauseous and after I ran out of my apartment, I walked quickly through the night and found some hedges on campus in which I hid and rested for maybe ten minutes.  I needed to be in touch with the earth and connect with a force I could actually derive a sense of wholeness from.  When I finally headed back, I told my partner that my job was "killing my soul," and with that, God provided for me. I believe that when we act on our desires with the purest intentions, we can manifest our wishes.  I call it 'the power of the word,' or 'the power of the will.' Of course, one could say my boss was simply going to fire me that day, but who does it on Valentine's Day?  Regardless of the mechanism, it was a moment of synchronicity where I spoke my truth and I was freed from a job which did not allow me creative freedom or any sense of purpose or direction.

From that moment on, I was pretty devastated for about a day, and I was unable to do anything but focus on one thing at a time.  I simply ate, took a shower and slept.  The next day, I got up, got a haircut and visited one of my friends and called one of my friends.  I eventually applied for food stamps and unemployment (again!) and I started looking for jobs.  But mainly, I trusted God.  I knew that Mother was looking out for me and would provide for my needs.  And she did.  I applied for a tutoring job about six days after Valentine's Day, and I got an interview and job offer in two weeks!

Never underestimate the power of setting your intention and casting out nets in various places on the ocean of life (thanks to Ann Lindbergh for the beautiful analogy. Read her book http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gift_from_the_Sea for some great passages on inwardness and developing our lives as spirals from the hub). I have been teaching children language arts and mathematics, and developing my Spanish speaking skills, which have been fairly dormant for the past four years.  I am blessed to enter family's homes and teach 6-12 year-olds all they need to know about phonetics and fractions.  This job has also sparked an initial interest in teaching English as a second language, perhaps overseas. I had this dream about four years ago, but ended up going into college access and pursuing poetry.  To be honest, I didn't have as much motivation or drive to pursue a Fulbright.  I wasn't as invested in coming up with a project plan, but now that I have done it in college access and am more confident in my teaching and leadership abilities, I feel more equipped to do it.


But you know, I must admit that losing a full-time job with benefits gave me a very CLEAR understanding of who I am and what I will and will not stand for.  Even in these hard economic times, I've learned that we must be honest with ourselves and ask:  what am I willing to do for 4-12 hours a day?  What am I endowed with, and what makes my heart sing?  One of my friends told me that she has a "survival job" and does her art in her remaining time, but she also said she is very clear about what she wants from a employer, and sees jobs as means to an end.  In other words, jobs are modes of acquiring greater goals, like better jobs or traveling expenses or equipment.

Based on her example, I decided to see jobs as potential partners or lovers.  I am looking for a job that suits me and works for me, not the other way around.  Not only did I look for work based on my qualifications, but I also started looking for jobs that matched my temperament, energy levels and ethics.  I refused to take a job where I am required to sit in front of a computer for eight hours a day or talk to people for that long.  These jobs strain my back and my throat, not to mention keep me stationary.  I would much rather be like Lewis and Clark, mapping out territory or hell!  I would much rather pick up trash on the side of the road.  At the very least, I could learn more about the land and hear the birds singing. By being honest about your limitations and preferences, you cut out work that will only bring future grief on many levels.

The second thing I did was map out what my future goals were, and decide which jobs provided skills and assets that were conducive to my dreams.  Stephen Covey discusses the idea of a mission statement, but I think that a bucket list is more my style.  Kevin Herbert, one of my former counselors, suggested that I create one and "ditch anything that isn't on my list."  I created it in 2010, and have revised it perhaps 2 or 3 times.  I made a new one in 2013 and you would be amazed at how much I completed on the first list without returning to it everyday.  It helps you set your intentions and is easily amendable.  I also have been able to track how my goals change from year to year.  In 2010, I was more focused on professional and intellectual development.  In 2013, I am more in tune with spiritual and artistic growth, as well as community involvement. Interestingly enough, many of the items on my list are artistic experiments or spiritual retreats.  This year, I have become a member of shamanic community and I got a temporary position at The Paint Chip, a local art supply and framing shop.  I also am interested in opening a community center that is a completely free space for artistic development, physical nourishment and fellowship.  Notice the synchronicity here!


