Walking in Duluth

Sometimes, you just need to go home.  Home for many is a difficult word, often charged with emotion, it's our place of deepest vulnerability.  The word 'home' isn't really about a physical location, but a representation of love, safety, security and family.  The very word, 'family' has changed a lot in America.  I started thinking about my own use of family, as I have reconnected with people who have been out of my life for some 20-odd years.  It seems it has become easier for us to disconnect with our homes when the reasons are career driven.  It's what's been expected in this country.  At first, for the men to go out into the world and make their way in life.   It's a strange kind of way, when you think about it, but it's like a massive test of survival of the fittest, and no youth wanted to return home with failure etched on their faces.  Success had many different definitions, such as making it through university studies, going through an apprenticeship and for some, completion of military training.  Failure was not an option.  Now, there are others that went forward without a real plan in their life, but still, went out to make their fortunes or just settled in for a nice quiet life of hating their jobs, but loving their families (the lucky ones).  Some people actually have that optimistic expectation that everything will work out.  The balance sheets of their lives are filled with the contentment of having just enough.  There is nothing right or wrong about the pursuits of life.  In a strange way, we were so used to throwing our young in the world with such blind faith, because we wanted to trust in the lessons we imparted to them about this world.  We want to see them fly and we know that you can't hold on to that child as they spread their wings and start that journey.   I had ask myself what part did I enough the most with my journey?  I guess if I were to be honest, I had so much confidence in myself that I didn't even think about flying, I just flew.  I flew higher and higher and watched my head along the way.  I was busy being free as a bird and time passes.  Maybe that made me blind.  Maybe that made me a bit selfish, but what a view. 

I wanted to share these views, and I know that I don't know many of you who read my blog from all over the world.  Some of you I only know from what you have shared on your pages.  Some of you only post pictures, and others share their very real struggles with life.  Not all of us have our victories, some have tried to figure out how to figure it all out, as if someone was keeping a great big secret from us.  Others blame a god, and others blame themselves far too much for the strangest things, like not saying a prayer or meditating or some of form of self selected torture.  I love laughing in those moments, because it's one of those days when I think I finally get it.  Don't worry, I will lose it again and search for it again because we are flawed.  Our memory is greatest flaw.  It's precisely what makes us stupid at times, because there is no denying that we won't keep up with technology.  We perfect it up until there is a point where is no need for us to use our minds.  The old adage "use it or lose it" didn't cover when technology replaces us. 

 Are you enjoying the walk so far?  I did.  The crisp clear air, the purest I could find in this world, where there are no vehicles, in this preserved area in my home state, made me realize none of these things are important without a home.  I have seen a lot of our destruction around the world.  What I mean by "our" destruction, is that we have to be accountable as humanity.  My state isn't immune, and though we have over 20,000 lakes (officially) our water is threatened by corporate polluters.  The natives here,  are very well aware that some things should have a price.  This our home and its priceless.  I said that to myself a few times.  I just wanted to hold that thought.  Home. 

I said the word a few more times, and it sank in.  I have heard many points of view when it comes to climate change or whatever you want to call it, I can't ignore my senses.  This isn't about laying a guilt trip on anyone, for the basic citizens of this world do an incredible amount.  It's our corporations that don't do so well.  Finger pointing at governments aren't going to anything, sorry, but for them, throwing a carbon tax isn't going to provide any real solutions.  The people know this already.  What we can't figure out is how come our governments are so afraid of this clean technology that already exists? 

I can't think of how many times I have seen hydro and solar technologies consistently reinvent themselves, because that is the heart of the people searching for answers.  We have a new kind of denial happening around the western world, so it kind of amazes me to see that we really do have all we need and we are afraid of letting go. 

There is something strange about people who have a need to be superior to others, they wind up being inferior in every possible way.  They fear humanity and try to control it.  They would rather destroy instead of create.  They don't always like

 superior technology, instead, often opting for what will frequently break so consumers (not people) will have to replace these items.  Humanity is seen as something to manage, what I am glad to say I have learned, is we all truly have the ability to self manage.  We know there isn't good in this world, and for many of us that definition has a wide range.

So instead of walking alone Dylan Way, I thought I would share the woods and the ridges of a quiet and friendly town called Duluth, Minnesota.  It's February, the snows haven't been normal. 

I watched the ice flows on Lake Superior and at night saw the stars I had missed from my youth.  I would say they are the clearest here, but to be honest, the stars should always look the clearest from home. 

