Change and Progress: Learning to Birth Risks

The transition that I’m going through right now has left me devoid of any tools I’d formerly acquired. I’ve been given a child’s toy box filled with ancient lessons, many of which I’d discarded in favor of happier memories to be created.

I am not upset with the choices I’ve made to arrive in the womb of my birth, but that womb has been long absent, my ties severed and rewoven with the intention of a more beautiful tapestry. That has, indeed, been the result of an unending compromise of spirits bound by strength, embattled by power, and a fierce defense against those who attempt to stifle the sacred vow of compassion between the hearts.

My terror of losing whom I’ve worked so hard for many years to become fades and sharpens in focus depending on the moment. At times I feel the liberation from the blossoming fields into fruition while, to the contrary, I also feel the drought that loss affords when one is used to abundance.

I am a refugee from poverty where I’ve lived for so long. But I also know that my shirt sleeves that are pushed up around my elbows are no stranger to fighting injustice in the trenches of a dismissive society.

I re-post this as a reminder that my rebirth has moved into another stage of labor, a thinning of the membrane that, when pressed firmly enough, will erupt with inspiration, creativity, warmth, and everything else I know myself to be with an even more stellar position in the world beyond the stars.

At your leisure, may you enjoy this article as much as I needed to be reminded that the process is working. I am okay. I will be okay.

Mare Martell's avatarMare Martell

Change and Progress: Learning to Birth Risks.

I am gestating in the womb of change and progress.

I am developing the skills and strength to become reborn in my own image without the yoke of false hope, without the bearing of bloody lies, without the praise for being different tainted with shame. The strings and ropes that moored me to the shore are severed with my clear consent. I am no longer anchored at the pier of someone else’s demands and lack of mercy. What is no longer necessary for my survival is falling away rapidly, some of which is regret.

I Regret that I didn’t realize sooner what was occurring. I Regret that my need to hope that things would improve could not be sated by the harmful actions of others. Regret that I saw the omens, realized the map, and ignored my compass.

But there will…

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Not as it appears

Peace on Earth Love Thy Neighbor

Peace on Earth
Love Thy Neighbor

You are merely a distraction

meant as a detraction

from the deep dissatisfaction

of a dying way of life.

The marionette strings you’re dancing

are pulled by those amassing

obscene amounts of financing

with your divisive strife

You are the sleight of hand

given up as sacrificial lamb

with back-room deals grandstand

back-stabbed by Judas’ knife

I am not to judge your place

or spit into your unwitting face

as you spout you’re in god’s holy grace

while playing at Lot’s wife

I hope that what you’re saved from

in total and in sum

bring you to a better place to rest your bum

with a small bit of advice

Matthew 22:36-40,

and although it may feel a tad bit warty,

is what Jesus said while commandment sortie,

Commanded not once, but twice.

Heading to Mars!

Martian Sunset by Mare Martell 2015 15X30 Acrylic on Board FOR SALE!

Martian Sunset by Mare Martell 2015
15X30
Acrylic on Board
FOR SALE!

The InSight mission to Mars is coming up on March 04, 2016 as a way to monitor and learn more about the surface of the planet. My husband Ben and I, he moreso than I, share a love for the space program and the many discoveries that are found. If you’d like to participate in a “trip to Mars”, send me all your money follow the link below to join others that believe in the power of exploration as well.

The deadline for signing up to have your name sent to mars is September 8th, 2015, so hop to it gumball! Here is the link to do that, RIGHT HERE! and below is a link to the picture of my “boarding pass.”

http://mars.jpl.nasa.gov/participate/send-your-name/insight/?action=getcert&e=1&pid=3&cn=954002079214

Herb and Plow CSA: The Continuing Saga! HOORAY!

Glazed Beets

Glazed Beets

What a wild time of things! Despite the catastrophic weather conditions causing such a delay, I am looking forward to digging back into the ground candy that we’d become accustomed to during the early part of the year, aren’t you? Although I’m aware that some were getting overwhelmed with the abundance that came their way, I discovered many were distributing their unused portions among friends, neighbors, and less fortunate humans furthering the blessings of the tasty goods.

Today I’m sharing a couple recipes from other CSA’s around the country that will help get things back in order in your soon to be filled with bounty kitchens. May the food that passes your lips bring you excellent health, good fortune, and a slimmer waist line (It that is indeed your goal). Eat hearty, my friends!

Glazed Beets

Chicken stock or water

Salt, to taste

Red, Chiogga, or Golden beets, sliced

2 T. Butter or olive oil

In a deep skillet, add about 1-1/2 inch of water or chicken stock and salt to taste. Add sliced beets. Add 3 T. of butter or olive oil to the skillet. Simmer at medium high heat until all the liquid is gone. Serve immediately.

NOTE: The liquid absorbs the flavor, the beets absorb the liquid and the butter/oil, which will float to the top and glaze the beets. Add any of these ingredients to further the flavor of the beets: fresh ginger, soy sauce, garlic, onions, or fresh herbs.

Recipe by Bill Brammer III of San Diego, CA

Kale Potato Soup

1 large bunch of kale (chopped) Steam and set aside (If you cook it with the potatoes the flavor will be extremely strong overpowering the dish. Trust me)

1 T. Butter

1 Large chopped onion

1 clove minced garlic (I like 3-4 cloves but I REALLY like garlic)

Melt butter in a soup pot. Add onion and sauté until golden. Add garlic and sauté another minute. (NOTE: For stronger onion/garlic flavor, add these two later in the cooking process)

2 Large diced potatoes

2 c. hot water or broth

Add, bring to boil, reduce heat and simmer until potatoes are soft. Remove half of the cooked potatoes; puree the rest with the cooking liquid and return to the soup pot. Return reserved potatoes and steamed kale to soup pot. (Puree everything if a smooth texture is desired).

