Wee Little Meanderings

Do you ever just get sick of the sound of your own voice? I mean, I really like myself, but sometimes I just get tired of storytelling everyday. Hehe I mean, I sorta brought this on myself by trying to post on social media again everyday. I got 2 and half weeks in and I just got mighty sleepy. What can I say, I’m not a storyteller everyday sort of guy. I’m more of an everyday storyteller that tells stories when they arise and need to be shared.

At its core, my issue really is less to do with my voice and more of an issue with using my voice within the forced summer season of “CONTENT, CONTENT, CONTENT” that application platforms bake into their algorithm. You can’t be just an everyday storyteller nowadays unless you have already set the world on fire with some dazzling display of artistry or word play. You gotta discipline yourself into some weird storytelling regimen that is based on attempting to read into the arcane, occult movements of an algorithmic magic 8-ball that no one truly understands. Maxims like: “You must post everyday,” take on biblical grandeur in such contexts. Look, I already know this is all a dead end, but I gave it another whirl, shaking the magic 8-ball while posting, and the outlook never looked good. So, I’m just gonna go back to my old rhythm seasonal rhythm of being quiet when it’s really dark outside when I am waiting for the light to return on the winter solstice in my neck of the woods.

We really have gotten to the point in the wheel of the year where we have harvested everything that there is to harvest from last year. So, instead of beating a dead horse to create “content,” I am going to start sharing how I am filling my cup back up with community, classes, and direct experience. I mean, this whole project doesn’t have to be so serious. I like to think of it like sitting at my friend Sharon’s kitchen table sharing notes. That is infinitely more interesting to me at least. I want to show up warts and all, rather than pretend I’m some all-powerful wart charmer with all the answers. I will always be on the path, because my learning, community building, and experiencing will never cease.

Going to classes has been one thing I have committed to in this quiet season. I could have taken the whole morning to have my say, but that seemed silly when I had a chance to hear Rebecca Beyer, the author of “Wild Witchcraft” and “Mountain Magic,” speak to Sarah Corbett’s Rowan and Sage Herb School. As Rebecca wove her tale of how indigenous, west African, and European cultures all contributed to a distinct Appalachian folk medicine practice, I was awash in wonder. I did not expect to feel so emotional listening to her talk about this history, but it was illuminating a lost thread of knowledge that my great grandparents Ores and Juanita Collins embodied in their lifeway in Normantown, WV. I looked over at their picture on my death altar and smiled. It was nice to spend time with them again, even if that time was just learning about this living thread of knowledge that was wrapped around their lives. It was like I was transported back to their little spot on a creek where the crickets were so loud it kept me away for hours. Time is a spiral, indeed.

I also had my first call for my Celtic wisdom class. When we got to the community sharing portion of our first call, person after person shared how thankful they were to feel like they belonged. This was so beautiful to witness. This is one of the most powerful effects that comes out of folks in the imperial core being welcomed back into right relationship with their ethnic ancestry. It was almost like I was watching an initiation rite of individuals being ushered across a threshold where their formerly hungry ghost-esq, imperial core persona is caste aside in favor of a rootedness in the cultures of their ancestors. I get that there can be some issues with how people use such rootedness in their lives to profit off of a culture they were not fully rooted in yet, but I am deeply in favor of any attempt people make towards wholeness/towards their ancestors. This seems to me be one way out of the never-ending cultural appropriation that afflicts white folks in the imperial core looking for a “culture.” There have to be onramps offered to people to exit the empty culture of American hypercapitalism and into genuine relationship with their ancestors. Can we build more onramps for folx looking to escape the corporate-sponsored, extractive monoculture being forced down their throats? Likewise, can folx accept those onramps without seeking to make money off of information that was shared and accept the role of the learner? Look, I get both sides. I just don’t think it makes much sense to think most people are looking to create get rich schemes out of learning about their people’s culture. Most people, are working too hard to survive to even be able to fathom such a task, but maybe I am naive.

