Waiting For Plates

School's out for winter. Yippee! My workaholic, perfectionistic tendencies didn't allow for much socializing last semester at 'music school.' I am still adjusting to being back in the Lone Star state and am slowly finding like-minded individuals and groups of people who share my values. It's taking much more effort than I am used to and part of it is how spread out everyone is here. So much commuting and living off

this highway and that highway - all these towns dotting Interstate 45 in between the Gulf of Mexico and Houston - doesn't favor a sense of community. Most people I work with don't even live in the town in which we work. I am connected to a community in Houston, the Houston Zen Center - but I haven't seen them much. I'm not used to having to drive everywhere. I think of oil and time. I'm used to living in community so small you don't even need a bicycle, much less a car. No environmental guilt. No wasting time in transit. Although I have noticed as I've ventured out more since school's been out how inspiring a drive is for composing lyrics. "Bright Lights" and "Kanzeon" arose during my last jaunt up to the big city. And why was I headed to the H-town?

I was superstoked. I was going to feed some homeless persons downtown. On a date. A first date with a guy I met at a party. I had gone to Zen Center that morning and had run into a friend who told me about the party at my friend Brian's yoga studio. (Y'all in the neighborhood should totally check it out: Vital Way Yoga. There will be a potluck/drum circle/dance party for New Year's!) It was the first party I've been to in WAY too long. The last party I went to was my friend Wen's birthday party in July and there were no guys there at all except for her boyfriend. I can't even remember the last 'party' party I went to. I was excited to get out, meet some interesting people and see my friend Brian whom I hadn't seen since my move back to Texas in February.

It was awesome. I had more stimulating conversations in those few hours than I've had in the past month. I caught up with my friends Mary and Kirsten and Brian and met some interesting people. One guy caught my eye right away. I looked twice. Could he be single?

He was friends with Brian and after introductions, I spoke to his friends for awhile but didn't talk to him until he was leaving. Then, I find out he's a musician. Just a week or so ago, I was at the Chelsea Wine Bar with my friend Queenie talking to my advisor and theory teacher, Sparky, who was playing there with his jazz band and I asked him 'Where are all the single, intelligent musicians who are concerned about the planet?' He didn't know. Well, ladies and gentleman, I realized I might have just met one. This was turning out to be the best day. He told me about his band and I told him about the kinds of songs I like to write. He asked me if I was a friend of Brian's on Facebook. I told him I was and so we said we'd check out each other's stuff online. And then he left.

We accepted each other as Facebook friends and started zipping emails back and forth. The more he told me about himself, the more excited I was. He was vegan. He was an avid cyclist and advocate who didn’t even own a car. He was leaving on a road trip the next day so he asked if I wanted to do something before he left. Hell yeah, I thought. We exchanged phone numbers and started texting as I left the house to meet my friend Darlene. He asked if I wanted to join him in feeding the homeless that night. My jaw dropped as I read the text. One of the reasons I had gone to Zen Center the previous day had been to find out if I could join in any service projects they had going on, but I had forgotten to ask. This was going to be my kind of date. I couldn’t wait!

After a bike ride along the shore, I met him at his place where he was cooking rice. As soon as I got there, I asked for pen and paper to write down some lyrics that had come to me on the drive which I then sang for him. We talked while he shelled pecans for us to snack on. Local nuts – he’s my kind of guy. We talked about food and favorite books and music and our lives. Then I drove us and the rice downtown.

He set down the rice and I met some of the other volunteers. Two men were shouting and another man told us they were high. I turned to my date and offhandedly suggested that we should chant or sing songs to ease the tension. We kept walking over to the low stone fence and set down the rice. More volunteers with Food Not Bombs (http://www.foodnotbombs.net/) showed up but we couldn’t serve yet because the person who was bringing the plates had not yet arrived. It was then that I had one of those light bulb moments. I remembered that I had brought my guitar. I had brought it thinking that I would share some of my songs with my date later. I realized that the time was now. I could perform for the crowd while we were all waiting for plates.

All thoughts of being on a date vanished. I didn’t tell him what I was going to do or even ask if it would be okay to do it. I just ran to my truck and grabbed my guitar. I walked up to the line and started singing. I started out playing the song I most recently had been working on for my guitar final, Van Morrison’s Brown Eyed Girl (my guitar teacher posted it on Youtube). I received the smiles of men and women waiting in line and returned them. Soon after I started, the plates arrived, but I just kept on singing and strumming. It felt so great.

I finished that song and was asked to play it again. I asked for the name of the requester, shook his hand and played and sang it again for my new friend James. I got a request that I didn’t know which made me think for the millionth time that I really need to learn more cover tunes. I played one of mine. I met Escobar who told me some about his life and I offered him the guitar. He played and sang a tune and it turned into a song circle. I was amongst friends. I walked around and sang while everyone ate and afterwards, the guitar was passed around and I was blessed to share that space with some awesome individuals. I lost all reference for the word ‘homeless.’ We all seemed right at home. Nothing felt lacking, nothing amiss.

