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A free woman's voice opens as a flower to the sun.

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“Artists have to show us what is not going well within the person and within the society, not try to cover it up.” Thich Nhat Hanh

2/13/2017

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Anti-poaching poster in the Amaru zoo, Cuenca
#​Spiritual leader and peace activist Thich Nhat Hanh once said, “Artists have to show us what is not going well within the person and within the society, not try to cover it up.”
 
 Art plays a key role in social movements throughout the world, exposing issues of social injustice, ranging from terrorism and racial tension, to sexism and domestic violence. Many artists choose to create works that address controversial issues in the world, and that question and evoke change through a visceral reaction. As a cultural conduit, art helps to subjectify emotions, grievances, and fears and represent those who may be otherwise voiceless or censored.
Many artists today are deeply committed to making their work speak out against or for social issues and subsequently change the way we perceive the world.
Through expressive talent, artists can challenge cultural narratives in an organic way that is more effective than traditional propaganda.


Temporary Poem of my time
by Yehuda Amichai



 Hebrew writing and Arabic writing go from east to west,
Latin writing,
from west to east.
Languages are like cats:
You must not stroke their hair the wrong way.

The clouds come from the sea, the hot wind from the desert,
The trees bend in the wind,
And stones fly from all four winds,
Into all four winds.
 They throw stones,
Throw this land, one at the other,
But the land always falls back to the land.
They throw the land, want to get rid of it.
Its stones, its soil, but you can't get rid of it.

They throw stones, throw stones at me
In 1936, 1938, 1948, 1988,
Semites throw at Semites and anti-Semites at anti-Semites,
Evil men throw and just men throw,
Sinners throw and tempters throw,
Geologists throw and theologists throw,
Archaelogists throw and archhooligans throw,
Kidneys throw stones and gall bladders throw,
Head stones and forehead stones and the heart of a stone,
Stones shaped like a screaming mouth
And stones fitting your eyes
Like a pair of glasses,
The past throws stones at the future,
And all of them fall on the present.


Weeping stones and laughing gravel stones,
Even God in the Bible threw stones,
Even the Urim and Tumim were thrown
And got stuck in the beastplate of justice,
And Herod threw stones and what came out was a Temple.

Oh, the poem of stone sadness
Oh, the poem thrown on the stones
Oh, the poem of thrown stones.


Is there in this land
A stone that was never thrown
And never built and never overturned
And never uncovered and never discovered
And never screamed from a wall and never discarded by the builders
And never closed on top of a grave and never lay under lovers
And never turned into a cornerstone?
 
Please do not throw any more stones,
You are moving the land,
The holy, whole, open land,
You are moving it to the sea
And the sea doesn't want it
The sea says, not in me.

Please throw little stones,
Throw snail fossils, throw gravel,
Justice or injustice from the quarries of Migdal Tsedek,
Throw soft stones, throw sweet clods,
Throw limestone, throw clay,
Throw sand of the seashore,
Throw dust of the desert, throw rust,
Throw soil, throw wind,
Throw air, throw nothing
Until your hands are weary
And the war is weary
And even peace will be weary and will be.
 
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​In an essay entitled “Change the Culture, Change the World,” artist Favianna Rodriguez said,
 “You may attend a rally or vote, but you also read books, listen to music, engage with visual art, turn on the radio and create your identity through culture. Artists are central, not peripheral, to social change. To have the movements that make the wave, you need cultural workers.”
 Trump’s planned major funding cuts to the Arts and Humanities, are going to impact those “cultural workers.
 It might be easy for some to dismiss Art as a waste of resources when there are so many injustices in the world. But to dismiss art is to miss the point of art entirely.
 

According to Americans for the Arts
“Arts and culture promote understanding and action on issues facing our communities and the world. Americans for the Arts’ commitment to creative social change is embodied by its Animating Democracy program, which strengthens the role of artists and cultural organizations as leaders and partners in civic engagement and social change”
 
 
  A healthy society is founded on the principles of justice, shared economic opportunity and sustainable environmental practices. Upholding human rights is fundamental.
 As we look around us, art for social change exhibits itself in Graffiti, local art exhibits, theatre, poetry and Music.
John Legend is an R and B singer who promises to use his voice for good in his new album,# Darkness and Light, which explores issues of color social justice.
  In a recent interview on NPR with R and B artist John Legend said that the
entertainment world has always been liberal. They have been intertwined with the  gay and Lesbian community for many years, explored issues of interracial  marriage, explored issues of color and race and travelled to perform globally. "The artist community is more inclusive by nature, by things they do."
Despite his generalization that "Country and Western artists tend to be more conservative", there are bands, The Dixie Chicks , for example, that challenged the status quo and challenged public opinion. Legend said,
“ If  America doesn’t want to consume art from liberal minded people, then they won’t have a lot of choice." His opinion is that most creative people are liberal.  .
Everyone has to weigh their decision about what they want to listen to or chose to see.
 
.
I Dream A World 

By Langston Hughes
 

I dream a world where man 
No other man will scorn, 
Where love will bless the earth 
And peace its paths adorn 
I dream a world where all 
Will know sweet freedom's way, 
Where greed no longer saps the soul 
Nor avarice blights our day. 
A world I dream where black or white, 
Whatever race you be, 
Will share the bounties of the earth 
And every man is free, 
Where wretchedness will hang its head 
And joy, like a pearl, 
Attends the needs of all mankind- 
Of such I dream, my world!
 
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Gendercide awareness project in Dallas this week is another example of contemporary art raising awareness  about horrendous issues in the world.
 
Do you know over 100 million women are missing in the world? 
This is due to social causes, not natural disaster.
The term gendercide refers to the elimination of females in certain parts of the world by:
 
  • sex-selective abortion
  • female infanticide
  • gross neglect of young girls
  • entirely preventable maternal death
  • the inability of older women to access food and shelter. 
 
According to the United Nations Population Fund Association, between 100 and 125
million females
 are missing globally due to Genedercide, ( or femicide.)
  • Demographers estimate that 126 million women are missing due to gendercide (also called femicide).
  • That is as many deaths as WWI, WWII, and AIDS combined.
  • Every year, we lose 2 million baby girls to sex-selective abortion and infanticide. That's 4 girls per minute.
  • In China alone, 62 million women are missing. That amounts to 9.5% of its female population.
http://gendap.org/index.html
 
There is an exhibition in Dallas this week entitled,
Artists Respond, in which professional artists contribute to the 100 MILLION ISSING EXHIBIT.

 The following descriptions of art are copied from the website
http://gengap.org
I have not copied their pictures because I do not have permission.
​

"Terri Thoman
Death of a Woman  from A to Z
​

Artist Statement

At what moment do the eyes portray fear? This was the intent behind my search through twenty-six portraits that create the series, Death of a Woman from A-Z.

​It would take many exhibitions and artist talks before I realized that these were self-portraits and my cry for help. I am a survivor of domestic violence; this body of work is a reminder that some secrets should not go untold. 



Nikhat Qureshi
Resilience - Influence

                                                    
Artist Statement
​Here you see the shadow of a woman, pausing to admire the beautiful flowers sprouting near her feet. The shadow signifies both good and bad -- the massive loss of life due to gendercide, but also the coming together of women worldwide (in response to this awareness campaign) to protect new blossoming lives from a society that is cruel and ignorant in mindset. The flowers are the lives, born and protected, that will be saved. The black shoes are the awareness campaign that steps in to bring everyone together to impact, empower, and educate. "
​
​I encourage you to attend if possible, or check out their website.
 
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SO LONG by Walt Whitman.
​
TO conclude—I announce what comes after me;
I announce mightier offspring, orators, days, and then, for the present, depart.
 
I remember I said, before my leaves sprang at all,
I would raise my voice jocund and strong, with reference to consummations.
 
When America does what was promis’d,
When there are plentiful athletic bards, inland and seaboard,
When through These States walk a hundred millions of superb persons,
When the rest part away for superb persons, and contribute to them,
When breeds of the most perfect mothers denote America,
Then to me and mine our due fruition.

I have press’d through in my own right,
I have sung the Body and the Soul—War and Peace have I sung,
And the songs of Life and of Birth—and shown that there are many births:
I have offer’d my style to everyone—I have journey’d with confident step;
While my pleasure is yet at the full, I whisper, So long!
And take the young woman’s hand, and the young man’s hand, for the last time.
 
I announce natural persons to arise;
I announce justice triumphant;
I announce uncompromising liberty and equality;
I announce the justification of candor, and the justification of pride.


I announce that the identity of These States is a single identity only;
I announce the Union more and more compact, indissoluble;
I announce splendors and majesties to make all the previous politics of the earth
Insignificant.
 
Excerpt from
SO LONG by Walt Whitman.
 
 
                                                                        
            

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Graffiti in Oakland Ca . Photo by Womens voice 1
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Graffiti in Santa Fe by Womensvoice1
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​Sheila Rogers exhibition of ocean trash in Corpus Christi
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Anonymous woman, Womensvoice1
​
​In the words of Adrienne Rich,
"In poetry, words can say more than they mean, and mean more than they say. In a time of frontal assaults both on language and on human solidarity, poetry can remind us of all we are in danger of losing-disturb us, embolden us out of resignation."
​I say that is true of all forms of art.

​Until next time, have a great week!

​ And Happy Valentine's day!

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While I am writing, I am far away; and when I come back, I have already left. Pablo Neruda

1/17/2017

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The second part of my Ecuadorian experience  will comprise of some history, and photographs I took to illustrate the architectural style of the Spanish Colonial period, and as a reflection of indigenous life that still blends with the pulse of a modern city.
Deep in the heart of the Andean mountains, the town of Cuenca is located in a valley irrigated by four rivers: Tomebamba, Yanuncay, Tarqui and Machangara. 
Cuenca illustrates the perfect example of the principles of urban planning of the Renaissance in the Americas.
The Historic Centre of Santa Ana de los Rios de Cuenca, occupies the territory where Cuenca was until the first half of the 20th century. It is also the archaeological site of Pumapungo, and the ancient access routes to the town. It is a remarkable example of a planned inland Spanish town.  Founded in 1577 according to the guidelines issued by the King of Spain, Charles V, it has preserved over four centuries its original “orthogonal” plan,(meaning constructed of right angles.)
“The Historic Centre of Santa Ana de los Rios de Cuenca comprises a system of parks, squares, atriums, churches and other public spaces. Around the Plaza Mayor (Park Abdon Calderon), the three powers of society are always present: POLITICAL ,with the town hall and the Governor’s Office, RELIGIOUS , with its two cathedrals opposite one another and the JUDICIARY with the Law Courts.”
 #Wikipedia.com
 The religious architecture, the New Cathedral, begun in 1885, the Old Cathedral, the Carmelite Monastery and Santo Domingo Church  incorporated to public areas, where community life is expressed, and continues today. 
 Many of the previously simple colonial houses were transformed into more important residences, during the period of relative economic expansion of the 19th century, due to the production and exportation of QUININE, and STRAW HATS: the quinine, to combat the epidemics of malaria, which perpetrated many of the coastal towns, and the straw hats, which erroneously became known as Panama hats. These straw hats are still proudly warn today by the indigenous peoples, because they serve a practical purpose for those working in the fields, and they are an integral part of the traditional dress. 
“The River Tomebanba (el Barranco) defines the boundaries of the historic town on the south side. It is also in this sector that the site of Pumapungo is located (Puma Gate) in the heart of the Inca town of Tomebamba, and that of Todos Santos (All Saints) where the vestiges corresponding  to Canari, Inca and Spanish cultures have been unearthed by archaeologists.”
(#Wikipedia)
 An Indian community, the Inca Canari, was in existence at the time of the arrival of the Spanish, (Inca-Canari), and the consequent townscape bears witness to the successful fusion of the different societies and cultures of the time. 
The Spanish colonial strategy was to undermine the native oral tradition by substituting for it the story of the Passion of Christ. By promising eternal life for everyone, Jesus subsequently “democratized” the power to rise above death. The church authorities adopted a policy of spreading the Church doctrines by communicating to the native people in their own language through mythical-religious stories. The church also controlled the printing press until the 19th century.
”Ecuador had only small deposits of gold and silver in its southern provinces of Cuenca and Loja, and these deposits were depleted by the end of the sixteenth century. The economy was based, instead, on agriculture and textiles. Cotton, grown on the eastern slope of the Andes, and wool, from imported merino sheep that thrived in the high Andean valleys, provided the raw materials for high-quality textiles that were manufactured in hundreds of sweatshops, called obrajes, and exported throughout Latin America. Indian mitayos, who commonly worked from dawn to dusk chained to their looms, provided the labor. As appalling as were the preindustrial working conditions in the obrajes, most historians agree that they were more bearable than those found in the Peruvian mines at the time.”
Forced labor was a mainstay of colonial industry and was not completely abolished until after the Spanish were expelled.
refs:
http://www.lonelyplanet.com/ecuador/history

