tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-65297809662343385852024-03-18T20:48:05.456-07:00SoJourn(al): Private Dreams to Public ArtExposing Consciousness ~ Expanding Subconsciousness ~ Entering the UnconsciousRusty Kjarvikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03071547323352880050noreply@blogger.comBlogger312125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6529780966234338585.post-44417293675547727252013-12-24T05:19:00.001-08:002013-12-24T05:19:30.015-08:00Anaïs Nin and the Secret Self: From Blindness to the Mountaintop <div style="text-align: center;">
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<i>Henry Miller</i><br />
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In the last few years one sees quite a few either writings about you or quotations from you about dreams and the dream life and I feel that they haven't really understood what you mean about this. I don't think you want people to be living in a dream state while conscious, do you?<br />
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<i>Anaïs Nin</i><br />
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No.<br />
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<i>HM</i><br />
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But you mean that dream has its uses, its effectiveness in life afterwards.<br />
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<i>AN</i><br />
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No, I meant something else, I meant that what we could arrive at a state where what we dream at night would be the blueprint for what we wish to fulfill, or to reach, and if we understand the dream then we know what the secret self is and then this secret self we can fulfill.<br />
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<a href="http://www.thecrimson.com/article/1969/12/8/the-filmgoer-the-henry-miller-odyssey/">The Henry Miller Odyssey</a>, 1:02:20</div>
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<i><a href="http://anaisninblog.skybluepress.com/">Anaïs Nin</a>, whose literary renown is most prolifically exampled in her posthumously published diary writing, is also respected and admired for her role in encouraging and stimulating the work of Henry Miller. Her opening preface to the Tropic of Cancer, Miller's first book, is one of the most incisively written dedications to the literary spirit that I have ever read. Her quotations on dream, are poignant in their truth and magical in their realism, vibrant in their imagination and open in their accessibility. </i><br />
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<i>Similarly as with Carl Jung, both Nin and Miller drew liberally from interpretations between Western psychoanalysis and the traditional religious learning, thought and practice of Hindu, Buddhist and Taoist cultures. As highly creative minds, who lived richly balanced in heart and mind, stood for a conscientious human being, who through developing thorough self-awareness comes naturally to be a part of compassionate change in the creative universe. </i><br />
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<i>“Dreams pass into the reality of action. From the actions stems the dream again; and this interdependence produces the highest form of living,” said Nin, in a comment that affirms the dream psychology of Jung, who considered the dream life, or the life of the imagination, of the mind and of creativity as more real, meaning a more direct form, or manifestation, of experience, than the life lived through the senses. Thus, Nin determines, “Dreams are necessary to life.” </i><br />
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<i>Indeed, Nin would press ever on into conceiving the dream life as integral to meaning, to holism and self-truth. She asserts, “Our life is composed greatly from dreams, from the unconscious, and they must be brought into connection with action. They must be woven together.” Further, one might add that when woven together, the dreamer, as artist-visionary-thinker-writer, becomes the seer, as in the mystic of unmediated experience, of eternal unity in the present, of enlightenment in non-being. </i><br />
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<i>Eventually, dreams are life, as life is certainly made of dream, and that we are the substance of dream, as the subtle nature of perception, meaning, truth and self-knowing. In reaching the transformation of necessity to becoming, in the paradigm shift of dream action fulfilled in daily living, is for Nin, a miraculous occurrence, likened to the rare and precious goal of enlightenment. She reminds, “The dream was always running ahead of me. To catch up, to live for a moment in unison with it, that was the miracle.”</i><br />
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Night in the forest, like soot and anger, under a flattening sky. I fell from Paradise into History in the moment of a sting, the lunging insect-antennae, electric, lunged into my paranoid flesh. Hooked under the stark and opaque canopy, obscuring starlight into the bitter and directionless flood of need, anxiety and hope. I sprang from the petrified mud to the swaying vegetable maw of a blind quake, a wild charge.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/1/14/Lacombe-For%C3%AAt_au_sol_rouge-Quimper.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/1/14/Lacombe-For%C3%AAt_au_sol_rouge-Quimper.JPG" width="224" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Georges Lacombe, La forêt au sol rouge</td></tr>
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Extinction moved in the sad, ghastly wave of moonlight over frostbitten leaves. Bone-white spears upended my eyes, as I dodged a full-grown bull. Adrenaline-shocked, I sped, scanning the immobile trunks, weighing the Earth down with inhuman strength. And the soil broke in a jarring flash of bestial rage, as another bull, of sturdy, muscular build, spun me around, my heart waning of life.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/6/66/Bull's_head,_painting_by_Johann_Heinrich_Baumann.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/6/66/Bull's_head,_painting_by_Johann_Heinrich_Baumann.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bull's head, painting by Johann Heinrich Baumann</td></tr>
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I tore through the endless nothing. Then, one bull split my body from the waist up the gut. Marching on my hands, stomping and cracking bone with its merciless strength, adrenaline rushed and spilled out into the open air as I climbed back to my feet, nearly wasted by the crushing jeer. Countless bulls encircled, as I fled, bleeding, the pain yet to reach my brain, grabbing for low-hanging anything, my stomach burning, my feet turning to knee-splitting daggers and brain-flushing mush.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/5/52/Franz_Marc_1914_Animals_in_a_Landscape.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/5/52/Franz_Marc_1914_Animals_in_a_Landscape.jpg" width="295" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Animals in a Landscape (aka Painting with Bulls) by Franz Marc</td></tr>
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Pit against an escalating fever and white with near-mortalizing blood loss, I fainted under the powerless impression of my death, only steps from the forest edge, still besieged under the sightless underground forest of the human Earth. A single house stood at the edge of a rock face, and I was carried to its door. From a window fogged with subzero condensation, I could make out the moonlit peak, and with every second that my mind ascended, my body shrank with fear, and I gasped for each breath as my last.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/d3/'Mountain_Peak_with_Drifting_Clouds',_oil_on_canvas_painting_by_Caspar_David_Friedrich.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="256" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/d3/'Mountain_Peak_with_Drifting_Clouds',_oil_on_canvas_painting_by_Caspar_David_Friedrich.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mountain Peak with Drifting Clouds by Caspar David Friedrich</td></tr>
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Staring at the summit, and then was enshrouded by cloud-cover, my eyes closed, I stole beyond the body, and time, beyond death and need, beyond blood and truth, beyond the waves of human flesh that rode on this belligerent tidal sway of hope and tragedy, to summit the Everest flight of dream, and survive through this tyrannical flood of mortal reality.<br />
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Rusty Kjarvikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03071547323352880050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6529780966234338585.post-86461828648649858412013-12-17T04:02:00.002-08:002013-12-17T04:02:49.440-08:00Create You: Fearless Artistry and Creative Identity <div style="text-align: right;">
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"I began to dream heavily, violently, every night, and then I learned how to wake up…" </div>
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"Consciously or unconsciously, all writers employ the dream, even when they’re not surrealists. The waking mind, you see, is the least serviceable in the arts. In the process of writing one is struggling to bring out what is unknown to himself. To put down merely what one is conscious of means nothing, really, gets one nowhere." </div>
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<a href="http://www.blogger.com/(http://www.theparisreview.org/interviews/4597/the-art-of-fiction-no-28-henry-miller)">Henry Miller </a></div>
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<i>Creation is life. More, the incipience of creation is the life of the creator. The life of the artist is bound to their creation, in the same way that a mammal survives on each breath of fresh air. As long as the air is fresh, the artist will continue to create, and as long as the authentic substance of heart issues from the core of the artist's own vision, the arist-seer will align and harmonize with all of creation. </i></div>
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<i>To forego a path without heart is acceptable. The great mystical physicist of our age, Fritjof Capra, began his famed text, </i>The Tao of Physics<i>, with that realization. Yet, on the path of heart, a different narrative runs its course. To remain true to oneself is to hold fast to the consciousness of one's life source as not merely the beginning precepts of one's physical subsistence, but of the visionary path onto which one is led through to the heights of meaning and becoming. </i></div>
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<i>The proud artists will realize their vision in the instant of a moment, at simply being the processional experience of creation, the ever-beating heart of co-unity with individuality and universality on Earth. To not over-think is the key to strengthen the creative momentum, reminds Henry Miller, the American author with a self-professed Chinese ascetic's nature. </i></div>
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<i>So, in holding fast, the artist and author of self-creation, is near-shattered, sensitized by the flood of the fleeting that files down the materialism and consumerism of an all-pervasive cultural fear, to belittle the uncultivated mind to ignorant non-being and blind negativity. In this way, the inner sanctum from where the creativity of an artist is strengthened by the water-like ability to be vulnerable, naked, raw and emotive in a full and unbridled formless truth. </i></div>
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<i>To all artists, and to the Self, I call on you to be strong, and to claim the ideas and visions and dreams in your mind and heart and being as you would claim your rightful place on Earth. For that creativity, and the perfect imagination of its fruition in your life, is your truth, your heart, your mind, your being, your soul, your foundation, your meaning, and all your own, it is you, your nature, your life, all yours, be it and be proud. </i></div>
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<i>Everyone, as with one mind and one heart, is capable of becoming sensitive to the expression of your truth as an unheard knowledge that only you possess and that is invaluable, necessary in its tragedy, absolute in its humour, refined in its judgment, authoritative in its experience, wild in its reason, cautious in its aspiring, and pure in its love. Create you. </i><br />
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<i>___________</i></div>
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Around this circle danced the flame of eternity. In the green spark licked the tongue of heaven. Spring in the Jungle bloomed with effervescent majesty among the ruined foundations of another remote, human wasteland paradise. The veils of fame and belonging passed like a soothing tide, recoiling in the abyss of oceanic depth. We smoked the herb of forgetfulness, harmony and love. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/2/25/Haeckel_Ceylon_Jungle_River.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="233" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/2/25/Haeckel_Ceylon_Jungle_River.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ernst Haeckel's 1905 Wanderbilder (Travel Pictures)</td></tr>
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The smoke coiled around our lazing necks, floundering amid the slow-moving river, her brown body motioned like a heavy emotion. One among us, an artist of metal and flowers spoke up as paper and marijuana stung our eyes, blinded by the greedy moment, a fleeting light. "Native community leaders announced their wish to use our space. They will hold facilitations, meetings and workshops on the militarization of the Indian people; their War." </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/5/50/Edward_Lear_-_Coolies_on_the_Road_near_Kalicut,_Malabar_-_Google_Art_Project.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="204" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/5/50/Edward_Lear_-_Coolies_on_the_Road_near_Kalicut,_Malabar_-_Google_Art_Project.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coolies on the Road near Kalicut, Malabar by Edward Lear</td></tr>