In my family, a new generation is growing up, and I haven't been disappointed by them.  They ask hard questions.  They're only hard if you lie.  I used to believe that not hurting someone was the answer.  I really believe, you only hurt someone when you deceive them intentionally.

The difference of our adults today, is that many of them believe they know and understand the truth, but the reality is, they have someone else validate their thinking through a surrogate, and they are so accustomed to not trusting themselves, they haven't noticed the difference.

I believe the wind blows in the right direction at all times. 

So, with this piece of advice, heeded or not, you can tell just by looking at someone's face.

Whatever you think of, when you think of home, don't forget where you have come from.

Once upon a time...

there was a girl trapped in a woman.  That woman wore a uniform and often traveled in service to her country.  Often in her travels, she loved to take pictures of the people, because she wanted to remember them.  She wanted to value their lives and experiences without passing any sort of judgement.  If they were suffering, perhaps she could help, show compassion and give a smile of kindness.  One day, she was presented a choice.  Kill her heart, her moral compass and in exchange she would be rewarded with position, security, and social standing.  If she chose to care, well, it would be an unpopular choice, because as we all have been told, these people somehow had to deserve their circumstances. 

2006 - Trinidad

I chose not to believe this belief and I retained what is not visible to the human eye.  I can't pinpoint an exact moment, for it was a series of moments, lessons, and thousands upon thousands of people with thousands of miles, assorted pairs of shoes, and many handshakes along the way as an ordinary woman who simply just said, "why not?"  I have been called naive.  I have been told, 'that's impossible."  I have even had to argue with myself, telling myself, "this really is worth it."  What was in it for me?  Books?  Projects?  Well, the desire to share these stories is overwhelming.  The perspectives, so different at times from my own.  The friendships, those dear friendships are absolutely heart felt, even though I will never see a majority of these people again in this life time.  But why do it?  Why did I feel so driven by this insatiable desire to wander down roads that so many people are afraid to travel?

There was a place called the "Garden of Eden" in a little village that seemed so isolated, surrounded by the jungle.  An eden, of sorts, where the owner permitted me to shoot these Buddhist images.  A garden of eden, where the tike torches were the light sources at night, the fragrance of the jungle permeated the night.  Here, the wealthy came to be served by the common people, and the surroundings were just for show to many.  It was in that moment, perhaps, I felt like I was just able to observe without attachment, as though I was able to see without a role in mind and just see.  It was a peaceful feeling.  I was also sensing that I was about ready to go through a major transition.  I couldn't have asked for a more exciting life at that point, one that would have me gaze into eyes of tortured souls around the world.

I was one of those souls, because I knew the desire of most people is simply and truly to have at least one person who truly knows the 'real' person with complete acceptance.  The convenience of a stranger, for many, is possibly the most treasured voice to unburden their troubles, share their unspeakable truths or perspectives. At first, that is what I thought.  In essence, it is that we forget that humanity is our responsibility.  Not to control, but to help.

I had been shown things, I had never knew existed.  This tree, that bore fruit that looked like an oblong apple, but tasted like a pear.  However, if one has never eaten a pear, the taste is indescribable to them.  It seemed to me, in that simple moment, I looked at the fruit and realized that a child in this impoverished and exploited country, knew more about their nation than I did.  I did not care what briefings I read, I knew nothing about these people.  I knew nothing about what really mattered.

With the 801 Girls in Key West, FL 2007

There are certain advantages with being a woman.  This proved true when I was sent down to Key West, Florida.  During that time, male personnel were not brave enough to go into these clubs, and I really had no fear of people who were different from me, so that gave me a measure of freedom that enabled me to explore.  I didn't have to be these 'ladies', I just accepted them as they were.  There was no way I could be them.  However, there was just something about them I just honestly loved.  I shot hundreds of pictures that night, was generous and though people may have assumed whatever they may, I honestly just enjoyed their portrayals of other celebrities.  This is what they chose to do with their lives and boldly and bravely without having to be accepted by society, they chose to be exactly who they were (sort of), albeit through the mask of a publicly accepted persona.  I loved who they were and it honestly didn't matter that I didn't fit into their world.  At that time, they couldn't fit into mine.

