…and the wheel in the sky keeps on turning


Weeeeell now.

Seems I haven’t updated at all… since forever.

Let’s see here…..


I went back to the land of the Rising sun. It was glorious. I stood in the Shadow of the Moody Lady, and gave myself to another Goddess.

I am, again, in the midst of school, and all the stresses therein. However, I do think I may actually swim instead of sink.

My family is once again stabilized, as it was off-kilter for a short time. We have resolved some issues and are mending nicely. (Not to worry, we were not having such issues to break a family, just simply pulling one of our own upon their feet).


I am, in my own way, rediscovering my love of writing, and will be coming back here, sooner rather than later, to make sure that I put these words into actions upon the virtual pages.


❤ Azzi

After Action Review


After Action Review (AAR): time taken out after a task, training, or event to discuss actions and tactics. This is the time where you make notes for improvement and start making plans for what happens next.

Rewind. Relive. Review

Part 1: School

These first three Quarters are already over. Nine Months have passed since I started there, and already I am thinking I want to leave. It’s not the staff. It’s not the faculty. It’s the STUDENTS.

Half the people who start here are directly out of High School (as in “OMG I totally just like, graduated in June!”). Having to interact in a microcosm is hard enough. Being forced to interact with people who are old enough to take responsibility for themselves without actually knowing what responsibility is: nearly impossible.

As young Soldiers go, being totally unaware is, almost literally, beaten out of you. That’s what Basic Training *is*. You will know what direction the Sun rises; you will know how to wipe your own ass; you will know whose fault it is, and take the punishment when its YOURS. Otherwise: you will be handed your own backside. It doesn’t end there: once you get to a Unit, if you STILL haven’t taken a hint: congratulations, you are the Company’s Whipping Private until further notice. You will learn. PERIOD. In Helvetica, even.

Civilians can’t be treated that way. So they can refuse to learn, and get away with causing problems, and there’s nothing anybody can really do about it (unless the Cops can be involved: legal trouble seems to be the only viable threat). These kids are repeating the same, over-dramatized, self-indulgent mistakes, and expecting a different outcome. I believe Einstein called that “insanity”. These “issues” that they have, whether its ‘OMG I loooooove hiiiiim but he doesn’t liiiiike meeeeee!’ or ‘WTF why aint I passing this class! I spend like, 30 minutes on this homework!!’ to ‘well its your attitude that has just been too much lately’ are thrown as far afield as possible, to have as many people involved as possible, that it can, quite literally, affect everyone at the school. It’s like having social herpes. Not that I am free of guilt: I talk to my friends, and let them know what is on my mind. I am NOT, however, defaming anyone, or creating rumors about people, or telling people to not be around certain individuals.

And I’m the one on Meds. What a waste have we that we can no longer trust another Human to be decent.

Part 2: Money

I am Unemployed. I know this. I’m not ashamed. Nor am I actively seeking employment. How, you may ask, am I affording all my nice things AND school full-time at a FOR-PROFIT Uni?

The Post 9/11 GI Bill.

There’s 3/4 of my livelihood in four words. the rest is Disability. As in: Congratulations! The Army broke you! Here’s money so that we can say we are kinda taking care of you! You are all of you invited to live the life I live, work free, if you do as I did: 4.5 years enlisted in the United States Army, two of which were spent in Baghdad. Be my guest. We can then laugh our asses off with “so no shit there I was” and “you aint gonna believe this shit!” all day long.

These together make it so that I have a roof, food and clothes. These things pay for my transportation. These things pay for my (rather expensive but required) art supplies. These things are paying for what is MINE. I earned this money. I earned this education. I am paying my penance. So whats the problem? I am paying more for what isn’t mine than is. I am paying for someone Else’s lifestyle at the cost of my own, with what I have earned. That’s an argument waiting to happen, especially now. Being a broke college student is frustrating, I know. Being a broke, broken, and decently earning college student is infuriating. I spent my time, my heart, and my body for the opportunities I have now. I’m being slighted. I know what I want to do about it. The issue there is that it requires what I’ve earned to stay with me, so that I can afford to get what I deserve. You are more than welcome to call me selfish. Please Do, in fact. I was told once that sometimes, being selfish is the only way to protect yourself.