One thing I will say is that my degree has been only fairly helpful in securing employment.  I have had one adjunct position last fall, which I absolutely loved.  However, it only partially paid the bills for about three months, or a semester.  I decided not to pursue adjuncting as a career ladder, for it doesn't meet my ethics.  Basically, you are what I call a "transient professor" or on worse days, " a prostitute for the academy."  No office hours, no benefits, no compensation for preparing lessons and this thing called a 'seniority list,' which you work your way up little by little.  I will say that the job pays off in that I get to teach and meet other teachers who have improved my ability to develop a syllabus.  This work is also like social work, especially at the community college level, so it has taught me compassion. All in all, I don't view it as my dream job.

Yet in spite of all my trash talk on adjunct life, I will say that it is good if you don't want to be tied to one place or one philosophy for an extended period of time.  Not only that, there are some fringe benefits, like great professional development opportunities in terms of committee work, faculty mentorship and that sort of thing.  Furthermore, I was able to cast my nets and secure TWO sections for the upcoming fall, but only in an attempt to get a letter of recommendation for future teaching positions.  My supervisor wouldn't write me a letter for a full-time position at the community college, and I asked if she would at least write a general letter of recommendation so I could "improve my teaching skills."  This was the supervisor who had praised my performance and wanted me to return to the cc, so I was pretty peeved when she refused, but pretty stoked when she instead offered me two classes.  And I got a call back for another college which pays better and focuses more on writing curriculum development and pays better.  So hey.  Don't be afraid to ask for what you want or need from an employer.



Also, take their advice and enact it in front of them to see how true they are.  My supervisor had said to "speak up" and "promote myself."  This is what I did with her when I asked for a letter and stated my need to advance my teaching experience.  She saw that I was committed to teaching, and she delivered on her own philosophy.  And to make it even better, I got a letter of recommendation from my faculty mentor there who wrote it exactly as I requested.  So be polite, be gracious and be clear about your needs.  It has worked wonders in my life so far.

So here I am, writing away to tell you that what one of friends at ashram says is true.  He told me that his needs are always provided for, right when he needs it.  It's very true.  I am not saying that I don't have unpaid bills or unmet needs.  I do as we speak.  In spite of these setbacks, I am finding that my true needs are spiritual and are met by my loved ones, my God and my insistence in pursuing my dreams. Who knows. I may not be able to keep my car or keep paying on my credit cards.  I don't want to file for bankruptcy, but I am not really interested in buying a house or getting any more credit cards.  The only thing I would be concerned about is not being able to help my future children pay for their education, although by the time they are in school, it may be so expensive or an obsolete form of knowledge building, for all I know. That said, I have been doing the best I can, and I have been seeking the help of spiritual communities like ashram, Al-Anon, nature and Shamanic circles to generate a net that will carry me more than any great benefits package or steady income.

Unemployment Depression, or: How I gave up on academia and resorted to DIY living

It was a sunny day in Northern California, and I hadn't got much sleep, but I made it out to Butte College about seven hours before my final session of ENGL 217: Basic Writing Skills to meet with the co-chair of the English Department to discuss, you guessed it, possible sessions next semester.

I dreaded the meeting the entire time I drove through rice paddies full of swans, small towns teeming with penny candy stores, carnicerias and about every variety of road sign you can imagine, including one for a Lavender Ranch, nuts and two identical 'Jesus is the Reason for the Season' banners. These sorts of diversions only heightened my ambivalence about speaking with trying to sound excited about a career path that has become increasingly less viable and worth it to me, even after years of studying English and writing my heart out.

What changed, you might wonder? It could have been receiving pay for only the four hours I spent occupying the classroom. Any time I spent preparing lessons, answering e-mails or phone calls, or grading was not paid, and I only received five paid office hours at half of my hourly rate. Then, there was the "seniority list," a running list of part-time faculty names that you move up according to how many semesters you have taught at the college. Honestly, I have never been interested in any such acrobatics, even if it guarantees me a section each semester.