The Two Windmills, Paris in 2008

On 21 December 2007, I wore my uniform for the last time.  I was allergic to what I saw coming.  I was allergic to what I felt we had become, but somehow the words stopped up in my throat.  I was lost.  I was questioning myself.  I was trying to sort it all out, so I did what so many do.  No really, so few do and yet it seems like a cliche moment.  I went to Paris.  However, this place was a huge exploration of humanity, liberty, literature, wine and the experience of living.  There were days seized.  There were 'white nights'.  There was jazz.  There were broken hearts and downcast lives.  There were the excesses and there were those deeply wounded.  My goal was to try to see every district meet as many wandering souls as possible.  I saw the Paris few look at and observed the beauty of beautifully timed moments that weren't artificially created.  I saw young lovers wooing each other.  The dance of man and woman, and even the dance of love for so many others.

The Apartment Windows of Jim Haynes, Paris, 2008

One person who had a great impression upon me, as he has had on so many others, was Jim Haynes.  For those who do not know about him, much has been written.  He was an honest discovery for me.  Totally unknown to me.  Totally without premeditation.  The kind of meeting that Jim wanted from the start, by word of mouth at Le Select.  Perhaps, random chance or perhaps a fated meeting.  The lesson from Jim Haynes was priceless.  Always be interested in people.  They all have a story they are dying to share.  He did not consider it bravery to open up his home to random chance.  The world walked through his apartment filled with books and stories.  There were those who were eager to share their lives, break bread and drink wine.  His Sunday dinners were a staple of the expat community, the arts community, the literary community, the academic community...etc.  Each community tried to lay claim to him, but the twinkle in his eye simply just gave him away.  He was interested in people.  I visited a few times in 2008 and again in 2010.  

Me, China 2010

It's a new year.  I didn't mean to look back, but it happens.  I kind of wanted to remember how I got here.   How did I get to the right now moment?  How can I continue to go into the direction I really want to go?  Also, what was the real purpose of this journey in light of all of the generated hate, chaos, fear and insecurity going on right now in the world?

I have been to places where there was absolutely no ability for me to conform to my surroundings.  I had no choice.  I could do nothing but be myself.  After 20 years of conformity to a system of rules, orders, rituals...the safety of it all, I had to step out.  What was the reflection now?  What did I think I know?  How was I including and excluding people in my life?  When did the journey stop being about myself and when was it about others?  What did I learn?  What did I really want?  That last question really has been the hardest to answer.

For Peace and Goodwill Trinidad 2006

This picture has incredible significance for me.  These gentlemen allowed me to take their picture, when normally they shield themselves from being photographed by 'tourists'.  He asked me why I wanted to take his picture and I don't know what made me say this, but I simply said, "because I don't want to forget you or your land."  The others laughed and he looked up, "I will allow it."  The respect we give to each other, in this life, on our journey is the first fruits of peace.

It doesn't matter what crazy laws we pass in this world.  What I realized the most in that moment of my life is that if we honor each other, what can be said of you, except one thing, "That person loved people."  I didn't try to change a single person on my journey.

However, I was changed by my journey.

Enlightened Moments

I thought this was a strange picture when I took it earlier this year.  It wasn't how the skies appeared to my eyes, and I hadn't put any sort of setting to the camera, but this is the image the camera caught.  Our senses and experiences is how we form our reality, and who is to say who is correct?  Was the camera correct or were my eyes?  Were we both? 

It has been that way for many people throughout the ages as people have tried to make sense of the powers that seem to keep the people at their mercy or is it that the powers that are, are at the mercy of the people?  The problems seem to stem from having to have someone 'in charge'.  This could be on many levels.  We, as people, continuously trust others (not that trust is a bad quality, far from that, it is a needed quality), to take charge of almost every aspect of our lives.  I, myself, have had to learn how to trust all over again.  Yes, I might get hurt.  Yet, I have decided that it is not in my best interest to hurt others. 

Do I still trust my eyes?  To their ability, with help, at times I do and don't.  Do I trust my camera?  At times I wonder if my tools are at fault or if it is a user or if there are happy mistakes I discover along the way. 

So what is the point of anything that I am trying to communicate...right now. 

I am finding that within myself, I wonder why I am going through the various experiences I am having, and realizing something crucial.  Experiences are not necessarily universal.  We pre-judge (prejudices) people all of the time for various reasons.  We either believe what other people (including media) say or we just get brave enough to love people.  Yes, brave. 

Though I could personally feel a certain way about someone or some issue, it's not going to be true for all.  The 'you all' phrase comes to mind, when I have listened to people blurt out their stereotypes, 'Don't they know where they are at; they need to speak the language.'  The anger of a person that observes others who choose not to conform to a group was blazing.