Part 3: Mind

Mine is broken. As in, that’s half of my disability. If the last six months have taught me anything, it is that my mind is no longer under my control. I hope that I am not truly lost, but the Path has become inundated with reeds and brambles, and quite marshy. Parts of my personality are fighting each other for control of who I am today. Their common enemy, though, seems to be my Anger, and its sidekick, my Temper. These two are a formidable force to be reckoned with. Even the Hole that is my Depression isn’t big enough to keep them at bay. My Meds (prescribed, mind you, and non-narcotic) is an anti-depressant that I was initially receiving for its off-label use for insomnia. My bottle currently reads: Take one tablet by mouth once a day at bedtime as needed for mood or sleep can increase to 2 tablets nightly if needed for sleep/ PTSD.

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I am still being evaluated. DISCLAIMER: Army medicine teaches you to take some Motrin, rub some dirt on it, and forget it ever happened. I am having experiences. There are mornings that I still wake up in Baghdad. I couldn’t find my weapon for two months, and had a few episodes where it made me so angry that I broke things, because I thought I was going to have to pay for it. I keep walking into the student store at school and the 7/11 expecting the 550 cord and pocket knives to be next to the paper supplies. I am afraid to drive. I keep making threat assessments for the roads in my area, looking for moved piles of trash, dead animals, and new pot-holes. I even printed a few off. When I realized I had no one to report to, I burned them, just like any other SECRET information.

My family doesn’t know this yet. At least they didn’t when I ran away to a foreign country for my birthday. They’ll probably wonder who the f*ck is writing this.

It’s ME.

I am not well.

I am not apologizing.

I am not the same person I was.

Yuletide Meditations


Yule Blessings57-512

I am not necessarily a mighty contemplater of the deeper secrets of the past. I would much rather think on the seagull before me, alone, standing upon the light post, surveying the sunrise with me. This beautiful, bright lavender red pink orange yellow just before the Sun hits the horizon-line. This is the Dawn at the End of the World; or the Beginning. I am reminded of Augra, and the Great Conjunction, except we have one Sun, and currently Sagittarius is pointing right at it, as it comes up once every 26000 years, right through the visual center of our Milky Way. As the gull and I sit, Life, apparently, goes on. A Woman walks her dog. The store below me is open, and the people come for their morning coffee. Cars move down to the Beach, or the Highway.

I am up several hour early to watch THIS sunrise.

Today is Yule, the Winter Solstice.

Today is December 21st, 2012.

This day, we lose the guidance of our great ancestors, those who saw us before we were even an Idea.

This is the day the Mayan Long Calendar ends.

The chill before the dawn. I can see the brightness that only means one thing: Sol is upon us. The Sun is Risen. The mountains and treeline between us prevent my eyes from the sight, but I know the Sun has breached the Horizon. It is always the best comfort, any day of the year.

I didn’t leave the house yesterday. I was planning out the Christmas Presents Display, and was, unfortunately, glued to my TV set. The Prophet Nostradamus, as vague as a cat when it speaks, penned an Illustrative Collection, which was conveniently “Recently Discovered”, and appeared far to easy to interpret, next to his Quatrains. I am unaware of anything else so hotly debated than this day, that there are three separate, current calls for the “End of All”.

The Solstice is a time of change, of Transition. This is the time when you decide: continue forward or change the thing to a better Balance. Samhain, the Deep Night, is a time for Seeing, when you ask yourself if you are best serving your Balance. Yule, I have found, is the best time to enact the changes to you Balance, that the Gods may know your intentions for the coming year, and are able to better guide you for the next Turn of the Wheel.

Sol has blinded me. Father Sun is fast breaking over the obstructions between Him and Me on our part of this horizon. The morning has literally just turned to Gold. There are more birds on the light post. Small finches occupy the wire, and the gull has come and gone some five times now. Some single crow finds his voice, then another, and another. Life, again, has decided that it will continue as it has, here on our corner by the Beach. The Birds will sing, the Waves will crash quietly behind all other noises, and the Woman with her dog will still walk the block. I can imagine the stillness of the Forest, which is not yet a mile from me. The quiet places along the trails, the animals, the creek, cold as the Ocean, but fresh and clean enough to drink.

