The Lost Tribes of New York City

Finally, warm days and scented evenings. She asked me to see this short little video,

The Lost Tribes of New York City from Carolyn London on Vimeo.


The sound of laughter, again. Refreshing.

It doesn't matter how much stress one is going through, how deep the loss is, or the fear, one needs to take a break from it all and laugh.

My Daughter's Eyes Stories - Lehman College Podcast

I happen to work in a place that honors people, every day there is someone being honored for their accomplishments, so on February 25th, the Women's Studies honored me during their faculty read for Black history month.

I was torned between multiple activities that week, counseling sessions with students, clinical supervision and clinical training, a conference here, a meeting there, and then the budget had to be done by March 13th, all of this on top of family, friends, art, yoga, and zen.

I understand why people write and don't work, or they write and work part time. Writing takes your body and your breathe, it is an all day body practice, when you love writing, you don't want to do anything else but write, and yet, I love my work as much as I love to write, and I cannot let it go for writing. I have learned to live in this polygamous relationship, that is, my writing and my work, understanding I love them both.

So, on February 25th, I had to read for Women's Studies, as promised, and they hooked me up to a microphone and all, and created a little podcast that I shall share here.

It is so interesting to hear my own voice, the ummm, and ahhh and the catching of the breathe, and then the sound of my voice, loud enough so that the sixty students, and faculty that where there could hear me.

It reminded me of the first time I heard my voice on a tape recorder, or the first time I saw myself on film. So, here is the podcast, I shall share with you today :

http://www.lehman.edu/lehman/test/itunesu/baez.html

Life, I will love you again

A cool, windy spring day and on my way to a wake. There were so many poets and writers, and my dear friend and her husband, their love and respect held them together through this loss, a sister, a friend, a creative soul, gone.

It was like no other wake.

A crowd of family and friends, and the creative energy of those who loved her. Poetry was read through the crackled sound of grief, and a veil of tears.

The Thing is

Ellen Bass

To love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you've ever held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
When grief weights you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief.
you think, how can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again.