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A shade lifted and a heaviness shrank as our hearts wept and our minds faltered along the brink. She, the speaker, high as the azure, fled to the banks, to swim and cleanse in thoughtful reflection. She swung on a low-hanging vine, falling into the naked river, dressed still in paltry coverings, now a resident of the Amazon for well over a decade. Her eyes spoke of what her tongue could not shake. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/e/e4/Ferdinand_Keller_-_Jagender_J%C3%BCngling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/e/e4/Ferdinand_Keller_-_Jagender_J%C3%BCngling.jpg" width="223" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Young hunter by Ferdinand Keller</td></tr>
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They arrived, and we vacated the area, as a show of respect. And one day, on the top floor, whereon we store our arts, with wood canvases lain and strewn, I saw her. She was not Native. She was a woman of the Old Country. Her heart was cold as a perennial shadow. Her moonlit face eyed me with an inhuman glare, and her blood then boiled, raising her hair, intoning a voice as harsh and ghastly as the screaming bite of a bullet ant. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/0/09/14_abril.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/0/09/14_abril.jpg" width="228" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">14 abril by Yolanda Palomo del Castillo</td></tr>
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I ran. And then falling with desperation in the rushing river, we were swept along. In the instant of our near-death, she lunged towards my angular body, stretched out above the surface, in full display of my superior experience on these riverine lands. I watched as the infamous cult leader, impostor of the Cocama ethnic struggle was buried in the open jaw of the current, as her bones cracked in the turbulent stream. Awash, I lay at the edge of reason. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/4/45/Johann_Moritz_Rugendas_-_%C3%81rvore_gigantesca_na_selva_tropical_brasileira,_1830.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/4/45/Johann_Moritz_Rugendas_-_%C3%81rvore_gigantesca_na_selva_tropical_brasileira,_1830.jpg" width="219" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Giant tree in Brazil's tropical forest by Johann Moritz Rugendas</td></tr>
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Then, I saw the body. The tattooed flesh, gouged and lacerated. Two arrows pierced the man's underside, widening a deep, mortal wound. With bowels distended, his blood having since let almost completely of his sunken frame, I cried, lowered to the wet jungle floor, bleary-eyed. Not only had his own turned on him, but the man also suffered bullets. Scarred and mutilated, his body is the story of his people, dead to the world, brutalized and beaten down by the perpetrators of human trust, by invaders and blood alike. </div>
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Rusty Kjarvikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03071547323352880050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6529780966234338585.post-87295352737548664442013-12-09T21:57:00.002-08:002013-12-09T21:57:32.081-08:00Rebuilding the Unconscious: National Reconciliation and Personal Poverty<div style="text-align: center;">
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"What was in the unconscious, by talking about it, was brought into the conscious mind, and since the conscious mind, Dr. King's already won, the behaviour changes. Wait a minute, what's that mean? Wait a minute, what's that mean? That means that we may be closer to Dr. King's dream than we fear, but we got to keep talking. We've got to keep talking, even when it's uncomfortable." </div>
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"Today, the American Dream is under threat. Our veterans are coming home to few jobs and little hope on the home front. Our young people are graduating off a cliff, burdened by heavy debt, into the worst job market in half a century. The big banks that American taxpayers bailed out won’t cut homeowners a break. Our firefighters, nurses, cops, and teachers – America’s everyday heroes – are being thrown out onto the street." From the <a href="http://www.rebuildthedream.com/contract">Rebuild the Dream Contract</a> </div>
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<a href="http://ellabakercenter.org/van-jones">Van Jones</a><br />
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<i>Usually, this space features original writing, mostly essays, articles, and creative pieces published across the globe, a repository of works featured online. Such original writing usually comes after referencing relevant quotes from the luminaries of the age, those who spoke and clarified humanist dream-thinking beyond conceptual idealism to the pragmatism of imaginative vision and achievable action. Yet, in light of the exceptional words of Van Jones, noted public intellectual on green economics and social justice, a project on the American Dream, and the War on Poverty, a non-fiction work entitled, The American Nightmare: Deconstructing the War on Poverty that I had been working on for on average 6-10 hours daily over a span of three weeks has been suspended due to negligent correspondence. </i></div>
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<i>The suspension of the work has led me to seriously question my place in the Struggle. I have reflected earnestly and steadfastly into the bitter and stubborn recesses of my young mind, to uncover and explore the history that has led me to my current state, profession, and living circumstances. Not only has the suspension irked me personally, it has led to a seemingly irreparable disintegration of my professional development, as I have been led to question the very foundation of my primary income-earning as a freelance writer. Simply, I accepted a job to write a major work on poverty, which truthfully, paid so little, and asked so much of my time, that it may as well have led me into poverty. </i></div>
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<i>Added to the initial fact, while I did the work out of curiosity and an impetus to serve a greater work ethic in the name of fulfilling a position asked of me, the suspended correspondence between myself and the publishing agency has caused unmentionable anxiety. The topic on poverty in the United States, and government programming intended to reduce and eradicate poverty had led me to very interesting conclusions on the nature of governance and civil progress in the American context. The freelance job that I had taken to produce 215 pages of carefully written and closely studied work on the subject was truly an exhilarating and inspiring process. </i></div>
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<i>However, the process as a whole, and the empty-handed result thus far, has left me with an enduring impression with regard to the nature of work, one that, honestly, compels me to complete exasperation. Was it vain pride at the chance of writing a book, and being paid for such work? Or, the overall scheme of my life that has led to this point of personal and professional denigration in the name of accomplishment, work and independence? </i><br />
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<i>The work of SoJourn(al), this space, is essentially one where the process of a young life, and its manifestation of dreams, come to fruit through perennial dedication to the passions of independence (i.e. self-employment) and creativity (i.e. resourcefulness). After completing the original sound-art works relative to the Sketches of Style collection, I intend to break from uploading more original content here, to recollect and compile all of the works that support the overall intent, create a master publication (i.e. in the form of self-published collected original materials, such as dream fiction and essays on the narrative subconscious), and begin a new page on a new project. </i></div>
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<i>For now, more music reviews from <a href="http://beatroute.ca/?s=matt+hanson&submit=Search">BeatRoute</a> are forthcoming… </i></div>
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There was a sheen of golden sand on the top of the butte, where I sat, immersed in the Valley of the Gods. And as I opened my eyes, the sand sparked, as an invisible flame rose to greet the monumental sun. Tears cracked the thirsting rock as I held in my arms the newborn drum. Taut calf-skinned and maple-encircled instrument of spirit, it moved, as inside me, with a petrified grace. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/d9/Mount_Desert_Island,_Maine,_by_Jervis_McEntee,_1864,_oil_on_canvas_-_National_Gallery_of_Art,_Washington_-_DSC00124.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/d9/Mount_Desert_Island,_Maine,_by_Jervis_McEntee,_1864,_oil_on_canvas_-_National_Gallery_of_Art,_Washington_-_DSC00124.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mount Desert Island, Maine, by Jervis McEntee</td></tr>
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Not alone, yet from the clouds above, heavy with a sad rain, pregnant with the forecast of solitude, I remained silent, a silhouette of the drunk Earth, whose lines disappear and merge with the clear and lucid landscape horizon. Then, there were others behind me. With hands held at their sides, solemn. We awaited the grace of the Royal Native footstep, a rush of patient anxiety, the air true and sound of our hearts' own unhindered regularity.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/c/c2/G%C3%A9r%C3%B4me_-_Prayer_in_the_Desert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="194" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/c/c2/G%C3%A9r%C3%B4me_-_Prayer_in_the_Desert.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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Then, as with the march of an oncoming storm, they strode in dancing. Their flat footwear dusting the tops of the sky, elegant with strength. Their movements sure and ancient, greeting the naked stone with the trust of an artist's hand, as the land's own song cried and intoned the sacred. And all then overcame the one great Fear of Death, displaced by the Beauty of Truth. Their songs spoke of Love, Peace and Unity. Then a rain flattened our wild hair, and we cried in unison for the end of a loud and gross age.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/c/c6/Mary_Agnes_Yerkes,_Early_in_Day_in_Desert_Quiet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="246" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/c/c6/Mary_Agnes_Yerkes,_Early_in_Day_in_Desert_Quiet.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Early in Day in Desert Quiet" by Mary Agnes Yerkes</td></tr>
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I began to beat my skin, summoning the gravel and the hail, I floated on a subtle ecstasy, my own song, for them, for here, for us. The drum cracked and moaned, and my heart opened with a newfound longing. The rhythms of the Earth called forth the Witness. Of sight and mind, I broke fast on the holy mount, within the inner sanctum of my own restrained and haunted psyche. Liberated, I stood, bowed with respect to the territorial spirits in whose name I intoned the first breath of song. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/3/34/Lions_in_the_Desert_by_Henry_Ossawa_Tanner_-_Renwick_Gallery_-_DSC08398.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="170" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/3/34/Lions_in_the_Desert_by_Henry_Ossawa_Tanner_-_Renwick_Gallery_-_DSC08398.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lions in the Desert by Henry Ossawa Tanner</td></tr>
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We left the butte alone, as it had been for aeons. The Valley of the Gods lay silent and waiting behind our upraised eyes, sharing in the unsayable fate of humankind. </div>
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Thelonious Monk, the great American composer...</div>
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Rusty Kjarvikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03071547323352880050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6529780966234338585.post-69320312103297594272013-12-02T22:38:00.000-08:002013-12-02T22:38:42.628-08:00Ecological Storytelling: Dream, Hallucination and Vision<div style="text-align: center;">
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<em> <a href="http://www.nfb.ca/film/hofmanns_potion" target="_blank">Hofmann's Potion</a></em> by <a href="http://www.nfb.ca/explore-all-directors/connie-littlefield/" target="_blank" title="more films by Connie Littlefield">Connie Littlefield</a>, <a href="http://www.nfb.ca/" target="_blank">National Film Board of Canada</a></div>
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"I think it's easier than to formulate high ideals, but a few things are more difficult, and to discover the means whereby those ideals may be implemented one has to dream but one has to dream in a pragmatic way" <a href="http://huxley.net/ah/">Aldous Huxley</a>, in <a href="http://www.nfb.ca/film/hofmanns_potion">Hoffman's Potion</a><br />
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<i>Do I hear a tinge of surf rock here and a splash of psychedelic vocals there? And all wrapped up in a damn fine beat! The new Ketamines 7” So Hot! opens with its killer two-and-a-half minute title track. Resistance vibes ebb and flow as they bray and stomp through lyrics held down by the kind of upbeat clutch that makes this Toronto group well worth a listen, if not a full-fledged tracking down.</i></div>