At one point, I noticed that dishes were being washed. I turned to one of my new friends and said, “I should go see if I can be helpful.” I was moved when he said “You’re being helpful right here.” I’d like to think he was right.

I still sometimes doubt myself in my pursuit of music. Why would I do that when I have a perfectly good degree in my pocket and could be making decent money, doing a good thing teaching kids about the earth and have health insurance. They helped me know why. Those kind souls with nothing to give, gave me so much that night. They were the ones who came to receive food, yet I walked away feeling nourished.

Four years ago when I challenged myself on my birthday to play at an open mic at a coffeeshop in Moab, Utah and thought I was going to vomit or pee in my pants, I had no idea I would one day be able to play in front of strangers in public at the drop of a hat with the ease of putting on a pair of socks. Like it was ordinary. Without thinking twice. Without doubting myself or telling myself it was a stupid thing to do. Without thinking about what anyone would think.

As I hugged them goodbye, I felt in my place. Firmly planted. Doing what I was supposed to be doing. Dogen said ‘Find your place where you are and practice will occur.’ We were all supposed to be on that street corner. Reminding each other that strangers are only friends you haven’t met yet. Not for one minute did I pity them or feel sorry for them. That allowed me to not separate myself from them. It was like being at a dinner party.

May all my new friends downtown be warm on this Christmas Day and may their hearts and stomachs be as full as my heart was on that downtown street corner sharing words and music and presence under a sliver of moon. Sometimes a sliver is all you need.

Music 101... OR... Am I still in Texas?

Here's my homework assignment for Music Literature:  

 

Find a statement on music by a philosopher (or a philosophical statement by a musician about music), and share it with the class. Try to use a reliable source, remember that Wikipedia and other websites often contain mistakes and misattributions. Quote the statement, list who said it, and then respond to it. Do you agree or disagree? Or does it make utterly no sense to you?

“I've never known a musician who regretted being one. Whatever deceptions life may have in store for you, music itself is not going to let you down.” Virgil Thompson (1896 - 1989) American Composer & Music Critic

This quote really resonates with me. I have only recently 'owned' being a musician. I had very concrete ideas of what a musician was and since I had no formal training, didn't read music, didn't write music, couldn't play songs on the guitar by ear and didn't 'jam', I concluded I couldn't possibly be one. And yet I loved to sing. Sang in church as a kid in the choir with my grandmother on visits, sang in the hallways of Weis Middle School in Galveston, in the shower and in choir. When I got to high school, the counselors advised me to drop choir so that I could fit in another computer class. And so it went. 

I studied science in college. While there, I tried to join the choir and was told I couldn't because I didn't read music. On Friday nights, I'd gather with friends from the environmental group I was in. We'd cook a vegetarian meal and then sing songs while some played the guitar.  I ran out of money, dropped out of school, went home, got a job and bought a guitar on layaway.  I also bought some songbooks (Indigo Girls, Eagles, John Denver, Traci Chapman, the Police and the Beatles). When the guitar was paid off, it was sent to me in Yellowstone National Park where I was working for the summer.  I sat by the Firehole River and learned to play some songs on the guitar so I could back myself up singing.  After that and other adventures (long story), I went back to school.  One of the highlights was working at a restaurant and bar across from campus and singing kareoke on thursday nights when it was dead.  That was also where I met my  ex-husband to be.  I finally graduated on the 7 1/2 year plan (Gig 'em Aggies!  Whoop!).    

I got married, became a science and math teacher and my guitar began to gather dust. Long story short, I burnt out of teaching, my marriage fell apart and I ended up in the desert keeping myself busier than busy so I wouldn't feel a thing. When that stopped working, I sat in the silence, started to feel and dusted off my guitar. I wrote my first song - I had to - and started to perform. I always thought I'd go back to grad school and study science, do research, and teach. Interestingly, instead, after some very windy roads, I find myself here (at College of the Mainland in the petrochemical mecca of Texas City) studying music without really a clue as to where I'm headed. I've just noticed that when I am writing a new song, time stops, all doubts drop away and I know I am exactly where I am supposed to be doing what I am supposed to be doing. No regrets. 

(The concluding thoughts might be best expressed in a song - see my newest one, Here and Now, above.)

Kervillicious

Now officially a Kervillian!!

I set off from Galveston with some local farm produce, all my camping supplies and a stomach full of butterflies.  Kerrville Folk Festival or Bust!!  I didn't know quite what to expect.  I had found out about the festival from some people I met at a party in Austin on my way back to Texas from Portland, Oregon back in February.  I had shared some songs at the party and was encouraged to go to the festival.  I was also encouraged to move to Austin which I still may do at some point.  I've only started writing songs since the Divorce and I only learned guitar because I love to sing and was worried I wouldn't fit in, that everyone would be so much better than me, that someone would yell out 'You Suck!', etc. etc.  You know how the mind can start running like a freight train.  