Sol is now fully over the horizon and begins His journey across the sky, nearly free of all visual obstructions, save birds and telephone wires. He changed the colors again, to light blue of the distance, and white in our foreground. The Day is Open, welcoming. All comers now have the choice: Will we continue the previous Path? This well worn route our shoes have already tread? Shall we start anew? Burn all to the ground and begin again? Or will we rise to the Occasion, take our Brothers and our Sisters within our arms and let Love be our answer, let Trust guide us forward on a Path we, as a Whole People, have yet to journey together?

I choose to go down the Path of Love and Trust. I pray that more will follow: In Perfect Love and Perfect Trust. We will create anew. We will have a Renaissance of our Time, where the Hate and it’s child War will be laid to rest, and there will be Sciences, Art, and Hope.

Once upon a Time

there was a Path that crossed mine

I was afraid to walk it

for it was unfamiliar, and I was young.

Now in my Learned Days

I have come back to that Path

and I recognize it as an old friend

and  now, gladly, walk upon it.

Within my heart I hold

Perfect Love, Perfect Trust

I walk along this path with Hope

I know others here

I am glad of others here.

One day, this Path will be the well worn Path,

others will join us, in multitudes

and we will all

Be Free.

School keeps me away from my New Home


So for those of you who don’t know me out in the 4Th Dimension, my family and I recently moved. I am happy to announce that my Father, Stepmother, and I are all blissful by the Beach!

In other news: I made Dean’s Honor Roll at my school for having straight A’s my first quarter. *yay*

And so that you don’t think that I’ve been purposefully neglecting my blog, here are some of my projects that I’ve worked on:

*As a note, if you want to use/ reference any of these, ASK ME FIRST! Sharing is caring but stealing is what people eaten by zombies!





Hope you all enjoy these!

I’ll have more to say once my dust settles down.





Holy Cow and blessings of the Divine Bovine aside, the first two weeks of school have been a whirlwind of everything life has to offer except war. I am attending the Arts Institute of California – Sunnyvale; my major is Media Arts and Animation. This is an indoor school, with many rooms and lots of things on the walls. I was impressed at the caliber of faculty, from teachers to administrator to the guys that do security (there’s expensive equipment here!). Most here have a first name basis with their Admissions Rep, and my Ms AqK has been so positive and forward thinking that I barely had to do anything at all to enroll beside let the school know “I wanna learn good here”. She even gave me the school tour before orientation so that I would be more comfortable and familiar with my environment. She explains that the school does 4hr classes once a week, don’t be late, and that school is Monday through Saturday, 8AM-10PM. The major specific teachers are all industry professionals: they could all be making more money elsewhere (and have done so) but they choose to be here to train and develop the next generation of industry professionals. This last week of meeting all these bright minds around me has made my brain go into overdrive with trying to keep up the pace and practice. I start on –

Day Zero: Orientation. It was a mess of a mass of bodies going through these brightly colored hallways that are a touch claustrophobic for me. We sat and listened to many speakers, from the school President to our Academic Directors. Then we go to this room and that room to fill out information and double check our info and stand in line to get this form and make sure we fill that out correctly. Business as Usual for the Army mentality. Next is the ID card – pick it up, get your sticker, go buy your kit. Kit. Universal Kit of physical art supplies for three of the majors here.  Go home you’re good SEE YOU MONDAY!!!

Day One: Class One is Portfolio Foundations for me, which really isn’t just what the class is about. It’s more “Intro to the School: Ins and Outs of Not F*cking up at AI”. First thing is first, our very worldly and energy centered teacher (who has quite the psychology background and moxie to back it) has us be friendly and talk. A LOT. I meet so many people I can hardly keep track of the names. I’m out of school by noon and head home for lunch.

Day Two: Class Two is Fundamentals of Design. Our teacher has a sense of humour: break into groups and learn about each other, then you get to introduce each other up in front of the class. Oh huzzah. Then it’s Death by Powerpoint and DRAW DRAW DRAW. Out of class by Noon again.

Day Three: Class Three is Image Manipulation – otherwise known as Photoshop Class. Its a walk through of the program and already there are three assignments due. “Make me pretty pictures the way I showed you in our program and upload them to the class art dump”. That was fun!

               Class Four is Color Theory. Death by Powerpoint by probably the only teacher who I could sleep through. Then it’s WE PAINT! in accents from the Eastern Block. Another assignment already: make a color wheel, and keep it pretty. Huzzah again, I can finger-paint my homework! Out of school by Dinner Time.

