My Blog

November is National Novel Writing Month!

Riyana-Rebecca — Thu, 08 Nov 2007 19:01:12 GMT

I've never done it before, and I'm excited. True to form, I'm starting late and am therefore already behind. At 1,666 words per day, I should be at 11,662 tonight, and I'm just under 3,000 at the moment. Still, I feel hopeful. I love the idea of getting past the self-editor by appealing to my equally powerful competitive spirit, which insists that I'm going to write 50,000 words by November 30th, even if its pure drivel. Here's the first little bit, just to whet your appetite. Look for it in your local Borders in about three years. ; ) ***** Prologue When she closes her eyes, she can feel his lips on hers once again, soft and warm like fruit left too long in the sun, and yet firm beneath, strengthened with the desire to not let her hold anything back from him. It’s as if the ghost of his kiss hovers centimeters from her face at any given moment, just waiting for her to forget the business at hand and come into her awareness. Sometimes this lingering presence is annoying; other times it’s a great comfort, and she can forget that he is gone. That he has left her. Then she opens her eyes and she knows it is only the wind on her face. That’s when she packs up and heads out, not admitting to herself that she’s following the dance of air across the sands in search of her hearts desire, as if trying to find the end of a rainbow (he had once told her a story about stepping into the center of a rainbow as a child, and that his father had, as well). This was their dance, his memory and her wandering, his absence and her desire, his trail and her footsteps. It is the dance of Inanna and Tamuzi, of Adonis and Aphrodite. It is a dance that all people of the desert know well.

Unmarked Boxes

Riyana-Rebecca — Fri, 07 Sep 2007 06:26:38 GMT

Don't grieve. Anything you lose comes round in another form. The child weaned from mother's milk now drinks wine and honey mixed. God's joy moves from unmarked box to unmarked box, from cell to cell. As rainwater, down into flower bed. As roses, up from ground. Now it looks like a plate of rice and fish, now a cliff covered with vines, now a horse being saddled. It hides within these, till one day it cracks them open Part of the self leaves the body when we sleep and changes shape. You might say, "Last night I was a cypress tree, a small bed of tulips, a field of grapevines." Then the phantasm goes away. You're back in the room. I don't want to make any one fearful. Hear what's behind what I say. Tatatumtum tatum tatadum. There's the light gold of wheat in the sun and the gold of bread made from that wheat. I have neither. I'm only talking about them, as a town in the desert looks up at stars on a clear night. — Jalal al-Din Rumi (1207-1273) * * * * * So, perhaps you know why this would seem relevent and comforting right now. Perhaps not. But it is, and I thought I would share.

Elements of Magic at Burning Man

Riyana-Rebecca — Thu, 23 Aug 2007 04:13:57 GMT

Woo-hoo! Brook, Evelie, April and I are going to be teaching an amazing workshop, the first of its kind to ever hit the playa! Every afternoon we are going to delve into magic and ritual, exploring a different elemental force (earth, air, fire, water, and spirit) each day. Using the tools of trance, movement, song, storytelling, and spell-weaving, we'll cultivate a closer connection with nature, one another, and our deepest selves. Come join us at Sushilovecake, 7:30 and desert at 2pm any day (or every day) during the week. We'll be in the lovely Grandmother Pine Portal sanctuary space. For more information on the Elements of Magic, or Reclaiming Tradition Paganism, go to: http://www.reclaiming.org/classevents/core.html XOXO Riyana

