Take me to the Mountain Tops

My mothers always taught me to take the high road. You don't realize until you're at the peak that you're the one left with so much more room to fall, and be broken into a million little pieces. I taught myself how to put myself back together again. 

My grandmother was the first one to ask me where I thought the mountains and oceans came from. I was six. I said the earth. She told me God. I suppose I feel the goddess more than most. So I left. I went and looking for something else. 

My spirit always led me to the scenic routes. Rolling open landscapes, peaks higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide, water ponds and lakes made of glass blown stars who cried for their mothers warmth and rained down in an ancient time lost in memory to most. I felt a beauty no man, no man made God could muster. They can only ever try to emulate. 

And I've lost myself there. No questions to answer. No questions needed asking. I wander and I'm lost in love with it.

Now my mind is taking the road less traveled by. Sometimes I see the footprints of those before me left in the mud after the rain. Treading lightly to not leave my own and walk alone. I see more mud and bootprints on the faces of the strangers I meet along the way. No need or drive to ask or wonder what road they're on or headed to. Mud and dirt left on them from those who have trampled on them. Blood and tears - their own and from the ones they've pushed down and the ones they've tried to pick up - encrusted around their eyes and and trying smiles. 'Let me take you to the stream so you can wash yourself clean. Take this fruit I don't need, take care of yourself out here in this crazy world we were all chosen to live, like it or not. And if you must take my flowers, pull them from the ground gently, leave just one root and petal so I can grow again after. Try your best replant them where they will help you grow.' 

Take them to the mountains so that when they fall the petals rain down on those low valley roads and create a new scene. 

Midnight Session #2

She woke up in a room full of people she somewhat knew. She’d be alive before then but then the lights and music actually set in. She looked around and it was the eve of 2017. There were streamers and balloons galore littered all about the floor and from shiny strings on the ceiling. Surrounded by a group of strangers in the middle of a popular but forgettable often regrettable place.

-weeks later-

You know what happened last night? I stretched. I stretched myself long and tall. Let the blood rush upside down back through my veins. My vision was blurry for twenty of thirty while I stopped the flow upwards into my my brain. Instead I lowered it down to the ground. Or at least what this laminate hardwood floor suffices as. It’s the middle of Winter in Alaska and I haven’t felt the Earth between my feet or the wind on my heels since autumn came. Only the rigid long nail of weather moving about. There’s been furred and covered, at least ankle high boots, since end of October.

Apparently there is a man down south, a man so vile the history books foretold of in its repeated rhymes and lore. But nobody reads much of anything anymore. He breathes everything I’ve held my breathe in hope for. He is the breath against mine. Against every fake-told lore of freedom, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness I once was told how the world was. Those wacky sci-fi books and shows aren’t so far off base anymore. Everything feels upside down. There’s monsters about. Monsters we created from our own fascination. This all feels apart of a world I thought was old told fiction or over whispered histories.

I don’t want to be poetic. I don’t want to write my fancy fuck feelings and thoughts about what is going on. I have nothing to say. Any words just feed into the divisive slicing machine drenched in oil that sits in a ‘cost effective’ factory that is fed with lead streaked water. Good thing there is bottled water for sale. A man only makes so much when he spends all his time working through the grind.

 I just want to sing, dance, and drink under the moonlight day light until the sunlit nightlight.

This is not the world I was sang into it. She always sings me to sleep. We’re all just a phone call away in this day and age.

“Hush little baby, don’t you cry.
One of these mornings you’re going to rise up singing.
Then you’ll spread your wings and you’ll take the sky.
But till the morning, there is a nothing that can harm you.”

Feels like she’s spelling out my name.

Driving down the Alaskan highway half past 5pm, hour and a half past twilight, nightlight. Snow and ice covered trees and swamps rest easy. It’s not so dark with the radio up high and our bad singing voices to light the star lit skies. If we’re lucky we’ll see the sky cry colors of red, blue and green tonight. We’re not the only ones looking up to the skies thinking, ‘what the fuck is going on?’

