anitalorraine.com

Musician and Activist devoted to Justice, Creativity, and Courage


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Fundraiser Starts Today!! Help me to make my first album!! 🎶💜💓💜🙏💜💓💜🎶

www.gofundme.com/anitalorrainemusic

Poem about the process and #SurrenderingtotheSacred continued from the last episode to catch yall up:

The Mystery Still

They used to call that old white lightning “moonshine” in these hills

How many lips of other those words or family ties it breaks and kills

Strawberry apple pie or dark cherry kinds

But I found a new flavor my fingers and heart longed to find

Paid heed to the unanswered questions I spent too much time tryin to answer

Somewhere down the line I met a spirit and she bade me to release her

She gave me the keys to an old wooden shed

Her hair was long and dark, she was only 3 and her granddad’s hair was red

She came from the deep, A dark despair trail of loneliness

She rows up from the ashes and held me through the hunger and distress

In that shed, she showed me the silver, the copper and the gold

She showed me the jewels inside me, once I thought I couldn’t hold

She said the way it worked was this,

“you fill it up here and it makes a little hiss,

What you put in it is who you’ve been

What comes out that mystery still is your destiny, my friend”

The mystery still, a belly full of unknown

Stands in that shed just waiting to be blown

Open side, all the ingredients are there

You

“You just gotta believe” she said, “in yourself, if you dare”

I’ll show you the way cause you couldn’t even see

No matter how hard you tried, that spirit… What will be will be

“and that’s the magic” she said to me

Of sacred mysteries that come from pain and grief

Do you know her name, down this path you must go

Of surrender and sorrow of joy you can know

This still don’t make moonshine, but the Moonglows here still

Upon deep waters, wet and a tear stained two dollar bill

The birds are all calling and cannot be boxed in

Your dreams are free and aloof just like the wind

Ask for them to come and to you they will find

Their way through the core, the ground, from the mines

The caves you dug a long time ago

We’re dug by the same shovel that now makes you grow

This girl she smiled, as I sat down in awe

Bowed my head in silence, in reverence; I had no flaws

Suddenly I was sacred when I drink from that still

I’d learn the hard way, then she screamed, her voice hard and shrill

“your mantle, your fireside, your magic, I live inside.

You must off and stoke the fire and feed me” she cried

You never are done, don’t think you’ve made it

Each day, remember to keep the right flame lit

Don’t let it go out, else you’ll have to start over

And axe to this still, and your spirit sinks lower

Out of reach, out of time, out of luck, out of rhymes

Just put back on your skates and roll outside all the lines

You’re still is your own,

Every seed you have soon

Weights and yearns for your return

Build another fire to burn

If you still don’t know what this still is about

Think of a soul, longing to get out

As in distill, intoxicate your beautiful self

With the mystery of what is, take it down off the shelf

You open a portal and let spirit in

You release your control over who it is you’ve been

That little girl who showed me the way

She’s a firestarter, pyromaniac it play

She can blow up some shit because she knows no better

But refined… She is genius and shakes her tail feather

The horizon cannot hold her, this child of God and Moore

She put in the time and said Grace for her store

This mystery still she’s found out how to use

Is a vertical prayer, open to gnosis and truth

I’m learning to use it, growing day by day

Excepting my feelings, no judgment, and a loving and kind away

As she hand me the keys and I return to make my shine

She lies back, relaxes and daydreams all the time

I long to filter out what I’ve been told versus what I know

My innermost yearnings, the balance, the flow

The gut, the tingles, the pangs and the blood is still warm

I’ll tell me the truth, like a pouring down storm

It’s like talking to God, From a sacred, me – shaped telephone booth

The mystery still takes me, shapes me, and provides me with the truth


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I am not ashamed. I am learning.

As of late, I have been learning some very important information about myself. This information comes from years and years and years, perhaps my entire lifetime of searching for something that I could not find. I could not grasp. I would venture and dare to say that it was held back from me, until the right time, which is now. I can’t tell you anything that has meant more to me than the realization that an aspect of my personality, learned as a very, very young child has come to the forefront of my awareness. I was first introduced to the notion of codependency about 3 1/2 weeks ago. At first I was completely turned off by the term. I was in a therapy session and the term offended me. I said out loud, “codependency? That’s not me. Fuck that! I’m not my mother!” Right after I said that, ironically, I softened, felt guilty for expressing my feelings to my therapist (ha!), and accepted the book my therapist handed me. I didn’t realize what I was opening myself to. Just reaching across the room, with the curiosity I seem to have an insatiable amount of, has changed my worldview. I took the book home and devoured it. I read and highlighted that book with fervor that I can only express as a voracious need to heal, because I have work to do. I have a world around me and somehow I feel driven to be an agent of change. I have so much gratitude for the support and love of everyone in my life. Right now however, for the first time, I am showing up for me. I’ve been showing up for everyone else for so long and I can only do the work of fighting for true justice if I can give justice to myself. The small child inside me deserves justice just like all the other children in this world deserve it. All of the other children and children of children and adults who are still children. We don’t deserve to stay broken, and this journey is helping me put the pieces back together. Whether you have experienced sexual, emotional, or physical neglect and/or abuse, if you resonate with anything that I’m saying right now, please listen to this podcast and take notes on the resources that are discussed. I will further explain and update about this process. The eternal, or rather seemingly eternal replay of self deprecating words and thoughts to myself and about myself are slowly beginning to dissipate. I feel more liberated right now than I have ever, I am crying right now just saying these words out loud. I lived in fear most of my life, and I am sure that surprises most of you, because what you’ve seen throughout the years is a glimmer of who I am but also a very clear view of who I wanted you to see. The conflicted person who, I should say this with gentleness, very much hated herself and thought she deserved nothing was very much ashamed. Through much sorrow, they say, comes much joy. (insert Kahlil Gibran quote here http://www.katsandogz.com/onjoy.html)