Nepal 'living goddess' loses status

Riyana-Rebecca — Thu, 05 Jul 2007 04:33:30 GMT

By BINAJ GURUBACHARYA, KATMANDU, Nepal A 10-year-old Nepalese girl was stripped of her title as a living goddess because she traveled overseas to promote a documentary about the centuries-old tradition, an official said Tuesday. Sajani Shakya had her status revoked because she broke with tradition by leaving the country, said Jaiprasad Regmi, chief of the government trust that manages the affairs of the living goddesses. Sajani is among several "Kumaris," or living goddesses, in Nepal, and as one of the kingdom's top three, is forbidden from leaving the country. However, last month she went to the United States and other countries to promote a British documentary about the living goddesses of the Katmandu Valley. She is to return to Nepal this week. "We have begun the process to search for a new Kumari," said Regmi, adding that a task force would determine suitable candidates. Ishbel Whitaker, director of the film "Living Goddess" said she was shocked and saddened by this news and would make sure the girl's education was provided for. "The rule of not being able to leave was never a rule before.... Nobody ever said the Kumari can't travel" she said by telephone from London. Whitaker said they filmed in Bhaktapur for a year. "We had been speaking with people we felt were authorities, and now these others are claiming they are," she said. The film crew consulted anthropologists, the head priests of Sajani's temple and her parents, the director said. And she said the Nepalese Embassy helped arrange Sajani's trip to the U.S. Living goddesses are worshipped by both Hindus and Buddhists. The girls are selected between the ages of 2 and 4 after going through several tests. They are required to have perfect skin, hair, eyes and teeth, they shouldn't have scars or wounds, and shouldn't be afraid of the dark. They always wear red, pin up their hair in topknots and a "third eye" is painted on their forehead. Devotees touch the girls' feet with their foreheads, the highest sign of respect among Hindus in Nepal. During religious festivals the girls are wheeled around on a chariot pulled by devotees. Living goddesses usually keep their title until their first menstruation. The main Kumari lives a sequestered life in a palatial temple in the capital, Katmandu. She has a few selected playmates and is allowed outside only a few times a year for festivals. Others like Sajani are allowed to stay at home, attend regular school and take part in festivals. The government last year announced a monthly pension of $40 for serving and retired Kumaris. Previously, the main Kumari received only a gold coin during an annual festival and the other girls received whatever was offered by devotees. Nepalese folklore holds that men who marry a former Kumari will die young, and so many girls remain unmarried and face a life of hardship. Critics have said the tradition violates both international and Nepalese laws on child rights. But the film director said the Kumari tradition can be modern as well. "Sajani seemed to be a great example of how the tradition can move into the modern age," Whitaker said. She said she made the film because the living goddess tradition is beautiful and worth capturing before it disappears. http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20070703/ap_on_re_as/nepal_living_goddess

Something that made me go hmmm...

Riyana-Rebecca — Mon, 28 May 2007 05:43:43 GMT

I was just cruising on tribe, and happened across the profile of a guy I've been having a little flirtation with at a few parties lately. This weekend, especially, when we cuddled up on beanbag chair at the Anon Salon party and I had the blissful opportunity to run my hands through his hair as he hallucinated (as the Dandies would say, how Bohemian Like You). So, I was enjoying the opportunity of seeing his interests and admiring his pictures when I noticed his age... I knew he was older than I am, but it turns out he's 42! I hate to be ageist or anything, but 42 is fourteen-going-on-thirteen years older than I am, which is quite a jump. I know relationships like that happen all the time, but... well... that's just a lot older than I am. It doesn't bode well for anything I might imagine to be an equal partnership, which is really what I'm looking for at this point. That said, I do like him. I like him so much that I didn't even take advantage of him while he was on drugs...

OMG!! OMG!! I have a place to live!

Riyana-Rebecca — Fri, 16 Mar 2007 06:36:41 GMT

And it is sooo beautfiul. This is not one of those faux-literary blog posts I sometimes do. It's the straight-up, exuberant, OMG I have a gorgeous place to live in Santa Rosa (eek!) with hardwood floors, a koi pond in the back, gardening space, a porch, all sorts of loveliness... I can't wait. The girl I'm going to be living with is named Diana, and she seems really sweet and has quite a bit in common with me. She has a kitty named Molly that is almost, but not quite, as cute as EmilyMoon. Together, they will be even more ridicuously cute than any human can bear... once they get used to each other, that is, and the fur stops flying. (By the way, I'm really happy at this moment that EmilyMoon can't read, because if she could, I might be in a bit of hot water). She'll forgive me once she sees the fish. Can we say housewarming party, anyone?

California Witchcamp is coming! Woo-hoo, California witchcamp is coming!