http://www.ecuadorexplorer.com/html/about_ecuador/history-of-ecuador/spanish_colonial_rule.html
 ​
 While I was in Cuenca, I visited the market place, and enjoyed a wonderfully diverse cultural experience, including the wide variety of exotic fruits and vegetables, meats and beans, flowers and plants, amongst a living stage of authentic indigenous people, proudly dressed in colorful traditional clothing.
Panama hats and bright green velvet skirts, with thick black braids and swaddled babies nestled and bustled throughout the market. Sun worn and wrinkled faces kept a close eye on visitors and offered their wares with hopeful expectation. Local inhabitants purposefully shopped and bargained for produce, as the predominantly female vendors skillfully negotiated narrow pathways carrying loads on their heads, or on their backs. Babies slept in shawls tightly secured while mothers worked. Young children played while Grandmother and daughter shucked corn or spit bean pods to release the glossy fresh beans.
Taking pictures was a challenge. Advised by my daughter, I decided not to use my 35mm because it drew too much attention, and I felt was too voyeuristic. So my market pictures were taken discretely with my iPhone, sometimes politely asking for a photograph, and always buying something. The juxtaposition of modern technology used to record this colorful experience was strange in a way. Such a contrast to such a quintessential ethnic market experience, yet a custom that is traditional in all cultures. I love the art of photography, capturing life as it happens. I am not a painter, but I try to paint stories for others to enjoy.
 
In the Plaza de Las Herrerías, in front of the museum of Artes del Fuego, is an arresting sculpture of a volcano and the Roman God Vulcan. Vulcan was the Roman god of fire, of metalworking and the forge. In this magnificent sculpture, Vulcan is depicted with a blacksmith’s hammer rising out of a great Volcano. It is a powerful and stunning tribute to the art of fire, still burning in the heart of Cuenca.
As we walked through the streets of the Artes del Fuego, ( fire art), I managed to capture a Black Smith at work. This area is famous for its Iron works and another example of an ancient art still vibrant in Cuenca.
 
Calle de las Herrerías or “Blacksmiths” Road lies just south of the rio Tomebamba across the river from Pumapungo.
​This was the route where farmers travelling into Cuenca would hitch their horses while they went into town. In those days the Calle de las Herrerias had about fifty busy blacksmiths where horses were shoed and bridled, farming tools and cooking utensils were fashioned.  Today, about a dozen blacksmiths still operate, skillfully making custom gates, chandeliers and specialty customer consignments.
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Under a spreading chestnut-tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands. 

His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns whate'er he can,
And looks the whole world in the face,
For he owes not any man. 

Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low. 

And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;
They love to see the flaming forge,
And hear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing-floor. 

He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach,
He hears his daughter's voice,
Singing in the village choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice. 

It sounds to him like her mother's voice,
Singing in Paradise!
He needs must think of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes
A tear out of his eyes. 

Toiling,--rejoicing,--sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees it close
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night's repose. 

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
​

The local merchandise markets were vibrant and full of color. Fabulously soft alpaca blankets and ponchos, Panama hats and woven fabrics piled high, and hanging from tents and awnings. Rainbow colors popped with Ecuadorian patterns, and traditional intricate embroideries. Local vendors beckoned and bargained, luring the obvious tourists, and proudly offering their beautiful work.
​At night the flower markets still bustled and bloomed beneath the brightly lit church bell towers. Buckets of Lilies and Roses, bouquets and ecclesiastical arrangements, wafted a sweet perfume into the night air, petals strewn underfoot. 
​I thought about the local vendors; how dependent they are on their customers to survive in this community; how deeply intertwined their existence is with the consumer. Here, poverty is rife. Despite government injection of money into infrastructure, many homes are humble, and even the grand colonial buildings are crumbling and crying for renovation. Behind the faces of these stoic people is an independent determination to produce their own, in the traditional way.


The Market Place
BY WALTER DE LA MARE

My mind is like a clamorous market-place.

All day in wind, rain, sun, its babel wells;

Voice answering to voice in tumult swells.   

Chaffering and laughing, pushing for a place,

My thoughts haste on, gay, strange, poor, simple, base;

This one buys dust, and that a bauble sells:

But none to any scrutiny hints or tells

The haunting secrets hidden in each sad face.


The clamour quietens when the dark draws near;

Strange looms the earth in twilight of the West,   

Lonely with one sweet star serene and clear,

Dwelling, when all this place is hushed to rest,

On vacant stall, gold, refuse, worst and best,   

Abandoned utterly in haste and fear.


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Since I returned home, I have had very little time for blogging.
Work and personal issues have taken priority, and stress has perniciously seeped in..  Now, while I write this, I can reflect pleasurably on my time in Ecuador. The friendliness and hospitality of the people is engrained in my memory which will sustain me for many years to come.
I have a deep sense of respect for those who work on the land, and weave their own cloth to eek out a living. Yet the unstressed and cheerful constitution of the locals I met, contrasts dramatically with our frantic North American lifestyle.
​I hope you will enjoy these pictures, and encourage you to travel.
Travel is the best education to develop an appreciation for other life styles and beliefs, and an experience essential to our understanding of others.

While I am writing, I am far away;
and when I come back, I have already left.
I should like to see if the same thing happens
to other people as it does to me,
to see if as many people are as I am,
and if they seem the same way to themselves.
When this problem has been thoroughly explored,
I am going to school myself so well in things
that, when I try to explain my problems,
I shall speak, not of self, but of geography


Pablo Neruda, Chile
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“I am not the same, having seen the moon shine on the other side of the world.” – Mary Anne Radmacher

12/20/2016

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Travel makes one modest. You see what a tiny place you occupy in the world.” – Gustave Flaubert
 
It is difficult to sum up my recent experiences in Ecuador; writing from a woman’s perspective and with poetry and art as a conduit for social change.
I traveled to Cuenca for a week, to spend time with my daughter, Charlotte, and to absorb the sights, beauty, and flavor of a country she loves. I was excited to go, and had some presumptive ideas, but I was not prepared for the breathtaking vistas and the vital pulse of an ancient city founded by the Incas. The finely chiseled faces, the curious yet friendly smiles, the distinct high cheekbones of the indigenous people in their traditional clothing were a constant reminder of the ancient pulse of this primordial land, with a culture dating back centuries before colonial times.
This is a land where time has stood still, and progress is a guest.
The steep, carved mountains surrounding the city are a mixture of glacier formed gouges, and volcanic uprisings in a palette of every shade of green. The city is surrounded by three major Volcanoes, Tungurahua, (still active,) Cotopaxi, and Chimborazo, which towers majestically at 20,549 feet , covered with snow. At 8,200 feet above sea level, the air is crisp yet thin, the altitude made my heart race, and I was hungry for air. Drinking Coca leaves became my savior, as I slowly adjusted to the atmosphere. Fluffy white clouds hung in the azure sky, and a purple- blue haze glazed the shadow streaked mountains, always changing, always taking my precious breath away again.
Surrounded by beauty the city bustles with honking yellow taxis, wheelbarrows of fruit, flower markets, and local shop-keepers selling their wares under white canopies along the sidewalks; brightly colored blankets, woven Aztec fabrics and alpaca ponchos amongst the smorgasbord of choices. Haggling and bargaining is expected until each party is happy. The air is hung with the smell of fresh ground coffee and Eucalyptus.
Around each corner, wild dogs roam playfully in the streets, skillfully stealing opportunities for food, darting in and out of doors and empty lots. I was told by my daughter that this is a culture that traditionally frowns on neutering, but in the last few years humane societies have evolved to address the wild, uncontrolled canine population problem.
The crumbling infrastructure of the streets, along with the impressive Spanish colonial haciendas, the magnificent wide and looming stone staircases, are a reminder that Cuenca had its heights as an architecturally stunning city in the early 19th century; although the oldest Cathedral dates back to the 1500’s. White washed churches are familiar landmarks throughout the city, and the sound of church bells echo through the town. Predominately Catholic traditions form a back drop to city life, petals strewn in church doorways, stages of the Calvary adorned with flowers and fruit, candles burning for loved ones, luminaries at night; a scarfed woman kneeling in front of a statue of the virgin Mary, in silent prayer.  
 Great carved doors welcome visitors, with proud and evocative intent. The doorways are significant. One steps over the threshold with respect and awe. The winds of change and a comparatively cheap economy have brought many immigrants here; many Europeans and Northern Americans, who come to retire in relative luxury. A luxury that the average indigenous Ecuadorian cannot afford. One must step carefully through these grand doors. This is a proud nation. Proud of its heritage, and protective of its traditions, its’ economic and ecological vulnerability.
I was heartened to experience a visit to Amaru zoo; a refuge for rescued animals. The zoo is situated on the side of a steep mountain, populated with fir and eucalyptus trees, along with pampas grass and huge outcroppings of Agave-type cactus, and Yucca.
The zoo has educational stages, teaching about endangered species, against poaching, and against keeping exotic pets, as well as about composting and recycling etc. The zoo emphasizes how we are one with the earth, and that we “"Have a responsibility to look after our planet… it is our only home” (The Dalai Lama)
 

 
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Talking of Llamas, ;) there were Llamas and Alpacas at the zoo, able to freely graze on the side of the mountain. We were lucky enough to observe a male Llama attempting to mount a very feisty female, who protested vehemently; a pretty precarious move on the steep inclines. She was much more interested in grazing on the hay, and he, the persistent male with tunnel vision, narrowly escaped tumbling down the mountain side.
The wing span of the Great Andean Condor was awesome! At least 8-10 feet! 
Imagine it souring above the snow topped volcanos, hunting with laser sharp eyes for the smallest prey. A huge bird, keeping vigil like an old school master, with his hooked beak and white collar, eyeing the sacrificial chicks released into his territory, with shifty nonchalance. Pounce! His vulture neighbors were quick and cruel, tearing the poor little things apart greedily; hard to watch, yet part of the food chain. 
 