I had a little freak-out at Rockin' Robin Guitars in Houston the day before.  I was painfully aware of my limitations on guitar and was looking for a book or something - like I could take a quick crash course in music theory the night before.  It was raining like a banshee and there I was, dripping, looking like a lost, wet rat in front of the sheet music and books.  I felt so helpless and frustrated and all I kept hearing in my head was a little girl's voice, repeating, 'I just want to sing.  I just want to sing.'  I started crying and the poor guys at the shop didn't know what to do.  One guy kept doing drivebys, seeing if he could help.  He even showed me how to do some scales and I just kept looking through book after book, not really understanding, feeling overwhelmed.  At one point, he came over and just gave me a hug.  I walked out with a pack of picks and some blank manuscript paper for writing songs.  

I swallowed a big 'ol lump of fear and packed up my truck.  When I arrived at the festival, the volunteer who greeted me took one look at me and said, 'You're glad to finally be here, aren't you?'  I don't know what kind of look I had on my face, but I was indeed, glad to have gotten myself there, come what may.  And the adventure began.

I wasn't in the same space as many of the folks there, some coming back year after year.  I wasn't there to party.  I was there to take my stand as a musician, to start where I was, to face my fears and to get some help.  Some motivation, some guidance.  I got all that and more.

The first day of songwriting school, Rick, the director, began talking about the muse, about creativity.  I started crying almost immediately.  

"(Clap!)  From this moment on, you are a successful songwriter.  Put all the angst in a box with the doubt, etc., tie it up with a bow and place it in the garden of life.  When they 'escape', or arise again, give them a little time and then put them back in the box,  retie the bow and place them gently back in the garden.  As you walk away, whisper to them 'Love ya.'

It was exactly what I needed to hear.  I thought it would be all about theory and song structure and technical details.  There was a group of instructors and they all added their expertise and experience.  I was so disarmed.  My heart felt so full.  I had never been so respected or supported in my creativity.  Never was I made to feel less than the others and everyone was so encouraging - so real - so giving.  I didn't understand when we did get to the music theory part (Thanks, Dr. Dick) - I felt like I was back in Oaxaca, Mexico, only understanding every third word or so - and I trusted that the more I am immersed, the more I will learn.  And I was exactly where I needed to be. 

I was delighted to discover that one of the instructors, Billy Jonas (www.billyjonas.com), has in the past taught with the instructor I did a singing workshop with at Esalen Institute over the new year, Claude Stein.  Billy is a bit unconventional and his session was about cultivating our creativity, grounding ourselves on a daily basis in our bodies to support us as we delve into the vulnerable places that great songs come from.  Cliff Eberhart was an inspiring critic - I was amazed to see how he would listen to a participant's song - not the lyrics, but the music - and suggest a chord change or a transition and how it would energize a song, bring it out into relief. Rick was a lyricist and in addition to the opening encouragement and activities for bringing forth our creativity (no such thing as writer's block - see earlier post - Grandfather Tree), he shared some valuable information on song structure and rhyming schemes and told me I had some natural talent with words.  Everyone shared what they knew best in such a down-to-earth collegial way that I was continually moved.  I was beginning to understand why those at the gate greeted everyone with the phrase 'Welcome Home!' 

A huge THANK YOU to the volunteers, instructors and participants of the 2009 Songwriting School.  May we all keep 'saving the world, one song at a time'.

Me and Freebo, one of the instructors - a renowned bass player turned singer-songwriter who highly recommended The Artist's Way.  His music is truly inspiring.

www.freebo.com

Group 1:  Tad, Courtney, Instructor Rick, Lloyd, a guy who came just that one day to audit, and Farrel.

Lewis Childs from Portland, OR

www.LewisChilds.com

We were so stoked after the first day of songwriting school that a few of us kept talking after class seeking refuge in some shade.  Four of us; me, Lewis, Jason and David; took turns sharing songs - we had all been in different groups.  It was one of the highlights for me.  Some of the song circles were really intimidating. Even though I was definitely the least skilled of the bunch (Lewis was amazing), it felt safe for me and the guys were so incredibly nice, appreciating and giving me advice about my songs.  It was so affirming - I tear up thinking about it now - I sometimes still have trouble calling myself a musician!  I grew up thinking I was the serious, nerdy one - definitely not the hip artist type. 

'The Brothers', as Lewis nicknamed Jason and David, playing after school on the last day.  They used to play together in college and met up at the fest as a kind of batchelor party - Jason is getting married in July!!!  Congrats!!

OOooeeeee!  That storm was a doozie!!!  

The canopy never recovered even after lots of duct tape and love.

Some new fans.  They videoed me playing Food on My Plate to use with a kids program.  I thank truck drivers in one verse and he's a truck driver!!!!!

Me and Tyler Jordan, tenting right next door.  

We shared songs at a fire the first night.  He lives in Austin. 

Me and Meredith, one of Tyler's friends.