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<i>Released this October, the band’s three-track album buzzes under the genres of punk, garage and power-pop. Spacey breakdowns mood out these catchy and tight musical explorations with extra-hot reverberating guitar riffs smoothed out over ambient and effectively eerie vocals. “New Skull Tattoo,” the second cut on the album, begins with a daze of light-hearted, fifties-era doo-wop rhythms fused together into punk lyricisms.</i></div>
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<i>The Ketamines provide a riot of trickster stylings, as the lyrics carry us through into a stupendous poetic irony. Final track, “Summer Mothers,” sounds off a dream-pop show with the power of good feelings, impressing the listener with a kind of end-of-concert bittersweet rush that takes no prisoners. It reminds us that when the summer or the year ends and all is lost, we should just hold fast to the driving beat and we’ll all be okay.</i></div>
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<i>All in all, each and every song on this new 7” is good listening. Even multiple listens later the songs groove pulse more and more in the veins. Straight to the head, this one’s a gem.</i></div>
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<b>This piece of interpretive writing was published with <a href="http://beatroute.ca/2013/11/03/ketamines/">BeatRoute magazine on November 3</a>, and conceived under the influence of soundscapes by Canadian psychedelic music band, <a href="http://ketamines.com/">KETAMINES</a></b></div>
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The Union Street Y faces the Puerto Rican cafe where I used to sit over a microwaved chocolate chip muffin and hot chocolate, eyeing the clock, readying myself for Hebrew school. The elaborate turnstile reminiscences of the red-bricked Y invited with the flushing scent of chlorinated memory and the erased lunch-hour sweat of youth. There, a mere two jaunt to the fish-gut factory ocean, I spoke to children. Fascinated by the swung heart of musical storytelling, the night awaited patiently, as the fat bosom of American daytime on the human Earth struggled to a peaceful end. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/3/34/Lesser_Ury_Cafe_Bauer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/3/34/Lesser_Ury_Cafe_Bauer.jpg" width="228" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lesser Ury: Café Bauer</td></tr>
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A story of Massasoit and the unvanquished heads of Massachusetts flesh, spell out the old paradigm loosed from vocal chords, taut with knife-edge reason on a silent beach. Their indiscriminate wisdom emerges from white-skinned pride, to destroy the vainglorious ruse of ego and fate. Mortality ensued in the fading light, as speech lightened the animate Earth with a name, and its meaning. The soil spoke with a tongue of roots, with teeth of stone and and words of food. Saying: where the story is told is equally or more important to the telling. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/db/Tom_Thomson_-_A_Northern_Lake_-_Google_Art_Project.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="259" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/db/Tom_Thomson_-_A_Northern_Lake_-_Google_Art_Project.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Northern Lake by Unknown</td></tr>
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Flown beyond the wellspring of distant knowledge, exotic in its geography, sacred in its ecology, and born of a feverish need in its cartographic attemptation, a single mountain rose as a breach of faith on the plain horizon. Monumental airs shifted and sprang from the glowering mass of insurmountable ice. Formed as from a frozen volcanic fire, the ice lifted with evaporating death, as the cold grip of lifelessness in nonbeing. The frozen hell still beckoned forward the unanswered mystery of longing, as the natural light waned atop its insuperable caracas, a skull of monastic belonging. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/3/35/Joseph_Mallord_William_Turner_-_Mer_de_Glace,_in_the_Valley_of_Chamouni,_Switzerland_-_Google_Art_Project.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/3/35/Joseph_Mallord_William_Turner_-_Mer_de_Glace,_in_the_Valley_of_Chamouni,_Switzerland_-_Google_Art_Project.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mer de Glace, in the Valley of Chamouni, Switzerland by J.M.W. Turner</td></tr>
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I stepped forward, onto the slippery fall of the sky's over-hastened drop to Earth, as the violated inherent reason of nature, unearthed. The pool fragranced wisps of spiritual air, the will of the unmoving background to all life on Earth, revealed in the deadening cold. As the stone ascended to its paternal source above, each step closer frustrated the nervous system with defeat, failure, and the fatal swoon of all human belonging. The release of the spirit, awake. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/9/9f/Ernest_Lawson_-_Harlem_Valley,_Winter_-_Google_Art_Project.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="246" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/9/9f/Ernest_Lawson_-_Harlem_Valley,_Winter_-_Google_Art_Project.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Harlem Valley, Winter by Ernest Lawson</td></tr>
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Captured under the fault of a boot, I risked a greeting at the hand of death's blizzard smoke, the craving and seductive flaw of its embrace. Unable to get back afoot, I peered through the ice to see the reigning female of human law. The Queen shone glinting the fixing light, fleeting, yet absorbed needfully. With a hand mobilized by the insane truths of modern life, I sunk below the ice, to finger the freezing metal, and to possess its deathless strength. Ascendance moved to transcendence. The impossible summit slunk beneath my loins, hidden in hoarding pockets and disguised on lusting hands. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/3/3e/Visconti_Tarot_(53).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/3/3e/Visconti_Tarot_(53).jpg" width="158" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Queen of Coins (Diamonds) from the Visconti tarot deck by <a href="http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Bonifacio_Bembo">Bonifacio Bembo</a></td></tr>
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The line at the cinema began to move. I paid, and saw the unseen. I paid, and mounted the insurmountable. I paid, and lived the unliveable. I paid, and knew the unknown. I paid, and heard the unheard. I paid, and paid the unpaid. And I paid, and paid to pay for the priceless. I paid to pay for the invaluable. I called home the unreachable. I vanished in the light. I stole out on the intractable ice. I rose my shoulders above the limits of atmospheric pressure. I called out above the thinnest trace of oxygenated air the name of the unnameable: I. </div>
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<iframe seamless="" src="http://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=2306767210/size=medium/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=de270f/transparent=true/" style="border: 0; height: 120px; width: 100%;"><a href="http://ketamines.bandcamp.com/album/so-hot-7">So Hot! 7" by Ketamines</a></iframe>
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Rusty Kjarvikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03071547323352880050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6529780966234338585.post-18296889393163112862013-11-26T05:58:00.001-08:002013-11-26T05:58:54.485-08:00Giotto and the Ageless Fashion: An Essay on Medieval Aesthetics<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/2/20/Giotto_-_Legend_of_St_Francis_-_-03-_-_Dream_of_the_Palace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/2/20/Giotto_-_Legend_of_St_Francis_-_-03-_-_Dream_of_the_Palace.jpg" width="313" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Giotto_-_Legend_of_St_Francis_-_-03-_-_Dream_of_the_Palace.jpg">Dream of the Palace</a> by Giotto di Bondone (1267-1337)</td></tr>
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Take pleasure in your dreams; relish your principles and drape your purest feelings on the heart of a precious lover </div>
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<a href="http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/g/giotto_di_bondone.html#ky2Jemugj1fIAPvi.99">Giotto di Bondone</a></div>
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I. Introduction: A Summary of Historical Research on the 14th Century <br />
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The 1300s were a particularly gloomy time in Europe. As the Black Death began in the mid-14th century (1358), so, for the next hundred years, European culture would be defined by an aesthetic of tragedy. Christianity was at its most dogmatic. Deeply obstinate religious values had become embedded in daily life, where the robes of the monk and the scepters of the high clergy were a regular sight. Consequently, clothing represented degrees of piety, as well as social belonging. During a time when contagion spread with an unparalleled mortal wrath, belonging, most often signified by faith, become a paramount concern. In this way, the manner in which people dressed was not only a sign of religious and class loyalty, but of basic hygiene. Dress, in the 14th century was, as it continues to be today, representative of the wearer’s health, and thus, within the social environments of the Black Death, of their survival. <br />
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“The ninety years from 1340 to 1430 share with the tenth and twentieth centuries the dubious honor of being one of the most violent periods in the history of Europe,” writes Fossier in The Cambridge Illustrated History of The Middle Ages (52). In such an age as the 14th century, with its inception marred by plague and injustice, practicality was nowhere more evident in the daily life of the vast majority of people, who suffered the greatest brunt of such a cruel epoch. Despite the widespread brutality, which largely defined the 14th century of Europe, as the social impacts of the plague began to fade in the latter half of the following century, and with it’s demise came scenes of bucolic jubilee. “One of the most notable effects of the impact of the Plague was to have highlighted the inequitable distribution of the population between the towns as places of refuge…” Fossier notes, regarding the plight of so many people who, if they escaped the plague, were devastated by the onslaught of war, crime and a rise in belligerent lasciviousness (56).<br />
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II. 14th Century Life and Fashion: Social, Economic, Religious, and Political Influences<br />
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>As depicted from scenes of 14th century village life, among country laborers, there continued a strong tradition of accessory fashion in the hat. “There were several forms of the hat, ranging from the pointed ‘Phrygian cap’ to something resembling a beret, and to hats with wide brims which were worn over the hood when travelling,” writes James Laver in the revised, expanded and updated 1995 edition of Costume and Fashion. “Indoors, men sometimes wore the coif of plain linen covering the ears and tied under the chin” (60). With footwear relatively unchanged, the peasant wore a strapped, soft boot-like slip that extended at the knee, and an undergarment of tights following upwards from the toe to the neck when needed in cold climates during outdoor work. A one piece-jacket overall extended also to the knee, where it was held in at the waist by a belt of open-holed fasteners, to attach tools and the like. The peasant would add neck warmers and thick gloves to his workaday garb, at times adding a second layer of tunic (see image 1).<br />
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Outside of the classes represented by the clergy and the peasantry, who, with their superstitious and unhygienic customs were generally overrun by the Black Death, there lived the class of soldiers. One 14th century tomb plaque from the Flemish region of Belgium depicts a captain, also titled as magistrate, wearing the typical warrior’s attire. With sword in hand, engraved in the holy script of Latin, the metallic plaque is befitting for the nature of the warrior’s dress of the time, which may have weighed with leather, bronze, iron or steel. The captain holds in his other hand a heart-shaped shield below his waste. The man is protected from the pointed tips of his footwear to the plated sheath, V-neck collar. A smooth, and finely interwoven chainmail protects his neck and forearms, his hands and face uncovered, to reveal the photographic nature of this identifying, death certificate-like representation (see image 2).<br />
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Often, soldiers were armed with multiple types of armor in combination, the highest grade being that of steel. Not only was the soldier distinct in the class order of 14th century Europe by virtue of skill and prestige, their very clothing signified a level of economic attainment in a time where the everyday trade was compromised. As Fossier writes, “…things which could, when necessary, be manufactured in the villages – wooden or iron objects, clothes, tools – were steadily getting more expensive, and though this was a slow process, it was still faster than the rise in wages…” (102). Clothing, a fundamental trade good of villagers throughout Europe was especially impacted by such ruthless class divisions. Furthermore, the soldier was more and more seen as the very cause of the people’s plight as the high costs and seething injustices of war mounted steadily across the land. “Italian textiles are a case in point; profits there fell from 15 to 6 per cent in 1375,” Fossier elaborates. “These circumstances created an atmosphere of class conflict…” (102). <br />