Day Four: Class Five is Language of Animation by my Program Director. Four Hours of light humor, cartoons, a lecture on professionalism, and “this one time…” stories about working at R&H, PXr, and a few other places of awesome that send most of us into “that would be EPIC” daydreams. Again Home for Dinner.

Day Five: Class Five is my only GenED this Quarter – College English. My instructor doesn’t like the Lecture/ Essay/ Grade structure, so its not a “class”, its a Writing Workshop. Perfect. This guy understands the Idea of Learning is Fun. Home by Noon.

During all of this there are faces that keep repeating, and those faces now have names. I even “hung out” like a normal person! The only thing is: so many people here are so young. There is this theory that was out some time ago about Floating Identities. You can be whoever you want to be in a new place; New Identity is the Gateway Drug to New Social Norms. The problem I’m having is that these actors haven’t been on stage before, and their Floating Identities change like a cloud in the wind. To make things even more confusing, everyone still feel the need to justify themselves for their actions, as if no one in the world could ever take them at their word for who they are.

I also notice that everyone is falling in love the first week of school. At least three of my friends have confessed their love for someone they just met and are hoping that by midterm they will have the title of “girlfriend” or “boyfriend”. The idea that the first person you meet after high school is going to be your One and Only isn’t new, but it is sure annoying!

I just need to keep breathing


In Out In Out In Out In Out In Out In Out In

Pagan Spirit Gathering 2012


Circle Sanctuary’s Pagan Spirit Gathering; a Journey of the Body for the Soul

Chapter One: The Getting There

I dislike the TSA at airports with such serious passion that I am usually comparing my flight expenses to renting a car to get to my destination. It hits me with such anxiety about three days before takeoff that I repack my bags and recheck everything so many times that I might as well not even pack more than six hours before I fly. The anxiety only gets worse for longer trips, and a week away at Pagan Spirit Gathering had me nearly in fits. Everything fit into one bag, about four times and eight different ways, but the morning of I added two things and split my luggage into two: one bag with clothes and art stuff, the other with camping gear and accessories. Thankfully, my parents know how bad I am at this; my Mother was waiting patiently for me, and got me to the airport with plenty of time to spare. Here came the hard part: getting through the TSA. After checking my bags and gaining my boarding passes, I head up the escalator at San Jose Mineta International Airport to the ALL GATES security checkpoint. I am, thankfully, there before the morning commuters, and there aren’t more than fifteen people ahead of me. Shoes off, pockets empty, and beltless, I stand in our X-Ray imager, having a minor heart attack. The guard says I’m through and can gather my things. Several heart racing moments go by before my carry-on bag and shoes come through the machine, behind three hard-cased wheelie bags. I gather my things and go sit down to let my pulse come back down from the stratosphere. I made it through. I eat a snack and wait. And wait. And wait. Finally an attendant tells us that there were weather delays in Dallas and our plane is just taking off. An hour late.

Once our plane finally shows, it’s a mad rush as people are either too simple or unwilling to understand that rushing the gate not only will delay us further, but causes security to be very upset. After a slightly too long for comfort wait to get on and seated, we finally get to flight. Having been back and forth through Dallas Ft Worth airport a number of times I feel fairly confident that even though our flight was going well, it didn’t matter how good our headway was. The final thirty minutes on board confirmed this: even though I was on the ground, I missed my connecting flight. Damnit. Once I finally get ahold of someone who can change my flight, I find out that I’ll be there for an extra two hours just for standby, and my guaranteed ticket of four hours, just to fly to Oklahoma City. Which is all fine and dandy, except my Darling Gnomeo is already headed there, because it’s another two hours to drive from OKC to Tulsa, OK. I try to stop panicking and head down for free food at the USO. Thank the Gods for the kind people at the DFW USO. They are so amazing at easing the stress of travel. Once I have my dinner I head back to the gate to wait and see if I make it on this flight. I am twelve of sixteen waiting to board. The minutes pass too slowly, and they call the other standbys way too many times before they call me. I am offered a thousand dollars if I pass on my seat by the gent after me on the list. I pass on his offer, and I am the LAST person to board for OKCI. Blessed be my stars for getting me to my waiting knight in shining armor! His car is already packed for our roadtrip Home, which starts bright and early in the morning.