“The Andean condor was placed on the Endangered Species List in 1973 and is in danger of becoming extinct due primarily to over hunting. Many farmers shoot these birds because they mistakenly believe the condors kill their livestock. Pesticide poisoning through the food chain has also hurt populations.”(Rainforest alliance.org)
The bird house was full of once-injured birds of prey, and parrots. McCaws perch freely in the trees, as do the mischievous spider monkeys swinging from branch to bough, using their tails to balance and somersault, looking innocently seductive whenever food is present, and politely taking with strangely long delicate fingers.  Dried bananas were their favorite! 
 
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There were two poems in the rest area, both in Spanish, which I attempted to translate. 
The Spanish language is rich and poetic, with a romance that is hard to imitate without sounding precocious. Yet these poems are an example of how beautiful the language is, and how close to the earth, and nature we are married.
 
 
 
LAS LUCIERNAGAS "Hilanderas de luz, por la llanura, en fantástica y rauda muchedumbre, con arabescos de argentada lumbre bordan el manto de la noche oscura. Alas y brillantez para la altura tienen ellas; mas huyen de la cumbre, y, después de irradiar fugaz vislumbre, rescatan en el césped su hermosura. requerir el resplandor del dia, transforman, con brillante pedrería, a humilde for en reluciente broche. Y hermanas de las célicas estrellas, así amables y pródigas como ellas, su limosna de luz dan a la noche." Manuel María 0rtiz Ordoñez Faunia-1954 
 
TO the best of my ability,(using #google translate, and a bit of clumsy poetic license…), the poem roughly translates: 
 
 
 "Spinners of light, across the plain, 
in a fantastic and dense crowd,
 with Arabesques of silver fire 
 embroidering the mantle of the dark night.
 They possess great wings of brilliance;
 They fly from the summit,
 and, after a radiating fleeting glimpse, 
they reflect their beauty in the grass, 
transforming the night into a brilliant gleaming rhinestone brooch.
 And the sisters of the celestial stars, 
as kind and lavish as they are, 
create the night with their Alms of light.
 "Manuel María 0rtiz Ordoñez Faunia-1954

 
 
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LA LIBELULA "La de las alas de cristal que, al vivo halago de la luz lleva el iris a su espalda; la de rasgados ojos de esmeralda, ual los de bella huri de ensueño mago. El sombrío boscaje encuentra aciago, no es digna de sus huellas la guirnalda, ni en pos del cielo de zafir y gualda remonta por la altura el vuelo vago. Busca las olas, que besar procura, y por instantes en cada una posa, para que todas copien su hermosura. Y, en medio de inefables embelesos, ignora si serán para una hermosa más fugaces las olas o los besos. Manuel María Ortiz Ordoñez Faunia 1954 
 
LA LIBELULA 
The one with the crystal wings that, 
flatters the light, carries the iris behind him; 
The one with raven emerald eyes, 
the one with the beautiful air of a dreamy magician.
 The shady grove hides fate,
the garland is not worthy of its footprints,
 nor of the sky of zafir and gualda 
It ascends by the height of the vacant flight.
 Look for the waves, which kisses seek,
 so that all may copy beauty in each pose.
 And, in the midst of indescribable indecision ,
 one does not know if they will choose 

The beautiful more fleeting waves or the kisses. 

Manuel María Ortiz Ordoñez Faunia 1954
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Similar to the Native American philosophy, the Ecuadorian culture echoes that of the Incas with respect to their reverence for the earth and for the Mother of all things.
 The Feminine was honored. 
Wayna-Kapec, an ancient king of the Incas, born in Pumapango, ( an Incan settlement that existed prior to the city of Cuenca,) ordered a Qucha, or “"moist ground” be constructed in honor of his Mother, Mama Ocllo. The river was dammed for this purpose, and remains an irrigation source to this day.
The religions of the Andean world, stamped a harmonious practice on the man-nature interrelation. So animals, such as the Puma, the serpent, the Llama, and birds such as the McCaw, Condor, and the Hummingbird, are all linked to the myths of the origin of the people. 
 
The street graffiti is rich and mostly done by talented artists, adding a vibrancy to crumbling walls and old grey staircases. They reflect the reverence for tradition and patterns, yet embrace a new era of expectation and brave individuality. 

 
Food is an important part of any culture, and Cuenca was no exception. My favorite were Tamales made from maize, steamed in banana leaves and flavored with homemade salsa. One could dine richly from small street cafes, although I avoided street vendors to save myself from Montezuma's revenge! 
Yes, the Ecuadorians eat guinea pigs. Cuy ( pronounced “ Cooie “ )is a traditional part of the indigenous people's diet. Rich in protein, and apparently sweet meat. They are often sacrificed for special occasions, and are roasted, or served in stews. I could not bring myself to even try Cuy, I raised too many Guinea pigs as pets when I was young, and couldn't bear the thought of killing one for food. No, I am not vegetarian, but as I become more conscious of how meat is raised and killed, I have seriously considered giving up meat. Cruelty free is an important consideration. At least the chickens roam free here, and the cows I saw were not cooped up in milking farms. Cows are commonly visible grazing at the side of the road, and their pasture is varied daily. Alpacas are farmed for their warm, soft fleece, which is sheered each year. These gentle creatures roam freely in the grounds of public parks and in gardens, grazing on the grass and keeping the lawns cropped. 

​
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Things are changing in Ecuador. Bull fights are thankfully no longer legal, and I saw one grand old Bull stadium standing proudly out in the middle of nowhere, waiting for some developer to restore it as a stadium, or perhaps a convention center 

 
 I saw a bull fight once, when I was in Mexico in the 80’s. I was curious, and the excitement of the costumes and the Toreadors lured me in. The game between man and bull was balanced at first, Bull chasing daredevil arrogant young men, who hid behind barriers to avoid the tossing horns; crowds reacting with excitement as the play became more vital. But when the swords came out, and the first strike was made, the cruelty and the inevitable morbidity of the bull brought me to tears. I could no longer cheer with the crowd, and as the bull buckled with blood soaked skin, the salty sanguineous smell of blood leaching into the hot humid air was sickening. 
I was changed at that moment.
 
 The Bull-fight
Lord Byron (1788–1824)
 
(From Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage)
 
  THE LISTS are oped, the spacious area cleared,
  Thousands on thousands piled are seated round;
  Long ere the first loud trumpet’s note is heard,
  No vacant space for lated wight is found:
  Here dons, grandees, but chiefly dames abound, 
  Skilled in the ogle of a roguish eye,
  Yet ever well inclined to heal the wound;
  None through their cold disdain are doomed to die,
As moonstruck bards complain, by Love’s sad archery.
 
  Hushed is the din of tongues,—on gallant steeds, 
  With milk-white crest, gold spur, and light-poised lance,
  Four cavaliers prepare for venturous deeds,
  And lowly bending to the lists advance;
  Rich are their scarfs, their chargers featly prance:
  If in the dangerous game they shine to-day, 
  The crowd’s loud shout, and ladies’ lovely glance,
  Best prize of better acts, they bear away,
And all that kings or chiefs e’er gain their toils repay.
 
  In costly sheen and gaudy cloak arrayed,
  But all afoot, the light-limbed Matador 
  Stands in the center, eager to invade
  The lord of lowing herds; but not before
  The ground, with cautious tread, is traversed o’er,
  Lest aught unseen should lurk to thwart his speed:
  His arms a dart, he fights aloof, nor more 
  Can man achieve without the friendly steed,--
Alas! too oft condemned for him to bear and bleed.
 
  Thrice sounds the clarion; lo! the signal falls.
  The den expands, and Expectation mute
  Gapes round the silent circle’s peopled walls. 
  Bounds with one lashing spring the mighty brute,
  And wildly staring, spurns, with sounding foot,
  The sand, nor blindly rushes on his foe:
  Here, there, he points his threatening front, to suit
  His first attack, wide waving to and fro 
His angry tail; red rolls his eye’s dilated glow.
 
  Sudden he stops; his eye is fixed: away,
  Away, thou heedless boy! prepare the spear;
  Now is thy time to perish, or display
  The skill that yet may check his mad career. 
  With well-timed croupe the nimble coursers veer;
  On foams the bull, but not unscathed he goes;
  Streams from his flank the crimson torrent clear:
  He flies, he wheels, distracted with his throes:
Dart follows dart; lance, lance; loud bellowings speak his woes. 
 
  Again he comes; nor dart nor lance avail,
  Nor the wild plunging of the tortured horse;
  Though man and man’s avenging arms assail,
  Vain are his weapons, vainer is his force.
  One gallant steed is stretched a mangled corse; 
  Another, hideous sight! unseamed appears,
  His gory chest unveils life’s panting source;
  Though death-struck, still his feeble frame he rears;
Staggering, but stemming all, his lord unharmed he bears.
 
  Foiled, bleeding, breathless, furious to the last, 
  Full in the centre stands the bull at bay,
  Mid wounds, and clinging darts, and lances brast,
  And foes disabled in the brutal fray:
  And now the Matadores around him play,
  Shake the red cloak, and poise the ready brand: 
  Once more through all he bursts his thundering way,--
  Vain rage! the mantle quits the conynge hand,
Wraps his fierce eye,—’t is past,—he sinks upon the sand!
 
  Where his vast neck just mingles with the spine,                                     
  Sheathed in his form the deadly weapon lies. 
  He stops,—he starts,—disdaining to decline:
  Slowly he falls, amidst triumphant cries,
  Without a groan, without a struggle dies.
  The decorated car appears: on high
  The corse is piled,—sweet sight for vulgar eyes; 
  Four steeds that spurn the rein, as swift as shy,
Hurl the dark bull along, scarce seen in dashing by.
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 “The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only one page.”
– Saint Augustine
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My experiences in Ecuador were too numerous to put in one blog entry.
I have to dedicate some time to getting myself ready for Christmas, and I also have a “real” job:) 

I will continue my thoughts in the next chapter. 
In the meantime, I will leave you with this thought:-
 ”A journey is best measured in friends, rather than miles.” – Tim Cahill
and have a very happy holiday season 
 
 
 
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A game of cards we'll play tonight, the Trump car's played but we'll still fight...The Ace of hearts could make things right if #Love Trumps Hate !

11/17/2016

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A game of cards, we’ll play tonight

The Trump card's played, but we’ll still fight
The Ace of Hearts could make things right
If “Love trumps hate”


As reality sinks in, post election
I find myself in retrospection
What caused this rude and crude selection?
I cry out! “Love trumps hate!”


I draw my breath in disbelief
I swallow my fears and brave my grief
I wonder if we’ll find relief
If “Love trumps hate”


So mocking disability’s OK
And grabbing crotches is fair play
And endorsement by the KKK
Oh God! Let Love trump hate!


Let's give a little latitude
To misogynistic attitude
No chivalry no gratitude
Just Hate for Trump’s hate sake!


He’s given his endorsement
To intolerance, and enforcement
To forced alien deportment
(Ya gotta love Trump’s hate)


He’s gonna build that “Glorious Wall”
To keep “"Them “ out, once and for all
Shortsighted pride comes before a fall
Let “Love trump hate”


As hate crimes rear their ugly head
Inciting Racism to spread
I really dread the days ahead
It’s time to “Love trumps hate”


The Joker scoffs and disregards
Much progress made, trashed, left in shards
Yet he’ll bring down this deck of cards
Unless, “Love trumps hate”


So love your neighbor Red or Blue
Hindu Muslim Sikh or Jew
LGBT, disabled too
Let’s prove that “"Love trumps hate “


The Ace of hearts lies on my plate
I dearly hope it’s not too late
The power of LOVE, up for debate
Let’s play a game of “#LoveTrumpsHate!”