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Despite the apparent impenetrable quality of the soldier class, with its hard-beaten, metallic exteriors, the 14th century proved an dubious time for the warrior class, whose role was often interchanged with the militant outrage of the oppressed. In The Cambridge Illustrated History of The Middle Ages, Fossier emphasizes this temperamental time in European history when, “…those social classes which had every reason to complain of their lot could not go on being aroused without something changing…the common people of the towns of Europe were spontaneously and simultaneously aroused, albeit for different reasons” (106-107). France, for example, had witnessed the violent assassination of the provost of the merchants in 1358. The act, although, political motivated, represents the larger social upheaval in a time when the merchants took up arms, enacting a brief displacement of the warrior’s prestige.<br />
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An illustration of the provost of the merchants, Étienne Marcel, depicts the high-class man with a large top hat, in a long, flowing robe reaching to his feet. This upper echelon man, shown in his last moments of life under the swing of an assassin’s halberd, wears exceptionally tight pants, which rudely emphasize the shape of his crotch. He wears a decorative undershirt, revealed between his robe, open, without stitch or button. The angry merchants surrounding him with deathblows wear either more lightly pigmented top hats or cover their heads in a single piece of braided white cloth. The ruffled shirt jacket hangs just above the knee, belted at the waist. The merchantmen wear black tights and slip shoes, if any footwear at all. Soldiers are distinguished by shining helmets, their tightly buttoned tops belted and hanging high just below the waist. The soldiers’ arms are clothed in a heavier fabric, puffed at the shoulders (see image 3).<br />
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Outside of informal justice, such as led by militant class rivalry, institutional law was meted with equal, if not more intensive, forms of cruelty. 13th century condemnation employed the gallows, where criminals would be committed to torture before a shaming crowd of onlookers, prior to execution. The lawman, typically clothed in a tight-fitting suit, buttoned twice up the torso, however, hanging close to the waist, would also carry a baton to strike the condemned. Wealthy onlookers wore capes, walking along with cane in hand. Most arrived in plain fitting shirts, ruffled, and hanging at the thigh. All, except the lawman, wore caps of varying sorts, others in full, monastic garb, were also hooded. The entire procession carried a religious air, as people showed their support for the lofty ideals of righting sin through judgment. The condemned, nude except for tattered underwear, walked barefoot to their doom (see image 4).<br />
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Also a symbol of reprieve, the executioner’s noose can be seen worn by those seeking special pardon directly from the pope. Such has been depicted in the life of the antipope Nicholas V, who arrived in such a fashion to beg at the feet of Pope John XXII in Avignon, France. Draped in a luxurious, armless gown that extended well beyond the feet, especially visually dramatic when kneeling, the robe was collared by a stiffer fabric against the back, all buttoned at the front of the neck by a studded brocade. The papal cap is featured as a conically tipped and striped adornment, tassels flowing against the ears. The pope, dressed equally as the antipope, was distinguished only in the fanciful shape of his brocade. Aside to the pope, an assistant clergymen wore a similarly fashioned robe, differentiated in social standing by a flat-topped hat under which a shawl stretched along the sides of the face and below the back of the neck (see image 5).<br />
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III. Fashion and Art in the 14th Century: Lines, Proportions, Color and Shape<br />
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<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The artist Simone Martini, who lived his entire professional life in the 14th century, is renowned for his famous work, The Church militant and triumphant, which to this day sits in the Spanish Chapel in Santa Maria Novella, Florence. Therein, Martini depicts the High Church dignitaries, to every last fabric of their richly decadent clothing. The pope, distinct by the opulence and shape of his headdress, stands with a scepter in hand, its tip curled with aesthetic elaboration. His robe, a picture of the cross, drapes carefully over his forearms, covered in a tight undergarment. Next, a cardinal, bishop and an abbot converse with a school of monks. The cardinal is depicted standing in a robe delicately embroidered with a tasteful pattern of circles against dark fabric, his head topped with a twin-pointed cap held up in a darkly colored headband.<br />
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The bishop sits aside the pope, with a flat-topped, wide-brimmed hat, set over a hooded shawl that drapes over his shoulders below his sides. The bishop’s undergarment is a plain, white fabric. Beside the bishop sits the abbot, who grips a tall, cross-pointed cane, his decorated headwear, shaped as two flat triangles accents the form of his beard with likeness. The abbot is caped, and belted at the shoulders by a plain sash, the seams a lighter color than the base fabric, and below the cape he wears fabrics similarly conceived. The monks’ and nuns’ attire vary in shades, between off-white to jet black, while each of their robes remain the same exact shape, their hood’s cloth wrapped about the lower neck, above the flowing robe that conceals the feet. Nuns are dressed similarly, as while their hoods extend to the feet. Select monks wear skullcaps and cross-shaped or floral brocades (see image 6).<br />
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The artist and architect Giotto di Bondone, who lived from 1266-1337, exemplifies the 13th century aesthetic with unparalleled gravity. He represented the first generation of artists in the Italian Renaissance, whose “monumental feel for composition and for the plasticity of the body, were not forgotten and emerged again…” was duly noted The Cambridge Illustrated History of The Middle Ages (Fossier, 183). As well as demonstrating physical plasticity, Giotto’s work also became known for its mythical, and decidedly irreverent content. As a result, his clever artistry not only enlightened holy and laypeople alike, it inspired a fellowship of artists. As Stella Mary Newton writes in Fashion in the Age of the Black Prince, “Giotto’s representation of Stultitia which, being among the Vices, can perhaps be interpreted as ‘light-mindedness’, has some slight justification; a similar attitude must have inspired the artists…” (see image 7).<br />
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Giotto was also exceptionally keen on portraying not simply the fashion of the day, but of dress in transition. For example, Giotto depicted women’s dress as set within the changing times, but amongst varied surroundings, i.e. religious versus domestic. Therefore, Giotto portrayed not only women, and their clothing, but also the way in which women were shaped by their surroundings, and how that was expressed through their dress. “Already in the fourteenth century Italians were showing a taste for fashions in dress which exemplified the classicism…” writes Newton, “By that time, in most Italian states, dress had lost almost completely the ‘folk’ quality, which Giotto had noticed and recorded in his Arena Chapel frescoes…” (86). As Newton examined in an endnote to Fashion in the Age of the Black Prince, Giotto was insightfully aware of the influence of “fashionable occasions” where, for example, the marriage of the Virgin would represent a style of dress worlds apart from the Annunciation (see image 8).<br />
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One piece, aesthetically related to the diverse women’s fashions of the 13th century represented in Giotto’s Arena Chapel frescoes, is the Statue of St. Lucy. Her special folk-style ethnic dress, and manner, is especially understood in the neckwear; a peculiarly ornamented, thickly set metal piece. The woman holds a long-stem leaf in one hand, and in the other a mysterious black disk. Her belt is extraordinarily inlaid with sophisticated patterns, stitched and woven, with an elongated end hanging down from the waist to just below the knee. St. Lucy here wears a plain white dress, with an embroidered seam at the feet. Finally her headwear is an enigmatically upward-pointing fold of fabric, also seen in women depicted in religious settings. Overall, the Statue of St. Lucy embodies the local, ethnic style of Italian women’s fashion. Newton’s study relates Giotto’s work to the transitional period of women’s fashion and ethnic representation in art, which, she writes, “…correspond to the embroideries which Giotto included as the dress of some carefully chosen characters in his Arena chapel frescoes which has a similar ethnic look and which, as has been pointed out, disappeared from dress in sophisticated Italian painting soon after his time” (see image 9).<br />
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Giotto’s portrayal of Saint Anne in the Scrovegni Chapel is deftly attentive to the woman, and the woman’s clothing, as it extends into her surrounding aesthetic environment. The scene presents Saint Anne as a new mother in a relatively generic tone amid the austere simplicity and unadorned nature of the woman’s private sphere as visually bared, however retaining a certain feminine aesthetic. The woman’s plain dress, belted below the chest, opens at tightly around the neck. The wrists are enclosed tightly as the wide arm lengths narrow. The dress covers her entire body, even below the feet as she stands behind a narrow entranceway, giving over a skein of fabric to those caring for her newborn in the next room. Her hair unveiled, while a cloth head-wrap rests on her shoulder, she looks outward from her situation longingly. Immobile in a tight frame underneath the stairway, her clothing matches the architectural aesthetic, where the women’s space is domestically and privately reserved in the extreme (see image 10).<br />
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Similarly, Simone Martini’s The Blessed Agostino Novello, a polyptych painted between 1328-1330, depicts the women’s sphere with an utmost aesthetic reservation. The two women in the bedroom scene wear clothing so plain that it seems only to exist to shelter their bodies in the most basic way. Still, that shelter is apparently precarious as the newborn’s makeshift crib is shown as a source of deep anxiety for the older woman present. Unlike the younger woman, the elder’s hair is covered, her dress a darker shade, and held to her upper torso by a thin belt. The younger woman, dressed as in a nightgown, prays at the doorway, as to the spirits to allow her exit (see image 11).<br />
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In the exhaustive study, A History of Private Life, art historians Georges Duby, Dominique Barthélemy, and Charles de la Ronciére determine where broad human emotion is revealed through visual art in the European tradition. “For the first time in Italian history, we have religious paintings, frescoes, composed of episodes in which various figures, who constitute a sort of Holy Family, give vent to their deepest feelings,” the book states in its second volume, Revelations of the Medieval World. “Not all painters were equally successful in capturing these emotions, so let us concentrate on Giotto, the undisputed master of the fourteenth century, considered such and universally admired at the time.” Saint Anne is again depicted at the Scrovegni Chapel in Padua within the famed, Saint Joachim and Saint Anne at the Golden Gate, painted from 1304-1306.<br />
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Saint Joachim reunites in a love embrace with his long lost wife, Saint Anne at the Golden Gate in Jerusalem. In the immediate detail of the scene, the two holy lovers are cloaked in the most simple of robes. Saint Joachim wears a shawled robe about his chest, down to his bare feet. At the seam of his robe, light, silky embroidery speaks of his munificence, while juxtaposed with his unique humility. His undergarment is a rustic-toned, and broad-cuffed shirt that rests humbly about his neck without a collar. Similarly, Saint Anne’s dress begins to ruffle and flow from her lower chest. Her hair is reservedly well kept within a headscarf tightly folded above her brow. Saint Joachim is without a head covering (see image 12).<br />
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Meanwhile, a farmer, who strolls alongside carrying a wicker basket and small shovel, and two women, represents the people around Saint Joachim and Saint Anne in an image imbued with emotional meaning. The farmer wears a belted tunic, ruffled below the knee, his head hooded and feet covered with strapped, thick fabric. Another woman nearby wears an all-black shawl, as if she were in mourning, concealing half of her face from view, while an accompanying woman stands beside, with white, checkered shawl in hand, wearing a similar, although lighter garb as Saint Anne. Following the first woman are others, in even more colorful fashion, their hair decorated with an encircling braids and fanciful short hats, dressed in vibrant colors red and green. The scene, depicting a public show of affection amid the dramatic and historic cityscape, offers a renewing look at both the male and female in the context of public aesthetics, where a younger woman offers the company of youth and light through clothing and community to her darkened friend, and a young man passing by represents the Earth’s fertility (see image 13).<br />