The Gnome Convoy to PSG consists of four vehicles: The Roaming Gnome in the lead with me, the Wandering Blue Faery as copilot; Sunshower Sugarbritches and her boy the Griffin next; our very own Dryad and her Satyr child next; and bringing up the rear is Captain Scotticus Poncho of the USS Blitzen (Earthbound vehicle of Starfleet Command). Bright and early we load in, gas up, and head North. Many hours of pee stops and long fanciful pagan ballads we hit what we hope is the only bad weather this week: a massive thunderstorm of the like that would keep me in my barracks room back in Kansas. It slows us down but we finally reach our first destination: the Hotel in Peru, Illinois, where we will stay the night. We refuel our bodies at IHOP and get to bed. Earlier than I had hoped we are getting up, having showers, and eating our breakfast courtesy of the Hotel. Our Convoy is now joined by two more vehicles: a Moonmother and her passenger Dryad, and our only RV Mamma. We fuel up and head to our Destination: Stonehouse Park

Chapter Two: Welcome Home, to the Festival

An uneventful hour and a half to the Park from the Hotel, and we pull in to a flurry of color and bodies. A chorus of voices sings out “WLECOME HOME” with such love that every little stressful thing melts away and is forgotten. We finally made it!

We drive around and find our camping spot: a small pathway off the back of Ritual Circle, in the middle of fabulous trees and greenery.  Just past us, at the other end of the path and next to the Border Road, are our good friends the Sarong Family. (Their dynamic is still strange to me, since Mamma and Dad Sarong are now divorced, and there is a new Lady Sarong with an Imp of her own, beside my two Sarong Minions. My adjustment to their new family is a hard one, since I initially was with their camp, and am still part of their Tribe). I set to getting camp set up, raking away the underbrush and getting settled in. the Roaming Gnomeo has already gone to check in and get a schedule of events (he is holding a workshop, so he needs to know when to have his things in order). I wait for him to come back, write down everything I truly feel I need to attend, and walk my happy self into Town to check in and sign up for my work shifts. As I pass camps and merchants I see so many familiar faces, and many recognize me, even though I have only been Home once before, two years ago (I had to miss PSG2011 due to deployment; if you don’t have children, chances are you don’t leave Baghdad in the summer). I check in and sign up, then take my sweet time exploring Town and getting to know our new location. SHP is different from Camp Zoe: it’s smaller, has more infrastructures, and a better overall layout. I help out with setting up Psyche’s Grotto (where I spend all my volunteer time) and meander to the Opening Meeting and Ritual.

The week beyond that isn’t a blur at all. It is crisp in its detail and pacing. I remember everything: the smell of the grass at every Morning meeting I attended; the heat in the Moon Lodge where I spent most of my Noon hours, the Heat of every work shop and shift, and the sublime sunshine of this amazing Midsummer Week; the Call and Love of a Female Patron deity for the first time since I heard our Earth Mother call me to the Path ten years ago. Of all the Revelations I had that week, several are so prominent that they have ultimately changed my life. The first is that even though I have had numerous negative experiences with any identifiable group of people, I can overcome my own hang-ups and maintain positive energy to bring about positive changes: I have a new and deeply respectful view of the Dianic Tradition, for all of the Goddess Reclamation and Militant Feminism that path has been a part of here in California, it is about Female Empowerment and the Woman’s Mystery in a Faith that has extremes to maintain a balance; I also now don’t view Polyamoury as a swingers and sluts dominated Lifestyle, because it takes all kinds to walk a Path with the diversity and Love that dedicated Polyamourists have. My second Revelation is this: I was in my own way when it came to my inability to ground and center my own Energy. I have a few nasty habits, like saying “I can’t”, that kept me for being able to attempt it. To that end, a very dear StoneWorker gifted me a pair of powerful tools to bring my energy down from outer space, where it usually floats freely, to be within me so that I can use it for my end and means. This, in the two short weeks since PSG, has made such a significant difference in not only my magical abilities, but has made my mundane life so much more a place I care be that I don’t feel the need to separate the two any longer. My third Revelation: I am a much more complete, capable, and competent person than I have ever given myself credit for. The intuitive understanding of self has made all my relationships so much more significant in their own right that I have been able to let go of the meaningless and negative influences in my life and focus on making my time with my loved ones special.