Riyana-Rebecca — Tue, 06 Feb 2007 22:39:02 GMT

I'm so excited at the thought, I can barely contain myself. Sadly, I have no $. Again. All the more reason to get a job already, I guess. If you're one of the many who's told me they're thinking about coming and have questions, do let me know. I've been going a LOOOONG time and probably know the answer... or I know who does. The more the merrier! Much love, Riyana aka Rebecca aka Becca (depending on the crowd) ****** Witchcamp California 2007 Sunday June 24 - Sunday July 1 Mendocino Woodlands, Northern California Ritual Story for 2007: The Isle of Avalon This is an extraordinary event for extraordinary people. Share in a week of Reclaiming style, earth based spirituality and magic. Come and study magic and ritual in a week long Intensive. Witchcamp is offered to women and men at all levels of experience. Newcomers can learn the basic skills of magic and ritual, working with the elements, movement, sound and the mythological and historical framework of the Goddess Tradition. Advanced classes offer the chance to apply the tools of ritual to personal healing and empowerment, or a focus on taking the Craft out into the world, creating public ritual, ongoing groups, and healing issues surrounding leadership and power. This event is a deeply moving, life changing week and also a constant experiment in temporary village life. We will also look at ways of bringing this work and inspiration into our everyday lives. Creating powerful, joyful times. Our Witchcamp is held at the Mendocino Woodlands, located just far enough outside the town of Mendocino to avoid coastal fog. The camp is set among a mature Redwood/Douglas Fir forest, creating a beautiful, peaceful setting. The cabins are rustic, but pretty. Camping is also an option. A small river runs through the camp, which is the home of steelhead trout. What is an Intensive? Seven days of ritual and magic. Designed for people who are dedicated to powerful spiritual learning experiences and personal growth. This intensive is not a festival. It will expand your unconscious awareness, push your edges and likely change your life. The intensive is sequestered for the entire 7 days. Please plan to attend the entire week. Also, we don't allow children due to the intensity of the week. How Much Does Witchcamp Cost? Share 4-person cabin or tent-camp - sliding scale is $495-650. Share two-bed reserved cabin- sliding scale $545-695 - see below Cost includes excellent food, lodging, and all events, workshops, and classes. The only other necessary expense is transportation and lunch on the road. Please pay as generously as possible on the sliding scale - your additional donation helps us keep camp affordable for everyone. Early-Bird Special - reserve Your Cabin-space! Register and make your $100 deposit by March 31, and you can reserve a space in your favorite cabin! After March 31, four-bed cabins are not reserved - it's a first-come-first-served basis. Scholarship/work-exchange - We offer some partial scholarships and work-exchange. Our usual scholarship is $150 off of the bottom-line cost, so you would pay as low as $345 for the week (covers all necessary expenses except transportation). Scholarships are granted by written request when you send your $100 deposit, on a first-come basis. Email us if you have questions - info@witchcampcalifornia.org First-Time Camper Special - We are offering a limited number of first-time-camper special scholarships of $200, meaning you can attend California Witchcamp for as low as $295 for the week. Email us for more info - info@witchcampcalifornia.org Note - Please pay as generously as possible on the sliding scale - your additional donation helps us keep camp affordable for everyone. Our Registration Form is online - www.witchcampcalifornia.org/regi....html What does this fee include? It includes all meals (vegetarian with vegan option), workshops, rituals and accommodation for the week. There are few opportunities to spend money, and no other necessary expenses except transportation and lunch en-route. You might want to bring a little extra cash for our Pagan Marketplace, and for the scholarship fundraising raffle and auctions. Food: All food is vegetarian. We can cater for some special needs (vegan, no wheat). We will make every effort to assure that you have an alternative selection. The kitchen staff, however will not be able to prepare special individual meals. If your needs are highly individual you might want to consider bringing your own snacks, etc. VISIT our website for more info on the site, the week at camp, registration form, etc -- www.witchcampcalifornia.org

On the eve of another New Year's Eve in New Orleans...