3 Cups water or broth

½ teaspoon salt or to taste

Pepper to taste

Add along with additional hot water or milk to preferred consistency. Heat gently until hot and serve. (NOTE: If you’re an omnivore a package of sliced cocktail beef weinies, makes this dish spread about a bit farther)

Italicized notations are from me, Mare Martell, while the recipes are from the cookbooks:

Harnish, Marie. “Autumn Soups.” Simply in Season. Scottdale: Herald, 2005. N. pag. Print.

Sochacki, Julie, and Jason Houston. One United Harvest: Creative Recipes from America’s Community Supported Farms. Kearney, NE: Morris Cook, 2005. Print.

Inspired by Joel

I’m sure you’ve read some authors that really stick in your craw. Artists of the written word that cause you to think, cause you to get pissed, cause you, most of all, to feel that sense of uncomfortable that comes from a raw, exposed nerve. There are several of these talented people that float through my reader. Some I am avid fans of, others I take out in the dark of the moon and peruse with witchy thoughts abiding because they require, by default a place where the blood of their story can mingle with mine.

Joys of Joel is one of those artists for me. Joel lives in the Philippines. I’ve never met the person, but when I read the words, like those of Shawn L. Bird, E.I. Wong (really funny in a twisted way HAHA!), and UP!:::urban po’E.Tree(s), I am moved to places I’ve visited but, perhaps, took for granted.

In the latest poem (at this writing) by Joys of Joel, they write: Don’t wait for me; Ours is not a love story. (Find it HERE), I am compelled to remember lost loves of my own. I am to take that path rarely traveled. I mean, what’s done is done, right? Or what’s over is completed. But. It reminded me of a poem I wrote a while back which also reflected on a powerful moment in my life when I realized I’d just made a massive mistake. I knew I’d never again see that person though I treasured every moment I spent with them. It was my fault.

I’m re-sharing this “These Are My People” poem because of that line. You can find it here: The End.

The Conquering Spirit

Air, Fire, Water, Earth, and Spirit

Air, Fire, Water, Earth, and Spirit

I heard the winds of petitioning change howling ‘cross my floor

With courage bound beneath my wings, I opened up my door

The zephyr stole the tendril rooted as a graft for something more

Then whispered inspirations of hope to lift me up to soar

The torch of passion lit a match within my questing flame

to engulf the hearts of lovers true so they would know my name

The fuel that sparked me from the hearth that offered me fair game

has rallied blazing scars of power, on which to stake my claim

I felt the waves of transitional change sprinkling on my skin

The enterprise crashed over me, before I knew to swim

The tidal pools they pull me down beneath the spiraling spin

But the riptide it allows me surf; to shore it brings me in

My feet were planted firmly down beneath the molding clay

which were planted in the sanctioned soil that sent me on my way

The rocks beneath my nomadic feet gather no moss today

The earthen field I stand upon gives gardens of rosy bouquets

We should not forget to love

Enough is enough

Enough is enough

I don’t give a loaded poop chute about this piece of digestion. I want to know about the lives he took. I want to know their names so I never forget that his guns took their lives. I want to remember the victims because only then will real changes happen.

It’s easy to forget one person, but when you have to remember Sandy Hook, Chattanooga, Phoenix, Knoxville, ANYWHERE there are victims of murder because of guns; List the victims.

Trace their lives that led up to their fatal decision to go to school, church, the movies, or work. Let’s examine how they let it happen by putting themselves in harm’s way by living their lives.

Let’s examine what they were wearing. If they would have been wearing more orange would they not have been accidentally assumed to be a game animal? What is it going to take? This is freaking enough. It’s just no. Stop this already.

I’ve already written against this ridiculous glorification of the murderers HERE

Acroamatic

They leave offerings at her altar, never seeing past her face

They vie shamefully for her affections; peacocking their disgrace

Like a Mother Mary statue she abides their adoration

They, the faithful worshipers, fall scantily in prostration

She rarely extends her fruitful bliss, suffering their confusion,

When they realize her trinity is akin to holy communion

Home slice

Many closed doors

Many closed doors

I arrived empty handed near my old stomping grounds

where I learned to hate myself due to disapproving frowns

It’s where I learned that to survive is to run freedom unbound

Yet here I am a-haunting my past which I’ve long since outgrown.

I have been with rings on my fingers and bells on my toes

I have been ground into dirt and from the grave rose

I’ve stepped through the portal, forsaking the spirit world

For now, I must reinvent this stronger, stranger home-town girl.

Through the gate

A bunny in a garden

A bunny in a garden

The military straight fence posts stand sentinel against wildlife.

It amuses me when the rabbits squeak through to indulge in

the abundance of ripened fruit dripping from the vines

Ripe tomato juices blooding the hand-crafted stairs with their offerings

while the green beans are green together, envious of size

The wind sculpture shifts in time to the darkened rolling clouds

it startles the rabbits back through the gate to another buffet

I wonder if this is what beauty looks like when it is no longer imaginary.

I wonder why the voice I spoke to every day feels absent.

I wonder if I remembered to pack it or if someone else did it for me.

I wonder if it will return with barrels blazing with razzle-dazzle or

if it will slip in quietly through the gate to show me a different way to be.