Me and Alisha, also camped next door with Tyler and friends.  Her hubby drew the South Austin Music mural in Austin.  It's rad and has one of my song school instructors on it.

She's super nice and has a gift shop in Waco.

The Ballad Tree on Chapel Hill

Yours truly at Ballad Tree wearing my 'Born Free' t-shirt

I sang my love song called We Tried, (it's posted about my Utah ex, Ed) one of my ones I have been frustrated with b/c the chorus and verse have the same melody.  Afterwards, David helped me come up with a new melody which meant the rhyming scheme didn't work anymore so I had to change the words.  It is now much much shorter with a totally different chorus and a different tentative title:  Sometimes You Just Have to Walk Away.  It doesn't even have the words 'we tried' anymore, but I may put them back in bridge form or something.  I'm still working on it.  I am also using a capo on the second fret which is helpful for my natural vocal range.  I've had a capo for awhile but never used for anything except for playing one Indigo Girls song that called for a capo.  I didn't really understand it's usefulness.

Jason singing a song about Texas he wrote before ever coming here.  Has a line about a salamander which he changed to have it jumping out of his suitcase which actually happened at a hotel in Kerrville last week.  Some hypothesize it was actually a lizard.

Me, Katie, Tad, Jason and David in the dancing corner by the Main Stage. 

Terri Hendrix and Lloyd Mains 

(two of the instructors at the SongWriting School) 

performing at a Children's Concert

Me and Terri after the show.  She loves to hang out and talk to fans after the shows.  

Katie and I hung out after many of our songwriting cohorts split and decided to write a song together, a song of imprisonment and liberation.  We brainstormed some images and lyrics and I wrote the music for the verse and chorus.  Unfortunately, then she had to go back to Austin.  I went down to the Medina River the next day for a few  hours and fleshed out the rest of the song.  Then I shared it at Steve Gillete's critic circle where the chorus got a thumbs up, but, as usual for me, it was too long.  

I sang it for Tad (www.TadDreis.com) later and he very generously helped me with the song structure.  We cut out two of the verses and he helped me ( drum roll please) ... write my first ever bridge.  I didn't really get how those worked or how you went about writing one.  He actually wrote the music for it and came up with the final words after a discussion of how to make it the liberation piece.  It uses minor chords for a different feel and I really dig it.  He helped me with the teeny intro and the extended prechorus at the end and throwing in an Em in the chorus for the last time around.  It was awesome to leave Kerrville with a new song, one much more musically interesting than most of my others.  It's called Suit of Armor.  It will be a song on the future album:  Shy Girl Blues.  Maybe.  Anyway, it was way cool to collaborate with other musicians.   I was skeptical at first that the story would get lost cutting out so much, but it really seems to work.  Better.  I am now ready to take all my other songs to the chopping block!!!!

Johann Wagner serenades the crowd.  Check him out at jwagnermusic.com

One of the cool hotspots was across from the Kerrtree store at Staff Kerrecords where volunteer staff members played their original tunes and sold their CDs.  Lots of groovy tunes.

Ellie and I at Guitar 101 under the Council Tree

Charlie, Jerry, the instructor, and Anne

Guitar 101.  Dogen (Founder of Zen Buddhism)  said 'Start where you are and practice will occur.'  So I took advantage of the free guitar lessons offered by Jerry who happens to live in Clear Lake, not far from me which means I can continue learning chord progressions, bar chords, arpeggios, and (drum roll please) ... to read music.  I've been wanting to do that for a long time.  By the time I left we were using the first three frets of the first three strings to play Aura Lee and Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.  Humble beginnings.....

  

Driving back to Galveston as the sun rises, a song arose as it often does as I drive distances and the chorus so far goes like this (thanks Hat Guy for the inspiration):

Cheeri, Cheerio

He gave me a hug and called me Cheerio.

I knew he'd been down the same road.

Cheeri, Cheerio

He gave me a hug and called me Cheerio.

I knew I'd found a kindred soul.

The whole thing was kind of like that.  So much support, respect, collaboration, and creativity from so many kindred souls expressing themselves courageously, sharing themselves generously.  Saving the world one song at a time.  

Grandfather Oak

Copyright (c) 2009 Linda Daline Limbaugh 

I see you.

Do you see me?

What have you seen?  What have you experienced?  What wisdom have you garnered over the years?  How many years does it take?  Will you be my friend?  Can I hold your branch?  Will you give me refuge?  Can I just climb like I did as a child - a free, open, awe-inspired, curious child investigator.  Can I give you all my conclusions?  I don't want them anymore.

Can you teach me how to sway and bend without breaking?  How to be graceful:  intricate leaf arrangements, delicate patterns, yet trunk strong as  steel.  Where do you place your roots?  How did you know where to put them?  How did you get what you needed?  How many others like me have you comforted?

Heat rises from the ground and you don't hold on.  Wind moves and you don't try to catch it. Rain falls and it quenches your thirst - you don't drown.