Riyana-Rebecca — Sat, 30 Dec 2006 08:04:57 GMT

The truth is, no matter what we would have liked to believe, you simply can’t have your city hit by a cateogry 5 hurricane and have it rebound a year later. “It’s all the dumb people that’ve stayed,” Kristen’s ex-coworker tells us when we stop in to the beautiful and busy Bayona, the restaurant where she and her husband met three years ago. The coworker is trying to persuade Kristen to return, but my friend remains dubious. “And those of us who are too invested to get out.” Kristen and Jeremy nod glumly. I’ve spent the last week and a half with them, helping them make the move from Portland – where they fled after Katrina – back to New Orleans. Their homecoming is not nostalgic, and barely hopeful: after trying to sell their gorgeous Bayou St. John home for over a year and not having heard a single offer, they’re making the best of a difficult situation. Portland was not a good place for Jeremy to find work (he’s a professional chef de cuisine) and Kristen is considering law school and wanted to be close to her family again after a tough year in an unfamiliar city: so, here we are. Yesterday we went over to the Garden District Needlepoint and Yarn store (knitting is my newest passion), which was barely touched by The Storm and subsequent flooding. In New Orleans, every time someone says, “the storm,” it always sounds like “The Storm.” It’s a subject that comes up at least once every few hours. This or that’s gone, or this or that person is gone, or this or that thing is different than it was, or it’s the same, which is equally remarkable. Walking down Magazine, it looked like nothing had changed since I had last been here three years ago other than the fact that the crappy restaurant that I worked at for a few weeks had mysteriously vanished. All of the hip boutique clothing stores and salons were still there, the coffee houses were filled with trendy, artless-looking twenty and thirty-somethings, and there was hardly anywhere to park. Kristen and I remarked on it with naivety that we both knew came from seeing what we wanted to believe. Her house is near the upper ninth ward, and we have to drive down streets lined with rotting houses with boarded up windows on either side in order to get there. At first, every other sentence was about how much better everything looks than it did six months ago, or a year ago, or (of course) right after the storm. Much of the debris has been hauled away. The insurance money – for those who had insurance – has started dribbling in, and many of the nicer neighborhoods boast shiny new white picket fences and wrought iron balconies free of rust and ruin. We were seeing and hearing what we wanted to see and hear. I could even feel, in a purely energistic way, that the sense of brooding stasis that had once been so palpable in this city had cleared, as if blown away by that fierce and horrible goddess, Katrina (Katrina, who’s name is defamed and desecrated on the bathroom walls at the bar and as graffiti on the walls of the water-logged buildings, next to the FEMA tags that indicate whether or not their were dead bodies within). I felt the hope that I had never before felt here, hope for change and for rebirth. This is a city that was once marked by its decadence and debauchery, neither of which are forces of transformation, but of wallowing. It wallowed in the stories and romance of the past, clinging to the beauty of its old traditions and turning a blind eye to the contemporary reality of a city divided by a disparity of resources that is most accurately and often simplistically described as a racial segregation of wealth. People came from near and far to engage in profligacy and extravagance, but cared equally little (that is, as little as many people here in New Orleans) about the harsh realities involved in running the machine that was the tourism and hospitality industry. Now that New Orleans has been stripped bare, naked as a babe, they do not wish to return. Nor are they alone. Half a million people resided here before the hurricane, a number that swelled considerably with visitors (both those vacationing and those working) during Mardi Gras and Jazzfest, as well as popular holidays, like Halloween and New Year’s. At the beginning of this year, just over a quarter of that number remain. Mayor Nagin’s oft-attacked “Bring New Orleans Back” eighteen billion dollar plan anticipated only another 37,000 more. So it was that we walked down the streets of the French Quarter tonight, on a Friday night just two days before New Year’s Eve, to find them nearly deserted. Bourbon Street, that infamous stripe of music and bars and strippers and beads, was barely chaotic, hardly the inferno of people and laughter we had often scorned in the past. The tiny tourist-trap shops that lined Decatur and Canal were vacant other than a bored and indifferent employee within. The massive, tower-like hotels shining above balconied chateaus and crumbling-brick houses from long ago seemed like petulant children waiting for their grandparents to yield milk or bread from the barren pantry. I wondered how many of them were even a quarter full. This is when it finally hit me that you simply cannot rebound from a category five hurricane in a year. No matter how many happy news headlines you may see, or how few you see remarking on New Orleans at all these days. When we got home, Kristen told me that John Edwards had announced his candidacy for president today in the 9th ward, against a backdrop of two crumbling – but not doomed – houses and a crew of young black men working to rebuild their neighborhood (http://www.nytimes.com/2006/12/29/us/politics/29edwards.html?_r=1&ref=politics&oref=slogin). I found myself wanting, but hesitant, to hope. “It’s just another politician’s publicity stunt,” a voice inside of me scathed. “Like petting the dog.” That’s a reference to a technique I learned in film school: anytime you want the audience to like or forgive a character, just have them pet the dog. Pet the poor Katrina victims. I’m a Gemini, though, and there are always two voices speaking inside of me at any given point. The other one reminded me that hardly anyone outside of Louisiana thought about New Orleans any more (except, of course, the 200,000 people that once lived here and are not-so-mysteriously elsewhere at the moment). I read the news report with forced dispassion. Edwards talked about the war, about the environment, about poverty – all the things I need a candidate to talk about, that I’ve been yearning to hear from a Democrat’s lips for the past goddamn eight years. I’m a Gemini, and we are often accused of being analytical but are more often than not as idealistic and lofty as all those ruled by the element of air. I try to stop myself from thinking that maybe this time will be different, but I don’t. Maybe it is pure synchronicity and fate that Edwards came here and made his announcement today, on the very day that I realized that it is only with the most willful naiveté and ignorance that anyone can believe that this city can be anywhere near healed. That it is not horribly scarred, aching for salves of money, hope, and new dreams. That it does not need the same nourishment and care that a young bird, about to make its first attempts at flight, does. Maybe today, December 29, 2006, will be remembered by us all as one of the last days of an era that tested our mettle and our ideologies to the utmost and that we came out of scathed but ready for rebirth (http://www.thenation.com/doc/20070108/solnit). Maybe what is as equally important as the corporeal bleakness always around the corner from any newly-veneered building is the pure, clear, gentle energy of change that seems to have blown in without anyone taking particular notice. Maybe the unmourned, jagged trees that look like cracks on the windowpane of the landscape will grow back, unfurl their leaves in the springtime, and surprise everybody. Whether all of that comes to pass or it turns out that today is just another bit in my own personal journey to awareness and adulthood, there’s no where else I would rather be right now than sitting in the dining room of this beautiful house in the Bayou St. John district of New Orleans, more viscerally aware than ever before of the enormity of what has happened here, and feeling this incredible sense of sturdy and sweeping optimism for what may yet come.

Love, commitment, and other musings....

