Myth For My Tale Bone

Seated at one of my favorite chairs looking out to see the Cascade Range through the window, my sense of being right here is one of those treats or a trick of illusion depending on my attitude. This morning I have a sense of balance between thinking I could have made other choices, and been better off ... somewhere else. (It's that Jupiter thing stirring up restlessness). Or, maybe it's the time of year, the season of pranks and the thinning of the veil between the living in bodies and the living in spirit. For me, the spirits, the Ancestors, are always so very close. The prankster of long-standing makes himself so here, so often. That would be, and is, my bruddah, David. Earlier in the week we were treated to company and a day in the International District of Seattle. One of my longest-time friends was on the Bunny Campground for a very quick visit. Between us we attempted technological facility, but even that is tricky ... and fun inspite of the difficulty. We

I am feeling much better after the chemical poisoning from the water running through the city's pipes. My joy of cooking is back on track and thanks to friends who share recipes (like the one for 'Rice Flour Pancakes') and family who catch, freeze and carry Mahi Mahi on transPacific flights (like the Mahi Chowder I made this weekend) Pete and I are relishing good food. Here's the recipe for "Rice Flour Pancakes" our friend Dikka Ballantine shared with us. I used to eat a version of these oven-baked pancakes back in the days when they were called 'Dutch Babies.' This recipe is a gluten-free one and thought less fluffy than Dutch Babies, this is ono! And easy to bake in small spaces and small toaster ovens. Mix together batter: 2 eggs ½ cup flour (other flours work but I use brown rice flour) ½ cup milk (I use rice milk but others would work) usually a drift of Stevia (sugar substitute) This morning's recipe was made

Yesterday we woke to know we are part of a long, long history of change. No longer "Columbus's Day" the day is now "Indigenous Day" and it was my Irish-Polish-Ukrainian husband who said, "There are gatherings happening in Seattle." I said, "Let's go." The slow process of restoring my mitochondria and acknowledging the deeply held rage in my liver is ripening me in a new way. I am fossil, with long memories, as clear as the imprints left in silt 45 - 55 million years ago. The photos above and below were taken yesterday on the grounds of the Burke Museum in Seattle. We arrived just before noon and the Ancestors called our names, as clearly as we were called to slowly, and deeply attend to the internal healing I go through each time my indigenous (of the Earth) connections are assaulted. These outsider relics did not make it into the newly reopened Burke . But were there to stop those who listen with their eyes and recognize

Sometimes Copyright, Yvonne Mokihana Calizar, 2019 Sometimes the fact I rise from bed at all is the best tickle line… “She made it,” cheers the peanut gallery of my imagination and the day rolls from there. My mitochondria have been embattled. Oh what courage it takes to remain still when all the cells of me need to be fed deeply. Encounters on the front lines are unpredictable: how could we keep track of it all?  And so for a time, this time, the whole of September and even now into October, the tiny within me remembers how to re-whole me. Sometimes the solitude is big narrative, enough to feed the physicality that can imagine the plot but wears no evidence on a page. No mail with attachments to "Myth ..." have made their way strings of words and tails of photographs have slept with me as I ripen in another way, another sometime, this time. Sometimes the deep oceans swim me to unspeakable emotions and only when