No, it wasn't my students who changed my mind about wanting to be in community college, and it wasn't the faculty, either. Even the four-hour drive (round trip) twice a week was worth it, as I saw about every type of wildlife imaginable, not to mention the most amazing buttes, mountains and twisting trees by the side of the road. The thing is, I received amazing evaluations and my supervisor wanted me there, but there were less offerings in the Spring, and with all of the budget cuts, one must take what they can get it.

Regardless of the extreme financial losses California has seen in education, I must admit that I cannot blame the "system." I do think that teachers are highly undervalued while being held accountable for not only student learning but also student quality of life, as even Butte College had an Early Alert VIP Program in place which basically was a referral system for every service imaginable, including healthcare, the campus food pantry and relationship support services. You name it, students have an issue with it, and it doesn't stop with students. I would argue that being a part-time faculty, who, like a migrant farm worker, has to fight for work with every change of the season.

There are many factors that contribute to changes in the weather, and similarly, a variety of contexts that determine faculty pay and retention. At this point, our legislators control the budget, even if we vote on ballot measures or get petitions on the ballot. I would even say that our part-time faculty unions are doing amazing work, but it is slow, and contingent on funding from some very precarious sources, including associate faculty pockets.

That said, I'd like to argue that perhaps it is common complacency and the good 'ole tenure-track that ends up sidelining recent graduates who possess current knowledge, teaching experience, and increased understanding of digital media and academic culture, but are unable to secure employment in the very institutions that "raised" them, so to speak. And, it is this system of guaranteeing full-time employment for either those who have worked their way up aforementioned "seniority lists" or who happen to "get lucky" that turns me against academia in general, in spite of its proven ability to increase income and perspective.

Honestly, it's quite sad that I would tell my current students to stay in school, but not to go into teaching unless they are willing to sacrifice their quality of life for the love of education. I think we need well-prepared teachers who are passionate about their subject, invest in it not only through coursework but networking and community involvement, and who are committed to ethical teaching standards. However, this goes both ways, and we cannot expect a teacher to perform or even return to an institution if we do not account for their food, shelter and living expenses.

This basic need for a "living wage" goes back to my early community college days when I took Human Development and learned, once again, about Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs. You may or may not recall the pyramid which places food, shelter and clothing at the bottom, and stacks subsequent needs like affection, social support and professional success one-by-one on the pyramid's base. Even the chakra system supports this, as it represents the wheels of energy, or energy centers, in the human body as a spectrum that starts at the root, or sacrum, and moves its ways up to the crown, or divine, center of the body.

Interestingly, Anoeda Judith argues in Eastern Body, Western Mind that in order for us to manifest higher-level qualities, like keen judgment, emotional expressiveness and basic communication skills, we need to have corresponding movement into the earth, or our base of support. We need to have our basic needs provided for in order to achieve not only a higher level of consciousness, but a more enriched sense of our worth as individuals. Unfortunately, adjunct life does not support this knowledge, even if it stresses high-quality teaching that puts students first.

I walked away from college with a host of skills, and it has been hard to feed these gems over the past few months, as I have been worried about unpaid bills, lack of food and gas, and how to keep a roof over my head. I have looked for jobs, and thankfully been able to string together a series of part-time jobs. But when you are unable to get substantial hours, it makes even a flexible job seem worthless.

That said, underemployment has led me to seek jobs in industry, and take my writing "off the grid," at least in the sense that it is present in academic circles. In fact, it was my conversation with the English Department Co-Chair today that affirmed my desire to not be part of the community college, at least not until I have my PhD, or can be sure that it will meet my basic needs.

I showed up to my meeting fifteen minutes late, as there was construction and slow traffic. I was pretty disappointed when I saw that I was more professionally dressed than my superior, not to mention more awake. She kept looking down, and she had this bright pink hat on that would have worked for a shopping day or even a club, but I know I couldn't get away with wearing my favorite hat to my jobs.