Riyana-Rebecca — Sun, 22 Oct 2006 19:56:09 GMT

Yesterday was my dear friend Kristen's wedding. It was the only wedding I've ever been to that I actually looked forward to going to; usually, I go out of a sense of obligation. Long, impersonal ceremonies are one of my least favorite things. I skipped my own undergraduate graduation ceremony and had to force myself to go to the next two. But this wedding (handfasting, actually) was simply beautiful. I am happy with Kristen's choice: her husband, Jeremy, is a smart, kind, and honest person that has always been very caring and generous towards me, and certainly towards her. They share one another's dreams and support one another through hardship -- such as fleeing New Orleans last year when Katrina hit. When Kristen walked down the aisle, it was as if we were watching a wedding in a movie: she had never looked more beautiful, more radiant and happy, and after the ceremony was over Jeremy said that seeing her made his heart leap into his throat and that he nearly fell over. The ceremony was held in the Portland Chinese Gardens at dusk, with all of the attendents (such as myself) holding candles in the color of the four elements and the scent of jasmine in the air. During the rehearsal dinner, I sat next to the priest that married them. At first I felt uncomfortable with him; I'd recently had a run in with a priest at work that had left me very frustrated. But he is an amazing man, and we had a really interesting conversation about spirituality or religion as that which honors and seeks to nourish the enlivening feeling of being human, or even simply just being. We talked about what relationships create a feeling of being alive (it doesn’t matter if that’s passionately happy or frustrating) and what they feel like when they become unliving, numbing, the quiet irritation of fizzled friendship… or a dream deferred. I find Kristen and Jeremy’s marriage to be one of the most inspiring, aspiring love’s I have ever witnessed…and I know it makes life feel alive for both of them. So much in my life in the past few years has been numbing. I don't say this to elicit your sympathy or get-well wishes. It's not a new realization for me, but talking with him gave me new language and perspective to engage it. It’s not a new realization for any of us, I think. So much about so-called adult life has nothing to do with life at all, and this is acceptable in our world. It’s even expected. Vigor is for the young, or for competition in business and courtship. What we call spirituality is often about trance-ing out, about leaving the mundane world for some other, more magical place. And I don’t accept that. I’ve never accepted it, even as all my old friends have been swallowed by the machinery of being an adult in a consumer culture and gotten jobs and furniture from Ikea and maybe even married. Only the artists – because creating art, if we’re lucky, thrusts us into the living present – seem to retain a desire to live the day, rather than getting through it to death-like sleep, or the gentle purring of cuddling at home with their chosen partner, which lulls can be yet another type of monotony. At my new job, I am beginning to feel alive again. Living and working at Caritas removes me from the droll world, the anesthetizing buzz of the city and relationships that are somewhat fulfilling and deep only under the influence of psychedelics. I’m learning what it means to be in community, which is not based on what you can get out of someone else or how much you like them. I’m feeling invigorated by the life all around me – the redwoods, the misguided children, my insane co-workers. And I have had the chance to be involved in music again, which I yearn for. It makes me feel so happy, even when I’m only singing near-silently in the background. I know it’s a path of redemption for me. That’s not to say that I’m not tempted by the beautiful things that Kristen’s family (who are upper middle-class) have, and can get, and her own lovely home and her sister’s two adorable little toddlers. I feel another kind of “at-home” around these things, and that tempts me back to my old job and my old life. I feel like there must be a way to have balance, to be able to create a life of beauty while feeling alive. That these two things must be in balance in order to sustain either – at least, for me. If you’re reading this and haven’t seen me for awhile, be sure that I miss you and think about the fun times we’ve had, and wishing we were having more. Come visit me in the redwoods. I think you’ll be surprised. Much love, Rebecca a.k.a. Riyana

Why, goddess, why? Food poisoning on the playa, round 2.

Riyana-Rebecca — Wed, 23 Aug 2006 04:46:34 GMT

We've got the plague up here on the playa. My first introduction to it was when one of the DPW kids sent to help us set up Lanceland (Black Rock Power and Electric) mentioned she'd had it the night before. Then, strangely enough, the cafe igloos -- not the kind that Inuits supposedly inhabit, but the ones that hold ice cold water -- mysteriously disappeared for purification. The next thing you know, it seems everyone has it, including yours truly. I must have vomited at least 10 times last night, and am now holed up in the scary motel in Gerlach celebrating the fact that I can keep down small sips of water and type this blog message. It's very David Lynch around here. We went into Bruno's cafe earlier and found Bruno himself a very inebriated man and had one of the waitresses give us the Eye the entire time we were there. The hallways in the motel are barren and the rooms silent behind their closed doors. I'd much rather be recuperating in some place with a gift shop, ice machine, and pedicures. But at least we're close to the DPW Saloon, which is not so much a saloon as a gathering place for people to get on the internet, cook food, watch movies, and celebrate the collective anguish of vomitting. This is the second year in a row I've gotten stomachy-vomitting issues on the playa (officially, the word is that the DPW commisary water had a fungal virus in it, which is close enough to food poisoning to me to use that term in the subject of this message). Last year, I felt as if I was purging all the negative energy that had been projected on to me or that I'd otherwise accumulated. This year, it felt less like purging and more like a lesson in independence. Merlin slept through a lot of it, both because he was exhausted from trenching in the heat and because at that time I thought the virus was contagious and didn't want him to catch it (it's not, luckily). I had to take care of myself, and in a way, I'm kind of glad. Vomitting in the desert is a very primal experience. Or maybe I'm just telling myself that so that I won't feel sad about being alone. Probably both. This morning he apologized very sincerely (rare) and I'm looking forward to goign back to the playa tomorrow. Maybe by then I'll even be able to say that I ate -- and kept down -- and entire can of organic speghettios. Until next time, Rebecca (now affectionately called Gretchen or Sunnybrook) out. PS - please excuse all previous typos as icky sicky exhaustion.