Chapter Three: the Roam Home

The last morning is always the hardest. No one wants to leave their Magical Tribe. The crash and burn from the Wards being removed, and from physically leaving the Park, is so hard on our bodies and minds that we nap once we get back to the Hotel in Peru. After one uneventful and sobering evening, and it’s another Early Start back to Tulsa. A long and contemplative drive and by evening, we get back to our beds. I sleep two days away, waking only to meditate on the events of the week, and go to where the Gnome Roams. (We saw Brave at the theater, which is the only time I can remember leaving the house before actually leaving Tulsa). Since my flight to CA is out of OKC, it is agreed that I stay with one of the Tribe out there who wasn’t able to join us at Home. She’ll take me to the airport in the morning; in the meantime, its Pizza, Poetry, and Beer night. It’s my first OpenMic and Poetry Slam in nearly five years. The words that fall out of the mouths of poets slice and dice their corners of reality, regardless of whose words they are. My heading is buzzing from them by the time we get back to the LadyKitty’s CatHouse. Another night in a bed that’s not mine and another early start, but today I’m not panicked. This day, the TSA holds no untold horrors for me, and I walk through without a racing pulse or heart attack. I am in awe of my new self and my many accomplishments this magical week. I am ready for the next Chapter in my Life: I start school tomorrow, 09JULY2012. I am walking ahead, with my face held high to the sun and my heart freed from its own heavy anchors. I set sail, with Love in my Sails and Song in my Heart. I will no longer fear the Dark, for it is part of Light, and we are all made up of part of each. The Beauty that I now see in every Sacred Thing has me in Love with this World all over again. I am filled with anticipation!

As a Bard I know says: I raise my glass to Pagan Ways.

Found and Lost and Found again!


I was sitting in the back of a pickup that had no real suspension, listening to country music so loud with a bass so heavy the seat vibrated, looking out the window in front of me (as I was sitting sideways in the second seat, this was the window directly behind the driver), out over the ocean, and I realize: I finally found Hawai’i. It has taken me three months and three grand to get here, but here I am. Three days from leaving.

My time in Hawai’i was tumultuous. I spent the majority of it indoors, listening to a WoW fanatic raiding and leveling, or playing with some rather fabulous pooches. It took having another friend with me to get out and participate in all those things considered a ‘vacation’: going to museums, planning excursions, and walking around enjoying the hustle bustle and flow of people. I got to eat the food I wanted to, enjoyed the outdoors as they are, and learned more about the culture and people of this beautiful place. If you haven’t yet been to Hawai’i, the things to know are this: the food has all qualities, and you must be picky and pay for the good stuff; The people are of all walks, and no one shares the roads; and unless you have a serious tan or a good friend on North Shore Oahu, don’t go there without a tour group or large planned gathering.

As someone closely associated with the military for an extended period of time, I have a strong sense of pride in our great 50 States, and I believe that they should be all inclusive of each other and the military that is bound by Duty and Love to protect them. The problem is that these feelings are not widely shared outside of the military in the younger generations, and it is especially despised in certain areas of our Nation. North Shore Oahu is one of those places. There is a large movement of Protect Hawai’i/ Defend Hawai’i, which is not unlike the home-grown militias of Alaska and Michigan, who believe their states should cede from the Union. The Hawaiians take it one step further, and demand the demilitarization of Hawai’i. Considering the history, about how the US Government toppled the Kingdom of Hawai’i purposely and set up a puppet governing body, and how there is still Depleted Uranium polluting most islands (http://www.protecthawaii.ws/), I can understand the resentment for past ill-feelings. The issue that I have is that there is now way to leave Hawai’i and help to maintain the Islands rather shaky infrastructure. The social problems would expound upon each other until an utter collapse forced them to seek help from an outside government. It is one thing to demand better understanding and protection of the Native Culture and Nature of these magnificent Islands; it is another to bring about your own demise when you have no better alternatives laid in place. I am all for military regulation by outside watchdog companies, who can help us to provide a positive influence within our country, and help us to fix past reckless mistakes and expose dangerous lies that are still putting lives at risk today; I am not, however, happy or non-confrontational when the exasperating and offensive hatred of the military is so much a part of a population that they will plan out violent events based upon your association with the military. A friend of mine was bullied out of work because her husband is in the US Navy; her coworkers verbally assaulted her, harassed her, let the air out of her tires, and very nearly got physically abusive as well. No military riding motorcycles in Hawai’i will ‘ride the line’ between cars (I know it’s illegal everywhere, but in the continental States, no one really cares) because the locals purposely open their doors to knock people from their bikes, with the intent that they roll under another car. There are, around most military installations, a black list of bars, restaurants, and housing areas where military should not go: in Hawai’i, it seems to be opposite, where the list is of places you are allowed to go, and everywhere else you should simply avoid. This is thankfully not the only opinion, and I am grateful for those who refuse to allow their amazing culture to be exploited and twisted, adulterated into a concept of hate and fear from being part of or apart from the mob (http://markingmanymilestones.wordpress.com/2010/01/22/am-i-the-only-hawaiian-offended/).