(ten minute timed writing assignment at Kerrville Folk Festival Songwriting School 2009)

Beach Bum: Essay 3: March 26, 2009

 

A gull flies overhead, arcs back toward the shore and lands.  It stares off to the left. 

 

A small white dog with brown spots pants over to a ceramic bowl, licking up water as if she’s found an oasis in the middle of the desert.  She’d gone missing in our perception – not her’s – disappearing into wetland plants taller than she.  Harmonized whistling from the top of the dunes by me and my new friend, Miranda, we thought was futile.  However; just as Miranda headed down to tromp into the green in pursuit of the dog she’s had since they were both knee high to a grasshopper, out darted Poppy in a dead heat straight toward the shore fifty yards to our left.    Now she sits between us, content, grooming herself.

Miranda & Poppy

My bum is currently a foot off the sand, supported by a blue swath of fabric which is itself supported by an aluminum frame.  Aluminum is useful here on an island constantly bathed in salty, moist air.  My feet are covered in sand, my army green pant legs are wet and sandy – I was surprised by the tide soon after I arrived.  My well worn Chaco sandals almost washed out to sea as the tide continued its move inland.

 

It’s been lovely sharing nature with Miranda.  All kinds of stories were recalled from my childhood.  Memories of oil spills and tar-covered beaches, of being surrounded by cabbage head jellyfish bobbing in the water,  of a friend swimming out to the second sandbar and into a school of eels, of myself swimming parallel to shore and into a school of grouper, fish everywhere flapping against the whole length of my body.  There was the time I crawl-stoked into a Portugese man-of-war that I felt, but never saw, red streaks painting my right arm.  I recall being grateful the tentacles didn’t slap my face instead.

 

I want to tell her everything: about the different beaks birds have specialized to what they eat, the seaweed, the sea anemones.  I want to take her into the salt flats.  I want to share the joy that I find here in my hometown, the one I was so eager to leave.

 

Another cloudy day, yet no rain.  The temperature is perfect:  not too hot, not too cold.  Just right.  No need to spoinl the present  moment with oppressive thoughts of Texas summers.

 

I feel an itch on my left bum cheek and wonder if a sand flea has found me.  I had forgotten about them – images of childhood post beach showers where all kinds of surprises fall out as you peel off your suit:  amazing amounts of sand, shells, and sand fleas.

 

I feel at peace here.  No need to worry about where I will be sleeping tonight, when repairs might start on Mom’s Ike ravaged house, or if she will be able to purchase a new one.  No worries about whether Dave and I are meant to be friends or more.  Just gratitude for what I have and for what I’m glad I don’t have.  So often I forget to be thankful for all of the terrible things that could be happening that aren’t.

 

I used to have a travel alarm clock that had a setting that sounded like this.  Sounds of nature to lull one into sleep.  Yet I don’t feel sleepy.

 

If I took a little piece of the scene before me, it could be seen as a chaotic swirling and churning.  I remember being knocked over by waves as a kid -  my sister Sherry and I would sometimes for fun go farther than we could touch the ground.  I can see Dad far away on the shoreline waving his arms for us to come back – I guess we were confident he would come to get us if we needed him.  From here, fifty yards back, all the motion is contained, held by the shore, supported.  It’s calm here.  I feel my feet firmly on the sand.  And I know that if I got up right now, walked into the ocean and started swimming perpendicular to shore, I’d make my way to the calmness beyond the wavebreak.  It’s calm there.  Floating on my back, eyes closed, I allow the ocean to hold me, to rock me while I listen to the chatter of my dolphin cousins.

 

Poppy’s up  now.  She wandered away, sniffing, and then turned and ran full speed back to us.  Just because.

 

I am amazed at how fast the legs of the shorebirds move as they run across the sand, stop, peck, run some more.  Now the whole flock flies straight up in concert to avoid the approaching tide and again settles on the sand.

 

My exposed right shoulder feels the recent visit of a skeeter and I notice a few have landed on my left arm.  As I look at my arm, I notice that the hair is standing on end.  The temperature must have dropped a few degrees and/or I am feeling the effects of sitting around in wet clothes.

 

I hear an ambulance in the distance.  My bladder is full again.  I scratch a bite on my neck and start feeling antsy.  And itchy.  And ready to go.  Buh-bye, beach.  I know you will be here waiting until the next time I decide to slow down, to notice, to be.  

The Earth Can't Be Saved Without Peace

I have been working on a song I started in college.  My boyfriend-at-the-time, Jason, bought me a T-shirt at the mall.  It was white and had a big blue Earth with the words 'Open Your Eyes.'  Those are the opening words, the opening line of the chorus.  

My understanding has changed a bit since the time I chanted with my friends and fellow activists at Texas A&M's Texas Environmental Action Coalition 'Save the Trees, save the forests, save ourselves, save ourselves...' as we marched up to the capital building in Austin to protect clearcutting of our state's forests.  I have noticed the separation that is created and/or deepened when there is an 'Us' that is called to action, that loves the Earth, that 'knows' who the bad guys are and a 'Them' who we have to bip on the side of the head, so to speak, with our passionate chants and protests so they can wake the hell up and see things our way.  

