22 March 2015

Danny Schechter the Media Dissector

A quick note to honor a friend Danny Schechter the media Dissector.  We must all meet our end someday,  it is best if we can we all keep living to the fullest until the day we die.  My favorite thing about him is that he kept recognizing Priya Reddy for her relentless work as a real journalist with heart. Real journalists are blacklisted, while talking heads are paid to read lines. Real journalists are targeted and shot dead in the street filming a People's Uprising, and Danny wasn't the type to embellish a personal story to boost personal fame.  He did not have to, as he was armed with truth.  He went into media to help solve the problems of the world, only to discover  that main stream media and propaganda is one of our biggest problems.
Rest in Power Danny Schechter. Presente. Jaysus, would you find my old film partner Mike Pahios and tell him there is not another in the world like him. Will keep living fully down here until the last breath, may that be so many years until I join ya up beyond the stars. There is loads of work left to be done yet. Presente, Lads. I miss ye.  Cancer takes another great one from us, although you left a good legacy. On point film and ya never wasted a moment to mince words.

22 February 2015

Writing it down.



Writing helps to let loose memories like floes of ice overflowing river banks in the spring.  Ruminating on past experiences can keep us stuck in a place of hurt, while writing it out can help us to move forward and to help others as well.  I like to think of the beginning of a story as a thought seed, and a little time and thought helps grow that seed into a deeper story.  Research shows that daily journaling and a gratitude journal can help to make one happier.  There are often serious issues in life that can weigh on one’s shoulders.   Writing one’s troubles down can be a release.   Like the ice floes bursting free to flood down river, once we start writing, it is such a freeing release.  Once the pen is to paper and the fingers to keyboard, one can go anywhere.  Make it a good day, it is yours.

15 September 2013

Parenting in a time of un-ending war, staying playful and patient for the children amidst responsibilities is harder than looks.  But these are first world problems, as my children lay sleeping peacefully.  There is not much more to say tonight, except that after years of being told that the most dire need of wounded veterans coming home from war is adequate mental health evaluations and CASAC services, I have agreed to start providing those services as an clinical intern on Tuesday morning.

For those who even think of ending life too soon- Where there is life, there is hope.  Stay with us.
And for those who now live beyond the stars, you live forever in our hearts and dreams.
Presente.

06 December 2012

Dreams of peaceful progress


What if we could have had a happier story instead of decades of war? Just as we make progress for Indigenous Rights and build allies with settler community, it is time to distract and build a war.  That ugly little pattern plays out in history repeatedly.

Turquoise yoga mat (Originally posted August 25th, 2012)


Turquoise yoga mat
                                     
Oisin had always been so brilliant with his yoga.  I walked with him to the yoga studio in park slope when he was small, and as he reached the top of the stairs -in awe whispered “Yooogaa!”

Today we had an impossible travel in front of us, as my errands were put back a day for a delay in the storage unit.  I had just enough to pay the storage unit fee, and travel for the weddings.  I had been looking at these yoga bags for weeks, thinking it might be nice to give to Oisin.  Today, I thought why not.  I bought the bag and mat, and after looking for a place to sit to go over travel times and details, I found no space, and left, only to be stopped by security.  Apparently there were some bar codes left on the yoga bag.  So the bright colorful stress reducer rewarded me with a quick search through my bag for the bar code.  I ran out for the train, saw one closer than I normally hop, and hopped the train in wrong direction back to Brooklyn.  Then turned around, went through the underpass and waited for a train back to Manhattan.  I got out, thinking I would catch a rare cab to meet my boy, each one that I asked to take me to Allen street said no.  It was off duty hour for the cabbies.   Many were heading back to Brooklyn.  I ended up walking a circle looking for a better spot to catch cab.   I walked back to pace university.  I saw a bus, and thought it might head towards Allen, though I wanted to check the route. The bus driver said I looked too anxious and he wasn’t sure he should let me on.  He had stopped the bus, parked it, and stepped off to take a cigarette.  I asked when he might go again, no rush- he said an hour and a half.  I asked which way to walk it, and described some fun details of trying to catch a cab at the change of duty hour when the cabbies were heading home, and I was just trying to get to the bus stop and meet my kid.  Steve called, and I could not answer the phone, the touchscreen interface was not responding to touch.  The driver still on the sidewalk with his cigarette, mentioned it sometimes works to turn off the phone and re -set it.  Of course.  The driver was very nice, and finally the bus began to roll towards Allen street, with me on board, the tiny suitcase and bright blue yoga bag, all of us barreling towards Steve and Oisin. 
I got to Oisin finally, and wanted to hand him the nifty new yoga bag, although he looked quite ticked as he had been trying to call, and two buses had come and gone already while he was waiting.  Poor kid, we were facing a complicated trip to begin with, hence the purchase of a yoga mat.  I kept trying to charge and fix the phone- a dismal battery life along with mysterious new ways of ceasing to function- all while I was trying to contact family to mention that we were really delayed, and arrange transportation to get Oisin in quick.  Meanwhile, I was not talking as he still seemed so ticked.  6 o’clock came and we waited outside in a cue, and got notice the bus was going to be delayed. Oisin looked so done.  We waited 30 minutes, and the bus rolled in, we boarded, and I promptly put the thin light-weight yoga mat and bag in the overhead. I forgot about it as we rolled off finally on our way, and I finally made contact with family.  The bus arrived, we hopped off, the bright blue yoga mat stayed tucked away in the overhead compartment.  Oh boy. The moral of the story is to just let go.

Constant expansion of the Heart


If he were to return alive, would I be aloof as always, or hug him as if I knew what it was like to miss him living for these 6 years.  Who could ever know the future without living it step by step.  The heart breaks repeatedly, and impossibly it grows again.  It is a constant expansion of the heart.  To love again seems utterly impossible, and to not do so is even worse. 

To explain the life of a journalist with a heart would take years, it has been almost 6, and we are only getting started.  We are a movement of joy from the beginning of time, resisting any and all impediments to human rights- the right to live joyfully and raise another generation in joy and in strong cultural traditions.  Who is to say they are worthy to attempt to take that right from anyone, ever?