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In Giotto’s works, such deep and complex human emotion comingles with the divine glory and beauty of reunion, as in such depictions as Lamentations over the Body of Christ, painted in 1304-1305, also at the Scrovegni Chapel in Padua. Here, the woman is depicted in mourning, while her black garb is roughly painted with traces of light. Her face, infinitely burdened at embracing her tortured son’s death, is further dramatized by the hooded figure looking away, as to express an emotion too dark for the light of human understanding. In contrast, the face of Christ, reunited with the Father, is one of divine harmony, his naked body clean and unfolded, and thus prominently brighter than the hooded figures downcast at his side. In this respect, Giotto portrays 13th century fashion as inherently obscuring the revelations of human emotional expression (see image 14).<br />
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IV. 14th Century Accessories Exposed: Underwear and Textiles of the Period<br />
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The 14th century offers a wide spectrum of diverse cuts and types of textiles, shown in the broad selection of clothing and accessories in both men’s and women’s fashion. The clothing of the era is often catalogued in costume design. For example, Sarah Thursfield catalogues the diverse fashions of the era in her book, The Medieval Tailor’s Assistant. Body linens (also known as undergarments or underwear) were typified by everything from long-legged braies, short braies, the man’s shirt and woman’s smock (see image 15). Main garments of the 14th century, the second layer worn over the linens were a finer cote or a basic kirtle for the women, while the men wore a basic doublet or basic cote (see image 16). “Both men and women wore a cote of some kind from well before 1200 until abut the mid 14th century…About 1340 men started wearing the doublet…about 1370 women were wearing the kirtle…” writes Thursfield (16). Other garments included the hose, either separated or joined, along with such outer garments worn by both men and women as surcotes, sleeved or sleeveless, open or closed (see image 17). Other outer garments include cotehardies, adorning both men and women, as well as buttoned, fashionable, flared or fitted gowns for women and pleated or short gowns for men (see image 18).<br />
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Headwear included hats, caps and hoods for men, ranging from such textiles as felt, fur, and straw, either knitted or as coifs, while women wrapped or knotted kerchiefs, as well as hooded themselves (see image 19). Lastly, accessories were either with the headwear, such as plaits, hairnets, barbette and fillets, frilled veils, templers, separate horns, and padded rolls, or elsewhere on the person, such as the man’s belt with purse and knife, the woman’s drawstring purse, the split mitten, the woman’s apron, and finally, the basket (see image 20). “Wool and linen were the mainstay of most people’s wardrobes, with silk becoming commoner in the late middle ages,” Thursfield writes in her exhaustive manual on costume design and medieval fashion. “During the 14th century Italian silk weaving continued to progress…” (63-64). <br />
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Within the paintings of Giotto are reflected common themes in the role of men and women in the 13th century. As clothing announces form, so women are meaningfully situated in the frame of a painting opposite to their male counterparts. Giotto’s, Death of the Knight of Celano, located in the Upper Church of the Convent of Saint Francis in Assisi, Italy, glorifies the role of woman as mourner, whose dress suits her role as domestic partner unto death. In this painting, even though the death of Celano is sudden, the women are draped in long, heavy shawls, which hang over their necks and backs, their dresses both lightly and darkly pigmented. The woman’s loose-fitting adornment emphasizes their role as comforter, mourner, caretaker and wife, while the often tightly fitting forearms enable her to continue her handiwork. Meanwhile, the knight Celano, is himself wealthily clothed in a fine, one-piece robe from neck to feet, belted at the waist by a piece specially conceived within the aesthetic unity of his garb. A thickly embroidered cape sits along his neck, covering his arms. The design matches his multicolored headband, vibrantly proclaiming his social prestige, as the many onlookers, women and accompanying monks alike gather to mourn in respect (see image 21).<br />
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One of the most iconic illuminations from the Luttrel Psalter, a manuscript from the 14th century, painted circa 1335-1340 demonstrates the elaborate clothing style not only of the knight, but also of his lady. The full color illustration impresses the majority of plainclothes onlookers with its cerulean majesty, avian designs, amid a watery aesthetic. Therein, the lady offers up her hand to the mounted knight, her hair braided in pearls, and her long, flowing dress a decadence of gold-hued and verdant-striped wonder. Many accessorial fabrics run down her chest to her legs, draping her with a sign of loyalty from her cobalt-enwrapped master. At her chest, a textured embroidery of circular aesthetic opens at her arms, which are covered in matching-colored tights (see image 22).<br />
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“Only women cried at funerals, but these ritual tears were intended to communicate the family’s pain to the public at large. Not to shed them was an insult to the honor of the deceased,” reads volume two of A History of Private Life, in a section on the important portraiture that emerged on the eve of the Renaissance. “But such tears were of necessity extravagant, a travesty of true feelings which did nothing to enhance family intimacy” (Duby, et al. 278) Thus, it was especially perceptive and profound for such as the artistry of Giotto to paint of the private life of women, where in their solace, they practiced authentic rituals of prayer and devotion, wherein their domestic sphere they had an outlet to express their deepest and most sincere emotion. The truth of human emotion, after all, is the final subject of such master artists, whose works propelled Western civilization into one of its more beloved creative eras.<br />
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In Giotto’s Saint Anne Receives a Visit from an Angel, painted from 1304-1306 in the Scorvegni Chapel of Padua, Italy, the bedroom of the woman is truthfully represented as her sole refuge of consolation, where she expresses her heart’s devotion genuinely and privately. The painting must have had great meaning for women who gazed into its shades, as many who returned to their bedrooms nightly wished for an angelic communion. Saint Anne here is lightly adorned with a transparent fabric overlain atop her hair, and falling below her neck. Her one-piece nightgown fabric is beautifully arranged with delicate lacework along the seam of her collar and upper arm, as well as at her cuff, and down the middle of her chest. The deep ruffles curl under her as she kneels before an angel’s visitation, who wears much the same attire, only of a much lighter shade (see image 23). As written in A History of Private Life, “Among women true private devotion led to estrangement from the world” (Duby, et al. 308). Hence, women’s dress represents her life as a fixed pattern of activity in accordance with the greater, patriarchal society, although her dress varies, she remains consigned to an order of female repression.<br />
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Finally, the 14th century offered a unique insight on the span of trends in clothing, dress and style across Europe, where everyone from the peasant farmer to the lady of a wealthy knight exhibited an impressive array. Even as the pragmatism of survival crept into daily life with blinding resolve, there still arose an uncanny inventiveness among the peoples of Europe, who it seems, ascribed unprecedented importance to the role of dress, thus producing the 14th century’s inimitably distinctive fashion sense. “It was in the second half of the fourteenth century that clothes both for men and for women took on new forms, and something emerges which we can already call ‘fashion’,” reads James Laver’s invaluable work, Costume and Fashion in his section on Early Europe (62). <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><br />
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As, in such a time as the 14th century, when the society has been split open through the incessant travails of extreme strife, when, for example, husbands were regularly absent from their homes during wartime, certain oddities occur that transcend normative gender roles. Rarely is a 14th century woman depicted as women are depicted today as a constant source of physical and sexual desire. What Owen refers to in Noble Lovers as the “crude picture of female subservience and deprivation” opposite to the dominant male roles in society, was still not without certain deviations. Owen continues, “…even the earlier centuries provide outstanding instances of women who, by force of character or intelligence, left their mark on history” (12).<br />
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For example, French medieval society practiced multiple wedding ceremonies, where in many instances, three women would be married at once. Such women, plainly adorned in flat, monochrome outfits that fitted tightly around the lower neck, and hung in a modestly ruffled mass around the feet, were starkly contrasted with the men who bore witness to such events. The male onlookers of the church were outfitted in full regalia, crowned and robed with the majestic opulence of his extravagant lengths of fabric that he held in bunches around his oversized sleeve, so as not to dirty the lower seams. Bridegrooms, however, were not exceptionally overdressed, and were featured behind the women in one miniature painting from 14th century France. The young men were almost unseen, so as to emphasize the real value of the wedding ceremony as the attainment of the virgin bride (see image 24). <br />
Nonetheless, in anomalous circumstances, men, even monks, were seen publicly vying for female affection. In one 14th century miniature, a black-robed monk, with typically bald-shaved, ring-style haircut, his penitence beads dangling at his side, holds a ring up to the eye of a desired woman. The lady, dressed in fabrics that flow with dramatic elegance, waves to him, as she motions her acceptance or rejection. She is dressed informally, with her blouse revealed, as her dress is slack, hanging at her waist, as she carries its trail with one hand, the finer, transparent linens touching the ground ever so lightly (see image 25). <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><br />
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V. Summary: The Fashion Legacy of the 14th Century<br />
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Contemporary fashion continues to draw from the unique legacy of the 14th century, through such artists as Fra Angelico. The idea that an Italian monk who painted seven hundred years ago could inspire two young courtiers, Kate and Laura Mulleavy from Los Angeles, U.S.A., caught the eyes of both L.A. Weekly and the Los Angeles County Museum of Art (LACMA), among the entire global fashion community (see image 26). In 2011 LACMA exhibited the Rodarte clothing and accessory line featuring inspirations from Fra Angelico. “Suspended from the ceiling like pale angels, the ten Rodarte gowns in the middle of LACMA's Italian Renaissance gallery are the prettiest imposters you've ever seen,” wrote Caroline Ryder, fashion blogger for L.A. Weekly. “They decided to base their entire collection on the art of a pious 14th century brother.”<br />
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Leading up to the 14th century, cultural advancements flourished in an era of romance, poetry and art. In the preceding centuries prior to the Renaissance, as love outside of wedlock began to foment in the minds of traditional, medieval Europe, there arose the equalizing power of love. Such a force, as it gained momentum throughout the 14th century, continues to break down gender barriers and burn bridges so firmly maintained by multigenerational traditions of family honor, religious sectarianism and cultural belonging. In one 14th century Italian fresco presenting a scene from the well-admired narrative, The Chatelaine de Vergy, three different circumstances are shown of the two principal lovers. The young woman, plainly adorned with a delicate, white fabric over her darker undershirt and outstretched arm, reaches for her lover, a knight, decked in full armor. In the middle, the young, unarmored knight, in plain white shirt, on his horse, looks upon his love as she awaits him in a high castle tower. Gazing from above, her hair is pulled back tightly, her collar a formal display of dress in the domestic sphere of the court. While, in the last variance, the lady has escaped the court, and the two lovers meet in a grove, where this time the knight is more cordially dressed, raising his hand as in honor of her and in a show of his devotion (see image 27).<br />