Have spine. Stand up. No matter how far away you feel. No matter how small you know you are.  Reach for the tops of mountains. ‘The only man who doesn’t make it to the top of the mountains is the man who stands in another paths telling him which was to go.’ We can do better. Listen to the words in what your favorite Sunday alone with wine song says. ‘Rock out like the mangoes are in season,’ Anis Mojgani directs me to.

It’s been too cold even for fires. Today the sun hit my face for just a few seconds and it made all the difference in the world. Just two days ago it felt like the new year was beginning. Just yesterday it was the Chinese New Year. Today is a day from the late night of yesterday. Don’t let tomorrow be just another night. Goodnight. 

Things Continue to Move On

The midnight sun starts to catch up. Vitamin D overdose starts too become apparent in the faces of all the lost and drunken millennials, the old time bartenders, and the dogs who run through the town — drunk on their existence. The songs at the bar start to repeat themselves like every other Tuesday that rolls by. The sound of morning birds meshes with the trees through the late night sunsets. Things continue on like this. On and on and on and on. The tears, the laughs, the vomit, crazy dance moves become apart of the weekly ritual that everybody is participating in — on their own time — at the same time.
Some days the only escape is to stick that hitchhikers thumb straight out and into the lane — hoping for a respectable yet enjoyable ride to wherever you want to go. The song on the radio is something different that the repeat.
Nahko always playing in the background of the mind no matter where you are. Reminding you; “Bless other men, investigate your mystery,” it is written, “I know I’m ready, big message heavy. Gotta learn to carry what comes to me directly.”

Like spring after every winter the midnight sun gives way to the real deal. Autumn kicks in — harsh and heavy — with the ever glowing moon. She stands her ground when the seasons begin to change. Demanding her time to shine in the dark of night. The sign of the moon means the leaves are changing. Trees prepare to go to sleep with the bears. This busy bustling town starts to quite down and become cold.

Remember these moments. Notice these changes. Sync with the things that don’t shy away from change, from the night. Choose which wolf you allow to howl at the moon tonight. Prepare to dream something new for the coming seasons.

Things Continue to Move On

The midnight sun starts to catch up. Vitamin D overdose starts too become apparent in the faces of all the lost and drunken millennials, the old time bartenders, and the dogs who run through the town — drunk on their existence. The songs at the bar start to repeat themselves like every other Tuesday that rolls by. The sound of morning birds meshes with the trees through the late night sunsets. Things continue on like this. On and on and on and on. The tears, the laughs, the vomit, crazy dance moves become apart of the weekly ritual that everybody is participating in — on their own time — at the same time.
Some days the only escape is to stick that hitchhikers thumb straight out and into the lane — hoping for a respectable yet enjoyable ride to wherever you want to go. The song on the radio is something different from that daily repeat.
Nahko always playing in the background of the mind no matter where you are. Reminding you; “Bless other men, investigate your mystery,” it is written, “I know I’m ready, big message heavy. Gotta learn to carry what comes to me directly.”

Like spring after every winter the midnight sun gives way to the real deal. Autumn kicks in — harsh and heavy — with the ever glowing moon. She stands her ground when the seasons begin to change. Demanding her time to shine in the dark of night. The sign of the moon means the leaves are changing. Trees prepare to go to sleep with the bears. This busy bustling town starts to quite down and become cold.

Remember these moments. Notice these changes. Sync with the things that don’t shy away from change, from the night. Prepare to dream something new for the coming seasons.

"Do not weigh my eyes with pennies
-let me steal the heron's boat,
I will row upstream to the mouth of the river
to talk with the souls who gather there.
They will tell me songs of silver,
and I will sing them back to you."

Anis Mojgani 

Minor Occurrences

Where do I begin? I’ve been meaning to sit down and divulge all of this for days now. Where does the time go? It’s crazy to lose yourself in the days and escape in the sights of the mountain.

