Wednesday, February 10, 2010


Yesterday I had lunch with Beth W. at The Green Mill. We spoke of the past and future. We addressed the moment and enjoyed the present. We laid our hope out on the table between us and warmed it with our hands. Our dreams were hung before us like exquisite weavings; we saw where tomorrow might lead us; how we could expand and enlarge; where more color and detail would add depth. Stories and poems were carried to and fro on our living breaths. Favored writers joined us briefly, expressed themselves and quietly gave up the space for a new voice. It was a delightful exchange of creative energy.
Thinking of it now I wonder if we did not board a frigate, pull up the anchor and set ourselves adrift upon the enchanted waters of an uncharted sea. Afterwards she put me ashore at the underground library. She would sail back to Excelsior and Don. I would enter the elevator and descend into the bowels of other worlds and other lives. I embarked upon a quest of discovery where ideas new to me were waiting to be explored.
"Rebel Music; Human Rights, Resistance Sounds and the Politics of Music Making". I turned to essay #7, "The Right to Live in Peace; Freedom and Social Justice in the Songs of Violetta Parra and Victor Jara". Violetta Parra, "I sing the difference between what is true and false Otherwise, I don"t sing." Martha Nandorfy, "Party politics do not involve all segments of society, and even alienate portions of the working-class who distrust politicians and institutions... due to the belief or insight that... all parties... defend their own interests once they are in power..."
I cannot yet see the sun but the sky is bright and blue. I do see the edge of the day whetting itself along the bricks of the building to my east and creeping stealthily along the wall on my west. Between these lies a fenced courtyard already filled with golden sunshine where squirrels cavort and birds have come to bask. In Mpls we had several inches of new snow. It fell gracefully over the city. Every house was swaddled in glittering loft. While people slept the streets were paved with ermine. Soon it was displaced and sullied by the grimy grind of industry. I know the forest trails at home are still shimmering and pristine.
It also snowed in France. Angeline B, "I should be planting garlic and echalottes instead of sitting by the fire."

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