The Man and His Gun (lyrics)

The man and his gun
kills by law or by hate

takes breath from the world
in his wake.

The man and his gun,
with a severed soul
he sees the other
not as one

Just one finger drawn
but who will fall down?

everyone, everyone around

everyone, everyone around.

Can we return
to when it all began?

and stead learn how to cry
and how to drum, and how to paint, and how to sing and how to dance
and how to hold eachother in our arms.

The man who bows down
to violence and hate
makes others fall down from his pain

One person's anger
becomes another's ill-fate

One shot calls more men forth, more men forth
and they stop the world
with one click
and we're gone.

But there are other ways to sound loud, to sound loud
why can't we scream out our pain
and we'll hold it
and we'll hold it
and sing it away

There are other ways to sound loud, to sound loud
why can't we scream out our pain
and we'll hold it
and we'll hold it
and sing it away


The man and his gun...


The man and his eyes full of pain


look at me, put it down, put it down, put it down

look at me, put it down, put it down, put it down

look at me, put it down, put it down, put it down

look at me, put it down, put it down, put it down

old essay from my geology class in 2002

     I stare at nature's chaos: piles of tephra-ash, dust, rocks--indiscriminate sorting that mounds into Bishop Tuff.  Long Valley is lined with enigmas that wonder and baffle eyes: misplaced trees lying at the top of White-Wing Mountain---intrusive dikes that follow a non-conforming direction---sloping pediments that lean towards their birthplace---preservering beuts that outlast their eroded mates--unconsolidated talices lacking any cohesive form or idea.
     Could this mass of confusion have a plan? Examining the type of rock--sedimentary, metaphoric, igneous, we can then estimate an age: Does its wrinkles allow for new colors to leap through? Does it hold its place in time as it forms the base for future pieces to join?
Then we scrapple for a source--volcanic? phreatic? fissure? fault? earthquake? collapse? Did it cave in or spring out? As Connie said: "we can listen around us for clues to the cause." The rustling spring carries us to a plausible steaming answer. The basaltic scraps glue together to form a magnetic picture, and the ruins of age-old spaceships lead to our smiling, fuzzy, green martians.
We can follow the lines in a fault, rewinding their journey with our eyes. The placement of a tephra treasure buries the truth in its dust.
     I gaze at the Bishop Tuff and imagine its intricate path--the smaller pieces on the bottom were dropped by an ash fall--the first to arrive in its nest. The larger pieces followed along--too heavy to be swept up by rapid winds. Yes-there is some underlying logic that can be studied and grasped.  Geologists observe and interpret, feel and speculate, and discover a brain hidden amongst the dizzy spell of nature. Just a taste of logic to which we can relate because the intention of the rock is the same intention of which we are a part.  Looking towards the mountains we can start to understand by noting the presence of an interbedded instruction.  Yes there really is a recipe and algorithm to basins and ranges. Stretching--raising--eroding---sinking ---I can follow the pattern! But are nature's conundrums reducible to mathematical formulas? Is this hinted order completely solvable? If we claim to hold the answer than are we really appreciating the mystery? Yes, I study and scrapulate all the nooks and crannies and sort through different interpretations to settle on---a most probable cause that most likely is......
--sigh --
I breathe and let go my attempts to know more than it, resting in a moment of awe.

This wise old rock can teach me if I admit its greatness and seek comfort by knowing that it knows ...even if I never will.

bits of bits of old journals

I'd rather be in the center of myself
than
the center of all others' eyes.

Sometimes I forget
the external world
has little to do
with the divine.


___________________________________________________________________________



is life only meaningful when shared?
is my time alone of less value?
are my great (but quiet) ideas
less great
when kept to myself?
Are my questions still questions
if never asked
and never answered?

________________________________________________

Sherry Turkle:
"Loneliness is failed solitude.
To experience solitude you must be able to summon yourself by yourself;
otherwise you will only know how to be lonely."

"We may want to live less thickly
and wait for more infrequent but meaningful face to face encounters."

inside autumn

a letter to home

to you,

dear home,

I have layered within you

years and years

of soil filled seeds

sunflowers stretching

into the sky.

I have sung my sorrow

into your spacious breadth.

Your tall tall ceilings

into which my voice could fly.

I have whispered all my dreams to you

and you in turn, wove my dreams into quilts.

Laid me down.

Watched me rest.

I have cried into you---through you---

filled you with my salty tears

and you drank my grief up,

held me

as I am.

It was you that listened.

always.

You, dear home, are so beautiful and spacious,

I was able to bring the outside--in.

My shelter became a safe place

for others to seek comfort in.

Friends, guests, travelers, neighbors

ate your garden fruit,

slept on your sunken couch,

made giddy by your sunflowers,

drank tea on your sun-stained porch.

I came to you scared.

-the most alone-.

afraid to eat

afraid to play music

afraid to sing

afraid to share

afraid to love

And in your living room you gave the most precious gift of all----

a monthly salon

for years and years

you held space for us to share,

listen, dance, sing….speak.

I learned to play from my heart

and be supported by a community--

friends that I too would support

by creating space

for them to express.

And the people who have lived within you

long-stayed or short-passed through

have become my family

for life.

dear home,

you have given me too much.

As I travel onward

I will still be filled with you.

love,

Mariel

the past, in paper

well, I guess

my wish was made.

I pour through myself. 

All my pain, wonders, joy, sadness, laughter---

moves from inner to outer

spiraling through me

and exploding out,

in 

fire, streams, songs and silent whispers.

Here i am---

burning- - crying- -dancing 

will you stay long enough to see?

while we are together

a piece
for 10 voices in a tunnel
from may 2012

locked outside (lyrics)

i stayed hidden

by your restless eye

that looked around and around

but never right through

so I left my body

right there

by your side

for you to hold 

but not know

for me to give

but not show

and when I returned

I found the time we could have shared

had passed

had passed

us by.

you were waiting.

you were waiting.

you were waiting

but I was locked outside.

You had said

don't feel too much

you had said don't fall too hard

let's merge our bodies

but keep our hearts far apart

so I shut my eyes 

so I couldn't see

anything of you

pouring into me

and I left my body

so I couldn't feel

you there

or gone

you there or gone

you were waiting

you were waiting

for me to arrive

but I was locked outside



*copyright 2015

bless you too (lyrics)

the beauty of our dreaming
is never meant for keeping
we pass the moment sweeping
through the silent breeze.

and while we are together
we'll hold eachother sweetly
but if you stay in my arms
we'll wither away dry.

We saw her through the window sitting still, sitting still
with no breath left within her
her god's will, her god's will

She blessed me in the morning
and greeted me through nighttime
I'm thankful for the way she told me
you take care my girl.


She's flown away----


now I'll bless you, dear Faye,

I'll bless you.


All that's left for knowing
is my own life as precious

She's flown away
as I will too

I'll see you soon

my Faye.

moon embryos

the moon, re-phased

sidewalks