Poem #LoveTrumpsHate by Womensvoice1

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The train picks up speed. Education becomes her POWER. And the roar of the train becomes deafening and irresistible. I WILL rise! She WILL rise! They WILL rise!    #Womensvoice1

10/29/2016

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​ “We know that educating girls is the smartest investment of our time. When girls are educated, communities thrive and economies grow. Yet 62 million girls are missing from classrooms worldwide, and tremendous opportunities are lost.
 My passion for Poetry for social change and the subsequent birth of Womensvoice1 initially stemmed from my firm belief that a world where more women have a voice would be a very different world.
When Malala was shot by the Taliban in 2012, I wrote a poem
Dedicated to Malala, featured on its own page of my blog.
 Malala’s bravery and determination to continue with her own education, as well as encourage other girls, despite death threats by the suppressive Taliban regime, was an inspiration to all with a huge Domino effect across the world.
The Malala fund was born, the film Girl Rising was created , conceptualizing  the Let girls Learn initiative, and now spawning a new movie about the importance of girls education, called We will Rise.
 Michelle Obama’s Mission to Educate Girls Around the World  has prompted this new film by CNN.
It is about girls overcoming unfathomable obstacles to achieve their education, and change their lives. 
The Documentary Group, which produced CNN’s ‘
Girl Rising,’ also produced this one-hour film called WE Will Rise.
 The film includes contributions from Michelle Obama, Meryl Streep, Frieda Pinto, and CNN journalist  Isha Sesay. The musical theme for the film is “Rise up” written by Andra Day.
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“You're broken down and tired
Of living life on a merry-go-round
And you can't find the fighter
But I see it in you so we gonna walk it out
And move mountains
We gonna walk it out
And move mountains
And I'll rise up
I'll rise like the day
I'll rise up
I'll rise unafraid
I'll rise up
And I'll do it a thousand times again
And I'll rise up
High like the waves
I'll rise up
In spite of the ache
I'll rise up
And I'll do it a thousand times again
For you
When the silence isn't quiet
And it feels like it's getting hard to breathe
And I know you feel like dying
But I promise we'll take the world to its feet
And move mountains
Bring it to its feet
And move mountains
And I'll rise up
I'll rise like the day
I'll rise up
I'll rise unafraid
I'll rise up
And I'll do it a thousand times a day
For You”

​by Andra Day.

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Let Girls Learn is a United States government initiative to ensure adolescent girls get an education. Around the world, young and adolescent girls face many obstacles to an education. Some are forbidden by their "religious" doctrine, such as the Taliban;  some are forbidden by certain African Tribal leaders who feel threatened by the prospect of girls  learning to read, and their potential to become community leaders.  The role of women in many cultures is limited to water bearing, housekeeping, cooking, child bearing and even slavery. Women and girls are responsible for fetching water in many tribal and rural communities, and the long arduous days they face do not allow them the time or the opportunity to go to school. Remote villages and towns where the main source of family income is hard labor often lack schools, and families lack the resources to pay for academic study. Accessing and paying for an education is often affected by complex physical, cultural and financial barriers. Girls are often forced to marry before they have even reached puberty, and many migrate into prostitution to help feed themselves and their family.
 
"Although the Taliban claims that it acts in the best interests of women, it has cruelly reduced women and girls to poverty, worsened their health, and deprived them of their right to an education..
Since 1998, Girls over the age of eight have been prohibited by the Taliban from attending school. The Taliban jailed and then deported a female foreign aid worker who had promoted home-based work for women and home schools for girls. The Taliban also prohibited women from studying at Kabul University. The Taliban's version of Islam is not supported by the world's Muslims. The Taliban is out of step with the Muslim world and with Islam."

The Taliban’s war against women:  http://www.state.gov/j/drl/rls/6185.htm

 Michelle Obama has spoken out about the importance of education for girls, and has dedicated her future to the cause.

An investment in girls’ education yields the best return in the developing world; for each additional year of primary school a girl attends, her future earnings increase by 10-20%. And the return is even higher for secondary school – 15-25%. Educating girls doesn’t just benefit families, it helps the economy. When educated women join the workforce, productivity goes up and GDP increases.
(https://worldschildren.org)

 Quoting Unesco.org, these statistics show the benefits of a primary and secondary education in women, worldwide:

“Educated women are less likely to die in childbirth, saving 98,000 lives. In sub-Saharan Africa, if all women completed primary education, maternal deaths would be reduced by 70%, saving almost 50,000 lives. Educating girls can save millions of lives: If all women had a primary education, there would be 15% fewer child deaths. If all women had a secondary education, child deaths would be cut in half, saving 3 million lives. Mothers’ education improves child nutrition. If all women had a primary education, 1.7 million children would be saved from stunting from malnutrition. If all women had a secondary education, 12 million children would be saved from stunting from malnutrition Girls with higher levels of education are less likely to have children at an early age 10% fewer girls would become pregnant under 17 years in sub-Saharan Africa and South and West Asia if they all had a primary education Almost 60% fewer girls would become pregnant under 17 years in sub-Saharan Africa and South and West Asia if they all had a secondary education. Educating girls is a key factor in hastening the demographic transition to lower birth rates. Girls with higher levels of education are less likely to get married at an early age If all girls had a primary education, there would be 14% fewer child marriages If all girls had a secondary education, there would be two-thirds fewer child marriages Education narrows pay gaps between men and women In Pakistan, women with a primary education earn 51% what men earn. With a secondary education, they earn 70% what men earn In Jordan, women with a primary education earn 53% what men earn. With a secondary education, they earn 67% what men earn. Educated women are more likely to find work. In Brazil, only 37% of women with less than primary education are in work. This rises to 50% if they have a primary education”
Statistics taken from http://unesco.org

Girls Not Brides is a global partnership of more than 600 civil society organizations from over 80 countries committed to ending child marriage and enabling girls to fulfil their potential. http://www.girlsnotbrides.org/about-girls-not-brides/
 
The First Lady, Michelle Obama claims that even though she never imagined as a child that she would become the First Lady of the United States, her own struggles to obtain a good education afforded her an eventual significant voice that she can use to benefit others.
“Education opened so many doors and gave me the confidence to pursue my ambitions and have a voice in the world.
For me, education was power.”

 Michelle Obama
Mrs. Obama goes on to say,
“That's why I decided to work on global girls' education as first lady: because right now, there are 
tens of millions of girls like Malala in every corner of the globe who are not in school -- girls who are so bright, hardworking and hungry to learn. And that's really the mission of the Let Girls Learn initiative we launched last year: It's a global effort to give these girls the education they need to fulfill their potential and lift up their families, communities and countries.”

“We know from statistics that educating girls can transform lives, families, communities, and entire countries. When girls are educated, they lead healthier and more productive lives. They gain the skills, knowledge, and confidence to break the cycle of poverty and help strengthen their societies. It’s time to Let Girls Learn.”


Let Girls Learn initiative   https://letgirlslearn.gov/

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And now for my own poem, composed after watching the film Girl's Rising.
​I found it a powerful and moving documentary about contemporary young girls who are striving to rise in their own worlds, and become free of the bondages of poverty or cultural shackles, to become educated and self actualized.
It is a moving film that everyone should watch, and all proceeds go towards educational initiatives.

 For Senna, by Susan Golden



Trudging through toxic mud
 that sludges over frozen rock
 jagged with the dark grey mountainside
 burdened with muted pain
She tumbles into mud holes filled with the poorest but bravest hearts
Her father slowly gasping his last breath
midst eighty thousand swarming bodies in the mines
Sweat soaked
for one small fleck of golden glitter
The black heralds of death fold their wings around
and suck him under the mountain
leaving her stranded
Stunned
unable to move
Slowly
she reaches deep down into her own heart

to discover a cache of buried gems        
Pearls of poetic expression
Citrines of courage
Diamonds of determination
Her tongue becomes a sword of tempered words
Sparked by the blow of the pick axe on hard rock
Cutting like finest steel through the railway tracks
to switch the course of life and join the education train
I can do this!
I Will rise, she cries!
 
Child of the dump
Hunting in the rot
Daydreaming of the alphabet
Blooming like a flower without water
in a sea of dry sand
Skipping through life
Holding on to hope
Images in her head
of wonder
what could be
Her future painted with colors
festooning  grey skies
 
Another unlucky girl
bonded to her master
begins to sing
so that others can break loose
the bonds of slavery
Cycling to break the cycle
Turning heads to turn tradition
A new perspective
New angles in a Yang dominated world
Breaking their ride at each domicile
The power of educated persuasion
over blind belief
 
An early morning marriage
Aged 13
Trapped in a blue embroidered cage
Forcibly split by the heavy piston of penetrating dogma
Fearing for her life
yet fueling the force of change
 like a thousand rivers birthing through her womb
turning ugliness into art
darkness into light
fear into will
until that shroud of blue
once masked and muted
begins to break song
like a nightingale for all to hear
a song that pierces the darkest night
and wakens the deepest sleep
I know I can
I know I can rise!
She hears the rhythm of the train
As it gathers momentum
And the roar of the train becomes deafening and irresistible
Education becomes her POWER
The train picks up speed
POWER can change the world.
I will Rise
She will rise
They WILL rise! 
​-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Poem written by Womensvoice1

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 Join the Girl Rising community and become a champion for girls’ education. “Use your voice and talent to help us create meaningful change: spread the message, raise funds, and rally your community to advocate for policies supporting girls' education. Now is the time. “
http://girlrising.com/grow-the-movement/index.html#a-call-to-action
 
You may contribute to Girl Rising here :
http://www.katahdin.org/sponsored/10x10/contribute.html
 
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Happiness is like a crystal, fair and exquisite and clear. Broken in a million pieces, shattered, scattered far and near. Priscilla Leonard.