I had a differing view.  That person had no choice but to be as they were.  Having traveled in very diverse places, I learned long ago, to respect the host nation and also the balance of just being myself.  I was a walking taboo in many countries, a woman, divorced, traveling alone and was not trying to emulate the countries.  I had enough to learn within myself.  Trying to be someone who I am not is far from the type of person I want to be.  If I ran into hostility, which I never recalled, but I could only walk in graciousness.

I had also thought about my great-grandparents, who could not speak a word of English.  They survived by running a small Methodist parish in Northern Minnesota.  They weren't persecuted because they didn't speak English.  They had no desire to be anyone else.  They were who they were, as it should be.

Often, we forget our own origins and place our expectations on others to simply conform.  This world is a lot bigger than we are.

B E L I E V E

I have been having a lot of strange dreams, encounters, unrelated events that seem to weave into abstracts.  That has been my life.  I have accepted it.  The theme has been belief.  I have hated the word.  I have always seen the lie in the word.  I have been angered by the word.  Believe is a word I have extremely hated.  I have seen beliefs used against people, and I think that has stirred so much anger within me that I have been blinded by the power of my hatred and blinded to the power of what belief means...the real meaning of belief and that is faith. 

There are many in the arts community that hate the religions people follow, because they see the manipulation of these people.  Often, labels are thrown on people, "blind, delusional, weak...etc."  The negative is that they see that this belief often is used against them, in order to empty them of their resources.  Little old pensioners who sign away their estates to a mega-church that gave them love, when their families abandoned them.  Perhaps a belief, that would buy their way into a life beyond the mortal one. 

That is the abuse, a sample of it, that I have totally hated.

I had a strange dream last night.  A dream about belief.  I would not call it a religious dream, a conversion dream, but there were religious symbols in it.  See, I am an odd one, an odd character that screams in conspiracy with the universe because I laugh when I see the magic of it, but I am careful to profess no belief.  So, as I share this dream, I guess I am inviting you into the spectacle that is my mind.  An invitation to, gasp, believe.

In this dream, an odd collection of imaginary monstrosities were figuratively chasing me.  Some of them were vampiric blood sucking bankers.  In order to vanquish them, a sign of the cross was placed on their forehead when they were pinned down to the ground.  I wasn't afraid of them, but I had no belief in the symbol.  So the beastly creature was still there.  Fangs and all, it laughed at me..."ah...you don't believe."  I was furious. 

Strange dream.  Strange perspective.  There are times for belief.  There are times for faith.  I sat there contemplating this dream, and flipped on the non-thinking box, to not think about dreams...and caught a portion of the movie "Polar Express".  There were children that didn't believe in the North Pole, or Santa on a dream train of sorts to the North Pole.  Let me not bore you with the retelling, but cut to a character that couldn't hear the music, the sleigh bells or even see Santa until he whispered two words, "I believe." 

Do I laugh?  Absolutely at this point, I have to.  A dream about belief.  I flip on the Television...and belief is the theme.  There was a line about the 'unseen being more real than what is visible.' that caught my ears. 

I could blame all of this on my battles with semantics.  The one thing to understand about belief...you have to know where you are.  You have to know where you are going.  You have to BE where you are at.  Those are the anchors.  Are you at the mercy of what you believe?  This is where it gets dicey, because there really isn't anything that is concrete. 

So, this is where love has to take over.  Knowing is really not knowing.  That is how come faith or BELIEF...and I am not talking about anything religious here...but that unknown substance called faith in seeing the whole picture come together...the magic of a unified purpose, really is magic. 

Believe.  Instead of having the stink-eye of seeing the embedded lie, I kind of got it.  By the way, this picture I happened to snap just thinking it was interesting...and somehow there was just something more.  There still is love.  There still is faith.  There is no result without the action in the perfect time. 

Just listen for the thunder.

What dreams may come...

Nothing is impossible, you just have to know what you really are asking for. 

I had written a very long entry for this blog, as I selected to publish, it mysteriously was censored.  It didn't exist.  I laughed because I remembered an important phrase a friend once shared with me.  "Some of the best art in the world is just lost on the world."  It remains in the dark, hidden from view.

This picture, from March 2008, is my reminder of how to jump off of the high dive, even if you don't know how to swim that well.  It's the thrill of doing it, even when others can do it better than you can.  The splash is what we all live for.  That thrill of just being alive.  It's that action in spite of fear.  That quality of courage that so many lost by growing up. 