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Chatelaine de Vergy is a story that dramatizes the role of men and women with special insight, not only into their individual roles, but also through its impact on the greater society as a popular tale of the time. Anonymously written, often in the case in such as the oral traditions of medieval Europe, Chatelaine de Vergy is from an era where folklore, mythology and improvised storytelling lent itself to a characterful and ever-alive culture of tale spinning. The narration opens with the line, “…the greater the love, the more grieved are true lovers when one of them thinks the other has told what he should conceal.” In which case, it seems that not only was the 14th century riddled with the paramount importance of basic survival, but also, at the same time, as the rules of lovers’ courtship changed towards a more personable and private experience, so one’s clothing, how one dressed and presented oneself, became an ever more important show of secrecy and loyalty among lovers. In this way, the 1300s invented fashion. As the story continues, “And often such damage comes of it that their love has to end in deep sorrow and shame, as happened in Burgundy to a bold, worthy knight and the lady of Vergy” (103).<br />
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Bibliography:<br />
<br />
Ariès, Phillipe and Duby, Georges, Eds. A History of Private Life: Revelations of the Medieval World. Vol. II. Cambridge, U.S.A.: Harvard University Press, 1988.<br />
<br />
Fossier, Robert, Ed. Trans. by Tenison, Sarah Hanbury. The Cambridge Illustrated History of the Middle Ages: 1250-1520. Vol. III. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1986.<br />
<br />
Laver, James. Costume and Fashion. London: Thames & Hudson, 1995<br />
<br />
Lawner, Lynne. Lives of the Courtesans: Portraits of the Renaissance. New York, U.S.A.: Rizzoli, 1987<br />
<br />
Owen, D.D.R. Noble Lovers. London, UK: Phaidon Press Limited, 1975<br />
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Newton, Mary Stella. Fashion in the Age of the Black Prince: A Study of the years 1340-1365. Suffolk, UK: Boydell Press, 1980<br />
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Payne, Blanche. History of Costume. United Kingdom: Harper Collins, 1965.<br />
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Prevenier, Walter and Blockmans, Wim. The Burgundian Netherlands. Cambridge, U.K.: Cambridge University Press, 1986<br />
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Ribeiro, Aileen and Cummings, Valerie. The Visual History of Costume. London: Batsford,1989<br />
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Russell, Douglas, A. Costume History and Style, New Jersey, U.S.A.:Prentice Hall, 1983<br />
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Thursfield, Sarah. The Medieval Tailor's Assistant: Making Common Garments 1200-1500. California, U.S.A.: Costume and Fashion Press, 2001<br />
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Ryder, Caroline. “Rodarte's Fra Angelico Collection at LACMA: How a Monk Inspired Fashion's Famous Duo”. L.A. Weekly. Dec. 16 2011. Retrieved from: http://blogs.laweekly.com/arts/2011/12/rodartes_fra_angelico_lacma.php<br />
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Appendix A: Images<br />
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1. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW-A67DhekM7fQrXq9YuPy4i6VURHZn0PFrFV4bpTrl8rRjEtnlkzY31yvDuP13ltngr7mZ3X8wHcMPQqjX5WDVFN-4mnogt0o04vgfvtiLytbGyC0IaDvVWb6zPBoyr8cY44JZwCsZuk/s1600/Natalie+-+Fashion+Paper+Laver+-p60-61.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="114" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW-A67DhekM7fQrXq9YuPy4i6VURHZn0PFrFV4bpTrl8rRjEtnlkzY31yvDuP13ltngr7mZ3X8wHcMPQqjX5WDVFN-4mnogt0o04vgfvtiLytbGyC0IaDvVWb6zPBoyr8cY44JZwCsZuk/s320/Natalie+-+Fashion+Paper+Laver+-p60-61.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Laver, James. Costume and Fashion. London: Thames & Hudson, 1995. Pages 60-61<br />
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2. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFTjO_VecM8Xan8t7PsHpltI5mKSAGTj58bkxhtH-BMQ-UeV2yfEA9VK00npuHeNKax92FjIn9U4GOUG_5vwjAsqdF1-6tJsq-ix_K88ImgDPTAnp3ckEkysQm9yi2SkpPVSaARoZ2ZSw/s1600/Fashion+Paper+-+Photo+2+-Fossier+p103.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFTjO_VecM8Xan8t7PsHpltI5mKSAGTj58bkxhtH-BMQ-UeV2yfEA9VK00npuHeNKax92FjIn9U4GOUG_5vwjAsqdF1-6tJsq-ix_K88ImgDPTAnp3ckEkysQm9yi2SkpPVSaARoZ2ZSw/s320/Fashion+Paper+-+Photo+2+-Fossier+p103.jpg" width="243" /></a><br />
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Fossier, Robert, Ed. Trans. by Tenison, Sarah Hanbury. The Cambridge Illustrated History of the Middle Ages: 1250-1520. Vol. III. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1986. Page 103<br />
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3. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghnaNsZYiR42QaN2wfM4qufRewomSMkHYGuxTxRMErLNKLq6pzSmbCzx5tXK1Q-7EMLZMnbEkq-9lSJpSBLoVcVKm6_mAIrILDvCO-2yDWcTxHbEu_0t7Wb1WTsF-2G2U-ijrgj75qPjM/s1600/Natalie+-+Fashion+Paper+Fossier,+p.+106.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghnaNsZYiR42QaN2wfM4qufRewomSMkHYGuxTxRMErLNKLq6pzSmbCzx5tXK1Q-7EMLZMnbEkq-9lSJpSBLoVcVKm6_mAIrILDvCO-2yDWcTxHbEu_0t7Wb1WTsF-2G2U-ijrgj75qPjM/s320/Natalie+-+Fashion+Paper+Fossier,+p.+106.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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Fossier, Robert, Ed. Trans. by Tenison, Sarah Hanbury. The Cambridge Illustrated History of the Middle Ages: 1250-1520. Vol. III. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1986. Page 106<br />
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4. <br />
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Fossier, Robert, Ed. Trans. by Tenison, Sarah Hanbury. The Cambridge Illustrated History of the Middle Ages: 1250-1520. Vol. III. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1986. Page 114<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv9jrVPO_24FDGIgp7ShlzoFooxDd4W90554KvLEGmCrFRPSMEyenJtsi9lVeNylLBH99WozjnyquMnnAgODuvqjM1R4mInlSBxH_gfjLYU2N7eas2AqZdTK8LqW4suZVoR50TYHEp1u8/s1600/Natalie+-+Fashion+Paper+Fossier,+p126.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="171" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv9jrVPO_24FDGIgp7ShlzoFooxDd4W90554KvLEGmCrFRPSMEyenJtsi9lVeNylLBH99WozjnyquMnnAgODuvqjM1R4mInlSBxH_gfjLYU2N7eas2AqZdTK8LqW4suZVoR50TYHEp1u8/s320/Natalie+-+Fashion+Paper+Fossier,+p126.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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Fossier, Robert, Ed. Trans. by Tenison, Sarah Hanbury. The Cambridge Illustrated History of the Middle Ages: 1250-1520. Vol. III. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1986. Page 126<br />
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Fossier, Robert, Ed. Trans. by Tenison, Sarah Hanbury. The Cambridge Illustrated History of the Middle Ages: 1250-1520. Vol. III. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 1986. Page 135<br />
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Newton, Mary Stella. Fashion in the Age of the Black Prince: A Study of the years 1340-1365. Suffolk, UK: Boydell Press, 1980. Page 83<br />
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Newton, Mary Stella. Fashion in the Age of the Black Prince: A Study of the years 1340-1365. Suffolk, UK: Boydell Press, 1980. Page 91<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwgmlRnFup5AqyqCKCLYkyT4EdMjpRFLs1BK3ykRJ55JJO0PoK-ByqEt2P8oCesrhLJTTBCj2f83saM5g30wijHRmOPS0anCIF1Eb26uzCF0Q7JdFV6ZV5bUbKhropnZojd8UOapj-tzM/s1600/618px-Giotto_di_Bondone_037+(Saint+Anne).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwgmlRnFup5AqyqCKCLYkyT4EdMjpRFLs1BK3ykRJ55JJO0PoK-ByqEt2P8oCesrhLJTTBCj2f83saM5g30wijHRmOPS0anCIF1Eb26uzCF0Q7JdFV6ZV5bUbKhropnZojd8UOapj-tzM/s320/618px-Giotto_di_Bondone_037+(Saint+Anne).jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Giotto_di_Bondone_037.jpg<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilkmjOnZLwBw6855QBWx1cTRoxoEkW_8onNG-GBvjXLyQFXuYFfXC6lnzKO9AYzqBhVXVS5uyJaZEZniDixPHwUyX44pU9gxgljcGUZiTdtsMs7veFNBuAhp-Ko4b45sUZnXl-yYvnzYU/s1600/Natalie+-+Fashion-Duby+p185.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilkmjOnZLwBw6855QBWx1cTRoxoEkW_8onNG-GBvjXLyQFXuYFfXC6lnzKO9AYzqBhVXVS5uyJaZEZniDixPHwUyX44pU9gxgljcGUZiTdtsMs7veFNBuAhp-Ko4b45sUZnXl-yYvnzYU/s320/Natalie+-+Fashion-Duby+p185.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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Ariès, Phillipe and Duby, Georges, Eds. A History of Private Life: Revelations of the Medieval World. Vol. II. Cambridge, U.S.A.: Harvard University Press, 1988. Page 185<br />
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12. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJTvSOS7FJoRsa3ff-M4VxdwTsfA_03mwe4fhmLuUgnXT4XeCa3Qzl9wS2jlqLgqL9P_Cdkm86I7cN4JdpaDT_lpB2ws7y5Kp0jhMHdN7LDwyyUmJ7Ml3jfuyzWJC4y5P9QQmCnS5MfkQ/s1600/Natalie+-+Fashion-Duby+p273.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJTvSOS7FJoRsa3ff-M4VxdwTsfA_03mwe4fhmLuUgnXT4XeCa3Qzl9wS2jlqLgqL9P_Cdkm86I7cN4JdpaDT_lpB2ws7y5Kp0jhMHdN7LDwyyUmJ7Ml3jfuyzWJC4y5P9QQmCnS5MfkQ/s320/Natalie+-+Fashion-Duby+p273.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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Ariès, Phillipe and Duby, Georges, Eds. A History of Private Life: Revelations of the Medieval World. Vol. II. Cambridge, U.S.A.: Harvard University Press, 1988. Page 273<br />
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13. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj60qZT1G0pzeimDypKaTYYAYZocjwD2grMOuAA-ZggNQ1woypInCpxkVqtikTc_aPqHVBPVNR-YL2JCmpqtNVXUZTH6ERuTrv_AJMjaIqAvMg2Sb0y0f0vr-_4JI85N06_x5RCBYklAto/s1600/Natalie+-+Fashion-Duby+p274.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj60qZT1G0pzeimDypKaTYYAYZocjwD2grMOuAA-ZggNQ1woypInCpxkVqtikTc_aPqHVBPVNR-YL2JCmpqtNVXUZTH6ERuTrv_AJMjaIqAvMg2Sb0y0f0vr-_4JI85N06_x5RCBYklAto/s320/Natalie+-+Fashion-Duby+p274.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Ariès, Phillipe and Duby, Georges, Eds. A History of Private Life: Revelations of the Medieval World. Vol. II. Cambridge, U.S.A.: Harvard University Press, 1988. Page 274<br />
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15. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR51nh_3F3VVgaU-sSIz2uV1kMwF9BOUD13IWXfzw920YYgfoG0eBbCHCvPbBG9zLQ25CyS9yHZ1Za1Vvnvfsn-ZtHnKfTb3OHH8VmME6XWNGjgKYrnP-VegENbMnwkcLRT-rv-_usZsA/s1600/Natalie+-+Fashion+(4)-Thursfield,+p15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="103" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR51nh_3F3VVgaU-sSIz2uV1kMwF9BOUD13IWXfzw920YYgfoG0eBbCHCvPbBG9zLQ25CyS9yHZ1Za1Vvnvfsn-ZtHnKfTb3OHH8VmME6XWNGjgKYrnP-VegENbMnwkcLRT-rv-_usZsA/s320/Natalie+-+Fashion+(4)-Thursfield,+p15.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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Thursfield, Sarah. The Medieval Tailor's Assistant: Making Common Garments 1200-1500. California, U.S.A.: Costume and Fashion Press, 2001. Page 15.<br />
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16. <br />
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Thursfield, Sarah. The Medieval Tailor's Assistant: Making Common Garments 1200-1500. California, U.S.A.: Costume and Fashion Press, 2001. Page 16.<br />
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Thursfield, Sarah. The Medieval Tailor's Assistant: Making Common Garments 1200-1500. California, U.S.A.: Costume and Fashion Press, 2001. Page 17. <br />
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Thursfield, Sarah. The Medieval Tailor's Assistant: Making Common Garments 1200-1500. California, U.S.A.: Costume and Fashion Press, 2001. Page 18.<br />
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19. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi05ecglVrgmzWHzIentx-Bvqv4CI52a5uE9Y1zLMthLd_QODPYzSrdQtjPlE0ZqR0XCueI9GoLrgXrqxcRsm0Va-K_VDdXiOe-9MGL0Zs-X5FWBd14h3rOD5GFH_Gx8iOBufLi9U5bzv4/s1600/Natalie+-+Fashion+(4)-Thursfield+p20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi05ecglVrgmzWHzIentx-Bvqv4CI52a5uE9Y1zLMthLd_QODPYzSrdQtjPlE0ZqR0XCueI9GoLrgXrqxcRsm0Va-K_VDdXiOe-9MGL0Zs-X5FWBd14h3rOD5GFH_Gx8iOBufLi9U5bzv4/s320/Natalie+-+Fashion+(4)-Thursfield+p20.jpg" width="286" /></a><br />
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Thursfield, Sarah. The Medieval Tailor's Assistant: Making Common Garments 1200-1500. California, U.S.A.: Costume and Fashion Press, 2001. Page 20. <br />
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20. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0FeFUw1UYfrgyngksOrT6XBtz_N0nYhNniRx5_I2tNm4wRNQ5zBTtWVnDB8kBWwbtcoZ2u0OL7HDBXNiYoare5Yb-PjgmpJK0bZcxhgVbiW8aVylcO3anaeCfCRsJrHLWO7mf7-d3ppo/s1600/Natalie+-+Fashion+(4)-Thursfield+p21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0FeFUw1UYfrgyngksOrT6XBtz_N0nYhNniRx5_I2tNm4wRNQ5zBTtWVnDB8kBWwbtcoZ2u0OL7HDBXNiYoare5Yb-PjgmpJK0bZcxhgVbiW8aVylcO3anaeCfCRsJrHLWO7mf7-d3ppo/s320/Natalie+-+Fashion+(4)-Thursfield+p21.jpg" width="191" /></a><br />
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Thursfield, Sarah. The Medieval Tailor's Assistant: Making Common Garments 1200-1500. California, U.S.A.: Costume and Fashion Press, 2001. Page 21.<br />
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21. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs-eBzrR-HaMxpqUaJx8czo7NBf3QlMTkpfR1HdaHfoA_VC511D3raXmVZTHaIxcwvm2_Dzqv0NEjkQEad7W95-Q0ex8L9IP4eC-bFujjUdfPcEyP7nb17vWiYPHbuNJRU4aD-_txWe04/s1600/Natalie+-+Fashion-Duby,+p277.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs-eBzrR-HaMxpqUaJx8czo7NBf3QlMTkpfR1HdaHfoA_VC511D3raXmVZTHaIxcwvm2_Dzqv0NEjkQEad7W95-Q0ex8L9IP4eC-bFujjUdfPcEyP7nb17vWiYPHbuNJRU4aD-_txWe04/s320/Natalie+-+Fashion-Duby,+p277.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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Ariès, Phillipe and Duby, Georges, Eds. A History of Private Life: Revelations of the Medieval World. Vol. II. Cambridge, U.S.A.: Harvard University Press, 1988. Page 277<br />
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22. <br />
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Laver, James. Costume and Fashion. London: Thames & Hudson, 1995. Page 61<br />
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23. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibQEigAGK7FBWLzSHDy6osrzdGc7uvLlE2R0rOMXOS2FZo4q8AjAjx64M-mfA3vTsY0F4kOIz21LRMISngzkEhpPJwRY69fA8ryR6u5M_tY_oLvEoqB4BY9zgaSnI9aNfL3hPFwXJeOrk/s1600/Natalie+-+Fashion-Duby+p308.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibQEigAGK7FBWLzSHDy6osrzdGc7uvLlE2R0rOMXOS2FZo4q8AjAjx64M-mfA3vTsY0F4kOIz21LRMISngzkEhpPJwRY69fA8ryR6u5M_tY_oLvEoqB4BY9zgaSnI9aNfL3hPFwXJeOrk/s320/Natalie+-+Fashion-Duby+p308.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