Maybe it's harsh of me to judge by appearance, but it was her body language, as well as her disinterest in my professional development, that really turned me off. We were able to talk about what the English department focuses on in terms of curriculum, and I was able to chime in about how that sounds like what I am doing in my current class, but it really disturbs me when I am able to guide the conversation more so than the person who should be teaching me about my field!

But then, it dawned on me that although said chair has her PhD in a very lucrative, culturally impactful field (Gay and Lesbian Studies, which she had to laugh about nervously when she mentioned it), she doesn't use it much. She was able to develop one Queer Studies film class, but it seems like the focus on composition reigns, and I initially thought, Oh. You know, maybe I should just get a PhD, and try my luck at teaching later. It might increase my edge. But then....it sunk in.

COMPLACENCY KILLS. This woman happened to tell me she was tired and had been up at 5:30 because her dogs woke her up. I felt as if I was talking with someone who was entirely out of my league. This is not to say that I haven't been woke up by demanding pets, but I felt the bourgeois air come into my lungs, and I just couldn't stand it anymore. My brain kept thinking 'This isn't where you belong. This department isn't for you.'

And it's true: my supervisor in LEAD, or Language, Education and Development, was much more chill, and seemed much more invested in her field. The whole time we chatted about interdisciplinary curriculum, the importance of committee work, and her interest in literacy. But not so in the Butte English department. We talked about different teaching methods,and how rigor is needed, but she told me to check out online teaching, and when I mentioned how I don't feel comfortable teaching for proprietary institutions, as it exploits students, she said she understood, but still, to look into it.

HA. I don't think online teaching is any more lucrative, and when she mentioned it was very heavily supervised, I wondered why she would point me in that direction at all. Even though she mentioned this area writing institute, it was obvious that I wasn't to be there, and even when I promoted myself, it came back to that seniority list. I do want to mention that after our meeting, she did kindly introduce me to the faculty in charge of creative writing, and that woman was WAY more involved in her work, and happy to share. But so much for department chairs.

On that note, I'd like to take my complaints back to one comment the chair made about researching for papers, and how she had found one student's source to be unreliable. A student had done research on "Unemployment Depression" and interpreted a website that was advertising a book as statistical information. You could argue the student was not perceptive, but then, isn't it our jobs to teach students how to evaluate web sources? As this is coming from a woman who has done PhD research, not to mention curriculum development and who knows what sort of committee work/research, I am quite surprised she didn't take more responsibility for this student's mistake.

I'm not saying I taught my students how to evaluate web sources better, either, as this isn't even part of my course objectives in my current class based on the course outline. However, I do want to say that while it is important to focus on critical thinking skills and teach students digital literacy, perhaps we are a bit too focused on the legalistic aspects of our field. And perhaps if faculty were more willing to share their own research methods based on not their current research, but PAST WRITING SAMPLES from their undergraduate careers, then students would better succeed. But this might seem frivolous, as you should be the expert as a professor, not direct students to work you created x amount of years ago.

I don't know. Thoughts on this issue? What are the best ways to teach students, even if there is an obvious gap in learning curves? And, how is it that we expect associate faculty to teach students, but we do not provide them with the resources to do so? I guess it has helped this adjunct instructor better relate to her students, as reduced income is a major concern for my students. I won't even go into the family concerns students have, but then, if adjuncts are expected to be the equivalent of "transient professors" who transverse one county line to another, I suppose I can relate to the ill effects of a broken family (although yes, I have my own traumas from family substance abuse).

On a positive note, I am waiting for a second interview with a local SEO company. These are the professionals who design websites so that you can find exactly what you need when you type in words or phrases into Google, for example. It will be my job to research content for various clients and create web articles that generate more customers. It may sound like advertising, but I will be learning about a variety of topics while increasing my presence in the virtual world. And, let's not forget it is a full-time job with benefits in a thriving industry. Sometimes, you have to see your interests more broadly; just because I am not promoting the benefits of clear writing to my students, I can apply these techniques to web content, right? Perhaps it is time to take a lesson from my own quirks about specific details and use it to generate revenue for someone who may not care about me at the end of the day, but will at least pay me a living salary. Sympathy doesn't get us far, but right action does.