Just the other day the weather took a drastic turn. It was 72 degrees just two days prior. All in a haste clouds rolled in and swept up the mountain tops. What were once jagged and sharp peaks had been reduced to lolling hills. The only question or thought that came to my mind the entire day, “What’re they planning up there?” up top on those peaks. Zeus came to mind but only momentarily - there are other gods of ancient belief that existed here, excuse me exist here. Snow continued to fall throughout the day. Then the night turned over and within the next day the clouds lifted their vail and the audience was reminded; of just exactly where they were in their own personal lives.

A man keeps coming into the store I worked at the other day. He came up and started talking to me as I was working. I don’t even remember what we were talking about or what I told him about myself. It was fine until he reached out and grabbed my hair, stroked his fingers through it a few times. “Wow, so amazing,” he said with a  gleam in his eye. He then began to invite me to do many things with him; hike, make soup - chili if I prefer - travel here, travel there, preferably Machu Picchu. Thankfully a crowd of four or five tourists came through the door. “I’m sorry, I have to go.” He promised to come back and give me all of his contact information so we could start planning together. The next day I worked at a different store. I didn’t think about it much until later in the evening that day when Alicia, a coworker, told me the man - I think his name is Greg - came back in. He came up to the counter she was working out asking where I was. “He said he had a present for you,” she said, “It’s chocolate bars. He told me not to tell you because ‘it was a surprise.’ He left when I told him you weren’t there and he said he’d come back.” It was kind of shocking and I do my best to laugh it off still. Something just doesn’t feel right.
One day passes and she’s at work in the same shop. I get a text message while I’m at my second job from Alicia, “he came back in again today. When I told him I didn’t know when you worked he got really angry and annoyed, demanding to know if you quit.”

Today, May 19th I told her to let me know if he comes in again. We may have a problem. I wish I was making this up. But this is just one of the occurrences I’ve had as a girl out here - just doing my own thing. I’ll spare you the rest of the stories for now.

Regardless… the land and the mountains will always outweigh any negative. I’ve only been to two places in my lifetime where I’ve thought to myself, “this wouldn’t be a bad place to end up for awhile..” and one of them is here in Healy, Alaska. 

Hazara Rama - Hampi of Karnataka, India

It was National Heritage Day in April. A friend and I had just gotten into town the night before. The day before was rough. She was fighting off a blushing cold, I was impatient, and April happens to be the hottest month in Hampi. If you can bear through the heat in the cafe's with cold lassi or by the river the sweltering humid air slowly soothes the aching muscles and feverish headaches.

The Village Side: Part II

These photos are from a school in the center of the village from the The Village Side: Part I photoset I posted the other day.

The village is a few hours outside of Bangalore in the middle arid farmland, orchards, and the occasional coconut tree. The village is a sponsored project site for Citizens for Social Action (CSA) which is a small non-profit social action/justice organization powered by student volunteers at Christ University in the city. CSA recently had brought fresh and clean well water to the community, when previously a fresh water source was miles away. Though there is only one well in the village now women and their children do not have to walk as many miles to the nearest fresh water source. In addition, CSA had recently put in a few street lights through the main streets of town making it safer for the same group to walk home later in the evenings.

The school kids were all very excited for the Americans to come and see them that day. No matter where in the world I am, I am not very good with children. I was lucky enough to have a 'big flashy picture taker' as they said, which they loved seeing their pictures on the screen after each and every click of the button, and gave me an opportunity to capture these really amazing moments.

Inside of the school buildings which was no larger than half a basketball field I was shown every piece of paper than had been colored on, paper cut into dolls, and favorite books in languages I didn't know. I was looking up at the first picture below, knowing well who I was looking at, and thinking how prevalent their faces were. Like the Lincoln and Franklin.

"Father of the country," she tugged at my arm and pointed up with her other hand up at the photos above. She giggled, "don't you know Gandhi, you silly, don't you know Ambedkar. I know who they are, you silly"

We had, as a group, been in India for a little over a month and spent the majority of our time in the city and in supreme tourist accommodations whenever on guided tours with the school.