Ariès, Phillipe and Duby, Georges, Eds. A History of Private Life: Revelations of the Medieval World. Vol. II. Cambridge, U.S.A.: Harvard University Press, 1988. Page 308<br />
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24. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg82KkkQHy8PQZvK3dgxS-hLL87ckRYIuKtSu-OJMHrGpZ1Z9Kn5hISHEnS3gDluVvAEExJBxyTokUN2vnsoJ-de54kSB639fQrbHFj_I37Ka0bUieM8OZ2tvgrOwobJasF4q-z_tk49i0/s1600/Natalie+-+Fashion+Paper+Owen+-p10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg82KkkQHy8PQZvK3dgxS-hLL87ckRYIuKtSu-OJMHrGpZ1Z9Kn5hISHEnS3gDluVvAEExJBxyTokUN2vnsoJ-de54kSB639fQrbHFj_I37Ka0bUieM8OZ2tvgrOwobJasF4q-z_tk49i0/s320/Natalie+-+Fashion+Paper+Owen+-p10.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
Owen, D.D.R. Noble Lovers. London, UK: Phaidon Press Limited, 1975. Page 10<br />
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25. <br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyPcLS54sBYSrzub3n2GdQcww92kFDqFGl4avmh4iPNFYg4-KFhxQG6I-GcgQofbfZf4lBqgejfmkf__S2rwMVhQCEpkR3k1Zj3HebmVbT4I-3xZTOyWSR4mvz5v8AqdcB0wKYNdPlroM/s1600/Natalie+-+Fashion+Owen+-p12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyPcLS54sBYSrzub3n2GdQcww92kFDqFGl4avmh4iPNFYg4-KFhxQG6I-GcgQofbfZf4lBqgejfmkf__S2rwMVhQCEpkR3k1Zj3HebmVbT4I-3xZTOyWSR4mvz5v8AqdcB0wKYNdPlroM/s320/Natalie+-+Fashion+Owen+-p12.jpg" width="285" /></a></div>
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Owen, D.D.R. Noble Lovers. London, UK: Phaidon Press Limited, 1975. Page 12<br />
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26. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg11d0BZmfnZeYtRpjsmMfCmlpcU-5jrvlEwfD3MrQj7bOK0Mwm47G6m_mzIqZqsXlHBHOeGcx25RSpgj9nvsKh1j7ixZ6DfNJMqKIF348vcq3o-XsyKKfX9KvNgdfo_VUzovQf3CO6fbA/s1600/Gold+Gown+(Rodart+Fra+Angelico).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg11d0BZmfnZeYtRpjsmMfCmlpcU-5jrvlEwfD3MrQj7bOK0Mwm47G6m_mzIqZqsXlHBHOeGcx25RSpgj9nvsKh1j7ixZ6DfNJMqKIF348vcq3o-XsyKKfX9KvNgdfo_VUzovQf3CO6fbA/s320/Gold+Gown+(Rodart+Fra+Angelico).jpg" width="162" /></a><br />
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http://blogs.laweekly.com/arts/2011/12/rodartes_fra_angelico_lacma.php<br />
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27.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8nqgXeV7epzclbipInBF7J5wySpzDy0yxGzvFO-CNbWlqTK78cJEXPHXxDamZsL6qGgfw4vBpoFJpqbiDY-bZcA_qD6MakRFSuB46t_bUqS8ToL4bbcpViswMZemDJQt2J_ENgDxysL4/s1600/Natalie+-+Fashion+(4)-p1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8nqgXeV7epzclbipInBF7J5wySpzDy0yxGzvFO-CNbWlqTK78cJEXPHXxDamZsL6qGgfw4vBpoFJpqbiDY-bZcA_qD6MakRFSuB46t_bUqS8ToL4bbcpViswMZemDJQt2J_ENgDxysL4/s320/Natalie+-+Fashion+(4)-p1.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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Owen, D.D.R. Noble Lovers. London, UK: Phaidon Press Limited, 1975. Page 104<br />
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<b>This paper was prepared as part of an international cross-cultural exploration between independent Israeli and Canadian scholars</b></div>
Rusty Kjarvikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03071547323352880050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6529780966234338585.post-70954318243861619472013-11-18T21:24:00.000-08:002013-11-18T21:24:18.859-08:00Novel Liberation: The Humble Postcolonial Wisdom of E.M. Forster <div style="text-align: center;">
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"If I have had any influence, I would be very glad if it induced people to enjoy this wonderful world into which we're born, and of course to help others to enjoy it too."</div>
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“We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us.”</div>
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“They too entered the world of dreams- that world in which a third of each man's life is spent, and which is thought by some pessimists to be a premonition of eternity.”</div>
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<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/quotes/6472669.E_M_Forster">E.M. Forster</a> (the last quote is from <i><a href="http://archive.org/stream/APassageToIndia_109/APassageToIndia_djvu.txt">A Passage to India</a></i>)</div>
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<i>The British Raj and the Indian Independence movement of the 1920s provide the setting for a poignant story between two principal characters in E.M. Forster’s 1924 novel, A Passage to India. The lives of Aziz, a Muslim doctor and Mrs. Moore, an older Englishwoman, represent themes of social constraint, in contrast with personal relationship. Constrained by title and culture, these characters manage to relate under unique circumstances. Aziz learns to respect Mrs. Moore unlike any Englishwoman he has ever known, while Mrs. Moore is, at first, captivated with the pride of knowing an endearing local closely. <br /><br />Mrs. Moore, as with Miss Quested, is captivated by Aziz because he represents something of the “real India”, to use the words of Miss Quested. “Try seeing Indians” was the reply of the schoolmaster at the Government College, when Miss Quested asked how one might see their colony in its native authenticity. There is always room for remiss under the social umbrella of Indian-English relations; whether in the surprising first encounter between Mrs. Moore and Dr. Aziz in the mosque, or the arranged party at the tennis lawns, the tea gathering at Fielding’s or the excursion to the Marabar Caves, which, finally, proved more disastrous than any one had expected. <br /><br />“May I know your name?” Aziz asks to Mrs. Moore, cautiously, in the mosque. His demeanor is one of near-desperation, as someone both protecting his native sphere, as well as struggling to see British humanity. “She was now in the shadow of the gateway, so that he could not see her face, but she saw his, and she said with a change of voice, ‘Mrs. Moore.’” This very revealing sentence emphasizes the obscurity of English presence from local, Indian eyes. In that moment, Mrs. Moore felt safe enough to share her name, the most important object of her title and superiority. Aziz remembers her generosity, as her fitful capacity to speak the truth becomes the apex of her story, truly a minor character in A Passage to India. <br /><br />When after Dr. Aziz stands on trial for the assault of Miss Quested in the Marabar Caves, Mrs. Moore is decidedly frank in her stance on Aziz’s innocence. “Of course he is innocent,” says Mrs. Moore as Miss Quested begins to question her disillusioned experience on the excursion, all the while Mrs. Moore is quite fed up with India entirely. “She was by no means the dear old lady outsiders supposed, and India had brought her into the open…” writes Forster, who depicts her as a typical elder, uninhibited by the dramas of youth, and quick to speak the truth, even if it is unwanted. At this point, Mrs. Moore is on her way out of India, and the novel, where she soon dies in transit. <br /><br />Regardless, Mrs. Moore is immortalized by the groundswell of Indian support for Aziz, who soon finds reprieve, as legends of “Esmiss Esmoor” soon manifest in the appearance of folk shrines in dedication to Mrs. Moore’s role in saving Aziz’s life. It is important to add that throughout the entire novel, Aziz is addressed by his first name only, while Mrs. Moore solely by her surname. Mrs. Moore’s name transforms when said by Indian voices. “It was revolting to hear his mother travestied into Esmiss Esmoor, a Hindu goddess,” thought Ronny, Mrs. Moore’s son, whose experience of India remained superficial, or, more accurately, guarded, throughout <br /><br />Aziz and Mrs. Moore fail to truly connect in person, because English colonial formalities (and informalities) were too firmly laid beneath the foundations of imperial culture. During a scene of characteristic tension between the colonial masters and their subjects, Forster writes, “Aziz flamboyant, was patronizing Mrs. Moore.” The direct interactions between Aziz and Mrs. Moore are brief and sparse, as they are interceded by English formalities, typically mediation by a male authority – Mr. Fielding in this example. The scene, where Aziz and Mrs. Moore meet in more conventional circumstances, for a tea gathering at Mr. Fielding’s, reveals Aziz’s character (and Forster’s impeccable prose) as someone unable to speak on behalf of India. The scene also reveals the seemingly adventurous minds of Miss Quested and Mrs. Moore, on their search for the “real India” as a mere surface-level novelty. <br /><br />Mrs. Moore, although agreeing to accompany Miss Quested on her excursion into the “real India” is soon overcome with the fundamental truth of her presence in the faraway land. As the excursion comes to a bitter close, it is said of Mrs. Moore, “…since her faintness in the cave she was sunk in apathy and cynicism. The wonderful India of her opening weeks, with its cool nights and acceptable hints of infinity, had vanished." While, from Aziz’s perspective, “…he agreed that all Englishwomen are haughty and venal.” Mrs. Moore is the stereotypical colonial British woman, whose curiosities for the rare and exotic life of India prove ineffectual to satisfy her experience of authentic India. </i></div>
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<i>Their relationship reveals the meaning of liberation in colonial India, where Aziz’s fate becomes Mrs. Moore’s very undoing from India. For Aziz, he would come to know “…that an Englishwoman's word would always outweigh his own.” Generally, both characters speak well of each other, even if their personal, physical interactions are constrained. Conclusively, such is the larger relationship between the colonial British with India; ideal and positive on paper and second-hand experience, yet up close, absolutely ruinous.</i></div>
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<b>This essay, entitled, "The Relative Liberation of India", was written for an acquaintance as part of his school curriculum. Consequently, I was reintroduced into the magnificent literary treasure troves of E.M. Forster's richly imaginative prose. </b><br />
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An expanse over the marshland floodplain. The drifting current sways gently through sap-lined pine trunks and decomposed maple leaves. Ahead, the riverbanks motion with unspeakable gratitude, bittersweet, enjoined to the drunk swell of an upraised wetlands. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/f/f0/Julian_Falat_0033.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="185" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/f/f0/Julian_Falat_0033.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunset over wetlands by Julian Falat</td></tr>
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He speaks, a guide of the ancient St. Lawrence river basin, to reinvigorate the ground with the renewing tides of Mother Earth. She beckons the swallowing of a forgotten landscape. The land is to be reclaimed. Indigenous nationhood reinstated over the American-Canadian divide. </div>
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Featuring a lyrical evocation from the collection, Sketches of Style and chapbook, Muse for the Wounded, Guise of the Beloved expresses thematic tides of visceral belonging amid landscapes both supernatural and inhuman in an age when the human body is more and more experienced only in its violent rending apart.<br />
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Yet, musical undertones, both electronic as acoustic, ring clear throughout, simultaneously presenting the source of human life, as our fate. In the commotion of bewildering psychic momentum, there the muse stands patient and waiting to receive the wounded, who with eyes of intoxication and skin of vulnerability, senses a way beyond and through the immense and spectacular Fear of Being. <br />
<br />
<iframe seamless="" src="https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=2624989428/size=medium/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=63b2cc/t=3/transparent=true/" style="border: 0; height: 120px; width: 100%;"><a href="http://menachem.bandcamp.com/album/evocations-sketches-of-style">Evocations: Sketches of Style by Mister E. Menachem</a></iframe>
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The six poem chapbook, Muse for the Wounded, is comprised of selections from the larger collection, <a href="http://www.sketchesofstyle.blogspot.com/">Sketches of Style</a>. Here, the archetype of the wounded healer is redefined, wherein the muse becomes the healer in the mind of the poet-seer. The one poem, Guise of the Beloved is also featured as a sounding the artful designs of a musical elaboration on the Sketches of Style album<br />
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<a href="http://www.scribd.com/doc/185334155/A-Muse-for-the-Wounded" style="text-decoration: underline;" title="View A Muse for the Wounded on Scribd">A Muse for the Wounded</a></div>
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Rusty Kjarvikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03071547323352880050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6529780966234338585.post-23965902611117027912013-11-11T00:05:00.000-08:002013-11-12T00:10:50.867-08:00Fear, Incorporated: The Transformative Theatrics of Living <div style="text-align: center;">
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"Never ever forget that you are the future of this country…You mustn't be frightened of life, it's a very exciting life because you can make your dreams come true" <a href="http://www.pdu.co.za/">Pieter-Dirk Uys</a>, from the documentary <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pEuLFlvX-KE&feature=player_embedded">Darling! The Pieter-Dirk Uys Story</a><br />