As a child who was bipped on the head on occasion, I can tell you that it did not make me more likely to hear what the 'bipper' had to say or make me want to join forces.  And so, I've been editing the song a bit to include what I have learned, to reflect my current strategy for I still hear the call of the Earth.  The one I first heard my freshman year, the year I realized life was about more than shopping malls and boyfriends or being popular.  It was the year I realized I was here for a reason, the year I turned into the weird older sister.  It was the year I suddenly started speaking in front of crowds because I had something I wanted to say, had to say.  People I meet today have a hard time believing I was painfully shy in junior high, but I think most will understand how you can do things you couldn't do for yourself for those you love, and, in my case, for a planet I loved, one I realized I was a part of and that needed my help.

Today, I ran across a video of my teacher at San Francisco Zen Center, Eijun Linda Ruth Cutts.  There are many reasons I was drawn to her in particular, of the many choices there.  She embodies many traits I would like to cultivate in myself and she hears the same cries of the Earth.  

It was she who gave my my Dharma name during the Boddhisattva Initiation Ceremony, the one where I vowed to devote my life to the Boddhisattva Way, to the Truth, to peace.  My name is Chirin Eian:  Earth Companion, Song of Peace. In our tradition, the first part of your name is what your teacher sees manifesting in your life in the present and the second part is what she or he sees manifesting as your practice matures.

   

When I first received the name, my youngest sister thought it very fitting for me - she's known me for awhile. However; aside from the fact that it is hard for people to pronounce, it felt too big to me - I felt like I wasn't doing enough to 'wear' the name.  After all, it had been years since I had been in a protest or written a letter to Congress or even been to a beach cleanup.  So I didn't use it. Until last summer.  I was in retreat and instructed to expand my consciousness to include the natural surroundings (we were meditating outside).  After 'being' a tree, birds, the wind and even a passing car, I heard a loud voice come from beneath me, from the Earth itself and it say boldly 'I AM CHIRIN.'  And I said, 'Okay.' I didn't argue.  It is now my joy to not judge myself as unworthy of the name, but to acknowledge the connection I feel and to discover how that will play out in my life.  I notice I am writing songs and singing.  Because it moves me.  It is my heart's greatest joy.  Tell me what you think about this song.  I have not performed it yet.  I'm still working on the lyrics.

Horizons

Copyright (c) 2009 Linda Daline Limbaugh

E

Open our eyes/minds/hearts/arms,

                              G

The Earth is asking us to open our eyes/minds/hearts/arms,

                                 Am

She's begging us to open our eyes/minds/hearts/arms

                                         D C D

(1)  And see what there is to see/ See what’s happening to you and me

(2)  See other points of view/ Without respect for each other, we're through.

(3)  No need to push people away/ We all really want the same thing.  

(4) Embrace with humility/ Close the space that’s between you and me.

    

               G
To you and me and the birds and the insects and fishes,

       C                                      D

the marine mammals and amphibians.

             G

To the sky and the water, the earth and the forest

C                                   D

How can we just let this all be?

              G

For our sons and our daughters will be born tomorrow

                  C                                          D

(Could we look at them straight in the eye?)

            G

It all starts right here, right here in our own hearts.

  C                                                            D

The Earth won’t be saved without peace.

CHORUS 2

And if we all got together, it’d be so much better.

Can you see how good it all could be?

To live in a world so loving and giving

that asks of us only respect.

There’s no man on Earth who is not my brother,

No woman who is not my sis.

I’ll wait for you here with my heart and hands open.

The Earth won’t be saved without peace.

 

CHORUS 3

 

I don’t understand why we all can’t be happy.

Do all of our dreams have to die?

But it’s not essential to step on each other

To run to the front of the line.

Do you know what you’re buying with that product so cheap.

Let’s take our heads out of the sand.

But without blaming and shaming and pointing our fingers.

There’s no reason we have to be mean.

Nobody’s hands are all clean.

CHORUS 4

Repeat Verse 1

Repeat CHORUS 1

Adlib...The Earth can't be saved/won't be saved/can't be saved without peace.  No matter how hard we try/If there's hatred buried deep inside/We'll keep robbing our brothers/Make bombs and not butter/But the Earth can be saved/will be saved/can be saved by peace/Let's join one another and make of butter/The Earth can be saved by peace...

Yeehaw!! Ride 'em cowboys, cowgirls and cowkids!

My sister, Jackie, invited me to the rodeo with box seats!!!  Swank!  

You should have seen how fast everyone ran out when we heard the ice cream cart!  And, of course, it was served in a cowboy hat!

They start 'em young in Texas.  Imagine watching a bunch of kids running after sheep and tryin' to ride them!  One of the most adorable things I've ever seen!  Good thing this kid was wearing a helmet.  They all got up and waved to the crowd with big 'ol smiles no matter what the outcome.