10/4/2016

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​Having safely returned to Texas soil, I look back with gratitude on my vacation and having had the opportunity to celebrate my parent’s 90th birthdays.
I have so many wonderful memories, and it went by so quickly, that piecing it all together is like finding small gems, each with their own exquisite significance, to carefully file away and savor in retrospective gratitude.
My parents joy in having us all home, their smiling faces and their loving arms outstretched and welcoming to all who came to celebrate their lives. Meeting children and family whom I had never met before, seeing old friends, and rekindling a love for the historical and beautiful place where I was raised.  
 Indeed England was at her best this September, with a true “Indian Summer” as an advent to autumn. We were there for the Equinox, when the light of the day is equal to the darkness of the night. The skies were blue, and the air was warm. The smell of the sea air was fresh, and the light shimmered on the water, in different shades of sunlit silver.
I had taken a short break from blogging, and have been researching different subjects to illustrate with poems and artwork. But I find myself still in a bit of a slump, having contracted a tinge of bronchitis, and feeling rather unenthusiastic.
So I am going to bring a few poems to you that embody the sentiments that I am feeling, and hope that you will enjoy their message. 
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​Happiness is like a crystal
Fair and exquisite and clear
Broken in a million pieces
Shattered, scattered far and near
Now and then along life’s pathway
 Lo! Some shining fragments fall
But there are so many pieces
No one ever finds them all
 
You may find a bit of beauty
 Or an honest share of wealth
 While another just beside you
 Gathers honor, love or health
Vain to choose or grasp unduly
Broken is the perfect ball
And there are so many pieces
No one ever finds them all
 
Yet the wise as on their journey
Treasure every fragment clear
Fit them as they may together
 Imaging the shattered sphere
Learning ever to be thankful
Though their share of it is small
 For it has so many pieces
 No one ever finds them all

 
 PRISCILLA LEONARD
We began with two christenings, of two of my great nieces, Amelia and Rebecca. They were christened in the Old church of St John that was originally built in about 1150 on the site of another church built around 1050.
The church has a Norman foundation but only the low western tower survives from the Norman period. The chancel and nave were rebuilt in the 15th century.
 My Grandparents, Earnest and Grace Woodfield are buried there.
After the christening we enjoyed communing with our daughters, Charlotte and Vita, who had travelled from Ecuador and San Francisco to join the family fun; and meeting with friends and family for refreshments and the traditional Christening cake, at the local sailing club. 
​My parents were thrilled to begin their 90th year with such a happy occasion, and it was just the introduction to an exciting and event filled week.
Later that week, we journeyed out to Bracken Tor on Dartmoor for the actual party venue, where we spent a weekend of fun and frolics, culminating in a huge party, with wonderful food, self-made entertainment and music; not to mention the ever memorable Merlina, ( Merlin Cousins), singing Jolene, which has become a bit of a family tradition…J
There were babies and children, and husbands and wives, old friends and new friends, and those who were sadly missed. Despite the chaos, Mum and Dad managed to harness their energy, and enjoy the whirlwind fun, leaving them with a huge book of memories, photos, pictures and poems to read and enjoy later when the dust had settled.
I was reunited with several of my dear friends who I have known since childhood, and have cherished my parents as their own. I was reminded that old friends are always my most treasured relationships, and even those who weren’t there became present in my mind and heart.
There is very little division between old friends and family. In fact, old friends can become even more cherished because they do not rest on the still laurels of the family tree. 

​MAKE new friends, but keep the old;
Those are silver, these are gold
 New-made friendships, like new wine
 Age will mellow and refine
 Friendships that have stood the test
 Time and change are surely best
 Brow may wrinkle, hair grow gray,
Friendship never knows decay.
For 'mid old friends, tried and true,
 Once more we our youth renew.
 But old friends alas may die,
 New friends must their place supply.
Cherish friendship in your breast--
New is good, but old is best;
Make new friends, but keep the old;
Those are silver, these are gold.
 

Joseph Parry

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While we were with my parents, we accompanied them to a dear old friend’s funeral.
I had known Caroline Hemming all my life, and she and her late husband, John Hemming, had been my parent’s bosom friends since college.

We travelled down to Constantine, in the depths of old Cornwall to her funeral in the beautiful old church of Constantine. The funeral was an uplifting tribute to her life, but her passing weighed heavy on my Mother’s heart especially.
I waited with her in the church while Caroline was buried in her simple wicker casket, decorated with Oak leaves and wild flowers, befitting to her character and love of nature.
The terrain of the ancient graveyard was too rough for Mum’s wheel chair.
But my Father returned with the most beautiful story of her committal to the earth.

 The lowering of Caroline’s coffin was serenaded by a Flute and Violin, playing “Speed Bonnie Boat”, one of her favorite duets to sing. As the flute and violin broke into blissful harmony from unison, so then did the birds rise from the surrounding hedgerows, and sang with the instruments, as they took to their wings in flight.
Caroline was an artist, and her most favorite subjects were birds and flowers of the hedgerows. It seemed then as if she were sending a joyful message as her spirit rose.
​

 
THE DAYs grow shorter,
 the nights grow longer;
 The headstones thicken along the way;
And life grows sadder, but love grows stronger
 For those who walk with us day by day
The tear comes quicker, the laugh comes slower;
The courage is lesser to do and dare;
 And the tide of joy in the heart falls lower,
And seldom covers the reefs of care.
 But all true things in the world seem truer
And the better things of earth seem best,
And friends are dearer, as friends are fewer,
And love is all as our sun dips west.
Then let us clasp hands as we walk together
 And let us speak softly in low, sweet tone,
 For no man knows on the morrow whether
 We two pass on or but one alone.


 ELLA WHEELER WILCOX.
 


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 After the funeral, we had a couple of days left to spend with my parents before leaving. We took our daughters to catch the train to London, and had a day out in Glastonbury for the Autumnal Equinox.
There we climbed the Glastonbury Tor, and reveled in the lush and stately grounds of Glastonbury Abbey.
The Abbey was founded in the 7th century and enlarged in the 10th. It was rebuilt in 1184 after being destroyed by a fire. The Abbey was suppressed and partly destroyed by Henry 8th during the Dissolution of the Monasteries, and the last Abbot was hanged, drawn and quartered on Glastonbury Tor in 1539. The rest of the Monastery was pilfered during the 17th and 18th centuries for the building stone.  
Glastonbury has been associated with the legend of King Arthur, and the medieval monks claimed that Glastonbury was Avalon.
 While in the grounds, I took some lovely photographs, and I was struck by the age of this ancient and magnificent Elm tree. I am sure that could the tree speak, it would tell us many tales from Glastonbury’s colorful past.  
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I THINK that I shall never see

 A poem lovely as a tree
A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed
 Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
 And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
 A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
 Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
 Who intimately lives with rain.
 Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.
​

 JOYCE KILMER. ACE
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And with that thought, I shall leave you for now.
I am full, and I am satiated.
I thank you all for dropping by to read my blog, and hope that you will find something worth your while to take away.
Have a lovely week.
 
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1 Comment

“How can I go forward when I don’t know which way I am facing?” John Lennon

9/6/2016

1 Comment

 
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​“How can I go forward when I don’t know which way I am facing?”
 John Lennon
 
Come, rest awhile, and let us idly stray 
In glimmering valleys, cool and far away. 

Come from the greedy mart, the troubled street, 
And listen to the music, faint and sweet, 

That echoes ever to a listening ear, 
Unheard by those who will not pause to hear­ 

The wayward chimes of memory's pensive bells, 
Wind-blown o'er misty hills and curtained dells. 

One step aside and dewy buds unclose 
The sweetness of the violet and the rose; 

Song and romance still linger in the green, 
Emblossomed ways by you so seldom seen, 

And near at hand, would you but see them, lie 
All lovely things beloved in days gone by. 

You have forgotten what it is to smile 
In your too busy life­come, rest awhile. 

Lucy Maud Montgomery 

​ 
There comes a time in everyone's life where they question what they are doing and why they are doing it.
I have reached such a hiatus in terms of why am my blogging? What am I blogging about? Who reads my blog?
 I am proud to report that I have between 600 and 800 readers per week, and according to #Weebly dashboard and #Analytiks, people spend an average of 44 seconds on the site, which means that at least half of those people probably read the whole thing!...
I have been blogging for two and a half years solid, first weekly, and then biweekly. It takes a huge amount of research and creativity to produce poems and art work and without some feed-back from my readers, I wonder if it is worth it.
I am getting ready to go to England for two weeks to visit with my family. Both my parents turn 90 this year, and my mother has been very ill.
 We are hoping that she will enjoy her 90th year in reasonable comfort, and that my father will have the strength to keep up his spirits despite their decelerating life style. They have been together for 70 years, and much hangs in the balance for the near future.
We shall be having, a christening, and a family party, there is a funeral to attend, and in addition to visiting with friends, I shall be meeting new family additions.
 
 
I plan to take a sojourn from my blog until the last week of September and shall resume at that time.
I am hoping to retain my loyal readers, and want you to know that I imagine that you enjoy my writing, and gain something from my efforts.
However, I am feeling the need to hear from my you, my audience.
 Am I fulfilling your expectations? What is it that you are looking for? Why do you read my blog, and what do you enjoy about it?  
In short, I am feeling Poetic fatigue.
My second book is in in progress, and I need time to spend on the artwork and its production.
 I started my webpage in order to have a platform from which to advertise my book, The Moon of Compassion.
 If you have not yet had a chance to down load my book, feel free to do so here. It is available on #iTunes for $4.99
 
https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/the-moon-of-compassion/id892598396?mt=11
 
It is not just an eBook, it is an audio-visual book. I recite or sing the poems, and you can hear my rendition when you touch each illustrated page.
 The update fixes some of the audio problems that people were having after the iOS 8.
(I am working on an Android version for both books.)
 
 I am expanding my website to encompass more services and more interesting links. I already have a link to #Book Creator, a wonderful book formatting app, (a link to the FREE download is enclosed on my page).
I also added a tab entitled #Past Tense, which provides a link to my essential oil website, #Womenessence, where you can purchase Past Tense, and other essential oils and blends.
 



Picture

 
 Before your thoughts are disturbed, 
Before your solace is perturbed, 
Before you something wrong hear, 
Take rest for a while my dear! 

Please take rest, please go to bed
You will be to somewhere led; 
That place will be without fear, 
Take rest for a while my dear! 

Through sleep go to fairy land, 
You will hear songs, musical band; 
There no worry would be near, 
Take rest for a while my dear! 

Go and play with clouds so high, 
Raise laughter, no tear, no sigh; 
Take goblets of wine and beer, 
Take rest for a while my dear! 

Go and gambol with winds so fast, 
Fotget your future as well as past; 
Skip with rainbow, shed no tear, 
Take rest for a while my dear! 

With your rest, no worry will rest, 
A good medicine you can easily test; 
Go not far away, dear it is here, 
Take rest for a while my dear! 

Your tired face I cannot see, 
You are busy like a bee; 
At variety of life please, peer
Take rest for a while my dear! 

Your good face is a withered flower
That induces a refreshing shower; 
With matchless eyes please leer, 
Take rest for a while my dear! 

This rest would renew your charms, 
My dear, rest is best, no harm; 
My dear, what I say please hear, 
Take rest for a while my dear! 

Professor Niamat Ali Murtazai 
​
 
A Pause by Christina Rossetti
They made the chamber sweet with flowers and leaves, 
And the bed sweet with flowers on which I lay; 
While my soul, love-bound, loitered on its way. 
I did not hear the birds about the eaves, 
Nor hear the reapers talk among the sheaves: 
Only my soul kept watch from day to day, 
My thirsty soul kept watch for one away:-- 
Perhaps he loves, I thought, remembers, grieves. 
At length there came the step upon the stair, 
Upon the lock the old familiar hand: 
Then first my spirit seemed to scent the air 
Of Paradise; then first the tardy sand 
Of time ran golden; and I felt my hair 
Put on a glory,and my soul expand.

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So without further ado, I will take my vacation.
I look forward to reuniting with you at the end of September.
I would like to offer one more thing…
I will send a free link to my book to the first 5 people 
who respond to my appeal for feedback!
Please write to me at womensvoice1@gmail.com.
There you have it!
Have a great September!
​Namaste!

1 Comment

How can birds sing, if taken from the meadow? Cloistered away in silent fear, envious of the boundless skies?  #Sara L Russell

8/13/2016

0 Comments

 
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So the Hijab is in the news again as the Olympian Fencer, Ibtihaj Muhammad fights with a Hijab under her fencing helmet.  She is the first Muslim-American woman to compete in Olympics while wearing the religious head covering.
Muhammad, who has become a Muslim-American icon, has launched her own fashion line, Louella, for Muslim women.

“I, as a Muslim woman, should have the right to wear what I want without any question as to why I want to wear it. It's my identity, it's who I am.”
 
Ibtihaj had to defend her right to wear the hijab recently, when she was humiliated at a Tech festival, in Austin Texas.
 Ibtihaj had tweeted that she was asked to remove her hijab while registering for SXSW in Austin for her I.D. badge.
 