With all of these things said, if you are not military, and you do go to the beautiful Islands of Hawai’i, you have nearly nothing to worry about. My time as a tourist, staying in a hotel, wandering around Waikiki, snorkeling at North Shore with a tour group, going to the Polynesian Cultural Center and Dole plantation, was some of the happiest memories of this beautiful place. I will remember Hawai’i forever by the magnanimous generosity and kindness of the amazing people and their dedication to their culture’s ideals of Natural Beauty.

Of my last seven days on the magnificent island of Oahu: I found a peace and serenity with the Island that I had thought lost in the hustle and flow influx from all four corners of this Planet that we live upon. The time to make peace with the Mother Pacific and enjoy the sand and sun of her fickle ways had me in awe; the ability to see her Hidden Treasures, the Life under the surface of the Water, with such a vibrant varieties that I am still reeling from my visions of color and contrast, light and shadow. Having the freedom to move and flow with the Island’s motions, and not just that of the People, was intense. My meditations the last week of my visit were unchained by the mundane at last. I had visions and dreams of a Woman clad in Blue, and another in White, and a Man in Yellow and Red, while still more People in a rainbow of colors to try and teach me in that one week what I had been unable to hear in over a month. My heart finally unclouded from my own feeling of cages and barriers, I learned so much more in those days about the beauty and juxtaposition of these Islands than any book I could ever read. Being able to finally see and enjoy the many waters and vistas, the true soul of the Island, was what I had come for in the beginning. I enjoyed that week so much that I will return to the Islands, and see more than just Oahu the Gathering Place.

I was both so happy and sad to leave: happiness was for my future, having learned the First lesson these amazing Isles had to teach me and being able to carry it with me along my journey forward, where I finally have path worth more than walking; sadness was for my past, being unable to get over my own boundaries, doubts, and arrogance, being forcibly blinded to what I could have been able to learn and enjoy with all my heart with time to truly understand it’s meaning. Finally reaching Home and all those things that are familiar was astounding. I can see things in a more positive light, I feel, and I am not angered as quickly as I was before. I am able to comprehend my situation better, and instead of despair, I have a new hope, a more positive strategy for how I will cope with all that I am and all that I have. I feel as though I have grown, if only a little bit.

Ted Talks and the Shares Ideas


So I was watching this video:

and I had a thought: Artist who produce for the sake of Art (IE tattooists, hairstylists, make-up artists, fashion artists, food artists, automobiles, open-source software, I could go on…) aren’t afraid of sharing. Some of them by choice: tattooists and open-source software don’t want copy write protection, and therefore their art is unprotected and free to be shared and copied. Others, such as Fashion and Automobiles, are, according to the law, “too utilitarian to copy write”. Either way you look at it, the freedom of an idea to move back and forth over the mediums available is amazing.

Then I watched this video:

and it became very apparent that regardless of the law that govern who and what can be copy written and who owns what, the ideas are going to make their way over to whichever medium they choose. The problem is that bills and plans  like SOPA/PIPA and the new CISPA are forcing the mediums, and the creators of these mediums, into a digital underground. Criminalizing the creative efforts and inspirational imitation will either cause a breakdown of the law itself or the destruction of shared ideas as a whole (and if you’ve watched any movies in the last five years, there aren’t any ideas out there that haven’t been shared or copied).

It makes me wonder what exactly is going on with the world when we are considering that imitative flattery is illegal and should be punished. Where did it set in history that Ideas could be owned? Who decides the owner of an Idea at all? What reason caused people to believe that they should punish those who are inspired by their Ideas? Would this include Art created in the style of another? How would you prosecute a person in the exceptionally public domain of the internet?

Food for thought.