many moons

since I last posted, and what of it?

Reading over my words here, I wonder at how far I've come.

I have my home on wheels, my nesting place, my anchor. I am making plans for the coming year, travel art and craft. Plans for mexico and black rock city and new corners of this big beautiful planet.

(Life expands forth)

And India? Can I be moving farther and closer at the same time?

This is the circular nature of things.

What a TRIP

xo

Super moon

I have been away for exactly 6 months today, moonwise that is. So much has happened! Wow.

xo

Organization

Of my art.

Photojournal

Portraits

Fairy tale

Still life

Memoir

Collage

How do the pieces fit together?

xo

Home

I am back in Delhi, in the oppressive heat and welcome freedom. After months on the island, I can now go for a walk or eat a samosa whenever I want. And soon, I will have a whole apartment to myself. xo

Floating

Everything on stilts, in boats.

xo

Kashmir

Shops closed for months due to strikes and political unrest. One man was selling vegetables here.

xo

Buddha

I feel like a stalker, this man is too precious, honest, serene. He is also a complete pain in the ass. I miss him.

xo

Also...

I believe in tipis!

xo

Om shanti shanti

This week, I finally met the gem man. I was interested in his Tibetan mandalas, painted on rice paper with crushed stones and collected by his great grandfather from the mountains. I bought three, and then he opened his suitcases of jewelry.  From packs of folded white paper came a gorgeous array, I couldn't resist a small crystal egg and some moonstone pendants. I asked him if he had any rainbow obsidian, a stone I have been looking for (in the lava flows of eastern Oregon and gem and hippie shops) for about two years. He thought perhaps yes, but at his shop across the lake.  

So today again, he showed up at the island with a boat full of suitcases and an invitation to his home. After tea in a smoky dirt kitchen, and 6 hours and many gems later I found my rainbow obsidian, a 420 carat peridot, various topaz and the shiniest, clearest rose quartz I have ever seen. Like a deer in headlights, I didn't know what hit me.

So here I am, less traveling in India than living in Kashmir, painting on the walls when I feel like it, writing fairy tales to amuse myself and buying ridiculous crystals. 

simple pleasures

Of morning snow on the island, making my own milk tea with ginger and warm Kashmiri bread, two pieces. xo

The hawks are making joyful glides

And I am back in Kashmir. It is a month later and much warmer, though still cold enough for poncho and fire pot. I am staying on the island with two of my most favorite people here, a Finnish snowball and a Kashmiri prince. I am having two long shirts fashioned by the tailor, and a new green poncho. There is a strike and a curfew and all business have been closed for a week. 

More importantly, I am becoming aware of this pattern Hillary spoke of. It is a computer virus of the brain which multiplies at the slightest attempt to shut it down and is the source of much frustration. It has to do with jealousy, desire, and men who call me darling. I have realized that no one can take it away for me, I must bin it myself. 

As wise Ali baba told me, this is all my space. How do I want to use it?

xo