 While some women might choose not to don the Hijab, most Muslim women agree that it is a woman’s choice whether or not she wears it. Many Muslim and Arab women who have chosen not to wear the hijab are often staunch advocates of a woman’s right to choose; (in this case to Veil)
 
 
In a previous blog entitled “Hijab or not to Hijab”, I briefly discussed the reasons behind wearing the hijab. I spotlighted a female reporter who finally plucked up the 
courage to abandon the Hijab, and live her life as what she described as a "Free, emancipated Muslim woman.” 
She was ridiculed by some, and rejected and shamed by some of her family members.
10 years later, as a BBC reporter in Pakistan, she again decided that she may have to wear the Hijab in certain circumstances, in order to be respectful, and/or, to assure her 
own safety. 
 
Today I wanted to create another arena in which I stimulate thought and
discussion about the Hijab.
As a non-Muslim woman I have the same usual questions as many other non-Muslim women, about;
Why they wear it?.
 Isn't it restrictive?
 Isn't it hot?
 Do they wear it at home?
Isn’t it a symbol of repression?
 And the Burka… why would anyone want to wear that?

 Based on my limited research, I have come to the
conclusion that there are four kinds of Muslim women in this world.
1 Those who are Orthodox Muslim, and wear the Hijab and the Burka, (The whole robe-covering) when in public.
2. Those that wear the Hijab veil only, with western clothing.
3. Those who wear the Hijab when and where necessary, as a sign of respect, or to keep themselves from being humiliated by other Muslims, or even
endangered by other Muslims.
 4. Those that reject it completely.

While researching the Hijab I also learned that, primarily the hijab is not a headscarf.
It has been renamed by many cultures as a headscarf but it is NOT.
“Hijab” literally means “curtain” in Arabic. It also means “hiding,” ”obstructing” and “isolating” someone or something.
It is never used in the Quoran to mean headscarf.
Wearing the Hijab implies that behind the veil the woman is pure and pious, and devoted to her religion, to Mohammad, and her chosen husband.
 It is worn with a reverence to the Muslim faith, and for many, defines who they are.

 In his poem “Hijab”, (Mar 5, 2012), Mark Lecuona talks of the Hijab, from the perspective of a woman who has chosen to wear it.
He wrote it for a muslim friend in Indonesia.  

 
 
She covers for God
Not you
Are you worthy
Of her will to be true?
To the word
As it is written
Not of man
But begotten
Into the cradle
Of our existence
Heard by those
Who lower their resistance
To what is holy
Not on earth
But in heaven
Where a woman’s worth
Is measured
By the blessing
Of her womb
Life-giving and supporting
Each new creation
Equally touched
By the unseen
But untouched
By sin
Until the apple is offered
By the bare flesh
To our sons and daughters
Yes she suffers
Behind the cloak
Of piousness
Wearing its yoke
Until the strength
Of one man’s soul
Reveals itself
To make her whole
As it was intended
For man and woman
But not before
He has proven
His understanding
That a hijab
Is not weakness
But God’s robe
Which he dare part
To find paradise
In the strength
He saw in her eyes
 
 
(Copied with permission from the author, from Poetry.com)
 
In many cases, the wearing of the hijab is also used to challenge Western feminist discourses which present hijab-wearing women as oppressed or silenced.
 (Zayzafoon, 2005)

 
 
I can’t help but draw an analogy between the Hijab and the Habit that Nuns wear; and, indeed, the veil that accompanies the traditional Western Bridal costume.
Nuns wear the Habit as a symbol of their virginity in the eyes of God, and to hide their sexuality from the world.
Brides wear a veil as a symbol of their purity, and only lift it to their husband’s kiss, after they are joined in holy matrimony.
 In some countries, young girls wear veils during their communion service as a symbol of purity in the eyes of God.   
 
  While the hijab is commonly associated with women, Muslim men also sometimes wear a head covering as a means of showing modesty. Additionally, Jewish women in some traditions wear a headscarf as a cultural practice or commitment to modesty or piety. Sikhs wear a Turban to honor their religion.
 
One of the most frequently quoted verses from the Qur’an says:

“The believing men are enjoined to lower their gaze and conceal their genitals and the believing women are enjoined to lower their gaze and conceal their genitals, draw their headdress to cover their cleavage, and not to display their beauty, except that which has to be revealed, except to their husbands, their fathers, their husbands’ fathers, their sons, their husbands’ sons, their brothers or their brothers’ sons, or their sisters’ sons, or their women, or their slaves, or eunuchs or children under age; and they should not strike their feet to draw attention to their hidden beauty. O believers, turn to God, that you may know bliss. “
(Qur’an 24:30-31)

 One of the verses that encourages women to wear the garments less they be sexually harassed is in the Qur’an verses 33:58–59)
 
“Those who harass believing men and believing women undeservedly, bear (on themselves) a calumny and a grievous sin. O Prophet! Enjoin your wives, your daughters, and the wives of true believers that they should cast their outer garments over their persons (when abroad): That is most convenient, that they may be distinguished and not be harassed. “

MY HIJAB
I choose to hide,
Behind my veil.
In my safe home,
My existence frail.
My identity and my honor,
My own choice to preserve.
Hiding within my soul,
Modesty that I reserve.
Eyeing this dusty world,
Lost treasures of faith
seven virtues for world,
Veil for me is Eighth.
Proud of my identity,
Happy of my choice.
This is what I am,
Hijab is my voice.
 
Sharina Saad
Jun 4, 2013, Hello Poetry.
 
 
 I do not advocate that anyone has the right to walk up to a Muslim woman and start a debate about whether or not she should or shouldn’t wear a Hijab or a Burqa.
I am however, a great believer in the general rule of thumb, “When in Rome, do as Rome does. “ (The earliest version of this proverb seems to have been written by Pope Clement XIV, published in 1777… “Cum Romano, Romanus eris.”
 I would not dream of wearing a bikini into any church, for example. Neither would I walk through a market place in Saudi in a pair of shorts.  
 
 When visiting or living in another country, one should follow some of those traditions and customs in order to show respect to the general populace and also not to insult anyone; even worse incite violence. The wearing of a Christian cross can be dangerous in areas of China, where Christianity is not welcome. In some areas of the Middle East, Christians have been martyred for declaring their religion. There was a terrible case recently in Pakistan last year, where two Christians were burned alive.
 
"They picked them up by their arms and legs and held them over the brick furnace until their clothes caught fire. And then they threw them [alive] inside the furnace." — Javeed Maseeh.
 
(Just to put this in context, it is alleged that the couple had publicly burned verses from the Quran)
 The husband of a colleague of mine was recently secreted away in a church-planting mission in China; for fear that he might be discovered by the authorities… (This raises the issue about what right we have to proselytize one religion over another, but that’s another subject for further discussion.)
 
Going back to the Hijab, women wear the hijab primarily a sign that they are Muslim to the world; secondarily as a symbol of piety and purity. They wear it to respect their traditions and out of respect for themselves, their families and husbands, and to role-model for their children.
 Women who wear the full Burqa often defend themselves saying that underneath they can fully express themselves, and be the person they want to be without externalizing their views. They feel safe in the knowledge that they are honoring Mohammed and the teachings of the Quran.
 Historically, the Hijab evolved from an ancient time when only prostitutes exposed their head and other parts of their bodies in public.
 Back then, they donned the Burqa to hide from prying eyes and frustrated males in an environment that was harsh with rigid society rules. Women’s lives were worthless compared to a young boy child.
 
Back in the 80’s my sister travelled with her husband and young son through the Sahara desert on an expedition to deliver Land Rover parts to Timbuktu.
During their remote journey, they encountered a very curious caravan of Nomads, who corralled them, and then welcomed them as guests. All the women were completely covered in their burqas and their faces veiled.
Because of their blond haired, blue eyed baby, my sister was particularly honored to actually sit with the men of the table to eat. Her blond hair and her uncovered face was a fascination for the men at the table, and she had to keep very quiet about certain provocative subjects that arose during the mealtime conversation. She later told me that the pecking order for eating in this particular tribe was Men first, then boys, then dogs, then Women.
Picture
photo by Womensvoice1.

There are other schools of thought regarding the wearing of the traditional dress of Islam.
 
Shaaz Mahboob is the vice-chair of British Muslims for Secular Democracy, a charity which promotes religious understanding and addresses prejudice against Muslims.
"Discrimination of any form is considered unacceptable in all civilized societies. The burqa or the Hijab does just that. It allows one person to remain anonymous during face-to-face communication, thus depriving the right of the other to reciprocate whilst registering the changes in facial expressions, which is vital in such communication, in conjunction to voice that is used for everyday communication.”

 He goes on to say that whether its security in airports, in banks or in job interviews authorities are at a disadvantage when face to face with someone who is fully clad I the Burqa.
 He said, “It is perfectly reasonable that the general public feel reasonably secure about the persons sharing the same public sphere.”
Furthermore, he went on to say, “Burqa or Hijab neither has a place in Islam nor should it obtain a place in civilized Western societies where women are equal to men and public safety of all is paramount. Not knowing whether an individual amongst them is a man or a woman due to their attire is deeply unsettling and any such anxieties must be addressed by the relevant changes to law.”

Asra Q. Nomani and Hala Arafa are two young Muslim women who courageously challenging the Hijab.
They say this:

“To us, the “hijab “is a symbol of an interpretation of Islam we reject that believes that women are a sexual distraction to men, who are weak, and thus must not be tempted by the sight of our hair.
 We don’t buy it. This ideology promotes a social attitude that absolves men of sexually harassing women and puts the onus on the victim to protect herself by covering up.
The new Muslim Reform Movement, a global network of leaders, advocating for human rights, peace and secular governance, supports the right of Muslim women to wear — or not wear — the headscarf.
As women who grew up in modern Muslim families with theologians, we are trying to reclaim our religion from the prongs of a strict interpretation. Like in our youth, we are witnessing attempts to make this strict ideology the one and only accepted face of Islam.
We have seen what the resurgence of political Islam has done to our regions of origin and to our adoptive country.
As Americans, we believe in freedom of religion. But we need to clarify to those in universities, the media and discussion forums that in exploring the “hijab,” ( and wearing Head-scarfs in solidarity with Muslims, ) they are not exploring Islam, but rather the ideology of political Islam as practiced by the Mullahs, or clerics, of Iran and Saudi Arabia, the Taliban in Afghanistan and the Islamic State.”
 They go on to say  
“In the name of “interfaith,” well-intentioned Americans are getting duped by the agenda of Muslims who argue that a woman’s honor lies in her “chastity” and unwittingly pushing a platform to put a hijab on every woman.”
They implore,
“Please do this instead: Do not wear a headscarf in “solidarity” with the ideology that most silences us, equating our bodies with “honor.”
Stand with us instead with moral courage against the ideology of Islamism that demands we cover our hair.”


In researching poems that illustrate the anti-Hijab movement, I found a beautiful little poem, entitled” Screaming Blue Purdah”, written by Sara L Russell and posted on Hello Poetry.
I asked her permission to use her poem which is concise, fine and illustrative:

Screaming Blue Purdah
Sara L Russell 5/12/2015


How can birds sing, if taken from the meadow?
Cloistered away in silent fear
envious of the boundless skies
Even her wings are held earthbound
defenseless is she, and silent as the grave.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

What sun may rise for she who walks in shadow,
the blackness that makes her disappear
hidden away from prying eyes
Too fearful to make the smallest sound
accepting of pain, and living as a slave.
 