The village, was obviously, much different. Not only was it rural but it was simple. If you have ever been to an Indian city it is anything but simple. "Villages are how most people in India still live," one of my professors from Christ University reminded me as we discussed the difference of experience in the city and from the village. "Even though the cities are manic, over crowded, and very, very, busy most of our people live in places like this."

One of the American students made a comment on the bus back to Bangalore that I haven't been able to get out of my mind since the day we spent in the village. Something along the lines of how she thought the villages would be much worse, that she expected a scene from Slumdog Millionaire.
The professor laughed (so did I inside) and reminded her, "Oh, Hollywood never understand India. That's why we have our own industry. Slumdog Millionaire is American movie about northern slums in places like Delhi... so silly. [That] movie was very good, opened many eyes around the West to realer picture of modern India, showed our love and passion for music... but is not India, India is not as dark, as scary, as dangerous, a place as your country tends to believe. Yes many live in improper conditions, but love the land they live on, love working that land, it is a way of life, way we live and wish to live for long time to come. Would it make your experience more memorable and cathartic for your stories for your friends back home to see Indians in destitute? Do you not rejoice in seeing Indians elevated?"

She never answered that question. The bus fell silent the majority of the ride home, except the conversation he and I had started earlier in the day and the radio station that the bus driver deemed his favorite.

Thanks for stopping by.

The Village Side: Part I

Check out these photos I took last year in a small village just a few hours outside of Bangalore in Karnataka, India.

Check back Tuesday for Part II of the photos I have from the village.

(Click on the individual photo and a scroll through menu will appear and photos will be enlarged.)

Village life is vastly different than life in the big cities of India.

*All individuals in this photoset were asked if their photo could be taken prior to actually taking the photo. Always ask for permission to take somebody else's photo regardless of where or what culture you are in. I've been on both ends of the camera in regards to this matter and believe it to be polite and respectful for both ends to acknowledge that it is alright for a photo to be taken.

Meat Market Kitten

The title doesn't lie. I found this little guy in one of the many markets around Bangalore in Karnataka, India. He was just sitting on the middle of the curb deep inside the market and just by the alleyway entrance into the meat market.

Girls were screaming and shrieking bloody murder as the men working around the areas would toss bits of pig fat and cow bone up in the air and towards the direction of the oncoming American girls. Who could blame them with the reaction and comedic show the foreigners gave them on a slow day in the market.


Just beyond this little guy's stoop I watched as wives and old men waited for their freshly harvested chickens to take home so they could prepare the nights dinner. The sound of the chicken harvester machine sent a narrow shrill chill down your spine at the first echo of from across the street, but soon became apart of the elegant chaotic white noise of its surroundings.

The girls who cried at the sound of the fresh cut chickens and sight of relentlessly washed but still blood drenched streets; found comfort later in the air conditioned restaurant down the street over their chicken tikka masala and hot chai.  

I bet he's the biggest alley cat that side of town. He seemed like a fighter and that his mother taught him how to survive, and not how to just get by. No hawk will ever be brave enough to swoop down on him.

At the time the only thing I could compare him to was my cat back home. I'm sure she was sun bathing in the windowsill. I see the different between them today more than I did then.

Wild things, street creatures, alley aristocats, and scavenger hawks do not feel sorry for themselves... They do not have the time to contemplate what tomorrow may bring. They are reduced and thrive into a day, a day that could end, a day that could bring them to tomorrow.

Their reduction is what keeps them going. Keeps them keeping on, in pursuit of prospering in the lowly subjugated place at the bottom of the pyramid. If you're clustered in the bottom, as the foundation for the top of the pyramid to thrive on... there is only one direction to go from there.

Up.

The Hanuman Hilltops of Hampi



This is a very special place in Karnataka, India.

The best time to go is right before sunrise, right before the monkey's wake up. It's much more peaceful of a climb up if the guards aren't awake yet. Buy a coconut and masala fruit from the old man and woman at the bottom of the stairs before you start you ascent. 