An homage to my bivouacs

There is something magical about turning thirty. In the past month, I have found myself in the utmost state of poverty and riches all at once, and it has brought me closer to what I truly value: relatedness, within and without. How does such 'relatedness' work? Well, it starts with an urge to touch base with another soul, and not in a merely transactional way. For me, we connect best when we are able to set aside time and space to instill mutual understanding, and ultimately, mutual acceptance. Thankfully, I grew up around avid conversationalists, who lovingly raised me as best as they could. I send metta love to my mom boo, who has been delighting in my laughter since I was a child singing in the back seat. She brought me to my grandparents' home on a regular basis, and of course, I was always welcome to sit at the table after Grandma asked, "Any news?" Then she would proceed to gossip about everyone at The Moose Lodge and in her neighborhood. In fact, it was my maternal grandmother's assertive, no frills demeanor that equally intimidated and delighted me as a child, but has continually challenged me to be heard, even if it pisses someone else off. It hasn't been easy, and it is perhaps my fear of alienating folks that I save this candor for writing. But after Grandma's death in 2009, I started channeling her in poems, at first writing homages and then embodying a bit of her fiery emotionality. I didn't see her cry often, but when she did, it felt as if the world was on call for her. And when she laughed, I felt lighter than music. I've had dreams about her in the past year or so where she is sick or unable to move, and these images disturbed me greatly; of course, I hadn't recognized that grandma in my dreams was not merely a camcorder playing back memories of her suffering, but my internalized aspects of her. That grandma I saw who was suffering was in fact my psyche, the spritely pistol whose unwieldy diaphragm enabled my mother to be born unexpectedly. My grandmother lives in me, and she is part of my soul. For Jungians such as myself, individuation, or coming into one's full potential, is contingent on the integration of the various parts of ourselves. The psyche is not only alive at the "ego" level, but persists throughout our unconscious experiences of reality into what is deemed the "collective unconscious," the repository of our ancestor's experiences. I say 'ancestors' rather than human beings, as I believe it is important to include our fellow planet and all of its inhabitants, as part of this psychic, primordial energy. Energy is a tricky topic, and the word is thrown around like a frisbee, going every which way and that. I guess that is what energy does. =p However, it is essential to think of any manifestations of family members or strangers within us as parts of ourselves, and living beings. This may sound a bit cuckoo to you, but if you can accept that we are conscious even as we sleep, even though we are limited in terms of motor activity, it makes sense that our brains continue processing information throughout the night. More importantly, if we look at dreams not as mere cerebral housecleaning, but a sort of active storytelling on behalf of our survival, then perhaps we can humor the grandmas, demons, animals and places that pop up in our heads while we sleep. Since I was a child, I have had very vivid dreams, and it was only in the past two years that I started doing dream work. At first, I was a bit skeptical of some of the analysis I heard in group sessions, but then, I started seeing very strong connections between my waking life and my dream world, and I couldn't ignore this. Ah yes. So this takes me back to my grandmother, believe it or not. In 2009, the summer she died I was at odds with a boyfriend who I thought I loved very much, but who did love me at the same frequency, so to speak. In fact, I don't think he really loved me at all, but that can be contested in some romance novel written by Stephanie Meyer or maybe Elizabeth Gilbert, if her marriage doesn't work out. Yes, I still think about Eat, Pray, Love every once in awhile. But it was at that point in my life that I wanted things to work out with this man child, and I had my head completely up my ass so much that instead of seeing what I could learn from my grandmother's own story, I was constantly dreaming about him being either too busy for me or disinterested altogether. This is when I started going to dream work, and recognized that he had become an animus projection, which is very detrimental to the individuation process (see M. Scott Peck's work on cathexis in The Road Less Travelled). This means we project our ideal masculine qualities onto an actual person we are close to in waking life. The animus is the male aspect of the female psyche, and the anima is the female aspect of the male psyche. This