 
"I have nothing against the veil. And I think that, wrongly, many in the West look at the veil as a symbol of oppression. Now, as long as a woman chooses to wear the veil, because that's her belief and because of her own - that's a personal relationship with God, so she should be free to dress in whichever way she wants."
Queen Rania of Jordan
 
"A real totalitarianism is at work in the world and wants to impose its views not only on Arab Muslims, but on the West. The same way that they veil women, Islamic radicals want to veil cartoons in the press."
 Patrick Chappatte
 
"Whereas religious prayers sing of peace and harmony, religion has divided human beings through an atrocious history of enmity and bloodshed. Yet, behind the veil of superficiality and hypocrisy, I always believed in the inherent beauty of God that lies at the essence of all true spiritual paths."
Radhanath Swami


 And with that, my friends, I hope this discussion will be to your “Avail” J
 Have a wonderful week.


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Artwork by Womensvoice1  "How can birds sing, if taken from the meadow?
Cloistered away in silent fear" Sara L Russell.
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“In every Arab country every day, poets appear on television, on the radio, or in the newspaper. Every single newspaper in the Arab world every day has poetry -- this is nothing new…#Poetry is the essence of Arab culture.” Professor Frangieh, Yale

7/24/2016

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“Poetry is the soul of the Arabs,”
“That is no poetic exaggeration: whatever troubles that soul is reflected, magically, in the poetry. Reading Arabic poetry, therefore, is not an idle exercise. It is a trip inside the Arab soul.”
Ghazi al-Gosaibi.


Poetry is an integral part of Arab culture, and people from the western world may be surprised to learn that poetry was and is an effective way to convey a political message.
“In every Arab country every day, poets appear on television, on the radio, or in the newspaper. Every single newspaper in the Arab world every day has poetry -- this is nothing new…Poetry is the essence of Arab culture.” Frangieh, (a professor of Arabic from Yale University).
Long before the advent of Islam, Arab Tribes would gather once a year to a place near Mecca called Souk Ukaz. There, Poets from all over Arabia would recite their poems in front of a panel of judges, and each year, the winning poem would be displayed in gold lettering over the Ka’bah in Mecca. It was a great honor.
The Arab culture is steeped in the tradition of poetry. The Arab poet held a position of authority, representing the voice of their tribe, recounting news, tribal politics, achievements, victories, matrimony and deaths.
The poems were a reflection of the customs, traditions and values of each tribe.
“The poem itself reflects the history of the tribe -- the principles, the values, the customs, the traditions,” Frangieh explains. “You want to know anything about the Arabic people -- about their history, tradition, genealogy, battles, love affairs -- you turn to poetry.”
 Here is an eighth-century poem by al-Mahdi, in which the poet extols his patron and his generosity towards him..

  “ While not every wealthy personage shows
munificence, by my life Ibn Barmak has shown
generosity toward me.
 I have used my poems to milk his palms, and
they have flowed copiously like rain-clouds in a
thunderstorm.”



The writing of the Qur’an required a tremendous amount of genealogical and linguistic research. It‘s infrastructure includes Islamic law, literary references and poetry. Muhammad allegedly had his own poet, known as  Shu’ara’ al-rasul, meaning Poet of the prophet. Poets retained their status in the community, and played an important part in Arabian politics
​

http://www.neh.gov/humanities/2002/januaryfebruary/feature/poets-prophets-and-politics
​

Understanding Islamic art also is vital in order to begin to comprehend the complexity of the Islamic culture, and perhaps changing the way we understand each other.

Dana Awartani  is an experienced traditional artist based in Saudi Arabia and the United Kingdom. Dedicated to the revival of historical crafts from the Islamic world, Dana works with a wide range of materials including ceramics, natural pigments, and woodwork inspired by centuries of historical Islamic geometry and patterns.
 On her website you will see beautiful examples of her own Islamic art and a detailed explanation of its significance as a cultural learning tool.
http://danaawartani.com/
​

Dana explains that
“Islamic art is predominately made up of patterns due to the absence of figurative images and icons to prevent the art being a form of worship. Geometry plays a crucial role in Islamic art; it can be seen as the foundation or guideline. Every element of Islamic art is entwined with geometric proportions, and is used to tell a story. If you look at calligraphy, each letter is composed using very strict geometric measurements that must be followed. In miniature painting and manuscript illumination, the layout of the page is generally composed using geometric principles.”

 Two years ago, I went to an exhibition at the Dallas Museum of Art called NUR.

"Nur" means "Light" in ancient Arabic. The exhibition was full of the most beautiful art work, paintings, ceramics, tiles, all embellished by intricate  patterns of infinity and luminescence. 
 I attended an informative lecture presented by the curator of the collection, where she explained that the rich and diverse patterns and structured geometric patterns follow the laws of symmetry, harmony and structure.  She explained that nothing is ever random in Islamic art; no pattern is ever created without obeying the laws of harmony.

The harmony and structure of everything on this earth is expressed through pattern in Islamic art, and this is the Gestalt of Islamic art.  
 When you look at the art of illumination, and examine each pattern carefully, (even flowers), you will see that everything is proportional, even spirals are constructed where the patterns are repeated, and symmetry is at their core.

 Using light, ( white tile, white paint, luminescent glazes), behind the patterns brings perspective to each design, and represents the illusion of Light, the light of the world, ( Muhaamad ).

Dana Awartani states,
“It is now more important than ever to try to depict Islam in a positive manner and show the beauty behind the religion and the huge accomplishments the Muslim empires were able to achieve in history.”

After the exhibition, I wrote the bones of a poem entitled NUR, which I have since finished, and will include it here.
In my poem I explain why I feel it is important to find common ground in order to communicate effectively, and find ways to create peace in the world .


               ----------------------------------------------------------------------
 
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"Nur" is the Arabic word for light
It means "Light" in both the physical 
and the metaphysical sense
"The light of the world" is used in Judaism
Buddhism
Christianity
and the Islamic faith
The Halo
The glow of candles
The luminosity of stained glass windows
The Menorrha
They all represent ever-expanding patterns of light
And space
The Astro-compass was invented by Arabs
Astronomy
Light
All elements of
Enlightenment
A common factor between cultures
Light and Space!
Without light, there would be darkness...

Geometric patterns that expand forever
The glory of symmetry
Harmony
Structure
The Muslim faith pays homage to God through infinity 
Infinity.....
Can we find common ground through Light?
As Humanity?
 
Light needs a balance of all the colors of the spectrum.....
All cultures, all men, all women....
The Rainbow! 
Then we can live in Light and Peace!
The perfect geometric formula for everlasting light 
There will be no place for darkness to fall for those who follow the light...
The rainbow!
The universal sign from the Universe ! 
​
Picture
Finding common ground is essential to our existence as the Human Race. 
In order to achieve any kind of peace between the Western and the Eastern world,, we must grow a seed.
 A seed of communication.
That seed could be in the form of poetry or art;  conduits that speak to the soul, and allow the shoots of new understanding  to appear. 
If poetry is such an integral part of life for Arabic cultures, maybe we should be using it for a higher cause. one little poem at a time. 
In my next poem, I express my fear and my passion about the escalation of violence in this world, particularly over the last 2 months, and want to scatter the seeds of hope for a better world. 
------------------------


As the Rainbow Mushroom cloud disperses over Orlando, 
A fresh Blue cloud ascends, dampening the glow with anger and resentment,
Then, before the dawn, another huge, Red cloud of blood spills over all colors 
flooding the horizon, and drowning all hope.
then another,
then another
With man, swimming aimlessly
swimming in a thick sea of sanguine..
Flailing...
The anguish
The hatred
The evil
The accusations
The lies
The assumptions
The prejudice
The pain
How can we rise from this sea of endless blood? 

Once covered in thick, clammy clots 
We are blind to the color of our skin
We cannot see whether we are white or black
Or Muslim or Hindu...
Saving each other from certain drowning
We could lift each other up!
We may begin to recognise
That "Inclusion and Love" are the only path
The only path to "heaven"
Labels must be abandoned
Life respected 
As Muslims believe in the divine light of Mohammed
We must look to the light to deliver us

As Christians believe in the divine light of Christ 
We must look to the light to deliver us

As Agnostics that believe in the divine light of life itself..
We must look to the light to deliver us

As one human race, NUR is the answer 
NUR is the key to everlasting peace
 May the blessings of light and love be upon you
Now and forever
 Namaste.
 
 -------------------------------------------------------
 




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All Art work is my own 

If you are enjoying reading my blog, and find it inspirational, please feel free to comment, or email me at womensvoice1@gmail.com
I would love to hear feedback, or feature artists who have a common cause. 
​ Thank you .

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He's the one who gives his body as a weapon of the war, and without him all this killing can't go on. Buffy Sainte-Marie 

7/10/2016

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The events of the last few weeks have left me wondering whether we are evolving as a human species, or if we are regressing.
 The Brexit event precipitating outspoken hatred and generalized xenophobia; the Istanbul Airport bombing, followed by the three Saudi Arabian suicide bombings; then Bangladesh; then the shootings of two unarmed black men by police in the US; and Friday, the sniper in Dallas, killing 5 Police officers and injuring 7 others.
 “The heavily armed sniper who gunned down police officers in downtown Dallas, leaving five of them dead, specifically set out to kill as many white officers as he could, officials said Friday. He was a military veteran who had served in Afghanistan, and he kept an arsenal in his home that included bomb-making materials.”  New York times.
 

Threats, hatred and intolerance, religious bigotry, and racial tension are all the destructive elements of society that are spilling out of the rubble of the last three weeks. Sifting through the proverbial wreckage, I find myself looking at innovative building blocks, and wondering in what order we need to rebuild.
Have we ever been in such a mess? Have we ever reached this rock-bottom?
This feels like war.
____________
____________________________________________

The Universal Soldier
Buffie Sainte-Marie

He's five foot-two, and he's six feet-four,
He fights with missiles and with spears.
He's all of thirty-one, and he's only seventeen,
Been a soldier for a thousand years.
He'a a Catholic, a Hindu, an Atheist, a Jain,
A Buddhist and a Baptist and a Jew.
And he knows he shouldn't kill,
And he knows he always will,
Kill you for me my friend and me for you.
And he's fighting for Canada,
He's fighting for France,
He's fighting for the USA,
And he's fighting for the Russians,
And he's fighting for Japan,
And he thinks we'll put an end to war this way.
And he's fighting for Democracy,
He's fighting for the Reds,
He says it's for the peace of all.
He's the one who must decide,
Who's to live and who's to die,
And he never sees the writing on the wall.
But without him,
How would Hitler have condemned them at Dachau?
Without him Caesar would have stood alone,
He's the one who gives his body
As a weapon of the war,
And without him all this killing can't go on.
He's the Universal Soldier and he really is to blame,
His orders come from far away no more,
They come from here and there and you and me,
And brothers can't you see,
This is not the way we put the end to war.
 

_______________________________________________________________


According to http://www.yale.edu/

 “The greatest effect war has on the people involved is change. In wartime, change occurs, not only in global or national collective consciousness but, in many of the individuals involved.
One of the most incredible changes within the United States that occurred during wartime, was change in identity. World War II enabled people to learn about each other and themselves. People of different cultures, backgrounds, ages, and especially genders, who experienced massive changes in their lives; changes that would continue in their hearts long after the end of the war. This was the birth of many new identities that America had not yet seen.”