 I don’t know that “Joy” very well at all. I learned very early on that nobody and nothing in this world was safe. I learned this before I was two years old. I learned it over and over again, in fact, I was learning it up until three weeks ago. Thankfully, my grandparents offered temporary respite from the world I lived in as a little girl. Even more thankfully, I am offering respite to myself now.  I’ve only seen the shadow of joy and I want to truly experience it and relinquish my need for control (out of fear that I might lose it), this I am working on. Sending all of you so much love and appreciation, and yet also I am now beginning to send myself the same love and appreciation. Again I have work to do, and I may only get this lifetime to be aware of it.

http://www.stitcher.com/podcast/codependency-no-more-podcast/e/42583301

https://www.google.com/amp/www.goodtherapy.org/blog/wounded-attachment-relationships-of-survivors-of-childhood-sexual-assault-0627135/amp/

Careful with this one, very explicit: https://ritualabuse.us/research/sexual-abuse/how-childhood-sexual-abuse-affects-interpersonal-relationships/


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4 days late, remembering a buddha in the wind and sunshine

I am forgiven, myself, forgiving myself

For some things take longer to accomplish than the patience within me allows

My judgement is suspended for I said I’d write a poem a day.

The last one was 2 days ago and I refuse to feel remorse.

A while ago I would have riddled myself with guilt and poured on feelings of inadequacy,

but because I’ve given myself room to be imperfect,

my imperfections feel more right, they are okay, they make me smile versus frown.

My dreams realized may be just the life I live – in the moments where I forgive.

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Thank you Dearest Bill for always reminding me of Coyote magic and the power of counting to 10, the strength in being what is, the love in living love and acceptance of the day as it passes and becomes another day.  I have thought of you so much in the past few days and I feel as if your passing was what was supposed to happen and that you were smiling all the way into the next form you’ve taken, whatever that is.  Your energy lives on in so many people as the healer and the figure of inspiration.  I miss you today and send your spirit my thanks and blessings.


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Poem Prose for this Morning

I arrived in the night in a whirlwind of giggles and tears of reunion.

Awoke in a dark room, warm from the heavy comforter and wool South American blanket designed with a red, black, blue, and cream colored geometric design.

After less sleep than normal, I rise.

Venture to the South facing kitchen for tea and hot water for which to make my compress. Yes, I must sit on hot towels to put my pain at ease, to let loose the goop within me to be HEALed.

Although it is cloudy out, I am happy to be in this home.  Still.  Quiet.  Exactly where I am.

The mail has stacked up since Thanksgiving when I exited last.  There are magazines, bills, advertisements, and letters. Dear sweet letters.  One from my sweetheart, from down South in Georgia.  Three from my dear friends in Chapel Hill and Saxapahaw.  I visited Saxapahaw while home for a swift meeting of the loved ones – perfectly timed as it should be, learning lessons of how sweet it is to fall in love all over again with those whom you’ve loved for centuries.  Learning also to understand the process as well as the means and the ends.  Time seems to stretch out when there is no returning home for a long while.  This is the romance of life and the nectar of true longing and contentment.  To miss and to be, all at once.

I sipped my tea and read those letters and cards this morning, smiling at the uniqueness and love in each of them.  Wondering when I will create time to write back.  Eager to put my pen to paper or keys to paper, whichever it may be.  Typewriting surges me with prose and poems as well.  I do like to sit in a big comfy blanket and read poems, or novels, or Mother Earth News.  Although the times this happens have been few and far between, their occurrence will happen again, I am sure.

To all you dear folks, I send to you love from these mountains.  These streams and trails.  These clouds, and these sunny days to come.  May peace be with you during this time of holidays and I hope you all remember to give back that which you have been so blessed.  Service is the action required to fulfill words and works of faith.

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Upon watching the sunset from a warm room.