So I am getting ready for another adventure because I don't want to miss a single second of this life.  I remember how much I just love people and no, I don't want nor need all of the answers anymore.  There is nothing more irksome to others who think they can solve your life, when they don't have the answers for their own.  I don't always love what we do to each other, but I want to see the best I possibly can see.  Through our fears and tears...the greatest desire people have, is to be known.  Love is just the action of what we all can choose to do.  Love is the action we choose to give. 

Life is the smile we can't live without.

Cover Those Breasts, It's Minnesota!

I had a friend that used to say to me, "You find the strangest people".  I think that is why I photograph so many things, because the stories I tell, are the ordinary happenings in my life.  Ordinary to most, extraordinary to me, because I notice the story.  Now, you might be wondering why I would post this picture of a white man, with a yellow sign that reads, "cover your breasts".  You have to consider what state I am in, Minnesota, during a time of year that is kind of brisk.  As a matter of fact, we just had our first dusting of snow.

And during these conditions a white man, during the chill of autumn felt the stirring need to protest the sight of breasts, not just one, all of them.  To be fair, I would have stood with him, if he were to ask men, to cover their man-boobs, but he spoke.  It's November, and in America many do things to raise awareness for breast cancer, or is that in October?  It's one of the ...ber months, but no, Bible quotes were flowing and I was wondering how this was making anyone feel good?

And in that moment I started to laugh at what was unfolding in front of me.  A white man, telling a large buxom black woman to cover her breasts in the chill of autumn.  And the preaching marathon began and the fingers points, necks wagging and hips shaking like a rack of lamb got loose.  In other words, complete agitation of this woman who set to unleash holy hell upon a white man, wearing the yellow day-glo sign that became a bulls-eye for my camera.

How often do we go around telling everyone how the world should be, in accordance with our myopic view?  What we do to each other in the name of thinking we are right is quite possibly more offensive than silence.  We strip away our freedom to simply be.  If we are offended, then we might want to ask ourselves a bigger question, why is our skin so thin that the mere appearance of another bothers us so much?  Even if it is nearly winter, yes, dear sir, there will be breasts under those coats and a penis in your pants.

Aren't we all are naked under our clothes?

Real Pain...as it happens

As I began this day, I had thought of my mother, who 10 years ago this month told me she was dying.  I didn't believe her.  More accurately, I had refused to believe that her body was capable of dying.  As I sat outside,
I reflected on how well people know pain and how very few of us know real happiness.  It's as if we are afraid to give ourselves permission to do so.  It's unknown and foreign to us and often, when we do have happiness come, we test it or destroy it because it is unfamiliar.  It's pain that people identify themselves with.  It's human suffering that the world knows.  It's peace we seem to run away from.

As I boarded the bus to see the remaining shows of the Arab Film Festival I have been attending this weekend, I thought of all of the stories I was to see.  A little further down the route, a young man boarded and stood at the front of the bus.  He was trying to talk to the bus driver and I couldn't help but overhear him, "I love my mother.  Man, you don't get it, I love my mother and I wish she was still here."  He opened a plastic bag and pulled out a gift.  A large black box with a big red bow.  "I bought this for her.  I will never forget her." He raised his voice for the whole bus to hear.  I watched the nervous look of the passengers and the bus driver seemed to fail to acknowledge this young man.  "I love my mother. I love my mother. She died three years ago today.  I will never forget."  He shoved the gift back into the plastic bag and exited the bus.  The silence and uncomfortable exchanges were made as people shifted in their seats.  I sat and stared.  I heard his pain.  His physical gift was how he showed love and he felt the need to declare it in front of the immovable strangers.  I heard his pain as an echo of all of the pain we go through in life.  The varying levels of suffering we have been accustomed to.  The eventual loss of those who come into our lives.  In the movie, "If Fog Had Roots", which is a film that I viewed as emotion without a story, there was a very memorable line about death.  "Death only happens to those who are left behind." 

I decided to write a poem today.  It took all of 5 minutes.

Don't Let Me

Don't let me think for you

even though I share my thoughts

Don't let me feel for you

even though I share my feelings

Don't let me act for you

though I illustrate my life through my actions

Don't let me live for you

I have to live my own life

My life is my own

My loves are my own

My feelings are my own

I had my own stories to write

You have your own

Even though there will be a day that comes when my life 

will leave you with the sting of my death

Don't let me keep you from living yours

Don't feel that when I am gone

That you cannot go on

Don't say that I can't

Instead, say you will

because I did and many others have too

Let me help you