in sanskrit, this means something like ‘conquer your mind, conquer the world‘. it’s been my mantra for over a decade, my guiding principle and my one gentle, comforting reminder. stress? harrassment? unkindness? there is no such thing – just one’s perception of an action or a deed. and of course, the memories of the event that one carries throughout time. i must remember that everything – everyone – is a gift. it must be accepted (or can also be rejected peacefully)… but gifts keep going. they are alive, as the land and the water is. a gift must keep moving, for its nature is just that – life. it moves, and it gathers the thoughts and touch and character of the one whose hands hold it for a time.
my time on this earth is very precious. and lately i’ve been using it for transformation. getting a new flat tomorrow (or “atelier/artist’s studio” as i think of it), transforming observations into music/teachings/poetry, and transforming pain into understanding, then understanding into medicine. turning a stranger into a friend. turning visciousness into respect. i am more of a wolf than an eagle in this regard, i guess. Continue reading →
So I’ve been having a really hard time keeping my mouth shut lately. Like my dear friend E. in England, I open my mouth when I see something that ain’t right. Or like the ‘coloured youth who make hip-hop‘ (I personally think that words defy boundaries of space and time, they bridge the divide between race and rhyme)… And yeah, this is exactly what I did that night. There wasn’t a scene or a squabble or a fight…. this was just me, you know, speaking my mind.
[It was after an Atmosphere concert in Berlin 2014… there’s certainly more to that story involving weapons, drugs and deceit…. but for now, this blog will stay clean. Keep your eyes peeled for the memoir I keep talking about writing! Hahaha. Anyways, this girl was complaining loudly and swearing and spreading her negativity… I didn’t think that was cool after so much love and goodness! Everyone in the foyer noticed it, and so I stood up to speak my mind. Like a scene from a film, this is what I just started to do, everyone’s eyes on the two of us and her face drops in shock and she recoiled in disgust…]
hey – i said hey,
do you think it can wait?
this ain’t the place
to be spewing your hate
tonight as you know
was a hell of a show
and i think you and your
negativity should go.
One promise I’m making to myself and others is to sort out my life so I have time to write. Time to right wrongs / time to record songs / It’s time to start doing / what I should’ve been all along.
We All Bleed Crimson (original lyrics, to be sung a capella)
dead man walkin’ down the road, i say
ain’t no place he can go, i see
there be twelve men fixin’
to cover up them white-man sins
they be all believin’
justice only goes … deep as skin
preacher man walkin’ down the street
ain’t no soul he gonn’ meet, i say
ain’t no-body prayin’
when there ain’t no soul worth savin’
can’t no-body tell him
justice only goes … deep as skin
children be lyin’ at our feets
stench of death be fillin’ the streets
they say there ain’t no way to win
somethin’ ’bout original sin
that’s the reason why they been
keepin’ all our justice … deep as skin
though we all bleed crimson
I haven’t had time to blog about travels – or even type up my scribblings and rhyming posits about observations I made in London – but I just had to share this quickly.
“Es gibt keine Zufälle (there are no coincidences),” the older gentleman confided to me before I hugged him farewell. There was a knowing, almost intense gleam in his eye. He had heard me half-singing, half-muttering to myself beside the water, keeping the song in time to the rhythm of my heels clicking against the cobblestone pedestrian path. He had said in passing, casually over his shoulder and in a respectfully soft tone, “I could hear what you’re singing better if you would sing louder.” (He said this in his soft northern German accent, of course. I love when people on the street or on bicycles tell me to sing louder!)
I responded that I wasn’t yet sure of what to sing; he indicated my scribblings on the paper clutched tightly in one fist against the cold and asked if I was writing a song. I replied yes, that I was terribly upset about the racism and injustice of the Ferguson trial and that’s one of the largest reasons why I’ve been living in Germany the past seven years. Getting cancer in Germany isn’t a death sentence and it isn’t expensive; getting a degree of higher education is only challenging because one has to literally write exams for 6+ hours continuously (thankfully my hands are strong from playing piano, and my mind sharp from meditation); to me it seems that the institutions in Germany are much less racist than in that beloved country referred to almost with a breathless awe in the voice as “America“. America? Land of the brave? Home to the…. never mind. I won’t start on that rant.
Basically, this gentleman told me why the world looks to America as an example – for peace, for protest, for where to draw the line in the sand when it comes to politics and peace and prisoners of war. He told me – Peter Reichert his name – how he was born in Berlin in 1940. He fled with his mother four years later to a part of Prussia that is now defined as Poland. Later they were relocated to Bavaria. And how were they received? How were they welcomed by the ‘Germans’ in Bavaria? They were forced to beg on the street for money, food and shelter; forced to put up with slanderous insults full of hatred. They turned to the Catholic and Protestant churches for food — and that’s when he learned what a “Carepaket” was. A care package from America.
He spoke with a fragileness and gratitude in his voice that betrayed his nationality. He was not German, he was a refugee from what was then the Deutsche Demokratische Republik, or maybe he was simply a refugee from the closed-off paradigms of a group of people filled with hatred and fueled by fear. Herr Reichert was no longer a grown adult male standing before me with the strength our society normally associate him with. Those memories were so painful that they were still present, still very real. Still very painful. I saw, through the deep lines etched in his face over the years, the child that had gone hungry in the arms of his neighbors. In the arms of those called ‘Germans’ in Bavaria.
Arrested for singing – I have such respect for this man who DID NOT STOP singing this song of protest. Even if there is nothing we can do, our votes are not counted nor cast — we can still open our mouths to speak (or sing). Never remain silent.
SICANGU LAKOTA OYATE — Greg Grey Cloud made the Lakota/Dakota/Nakota Nation’s proud when he belted out the unci makawiwayangwacipi song in Senate Chambers today. Grey Cloud is an enrolled member of the Crow Creek Sioux Tribe, co-founder of Wica Agli and an oka wicasa.
Grey Cloud explains the translated song as, “Grandfather look at me, I am standing here struggling, I am defending grandmother earth and I am chasing peace.” He goes on to say that the song was “not just from me, but my brothers in Wica Agli. We’re defending our women and children in our community. The song itself was very influential for why I sang that here.”
From CNN’s video in Senate chambers, Grey Cloud could be heard after the vote failed on the bill that would authorize construction of the KXL pipeline. The bill…