 

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I began to think about a subject again this afternoon that I discussed this morning in the midst of a crisis that should, in the future, be easily avoided from insight provided by the past.  I think very similarly about Black History Month they way I feel about Valentine’s day (if you haven’t read the earlier post, here’s a quote from that day: “Valentines day is so ridiculous because we should be giving love in such an obscene way EVERY DAY!!”)  This is how I feel about Black History Month.  Why don’t we celebrate famous Black history month all year long? And WHY, my friend pointed out, is it peppered with a bunch of white dudes being commemorated, one of which (ahem.. Washington ((who’s birthday is celebrated today))) owned slaves?   I must say however, the benefit of having Black History Month is beneficial and enlightening to white people, who any other time, may not take the time to be curious about anything but things that concern them… like these facts:  Toni Morrison was born today.  She is the first Black woman to receive the Nobel Prize in Literature.  Read The Song of Solomonit’s a stunning book.  Also today in 1688, Quakers in Germantown, PA adopt the first antislavery resolution in the country.

But it shouldn’t be the federal requirement of a nation to get people to commemorate and appreciate the amazing works, unique history, and fallen heroes of a particular group of people – these things should be celebrated and honored all the time and with equal time and attention as everything else.  The fact that we need a Black History Month just goes to show that we’ve gotten only slightly further down the road towards equality.  (please see: http://www.dayinblackhistory.com/ )

I dedicate my blog today to all the rest of the months in the year that are left lonely without the presence of remembrance and beauty that ALL people embody and present to this world.  I also dedicate my blog today to all the slaves that George Washington owned and only after he was dead were they emancipated.  Sending out love to you, all of our ancestors, and current victims of hate, because you all have stared at a sunset such as this and been mystified at the possibility that some greater power is working to make things right, and if there isn’t such a power, our strength comes from the knowledge and satisfaction that we DO work against inequality and the oppressed will not be as such forever.


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Snow falling and discussion as follows

“I awoke today and found the frost perched on the town.”  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z3EofN3Flag More than frost today Joni, SNOW is FALLING and I made sure the whole (nearby) neighborhood knew about it at 7:30 this Saturday morning.  Snow is so magical and beautiful, each snowflake actually IS a divine, unique thing…

Yesterday, watching an 8 year old and a 1.5 year old is a ton of fun.  I was sad to go home, but I had to get some work done, and that can’t happen with, “NiNi! What would you like to order from the Kevi Kitchen?!” coming in every 5 minutes. 🙂  There’s something about writing this journal that makes me feel really good and I haven’t been, up to this point, in the last couple of years, been able to sustain a journal or diary.. all the while killing myself with guilt that I didn’t have any follow through.

My inner voice is a mean one.  I talk to myself in a more stern, mean, impatient, and unaccepting way than I would talk to anyone (much less people I love!) and I’ve decided that this has to change.  I’m trying to make this change, understanding that it’s a process, not a destination.  Isn’t that the lesson of life anyway, to enjoy the process because there IS no destination or final resting point?  That’s not the way energy works.

Ponder this.

Along that vein, in this day in history in 1932, the 1st patent issued for a tree, went to James Markham for a peach tree.  That whole process is now being fought by another process.  I don’t believe in purity or pristine anything to do with human creation, divine creation or an original thought. Everything at this point has been touched or manipulated by human existence on this earth, and everything we’ve done or experienced up to this point leads us to the thoughts we come up with.  This leads me to 2 points: 1. nothing should be owned, personal ownership leads to greed…therefore I don’t believe in borders  and 2. Seeds and the natural world should not be patented or owned… the race to the top for money and material wealth is destroying this planet and us as a collective species – and THERE IS NO END POINT!  The process that I am finding joy in now, is the reclaiming of this mentality, the community, the rights of workers, the love of the planet and the genuine love of all beings.  I AM all beings, I am finding the courage to say so and act on it.  Happy February 16th, the first day of the rest of your life.  What are you FOR?


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What a beautiful morning.

I watched “Milk” last night and it was a tear-jerker.  What a beautiful movie, what an amazing person.  Harvey Milk.  Wow.  Read his hope speech.  It’s absolutely pertinent just as much now as it was then, http://voicesofdemocracy.umd.edu/milk-youve-got-to-have-hope-speech-text/

The sun came up again today and it poured in through the windows as the sun rose above trees from across the street.  I live in a rural area in North Carolina.  In the morning, the sweetest peacefulness of frost on the ground and the chilly, brisk air is enough to make me smile.  I had to wake up early to go babysit my two nephews.  We’ve been having a blast all morning.  Check out our awesome skills.

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Kevi is the oldest, he’s 8.  Joey is going to turn 2 in June.  Kevi started reading Moby Dick this morning (the kids’ illustrated version) and Joey drooled on his new book, “What Penguins Do”.  I love to give them books and see just how long their attention spans last.  Kevi got through one paragraph and Joey ran after a moose after 5 minutes.  Cute.

I’ll do a historical reflection in a blog later today.  Right now I have boys to look after.