I enjoyed the concert with the revolving circular stage.  He played some inspirational tunes in addition to standard country fare.  I became inspired and asked the waiter for pen and paper and scribbled down some lyrics for a new tune.

To my amusement and surprise, Bevo was there - the mascot of my college rival, T.U. (Texas University - known to the rest of the world as The University of Texas.  We, at Texas A&M, consider our school to be 'THE' University of Texas.)  In reality, I don't really buy into all that school fighting.  It was fun to tease my brother-in-law though who roots for the other side.  ("Was he barbecued? - I asked when he and Sherry told Jackie and I the steer was there.)  I am seen hissing as I recall doing in school.  I actually have a lot of friends who went to T.U. and had I known more where my interests would lead, I might have gone there.

Beach Bum: Essay 2: March 13, 2009

Time to do my nature writing assignment again.

I just spent the last few minutes rummaging through my mobile storage unit, a.k.a. my truck, looking for this journal. With some frustration. With some resistance to the current state of my life. At least I found it in the cab and didn’t have the leave this truck oasis currently under attack by water hurtling down from the sky.

It is really interesting how a view of the world is tinted so dramatically by the lenses one wears. I currently don the ‘this is not what my life should look like’ lens and everything is a hassle and an inconvenience. Yet I recall loving the rain, sitting the in the meditation hall at Green Gulch Farm, allowing the sound to massage my aching knees. It felt like love. Now, I spurn ‘love’ and want it to go away.

Could be worse. I am reminded of a jalopy I drove in high school: a Pontiac J-2000 SE with a hatchback my Dad bought used for $2000. I learned a lot from that car. Rusts runs rampant here on the island. The internal mechanism allowing the driver’s side window to roll up and down corroded. So began a game whereby I would remove the side panel, lift the windowpane up to its highest position and replace the panel. It would slowly make its descent due to the vibrational energy of the car and gravity.  

Now, those who have grown up with little money and a desire to transport one’s self other than with one’s feet or public transit are familiar with the love and care necessary to keep a car performing, albeit at the minimum level. You have to pay attention, watch the gauges, listen. You know how to fix a flat, where to buy retread tires, how to start the car with a wrench and how to put out a carburetor fire. You know to turn on the heater when the engine starts overheating and how to add fluid when all the warnings and manuals say ‘DO NOT OPEN THE RADIATOR CAP WHEN ENGINE IS HOT’. That message is just for novices. You just need a towel and some patience. (Do not attempt to do this at home, please) So, I played the window game. It wasn’t such a big deal unless it rained. I began to hate the rain with a passion.

Comparatively, it’s not that bad in this moment. My truck is reliable and at the least the cab doesn’t leak (though the camper shell does a bit). I am dry although the cold is starting to creep in.

Back to the reason I am here. Nature writing. Which assumes one is in nature. Not sure if cowering in my truck counts. Somewhere in this truck is a pair of rain pants. I know where my umbrella, rain parka and floral garden boots are. All are in the back. Along with my gloves. Might be tricky to write out there and I’m definitely not setting my bum on the sand today!!

I’ve been questioning my decision to return home. What exactly am I doing here? It was more clear what I was doing out on the West Coast. My Mom is happy to have me here and hopes I stay – maybe I will, who knows? I am happy to have the opportunity to be helpful and provide some support as she still puts the pieces of her life back together after Hurricane Ike.  But is there a life for me here?

I see the high rise in the distance. I hear the pitter pat of the rain as it lessens its assault. A car drives through the parking lot and makes its way as close to the beach as it can. I hope it doesn’t get stuck.

Here comes more rain. An increasing crescendo. I find myself listening as I do at the symphony – trying to pick out the different parts of the orchestra as the rain plays different parts of my truck.

The little red car turns around and leaves. No one got out.

It’s hard to distinguish the Gulf from the off-white sky. A low, grayish stripe peeks out above and between the artificial dunes. Flashes of bright white can be seen as the waves curl and break.

A gull and friend fly toward me as a flock of their kin cruises the shoreline. I can make out part of the fence with the red ‘Do Not Enter’ signs I sat by last week and think ‘That’s where I should be!’ I hate it when I 'should' myself. ‘I shouldn’t hate either’ I think as I do it again.

A dark blue Chevy pulls up to my left. I wonder if they’ll get out.

I remember senior night at Astroworld in Houston when it started to rain. We loved it, staying to ride Texas Cyclone again and again, experiencing the added exhilaration of rain pelting us in the face. It was awesome! ‘One more time! One more time!’ we’d chant as we returned to the start. Have I become too old and too comfortable to play in the rain?

I hear a metronome as the rain attempts to keep the pitter-patter in time and is doing a lousy job of it because it keeps speeding up and slowing down. I can’t decipher which part of the truck is providing that backbeat.  