So, who's coming to Camp this year? And if you aren't, WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU THINKING?

Riyana-Rebecca — Thu, 25 May 2006 00:19:33 GMT

I'm starting to get really excited about Camp. Which is strange, considering this is my eighth year going, and you'd have thought I'd find it a little played out by now. Sometimes, around January or Feburary when last year's camp memories have faded a bit and next year feels very far away and my life feels dry and magic-less, I think that maybe THIS year will be the year I stay home or go to Hawaii instead. But then the brochure comes out and I get all excited about the teachers and the paths and the story... I mean, c'mon. Alphonses and Todd teaching a path together? Damn! Talk about sexy. Suzanne Sterling with the rocker Deanna from Austin -- that's sounds super fun. Cypress, my dear friend Esse's mum, teaching with Laura Maples from Vermont who is totally sweet and caring and exciting-- that's enough to make me think about taking Elements even though I've been to so many camps and taken so many classes since my first Elements so long ago.... And then there's Urania -- who I can't say enough about -- teaching with Zoe. I met Zoe at Dandelion last weekend and she's really grounded, quirky, smart, and just saracastic enough to let you know she's really on the level. Besides, they're doing Sleeping Beauty as the story. I think that's such a beautiful and exciting thing to do... I love fairy tales. By the way, this is the 10th year of California Witchcamp (or the 10th year at Mendocino, I don't remember which) and I know a lot of people are going to be getting together during the camp to do some visioning about what we'd like our next decade to be like. What we've loved and what we'd like to love and what we'd love to imagine is possible. So, who the heck is coming out into the woods with me? And if not, please explain yourself! I love y'all much too much to miss any of you... Love and light, Riyana PS - I posted this exact same topic here: http://reclaimingsfbayarea.tribe.net/ In the interest of dynamic conversation, why don't we reply all in one place? XOXO

Savoring pleasure and Honey-Sweetness....

Riyana-Rebecca — Tue, 18 Apr 2006 06:04:47 GMT

Pleasure truly pleases and does not merely titillate. Today the true contemplative will teach us what it means to con-temple once again, i.e., to become so thoroughly one with what we love and enjoy that we make a holy tabernacle of the event. The true contemplative will teach us the art of savoring. For creation needs savoring more than it needs inventory-making… If we savored more, we would buy less. We would be less compulsive, less unsatisfied. We would also work less and play more, and thus open up work opportunities to the many unemployed and underemployed in our culture. If we savored more we would communicate more deeply, relate more fully, compete less regularly, and celebrate more authentically. We would be relating more deeply to ourselves, to creation in all its blessedness, to history past and future, to the Now and to God. We would be more in touch with our moral outrage because our love of life would increase so dramatically that we would become less and less tolerant of death forces. The art of savoring is our prayer… we befriend and pray creation by entering into it all in search of tasting its “honey-sweetness… all honey-sweetness comes from God.” Anyone who has taken time to savor the blessings of life knows that they are profoundly, deliciously, deeply sweet. And naturally so. --Matthew Fox, Original Blessing

On the first day of Chanukah, my rabbi gave to me:

Riyana-Rebecca — Mon, 26 Dec 2005 08:34:44 GMT

On the first day of Chanukah, my rabbi gave to me: A Challah tied up with a bow. (if you get the reference, you're as nerdy as I am) In the words of the great Adam Sandler: HANUKKAH SONG, part 1: It's time for Hanukkah So much fun-uka To celebrate Hanukkah Hanukkah is, the festival of lights Instead of one day of presents We get eight crazy nights When you feel like the only kid in town without a Christmas tree Here's a list of people who are Jewish Just like you and me David Lee Roth lights the menorah So does James Concord Douglas, and the late Dina Shora Guess who eats together, at the Carnegie Deli? Bowser from Sha NaNa and Arthur Fonzerelli Ponoman's half Jewish, Goldie Hawn's half, too Put them together, what a fine looking Jew You don't need Deck that Halls or Jingle Bell Rock 'Cuz you can spin a dredel with Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock Both Jewish! O.J. Simpson, not a Jew But guess who is, Hall of Famer Rod Carew We got Ann Landers, and her sister Dear Abby Harrison Ford's a quarter Jewish, NOT TOO SHABBY!!!! Some people think that Ebenezer Scrooge is Well he's not, but guess who is ALL THREE STOOGES!!!! So many Jews are in showbiz Tom Cruise isn't, but I heard his agent is Tell your friend Veronica It's time to celebrate Hanukkah Don't forget harmonica On this lovely, lovely Hanukkah Smoke your marijuana-ka So drink your gin and tonic-ka If you really, really, really wanna-ka Have a happy, happy, happy, happy, Hanukkah Happy Hanukkah HANUKKAH SONG, part 2 (Rivkah's personal favorite): Time to take out those menorahs! Put on your yamaca It's time for Hanukkah So much fun-uka To celebrate Hanukkah Hanukkah is, the festival of lights Instead of one day of presents We get eight crazy nights When you feel like the only kid in town Without a Christmas tree Here's a new list of people who are Jewish Just like you and me Winona Ryder drinks Manashevits' wine Then spins a dredl with Ralph Lauren and Calvin Klein Guess who give and receives loads of Hanukkah toys? The girls from Barukasouhl and all three Beastie Boys Lenny Kravitz is half Jewish, Courtney Love is half too Put them together, what a funky, bad-ass Jew We got Harvey Kitell and falsh dancer Jennifer Bills Jasmins Bleuth from Baywatche is Jewish and Yes her boobs are real O.J. Simpson, still not a Jew But guess who is, the guy who does the voice for Scooby-Doo Bob Dylan was born a Jew, then he wasn't, but now he's back Mary Tyler Moore's husband is Jewish 'cuz we're pretty good In the sack Guess who got bar mitzvah-ed on the PGA tour? No I'm not talking about Tiger Woods, I'm talking about Mr. Happy Gilmore So many Jews are in the show-biz Bruce Springsteen isn't Jewish, but my mother thinks he is Tell that old harmonica, it's time to celebrate Hanukkah It's not pronounced Chanukkah The C is silent in Hanukkah So your your Hooked on Phonic-a Get drunk in Teawonica If you really really wanna-ka Have a happy, happy, happy, happy Hanukkah HANUKKAH SONG, part 3 (the b-side, very rare version from Saturday Night Live): Hanukkah is the festival of lights; One day of presents? Hell no, we get the eight crazy nights! But if you still feel like the only kid in town without a Christmas tree, I guess my first two songs didn't do it for you, so here comes number three! Ross and Phoebe from "Friends" say the Hanukkah blessing, So does Lenny's pal Squiggy and "Will and Grace"'s Debra Messing! Melissa Gilbert and Michael Landon never mixed meat with dairy, Maybe they should have called that show "Little Kosher House on the Prairie"! We got Jerry Lewis, Ben Stiller, and Jack Black, Tom Arnold converted to Judaism, but you guys can have him back! (Just kidding.) We may not get to kiss underneath the mistletoe, But we can do it all night long with Deuce Bigalow! Put on your yarmulke, here comes Hanukkah, Osama bin Laden...Not a big fan of the Jews! Well maybe that's because he lost the figure skating match to gold medalist Sarah Hughes! (Her mama's Jewish.) Houdini and David Blaine escape straightjackets with such precision, but one thing they could not get out of... Their painful circumcision! Gwyneth Paltrow's half-Jewish, But a full-time Oscar winner, Jennifer Connelly's half-Jewish too, And I'd like to put more in her! There's Lou Reed, Perry Farrell, Beck, and Paula Abdul, Joey Ramone was making punk rock music, but first came Hebrew school! Hey! Gotta live for Hanukkah It's time to celebrate Hanukkah, I hope I get an Ab-tronica On this joyful, joyful Hanukkah, So get a high Colonica And soil your long johnnakahs If you really, really wannakah, Have a happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy Hanukkah!

Happy Winter Solstice!!