is not to say that we are so heavily gendered, but think of it more in an Eastern sense, like yin and yang. You need both masculine and feminine properties in order to manifest reality. Both 'dark' and 'light' or 'wet' and 'dry' are needed. In other words, we need a 'blurred' sense of gender, or a balanced set of multiple qualities, in order to be fully functioning individuals in a greater community. Here is the thing about my relationship to my grandmother: she embodies the fearless, emboldened, industrious part of me, and it is quite frankly the part that I balk at, as it seems to get to people's hearts. My dad once said that my grandma could be mean, and it was true. She had a knack for speaking her mind, and she made some keen judgements about family members, strangers and friends. But then again, what is wrong with the 'bitch'? I hesitate to call any woman, even if she is 'difficult,' a bitch, as it serves no purpose except to alienate and undermine what could be called agentic (thanks, Tom Tom). What is wrong with a woman calling it as it is, and still being able to be nurturing and cognizant of her own limitations? My grandmother may have had a sharp tongue, but she had a very loving heart, and a very shrewd one, too. But alas! the cunning woman is feared, too. That said, to see my grandmother dying inside of me suggests that my own 'agentic' parts needed to be fed by being expressed. Even if my assertions come out awkwardly, they will improve with practice. And perhaps I can balance my grandmother's knavish tongue with my diplomatic qualities, which I get from my mother, and perhaps my father; even though he is a bit of a hot head, he also has apt social skills, and can be very eloquent in social contexts. And my mother? She is the queen of chill. She can withstand just about anything, but has the capacity for great anger when necessary. Let's not forget the friends, lovers, teachers, writers, cousins, family members, peers and many others who have informed my psychic development. Or context. We can't forget the environment at large, or culture. But yes, the purpose of this post is to illustrate the importance of tending to ourselves, and in this way, being more capable of tending to our relationships and our greater communities. I am a very introverted person, but let's be honest: I thrive on conversation. When I was a teenager, I remember saying that my ideal partner would be someone "I could have a 'deep' conversation with." Now I have probably had a very naive conception of what that means, and I won't go into much detail, but over the past two years, I have experienced the joy and pain of highly invested friendships, and some not so monumental romantic trysts. But it was my friendships with very strong headed, competent women that inspired me to keep my head on straight and speak up. And, it was not easy, as I found that even when I was intimidated or pissed off by these women, they were easily hurt by me, too. It was my own free spirit, emotionality and eloquence that got to them, and all in all, I have learned that we needed each other because ultimately, we loved each other through all of it. I don't know what happened to Grace, my first Leo roommate, but I think of her fondly, and send her metta love. I am still good friends w/ Marge, and I think very highly of her, and am always indebted to her for teaching me the power of self-reliance, and being friendly to strangers. And both of these women are smart as hell. Graduate school was hard, but it was these women who saw me through, and were there for me. Furthermore, I have to send love to Nora, who I rarely talk with now, but who inspired me to take care of myself, love poetry and be in tune with my feelings and social justice. She also got me to take an honest look at myself, and was always able to recommend helpful spiritual resources, as well as romantic venues. It was her openness to my vulnerability that spurred me to try Ok Cupid, an online dating site that I regarded w/ a fair amount of skepticism, until one day, I was so tired of fucking around w/ disinterested man children that I said "Shit. Okay, Cupid. Do what you do." And believe it or not, it did. I'll save that love story for some future E Harmony dating commercial (SUCH a joke, I wouldn't dare advertise my coupledom on television, not to mention this blog..), but it takes me back to the new title of this blog. Whatever do I mean by 'bivouac,' anyways? What the hell, woman? Well, I originally associated the term with a covered front porch, as I went to a party back in 2002 that was awe inspiring because of one conversation that reaffirmed my firm insistence in introspection. Gordon Davis, one of my childhood friend's older brothers, happened to be at the 'Bivouac,' a kinda run-down but kinda hot in an indie way house with, yep, you got it, a funky painted porch. So there we were talking