The frequency of sound increases and I lost all motivation for venturing forth. Instead, I study the patterns being made on my windows. I am reminded of wine tasting – swirling the chardonnay in the glass, analyzing the ‘legs’, the vertical patterns made as the wine descends to the bottom of the glass once the centripetal force decreases to zero newtons.

There’s surface tension as the water forms irregular mounds. When the sum of forces no longer equals zero, the water makes its way to the bottom of the window reminiscent of a shooting star, recruiting friends on the way.

I am also reminded of the video game I played as a child – one I loved more than Asteroids or Ms. Pacman – Centipede. I am moved to want to ‘shoot’ these drops before they make it to the ‘ground’. I gaze at the window and experience an old familiar feeling as I think ‘But there are too many – how can I shoot them all?’

The windshield makes a completely different pattern than the window. Due to the slope of the glass and its curvature, the drops of water immediately meld into one another becoming one slow-dripping cascade. A kind of water feature. Relaxing to watch. It looks a bit like dimples – ‘ooh, like cellulite ‘ I think in disgust, definitely not something even on my radar when dropping quarters into video games at the local arcade.

So far, no one has emerged from the Chevy with the tinted windows. I wonder if there are kids in there making out. My mind is all over the place today.

A black bird appears before me, perching on a fencepost. I must sadly admit that my birding skills are horrid and I can’t even say with confidence that this is a crow. Could it be a European starling? A friend joins him or her before they both fly off to my left, joining a group of them pecking on the ground. They pick up pieces of Styrofoam and other trash and I want to scream out ‘No, yucky, spit it out!’ like I would to my one year old nephew Jacob when he picks up pieces of grass or dead bugs from the ground.

The birds are gone now, but there’s still a two-liter bottle on its side with a blue label. The liquid is brown with hints of orange. Maybe next week, I will return with trash bags and clean up this place.

On my dashboard I spy a pile of sand and a thin, white shell. I picked it up last week, meaning to give it to my new friend, Dave, but I keep forgetting. It’s sitting next to a package of dried, pitted California dates, ‘local’ food picked when I was a California local. It’s my favorite kind of shell. I am drawn to the delicate ones, the fragile ones – a reminder of the transiency of life. I look up from my journal at the shell again. I smile and with a surge of adrenaline, put down my pen – quick, before I change my mind…

I leap out of the truck – no garden boots, no jacket, no hat – wearing blue jeans, Dansko clogs and a fleece shirt and I ran. I run over and on top of forbs, grasses and a toothbrush, squishing sand and splashing through puddles to the dunes. I stop, laughing and take off again for the water. I arrive at the edge and notice more patterns of rain in the sandy pools. I hear and see the waves, and wave myself. I spin around, arms extended and laugh out loud. And then I turn and book it back to the truck, rain pelting me in the face.

I rush back into the cab, slam the door, huffing and puffing, looking like the proverbial wet rat.
I am still alive!!! My nose runs, a trickle of water creeps down my neck and my jeans stick to the front of my legs. My hair is plastered to my head and my laugh is more genuine than it has been in days.  Another kiss and a shout out to the creator for reminding who I am.

Texas Two Steppin' on a Girls Night Out

Mom and I (she was born in Japan, but if you hear her twang, you'll know she's really Texan!)

We decided Mom was way overdue for a night out on the town so we got all dolled up and headed over to Big Texas.  It reminded me of a bar I went to a few times in college, Hurricane Harry's.  There was a big dance floor in the middle and the music switched from country to rock.  It had been years and years since I had tried a two step and thought I might just sit back and watch Mom have a good time, but before we knew it, we were both cutting a rug.  I started out stepping on toes, but by the end of the long night, I was not only two-steppin', but jitterbugging, doing the polka and waltzing in addition to some freestyle oldtime rock-n-roll.  

Rockin' my hometown with my new friends!

I saw an ad in the Galveston Daily News for a bar that wasn't around when I used to live here a dozen  years ago.  The name sounded awesome:  The Old Quarter Acoustic Cafe.  I checked out the website and when I saw the comment ' where lyrics still matter,' I knew I had found my place.  It was more awesome than I expected and I made a bunch of new friends, performing and appreciating other performers, at the Wednesday and Thursday night open mics.  This is my new favorite home away from home.

The owner, Wrecks Bell, starts off each show with some rockin' tunes.  He's a funny guy.

Reggie offered to accompany me as I sang some original tunes and some covers of Traci Chapman, the Indigo Girls and Dido.

Dave and Tom from Wisconsin here working to rebuild Galveston and sharing tunes from their fave Minnesota band Wookiefoot.

Lee bartends and belts out some original tunes.

The band, Fiel, will be headlining here soon - the passionate, dual language performance was amazing.

Keith Miller had the audience crackin' up with original tunes like the one about his cat.

I am very excited about my new friend, Dave.  We have an uncanny number of things in common like the same age, the same former profession (science teacher), similar spiritual trainings (Buddhist), same musical instrument, etc.  He's offered to do some guitar harmony with me, adding some needed spice to my strumming (i'm more a vocalist than a guitar player).