 

 In England too, times of war brought people together, and changed attitudes and traditional roles. Women began to do jobs that traditionally men had done.  From 1940 to 1944, The Home guard was operational in England, to protect and defend civilians at home. Small towns and villages volunteered lay people to serve in the British army as a Defense. The Home Guard was composed of 1.5 million local volunteers otherwise ineligible for military service, such as those too young or too old to join the services, or those in reserved occupations. It became nicknamed “Dad’s Army”
People bonded through groups such as the Women’s institute, (formed in the UK in 1915, and the Town Women’s guild. The women”s institute had two clear aims: to revitalize rural communities and to encourage women to become more involved in producing nutritionous food during the First World War. The Town women’s guild was formed in 1929 as an experiment in citizenship. As well as social and educational activities, the Town Women’ s guild objective was “ to influence positive change in the world and have a strong focus on Public Affairs. The organization harnesses the opinions of its members on important political issues and brings them to the attention of Government and decision-makers.”

 Many Organizations sprang up in order to boost morale and promote positive outcomes from positive action, under great duress.

 Back before the Internet people relied on newspaper reporting, the telegraph, and letters in order to exchange news and information.
There were pockets of resistance groups in France and Germany, and people rallied together by secret word-of-mouth, and clandestine meetings.
Today we get the news from every corner of the earth almost instantaneously, and with so many terrible things occurring at once, it is overwhelming. It's hard to stay focused.
I woke up Friday morning to five messages on my phone, from friends and family in Australia and England, asking if I was OK.
That is what alerted me to the events in Dallas the night before.  

In response to violence and discourse, support groups and organizations pop up overnight all over the globe using #Facebook, or other social media to spread their message.
Passions run rife when tragedy’s happen, but sustainable action is what we need to carry us through times like this.
Organizations that have sprung up in recent years using the internet include,


#Black Lives Matter
Black Lives Matter sprang up as a result of the disproportionate number of Black men who were the victims of Police brutality, and shootings of unarmed men.

 
Police killed at least 102 unarmed black people in 2015, (nearly twice each week).
http://blacklivesmatter.com
What Does #BlackLivesMatter Mean?
“When we say Black Lives Matter, we are broadening the conversation around state violence to include all of the ways in which Black people are intentionally left powerless at the hands of the state.  We are talking about the ways in which Black lives are deprived of our basic human rights and dignity.”

In her poetry, Claudia Rankine captures the need for change.
She examines the destructive elements of society, (especially where the black community is involved,) and of common grief. Quote:

"Marrying prose, poetry, and the visual image, Citizen, ( Claudias latest poetry book),  investigates the ways in which racism pervades daily American social and cultural life, rendering certain of it's citizens politically invisible.
Rankine's formally inventive book challenges our notion that citizenship is only a legal designation that the state determines by expanding that definition to include a larger understanding of civic belonging and identity, built out of cross-racial empathy, communal responsibility, and a deeply shared commitment to equality."
—National Book Award Judges' Citation
https://youtu.be/kN5aYIrc2J8

 ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------


#Mama Dragons evolved when Mother’s recognized the high incidence of suicide in young gay Mormon teenagers. Mormonism vilifys homosexuality to the point that children and teenagers are afraid to come out.
 "Mama Dragons run support groups for gay Mormons, and their families. They set up a speaker’s bureau of moms willing to help educate fellow believers and the public. They helped open the Youth Futures Shelter in Ogden for homeless kids.
The Dragons open their homes to gay Mormons fleeing their families for fear of retribution or shunning. They invite lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender kids over for dinner on holidays or anytime the young people feel lonely or, sometimes, suicidal."

http://www.sltrib.com/lifestyle/faith/2438383-155/mama-dragons


____________________________________________________________________________________________________

Stay United  was formed by Rose Eastaugh Davidson in response to the hatred and xenophobia that has risen out of "Brexit"

“I think there is a general feeling of fear, hopelessness and polarisation about what is happening in the UK at the moment. The worst thing about the referendum is the divide it"s created. Whatever happens we must stay united, spread love rather than hate.
More than anything I want to take action, however small it is.
I want something positive to do.
Together we are strong and we can show how Great we can be.
Spread love to counteract hate, unite to support all that is Great about our county.

Can we use this group to share ideas about how to unite our communities? To make people feel loved , wanted and valued. Ideas such as acts of gorilla kindness, redistributing unwanted food, ensuring immigrants feel wanted, valued and safe. Joining together to be self-sufficient and buy British.
Have a community party.

I know a Great many Great people all who feel frustrated by this situation, can we do something however small to spread positivity?”
 
https://www.facebook.com/groups/834714139993380/
 
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
 
“I've had enough of reading things
By neurotic, psychotic, pig-headed politicians
All I want is the truth now
Just gimme some truth now “

John Lennon


 
Coming together
by Robert Longley
 
 Ever try to measure
The power of a dream?
Ever sit and wonder
Where water becomes a stream?
In ways there is no difference
From nothing it begins
The pieces come together
And it ebbs and flows and spins
In time it becomes power
No force may stop its flow
None may know its beginning
But all may see it grow
A tiny drop of water
Or a simple little thought
Can change the world we live in
Rewriting rules we’re taught..

 
 
 
While talking about meaningful and sustainable action, Laura Esquivel, The Mexican author, in  her novel, Like water for Chocolate, said,
 
“Each of us is born with a box of matches inside us but we can't strike them all by ourselves; we need oxygen and a candle to help. In this case, the oxygen for example, would come from the breath of the person you love; the candle would be any kind of food, music, caress, word, or sound that engenders the explosion that lights one of the matches. For a moment we are dazzled by an intense emotion. A pleasant warmth grows within us, fading slowly as time goes by, until a new explosion comes along to revive it. Each person has to discover what will set off those explosions in order to live, since the combustion that occurs when one of them is ignited is what nourishes the soul. That fire, in short, is its food. If one doesn't find out in time what will set off these explosions, the box of matches dampens, and not a single match will ever be lighted.” 
― Laura Esquivel, Like Water for Chocolate
 
She now sits on congress in Mexico, and is known as “The Lady knitter” because she knits during the meetings. When recently challenged by her colleaugues, and somewhat ridiculed for knitting and“not paying attention”, she rebuffed the comment by saying that she was
 “Attempting to knit together the essential  components of society, in order to identify where we are going wrong.” She put up a sign in front of her desk in Congress declaring that she was “ Reconstructing the fabric of society.”
She says that in order to amend our society, we have to literally knit together the fabric of our society, and identify the errors that we have made. Love is the essential component that we have lost.
“[Words] cling to the very core of our memories and lie there in silence until a new desire reawakens them and recharges them with loving energy. That is one of the qualities of love that moves me most, their capacity for transmitting love. Like water, words are a wonderful conductor of energy. And the most powerful, transforming energy is the energy of love.” 
― Laura Esquivel, Swift as Desire
 
 Laura Esquivel’s latest book, Pierced by the Sun takes an "uncensored look at Mexico’s troubled present, in which corruption and crime have rocked Mexican society." It is essentially an allegory about the corruption and crime that has rocked Mexican society, and a passionate call for justice and healing.
Esquivel says society is torn apart by corruption and crime, and the  only way to find peace is when you are not separated, when you are not fighting, when you part of the whole.
________________________________________________________________



 So where do we go from here?
 Do we all take up knitting?  
 
We need to take a stand.
We need to make our voice heard.
 We need to recognize that we are all part of the problem.
We need to NOT be seperated.

We need to teach our children our values.
We must “ Do as we wish to be done by”
Let us join a meaningful organization that opposes Racism,
that opposes violence
that embraces activism
that breeds tolerance
and inclusion
and compassion
encourages community
encourages peaceful solutions
helps the impoverished
helps to educate
that values human life-
no-matter what Race, Religion, Culture or Creed.
________________________________________________________________________
 
Imagine there's no heaven
It's easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people
Living for today... Aha-ah...
Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too
Imagine all the people
Living life in peace... You, ..
You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will be as one
Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man
Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world... You, ..
You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will be as one


Imagine
John Lennon

 _________________________________________________________________
Even this morning we are reading about hundreds of arrests made around the country of people protesting at demonstrations against police violence. 21 police were injured in Saint Paul, Minnesota, Saturday night, and approximately 102 protesters were taken into custody in Saint Paul, while more than 100 people were arrested in Baton Rouge, Louisiana.
 Not to get into the dynamics of police culture in society as I do not presume to be in any way informed, but "Houston, we have a problem "
The Police have a job to do and it is not easy. They are only human, and humans have fears and flaws. Violence breeds violence. Hatred breeds hatred. ​We have a lot of work to do to reverse these trends and suspicions.
I would like to take this opportunity to express my condolences to the families of the Police officers in Dallas who were so calculatingly scapegoated in the recent shootings.
I cannot begin to understand the mentality of someone who would commit such a heinous crime.


    I would also like to express my condolences to the families of those unarmed men who were killed by police. Like Rodney King so valiantly said,
"I realize I will always be the poster child for police brutality, but I can try to use that as a positive force for healing and restraint."


​ No matter where they are in the world, a policeman's job is not an easy one, and to quote Al Sharpton,  
 "We're not anti-police... we're anti-police brutality."

"We're in an emergency situation. The United States has become an absolutely terrifying country, and I would hope that I could participate in some way in stopping the horror and the brutality." Wallace Shawn


 Not to poke fun, but to add a little Victorian comic relief to a very heavy subject, I would like to leave you with the most famous of Policeman songs (probably) ever written.... 

 POLICEMAN'S SONG
From the Gilbert & Sullivan opera "Pirates of Penzance" (1879)
(William Schwenk Gilbert / Sir Arthur Sullivan)


WHEN A FELON'S NOT ENGAGED IN HIS EMPLOYMENT
OR MATURING HIS FELONIOUS LITTLE PLANS
HIS CAPACITY FOR INNOCENT ENJOYMENT
IS JUST AS GREAT AS ANY HONEST MAN'S

OUR FEELINGS WE WITH DIFFICULTY SMOTHER
WHEN CONSTABULARY DUTY'S TO BE DONE
AH, TAKE ONE CONSIDERATION WITH ANOTHER
A POLICEMAN'S LOT IS NOT A HAPPY ONE

AHHH
WHEN CONSTABULARY DUTY'S TO BE DONE, TO BE DONE,
A POLICEMAN'S LOT IS NOT A HAPPY ONE.

WHEN THE ENTERPRISING BURGLARS NOT A'BURGLING
WHEN THE CUT THROAT ISN'T OCCUPIED IN CRIME
HE LOVES TO HEAR THE LITTLE BROOK A'GURGLING
AND LISTEN TO THE MERRY VILLAGE CHIME

WHEN THE COSTER'S FINISHED JUMPING ON HIS MOTHER
HE LOVES TO LIE A'BASKING IN THE SUN
AH, TAKE ONE CONSIDERATION WITH ANOTHER
A POLICEMAN'S LOT IS NOT A HAPPY ONE


WHEN CONSTABULARY DUTY'S TO BE DONE, TO BE DONE,
A POLICEMAN'S LOT IS NOT A HAPPY ONE (happy one).


 

Picture
"All we are saying, is "Give Peace a Chance" John Lennon
​

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    Susan Golden

    Born, raised and educated in Cornwall, England., Sue moved to America in 1981.
    After many years of life experience, her first bookof poetry for social change, is published. Available on iBooks.
     https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/the-moon-of-compassion/id892598396?mt=11

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