Finally, I used my extra time today to take a bike ride. I know, I know. I am crazy for wanting to be outside. (hehe) Welp, with the plumbing fiasco of our laundry line being completely blocked, Lily getting the stomache bug our daughter had, and day labor oddly ramping up in a period that’s typically quiet, I felt even more of an urge to collapse in on myself, be quiet, and just notice things. Not surprisingly, as soon as I started peddling aimlessly around town, all the little binds that had affixed themselves to me throughout the week loosened and I found myself having little thoughts I wanted to write down to share. So, when I got home, I decided to open up the ole notes app and start tip tapping little thoughts down in between fetching refills of apple juice and cheesey puffs. There is something even more romantic about writing my weekly essay while tending to my daughter.

The romanticism of writing is something Kate Weiner of Loam captured perfectly in their essay this past week. This writing at all costs and despite all obstacles is romantic because, like Kate pointed out, writing is a practice that I love:

“It’s a practice (writing), something I do in part because I love it, and in part because the very fact of it builds skills, like stamina and surrender, that radiate into my work.” Kate Weiner “Creative Practices in Crisis”

As Kate adroitly notes, this weekly writing, regardless of whether its polished or not, is a practice that has taken on such a depth of meaning because of the skills that I have built up over the two-plus years I have been writing here. Also, with finite time, I make huge sacrifices to show up here each week. Those sacrifices give these words a heft and meaning that wouldn’t be there if this was my only gig. Whether or not my little stories have any real effect on the world at large, they have a huge impact on my life. This is where I make sense of how I fit into everything. It’s where I make pacts with myself with you as a witness. It’s where I let myself lapse into vulnerability in ways that aren’t necessarily deemed appropriate for a man. It’s where I yearn for friendship, community, belonging. So, as per usual, thanks for being here. I know I say that in some form each week, but I mean it every week.

I have been working on a new bike adornment for Ayla in SF. It’s fun to just work in a decorative style for once. With the last 4-5 weavings being protection weavings, it can get a little heavy with all the extra time and attention that has to go into the spell work and the lesser rites associated with such work. This piece is just pure play. We are trying to match the general color ways of their galaxy black (black with white specks) crust lightning bolt that has yellow, blue, and pink pops of color. I am digging this design, because I am riffing on a weaving I did like 6 years ago called “We Stand on the Shoulders of our Ancestors and Radiate Outwards.” This is when I was in my era of naming my weavings like I was post rock bands like the Red Sparrows naming a song. (hehehe). For the record, I have never not been emo. That’s also why I posted videos of myself listening to Thursday and riding my bike all week. BECAUSE WHY NOT?!? Anyway, I need to return to this style that I was working in during 2018-2019. I miss it SO much. We need to get them big looms a buzzin. This will just be a 6in x 6 inch little buddy, so I will be done with it in a snatch!

This was the only polaroid shot that I took this week. I am pretty much in love with it. First of all, I am a sucker for all of these VW buses parked around Denver. If I haven’t taken a photo of the bus before, you best believe I am gonna stop and snap a polaroid shot. This one was parked off of 6th AVE, about a mile east of downtown, right on the side of road. It was just sitting there waiting for me. The only difficulty was getting the shot from the adjoining parking lot, which was full of cars. I sort of leaned into a parked car in the lot and snapped the photo without the flash turned off. It was around 3:30 PM, so the light was receding quickly. This made my choice of no flash particularly dicey with the polaroid that loves a light drenched frame, but that’s the fun of giving yourself a roll of polaroids to shoot a week. You can take risks and fail. This picture also has a huge imperfection and that big flare just makes me feel even more warmly toward this photo. IN ADDITION, my framing was not too good. I was not centered. In my defense, it is really difficult to take a photo with the little viewfinder. But, I still should, “GET GUD, LITTLE BUDDY.” (hehe)
.