about books or something, and he said, "It's really important to keep a journal." And I was like, "Yeah, yeah, you're right." And so, I have struggled with this habit for the past ten years, but then, I do it, now and again. You could consider this blog an online journal, but I have several journals for several occasions. Whatever your game, you can do the journal thang. Just keep it real, you know? But the porch, that whole bivouac business. I grew up on porches, and I mean, I really did. My first e-mail address, my name was 'Clarisse McClellan,' the deviant young woman in Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451 who asks Montag, the main book burner cum 'fireman,' if he was happy. Now, I am not as into all of that emo stuff, because obviously, she was asking him a rhetorical question on a rainy night in the land of burningbooklandia, but yeah. She was happy, and he wasn't. Of course, her happiness was contingent on her support network. Clarisse lived in a huge house that had its lights on at all hours (and if you read Bradbury's story "The Pedestrian," you will see this continued motif of deviance as lights on, not darkness, as this suggests innovation and THOUGHT, not the deluge of complacency). Her family would stay up all night talking restively, and it was for this that they were exiled, not the books they had hidden away. So it is this model that somehow spoke to my earlier childhood of being crowded around Grandma's table talking, or walking to the blacktop with my dear Grandma Dillard, or sitting across the bar while Mom told me about her day, or being in a circle of desks in class, or in a rap session at church camp, or talking through a movie, or in the past few months, being bent over candles listening to eighties' music, or walking to Namaste (again!) or driving across the Mojave with a girlfriend,or being perched on the edge of my seat at Starbucks or on a couch in a room full of kindred spirits, or sitting on the ashram's terrace watching hummingbirds fly to and fro, and knowing that yes, yes, this is where I belong. This porch is magical. And so, it is with my heart completely free that I set this bivouac on fire, as I once heard something quite sad yet quite wise, and hence its cut in my memory: "Life is full of meetings, departures and reunions." The good, the wicked, the beautiful, the mundane, the inspired, the passionate...they all come and go, but this is why I chose to honor the bivouac in the first place. Little did I know that bivouac is not just an awning, but a temporary camp or shelter set up by campers or mountaineers or an army. And with one week left until I move back to my previous city, I move in with my passionate partner, with four dollars to my name, and of course, some fear in my heart, I embrace the bivouac in me, and I embrace the bivouac in you and every living being I meet, for I am learning that it is Brahman, or the OM, that is eternal. And that universal sound, or that infinite ocean, whatever you like, is within us and without us. Whatever your shelter be, let it be known that you are the habitus, or dwelling place, of a much greater energy. It is this richness that I celebrate in what seems to be the worst recession ever. Even with an MA degree, I have tasted poverty, but it has thankfully brought me closer to my loved ones, and has taught me that no matter how prescient money may seem, it is only money, after all. As one wise lady said, "I am more than my checkbook." It was Fugazi who said "I am not my pants." So you see that when we live for the eternal, we break down the delusion of wages, and understand that without a greater sense of industry, we will never come into community. I'll keep it at that for now, but one last thing. I have been learning about the chakras over the past year, and I have discovered that the Sanskrit word for the heart chakra is anahata, which means 'unstruck.' Think about that gem for awhile; the heart chakra possesses a green hue, and it is unaffected. Note that it is not disffected, but detached. It gives and receives freely, as it is not motivated by gain, but only by its strength and vigor. When we are 'unstruck' by the slavery of our society, we can undermine it. We can abandon it entirely, and create our own shelters. Whatever your thang, you must imagine it first. And to wrap it up, Rosario Ferre, one of my favorite authors, writes that "Imagination is irreverence towards the establishment...I have a world inside of me." Or, take The Beatles, who said "Imagine all the people..." Or Obama, who says "Yes. Yes we can." And in the name of Lakshmi, the Hindu goddess of beauty and abundance, I say "Yes, we will. Our bivouacs will rise, and the rest will tremble in fearfulness (see Occupy movement. Potential play list/poem list that empowers me to fight the oppression to follow?..Thanks for reading. I appreciate your comments.