My love Marcus and I were out walking last night. We started out on a country road, near the place where we are house sitting, intending just to catch the last bit of sunset time. After a while we decided to walk to the spa/hot springs where I work, about a mile down the highway. This got us talking about the strange beauty of landscapes interrupted by the things of civilization. And Mad Max, and the Rainbow Gathering we’d just been to last week, and that one of our favorite things about Rainbow was its post-apocalyptic vibe. Very different from the Oregon Country Fair, which was more like a bunch of fairies who decided to make a really pretty shopping mall in the middle of the woods, complete with great live music at every corner. But I don’t mean to make it sound like I preferred the Rainbow gathering over the Fair, just so you know. Read more
was out on the plaza watching my beloved busk with his one-man-band outfit a few weeks ago when I saw a woman fluttering by in a beautiful, long, hooded beige coat dress. It was funny, I only saw her back, but there was something so familiar about her… it was almost like seeing a little piece of myself. My rational brain just thought “Oh, it’s because she’s wearing something I would wear, that’s why I feel this.”
A few minutes later, she came back down the street and stood right in front of me. “Loba??” Is it you? WHAT are you doing here?”
(here’s a little moment of Mattie being her beautiful self here!)
A little yet-untold back story for my readers here, that some of you already know from reading the Anima blog I was a sporadic contributor to for at least a dozen years: Elka has only been my name for about the past four years. Before that, my name was Loba for twenty years. Before that, I had another name that I dearly loved, and still love. (You can find out what it was here in the second story that appears).
It took me a few seconds to adjust my eyes to see this person apart from the only context I was used to. “MATTIE, is that you???”
I’d been thinking about Mattie, I’d been wanting to contact her, but had lost track of her email and didn’t remember her last name. I figured she was probably back in Montana, where she was from.
She was one of my all-time favorite helpers in the canyon, and stayed quite a bit longer than most of our other helpers did. I have many beautiful memories of us baking together in the outdoor kitchen, sharing songs, harvesting and cooking up the wild greens of summertime with endless panfuls of homemade corn tortillas, floating in the river, doing water dances in the moonlight with our lovely & mischievous friend Evangeline, sharing tears and fears, stories of our lives and some of the powerful moments we each had on our own with the canyon.
Last night was quite the event in our house. Jessica (who recently changed her name to Camitza) shared an inspiration about a month or two ago of our home hosting nights in which local people could get together and offer their healing practices to each other. As we were all discussing the logistics of ways this could work, and not work well, it eventually became evident to her that we needed to do a practice run. Read more
Monica just finished helping me load this little video onto Youtube. Last Sunday we spent the day up on a beautiful hill up in Lithia Park, making music together with our other housemates.
It doesn’t take long to make and eat a simple breakfast of eggs and vegetables. But how many days of the week do we actually do something like this for ourselves? If you say “nearly every day”, yay for you! I’ve made these kinds of breakfasts many, many days of my life. And, back in the canyon, by the time I left, Rhiannon was very good at whipping up wonderful egg and veggie breakfasts for all of us. So when Monica made us this one, it was a very warm, familiar feeling, to be cooked for with love and attention! Read more
Happy Valentine’s Day everyone!
An appropriate day it is, for sharing some more about my new home here at 130 Orange Street, also known as Kindler’s Haus. Kindler was the man who bought this very strange and amazing structure I now call home, many years ago, and totally redesigned it. He was a very eccentric man. Among other things, he was an environmental activist, piano tuner, book and music lover, community builder, and a father. Legend has it that his wife returned from a long journey one day, opened the front door, and found that there was no floor to step on. It was not long after that that she decided to leave him. He died last year, and his son Asha (our landlord) inherited the house. I met Asha one beautiful snowy day up on Mount Ashland, the day of Bobcat’s Snow Blessing Ceremony. Bobcat is an old friend of Wolf’s from his activist days, so really it was thanks to Wolf that I made it to this ceremony, and ended up meeting Asha, Jules, and Jessica, who were all present that day. We all connected in a beautiful way that day, along with several other new friends, and of course Bobcat, who I got to spend some quality time with before he drove several hours back to his land in Northern California.
So many stories, which ones to tell?
I was talking to my dear coworker Kimberly about missing Rhiannon, quite calmly at first, but then I lost my composure and was so glad for the absence of customers. Now I’m home and the rest of the house is laughing downstairs, watching a comedy. The kitchen is quiet and full of dirty dishes, ginger tea brewing on the stove and three kinds of good chocolate open on the counter. The fridge and fruit baskets are nearly empty today- the first time since I’ve been in this house (I’ve recently moved– more about that next time!) that I’ve seen this happen– but still, this kitchen always manages to feel abundant in just about everything– chaos, inspiration, love and affection, ideas, potential things to make or to sit and contemplate or just enjoy.
The laughter is sweet and heart warming. I know I’m not really as lonely as I feel, right now, in general, but at the moment it’s hard to access my usual feeling of connection. Read more
When Rhiannon was little, one of our favorite things to do in the late afternoon was to climb the mountainsides, following the last rays of sunshine, from one golden patch of beauty to the next. Sometimes we’d bring a little treat to enjoy along the way. Here in Oregon, in my brand-new life, I’ve been keeping up this practice. In Ashland, the mountainsides are only a few minutes from the bustling little town streets. It’s easy to get caught up in all the demands and distractions of every day life, and miss the outside moments that keep our souls fed, as we all know so well! And having someone special to share the beauty with– what a blessed treat! Here’s some recent photos of some of these little jaunts. Read more
It’s been a really weird week here, not to mention the weeks before that, the election, Standing Rock, and all the other escalating craziness all over the world. I keep thinking of Blue’s Journal, which is a recurring thread in Wolf’s novel The Kokopelli Seed. Wolf started writing this book way back in 1980 (incidentally, the same year Kiva was born, which is interesting because it was the same year the character that Kiva was named from was formed in Wolf’s consciousness, more on that maybe another time!) Blue’s Journal is the collection of notes by one of the main characters that chronicles notable events—natural, as in earthquakes, political uprisings, terrorist attacks, and random very odd occurrences. Read more
I bought a pomegranate to send in the mail to Rhiannon, but, sadly, it didn’t fit in the box. We have a thing about eating pomegranates this time of year, back in the canyon. So, this lovely fruit sat on my dresser for about a week, reminding me of home. Read more