Riyana-Rebecca — Thu, 22 Dec 2005 01:23:54 GMT

Ah, brighter days. That's what the winter solstice promises... as the longest night of the year, it means that things naturally grow from here. Which is wonderful. Already I'm feeling better. Thanks so much to those of you -- and there were quite a few!! -- who dropped me a note to express your love. I totally needed it! And I did some yoga, too, by the way. Always helps. Last night was the Reclaiming Yule ritual, which went wonderfully. Sometimes I feel lazy about going to ritual, but when I do, I'm always surprised by how much I enjoy it and how intense and beautiful the magic is. I did some powerful magic yesterday for rebirth and new dreams, and I can already feel the energy of my life moving in a different direction. What part of your life do you want to rebirth the light? What do your want to bring out of the dark of winter, to nurture through the coming spring months? That was a big part of our ritual, and I'd be really interested in hearing about your answers. For me, I want to rebirth the light in my writing practice, and I bring with me from this troubling winter the knoweledge that I'm stronger for experiencing these times and know more about what I want and need to be happy and manifest my visions. It may sound cheezy, but it's true. ; ) Best solstice wishes to you, Rebecca / Riyana

Christmas, Dickens, and other seasonal happenings...

Riyana-Rebecca — Mon, 19 Dec 2005 19:08:39 GMT

I want to die. Don't be alarmed, this happens to me everytime this time of the year rolls around. It's not that I'm the Grinch. Winter is ALWAYS gloomy and gray for me, and usually rather stressful, as well. This year is no exception. Financial woes abound, which means I'm back to working two jobs even though I SWORE up and down I would not do that again. In fact, I'm back to a job that I thought was behind me, and had much celebrated the end of. I went to Dickens this weekend, which began promising but became heartwrenching. Dickens itself was a lot of fun -- especially the dancing, I love the dancing -- and I ran in to a great many people I knew, all of whom were wearing beautiful clothes and many of whom sported funny accents. It's a very pretty faire. Oh, and hot buttered rums are simply divine. Love those, too. In spite of all the prettiness and the wonderful people, I managed to have a terrible weekend. Lots of painful drama, lots of crying. In addition to all the grief currently going on in my life, something I thought was very far behind me -- an issue from many years ago-- resurfaced in a very visceral way, surprising me and blowing all my theories of being over and done with it out of the water. It wasn't something I could talk about with all the loving people who came up to me and asked what was wrong, so I felt very alone. And I had a bad cold to boot. The power went out at the Cow Palace right before opening, leaving all the Dickens workers to roam the streets of London in the dark, which I think was quite fun for most people at the time. But when I came home after my terrible weekend, I found out that the power was still out at my house. I lit some candles, sat down on my bed, and tried to think of what I could do in a very cold house with no light. I ended up going to bed at 9:30. I woke up at 10 this morning. Twelve and a half hours of sleep did a lot fo good towards getting rid of this cold, but I'm still quite moody. As most of the people I'm close with have abandoned me (aka...are out of town) for the next week, I have some free time on my hands to write and do yoga and meditate, but I don't feel like doing any of that. I just want to watch movies in my pajamas and cuddle with my cat and bitch about my life on tribe. So if you see any more of these posts, you might want to gently remind me to go do some yoga. It would probably do me a world of good. Love, Rebecca

Rain in Portland is more lovely than other places....

Riyana-Rebecca — Fri, 04 Nov 2005 00:00:19 GMT

Today I went to Powell's books in Portland, which is a bookstore that puts all others to shame. I bought -- in spite of dire finances -- four books for thirty dollars, three of which are historical fiction. This makes me realize that I really, really like historical fiction. It's beautiful. It's also a nice switch from the many nonfiction books I'm reading on midwifery and women's health, which I do love to read and learn about, but which doesn't make my heart and imagination soar the way fiction does. I'm here visiting my dear friend Kristen, who was displaced from New Orleans after the hurricane. Kristen and I have been friends for many years --we share a bond of books and writing and intellectual conversation that somehow, though we keep agreeing with one another, stays interesting -- and when she heard I was planning on going to New Orleans to help victims of the hurricane, she protested with a mighty, "What! But I'm a hurricane victim! Come to Portland!" This sat very right with me. It just felt more right than going to New Orleans, though less glamorous. People get very impressed when you tell them, "I'm planning on going to New Orleans to help with the hurricane efforts." It's not the same when you say, "I'm visiting my friend in Portland who was displaced by the hurricane." But this was certainly the right thing to do -- not only because I know that my being here IS helping Kristen immensely, as her fiance is the only person she knows here and he went back to New Orleans to try to deal with fixing and selling the house they bought a mere eight months ago -- but because it's right for ME. Being here, surrounded by books and coffee houses and Kristen's intelligent conversation and the lovely grey rain, which feels clean and fresh and pure, is doing wonderful things to my soul. I feel like I'm being recallibrated by the rain and the trees (Portland has SOOO many trees) and being with a friend I haven't seen in a long time. It gives me perspective on my life in San Francisco, especially on the way I spend my time, what I read and talk about. I like it here, and haven't been away long enough to miss home yet. Below is a picture of Powell's. The pic does NOT do it justice. This is the biggest damn book store I've ever seen (and I've been in a LOT of bookstores). It's a block long and a block wide, and the rooms are color-coded so you don't get lost. It's a wonderful, wonderful thing.