"Once having set up her idols and built altars to them it was inevitable that she would worship there. It was inevitable that she should accept any inconsistency and cruelty from her deity as all good worshippers do from theirs. All gods who receive homage are cruel. All gods dispense suffering without reason. Otherwise they would not be worshipped. Through indiscriminate suffering men know fear and fear is the most divine emotion. It is the stones for altars and the beginning of wisdom. Half gods are worshipped in wine and flowers. Real gods require blood." - Zora Neale Hurston Their Eyes Were Watching God

"Fear and love are the deepest of human emotions."

"Okay. But you're not listening to me. There are other things that need to be taken into account here, like the whole spectrum of human emotion. You can't just lump everything into these two categories and then just deny everything else." - Donnie Darko

Everything up there is nothing more than a dream within a dream.

Jasmine flowers entwine in your hair, "Hindu name, American girl. Indian Jasmine flower," the old woman says as her husband pours you another cup of fresh masala chai. The flame keeping the pot boiling blows in the wind and the indiscernible brother of one of the family members e on the blanket adds a few more twigs and pieces of bark to keep the flame alive.

Travel Tale Tuesday: Photos from Nandi Hills outside of Bangalore, India

Happy Tuesday! The weather is so beautiful here in Boise, Idaho. It's sunny, and without the breeze, it's quite warm. Odd weather for February but it's beautiful!

I'm feeling a little under the weather, despite all sunshine here! So for today I only have some photos from an amazing hike I took. The place is known as Nandi Hills. Nandi is the mounted bull that pulls the chariot of Lord Shiva, the gatekeeper of him and his wife Pavarti. The bull is a great guru (teacher) of many Indian masters and is seen as a strong, noble, and respectable animal in Indian culture and religion for many reasons. 

My friend who took me on this hike told me all of this as we climbed the top. It was early on in my trip when this excursion took place, but I saw many of the stories of Nandi that I began to hear and read about come to life during my travels through the country. 

Words nor images can explain the vast sphere of space that opens up before the eyes as the top of the mountain is reached. The area around the hills is very flat, desolate and barren. After sitting for about two hours on the back of a scooter while driving through the middle of the night on the highway the sight of the hills in the distance is impossible to miss. 

Four or five massive smoldering mounds protrude out of the floor of the deserted earth. One very windy, very steep, very narrow road leads only halfway to the top. As the road elevates trees, caves, and streams lay off to the side as if the hills are the only place worth living if you were a wild animal. The monkey's sure seemed to enjoy it, as well as stealing snacks and goodies from naive visitors. 

If the plan is successful, if the time is right, and the last half of the hills are hiked with haste in your step, the summit echoes out onto a vast valley that is quite and cool with the morning sun - still below the horizon - beginning to warm the dew and wake the villages below. 

If the time is right, you'll find yourself there and see what I'm trying to say. 

Travel Tale Tuesday: Coming Up With Something

I full heartedly intended to write this post last night but then I decided to go out to dinner instead. Then the yawn's kicked in mid post after dinner movie. If I'm going to 100% honest I also still have no idea what I'm going to say.
It's now 3:07 PM. This was suppose to have been published at 7am. I've always been an amazing procrastinator. I've told myself I work better under pressure in order to condone my severe 'but it's so nice outside' excuses. Here's the truth, yeah I just got lazy and postponed my own deadline. But that's what's amazing about doing things for yourself and on your own. I'm my own boss. "I'm my own boss." Say it.

I'm now giving myself around two hours to dedicate to only my second edition of Tuesday's Travel. Commitment just ain't my thing, I'm working on it.

So here is what I came up with....

Travel Tale Tuesday: Passing Through Airports at 10,000 Miles High

This is going to be a travel blog. This is going to be a blog about traveling. This is going to be a blog about women traveling. This is going to be a blog about women traveling solo. This is a blog about a solo woman traveling through.

This is the first of a weekly series I call TRAVEL TUESDAYS. All about where I'm traveling, where I want to travel too, tips, tricks, stories, photography, articles, books, and whatever else seems fit.

So without further ado coming to you from 10,000 ft above sea level welcome to Tuesday's Travel.