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<i>“In the end it will be up to audiences each time in the event because they will determine the stories,” says Diamond. “My hope is that we have the courage, in a way, not to look at how to change that thing out there, but how to change ourselves.”</i><br />
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<i>That self-reflexive and socially conscious attitude has defined the theatre company right from its humble beginnings in Vancouver in 1981, and it continues to exemplify creative leadership around the most sensitive topics in contemporary public debate. Diamond’s first prominent role in the company, as associate director of the 1982 production Right to Fight, addressed affordable housing. Later, Diamond wrote The Enemy Within, which satirized B.C. politics in 1986. Two years later, he had his directorial debut for the company with one of its Power Plays, which use theatre games and exercises to explore social issues and create community-specific theatre.</i><br />
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<i>Corporations in Our Heads is one of Diamond’s more experimental works in his effort to reach out to community through art. Based on the work of Brazilian theatre visionary Augusto Boal, creator of Theatre for the Oppressed, Diamond’s new work is an original interpretation of Boal’s Cops in the Head, but takes an entirely different approach. “The rules of the Theatre of the Oppressed, I’ve thrown them right out the window,” says Diamond.</i><br />
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<i>The production asks Calgary residents to reflect on, share, act on and change the dominant messages that influence society . “The reason to do the thing for me is there’s a lot of good work happening out there on how the messages of corporations affect our consuming,” says Diamond. “But I don’t think we’re doing a lot of talking about how those messages affect our own images, not just of ourselves but of our relationships with each other. And it’s at the relationship level, in fact, that our consuming originates.</i><br />
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<i>Corporations in Our Heads will be facilitated by (or “joked by,” as Theatre for Living puts it) Diamond himself, who incites the audience to participate. “The power of it, for me, is that it really is a democratic thing,” he says. “While we are framing the general subject matter, Corporations in Our Heads, the actual content really is going to be determined by the people who enter the room that night. And nobody — not me, not the sponsoring groups, nobody — is going to be able to predetermine the content.”</i><br />
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This article, titled, <a href="http://www.ffwdweekly.com/article/arts/theatre/new-theatre-work-examines-corporate-psychology-11454/">New theatre work examines corporate psychology</a>, continues where it was originally published on November 7 in <a href="http://www.ffwdweekly.com/author/matt-hanson/">Fast Forward Weekly</a>. The piece is a continuity on the theme presented by Pieter-Dirk Uys and his arts activism in South Africa, as <a href="http://www.headlinestheatre.com/staff.htm">David Diamond</a> represents a similar following in social consciousness and public engagement in Canada. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2aFDM_sMY3RbT5SWRE5bOeInDe2ZZIhq_lrsrM_QY160ArDkM1J6mKomarQrAhfZpERiyBYDU-eBxwAQLRs0sBiF722HSC3u0EMt0l3Sf2scAe6B0Qjvo1Itci-qCK-Kzn5gIPVKNoK4/s1600/chinatown+delight.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2aFDM_sMY3RbT5SWRE5bOeInDe2ZZIhq_lrsrM_QY160ArDkM1J6mKomarQrAhfZpERiyBYDU-eBxwAQLRs0sBiF722HSC3u0EMt0l3Sf2scAe6B0Qjvo1Itci-qCK-Kzn5gIPVKNoK4/s320/chinatown+delight.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chinatown Delight</td></tr>
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Following the trend of the album, <a href="https://menachem.bandcamp.com/album/evocations-sketches-of-style">Sketches of Style</a>, this sounding is an amalgamation of three instrumental improvisations harmonized and syncopated together with a synthetic rhythm. The beat creeps in, reminding the listener of the abstract organ that touches on soul, as the reeded music blends with darbuka.<br />
<br />
<iframe seamless="" src="https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=2624989428/size=medium/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/t=2/transparent=true/" style="border: 0; height: 120px; width: 100%;">&lt;a href="http://menachem.bandcamp.com/album/evocations-sketches-of-style"&gt;Evocations: Sketches of Style by Mister E. Menachem&lt;/a&gt;</iframe>
Originally published in a comic, the poem that led to the musical expression of the same title, "find Inspiration!" first appeared in Maad Sheep, an illustrated print publication of cartoon and literature that I once found while sitting in an open-air cafe. The issue in which my piece was featured was displayed at a Comic Convention in Canada.<br />
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Lyrically, the piece is a foray into the bitter savagery that cooks the great mass of minds; all who are saturated by the consumptive bread of modern life. The challenge of simply being creative in confrontation with the overwhelming burst and pop mirrorscape of infinite self-deception is the subject and of this sketch of style.<br />
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The rest of the chapbook is a fourteen page collection of poetry on the subject of gaining respect and appreciation for the superhuman qualities of nature, as more than grandiose, and more than human intellect and possession could ever capture or convey. Many are observational, and drawn from insights into the ground of being as the naked soul of humanity.<br />
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<a href="http://www.scribd.com/doc/183480954/Nature%E2%80%99s-Supernal-Creation" style="text-decoration: underline;" title="View Nature’s Supernal Creation on Scribd">Nature’s Supernal Creation</a></div>
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Rusty Kjarvikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03071547323352880050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6529780966234338585.post-91214583147868974652013-11-04T01:17:00.000-08:002013-11-05T01:18:25.247-08:00Emerging Local Creativity: Literature, Music and Art Create Community<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.mediacoop.ca/sites/mediacoop.ca/files2/mc/imagecache/bigimg/face-matt-2013-10-30t21-30-30-299258_t_w480.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://www.mediacoop.ca/sites/mediacoop.ca/files2/mc/imagecache/bigimg/face-matt-2013-10-30t21-30-30-299258_t_w480.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Matt Hanson, Calgary Working Group (photo: <a href="http://www.ffwdweekly.com/author/drew-anderson/">Drew Anderson</a>)</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
"I want to work in revelations, not just spin silly tales for money. I want to fish as deep down as possible into my own subconscious in the belief that once that far down, everyone will understand because they are the same that far down."</div>
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“All human beings are also dream beings. Dreaming ties all mankind together.”</div>
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<a href="http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Jack_Kerouac">Kerouac</a></div>
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<i>How did you get involved in trying to start a local media co-op?</i><br />
<br />
I was corresponding with Montreal Media Co-op founder Dru Oja Jay and he expressed a kind of interest in the idea of a local in Calgary. I had been a member of the media co-op for about two years, the national. As I was more active, I was just more interested in what that means to be local. How they operate in Montreal, Halifax, Vancouver and Toronto — how they operate and what that might mean for Calgary. I started to put the word out there and it was very well received by Dru. He basically encouraged me to get together with others and talk about the idea and consider what is independent media in Calgary. Basically what I found is that many people are interested in their own projects, in terms of starting their own papers, but the difference here was that I was interested in connecting that kind of activity with a national co-operative site.<br />
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<i>So, what’s set up right now?</i><br />
<br />
Basically right now there is a Calgary Working Group as part of the Media Co-op and that has about 130 members, since 2009. All different kinds of stories have come from that. But in the past two years since I was writing with the Media Co-op, I found not many people contributing to the Calgary Working Group. I was just wondering about where is that understanding in Calgary in terms of this great engine of independent media and this source for people to get involved in media activity. So I went to different people who were involved in co-ops, like co-operative housing, and I talked about the idea and started to get it out there and I posted flyers and things about meeting with people. Initially I got three people that were very actively engaged in promoting and organizing the idea. Those were Melissa Manzone, she’s from Montreal but she lives in Calgary and she has a masters in journalism. Then a journalism student at MRU who has a certificate from SAIT in journalism and he’s still a student, and then another young woman named Chelsea Pratchett, who has done a lot of multimedia work — she has alternativemediayyc.com. Basically the next step was I applied for a small grant through the Arusha Centre, a Take Action Grant, that I received. I just started, DIY, working with Melissa who was editing articles with me, and also doing video interviews with people, and then through Alternative Media YYC I was organizing podcasts as weekly contributions. This small amount of funding is just an encouragement to the people here that might consider the idea of a local media co-op in Calgary.<br />
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<i>How so? Would you use that money to pay them?</i><br />
<br />
Yeah. The money has been used to pay contributors. Encouraging people with honorariums. To pay editors. To pay people organizing even. If they’re putting dedication into that, we consider that and we want to value their efforts. It’s a very free grant that I received.<br />
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<i>How are decisions made? I come from more traditional media where decisions are made by editors. Who makes decisions in a co-op?</i><br />
<br />
I’m really learning myself because I’m new to the co-operative sphere. But I’ve been really trying to figure out in terms of how the application of the co-operative organization works in relation to this. How we want to organize it is in a way that everybody has a share of the company, the collective. For me, this is really a learning process, in terms of how a co-operative organization works. Part of the funding I received, I’m putting into going to a conference to learn about worker co-operatives in Edmonton. Part of the forward process of this idea is really generating that structure. Right now, we’re at a very initial stage.<br />
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<i>Why do it? A response to the media that exists? Do you think the media isn’t doing its job?</i><br />
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I think, to me, there’s that. I don’t want to be too reactive. I think it’s more about having a sense of imagination and taking things into your own hands, and really learning by doing in a way where the kind of media that I want to see is one that doesn’t just tell you about something, but incites you to action. The page is not the end of the matter.<br />
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<i>So more of an activist slant.</i><br />
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Yeah, more of a fact that this is part of being more involved. Journalism should be about being involved.<br />
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<br />
<i><b>This piece, also published for <a href="http://www.mediacoop.ca/story/calgary-working-group-makes-news/19552">The Media Co-op</a>, is an excerpt from <a href="http://www.ffwdweekly.com/article/life-style/your-face-here/matt-hanson-calgary-working-group-media-coop-11422/">this week's Your Face Here interview featured in Fast Forward Weekly on October 31</a></b></i><br />
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War zone. Huddled under protection of stone, the dusty clamour of steaming trucks file past, carrying explosives, ammunition; the all-potent death of armed men. The sky burns under a 40 degree desert sun, magnifying the light of illusion with the bitter disbelief of guts strewn in the angry heat. The moonlit fox scatters beyond the floodlit path, and I sit, knowing I'm under the eye of a flagrant bomb pattern, patiently scanning the sky for my fate. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/5/5e/USMC-100505-M-9206G-028.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="219" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/5/5e/USMC-100505-M-9206G-028.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:USMC-100505-M-9206G-028.jpg">Cpl. Alicia R. Giron</a></td></tr>
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Down the gravelly road, an older man, built strong and lean, walking assuredly through hell's gate. In this valley, the shadow of death casts invisibly, as the omnipotent fear, that cutting vibration that pierces as it electrifies. Every last medieval hell of our wildest imagining is child's play in comparison. The daytime moon fills my mind, obscuring the passion of escape into the dizzying architecture of mythology, roasting in this Middle Eastern world fire.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/4/4f/Collateral_Damage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/4/4f/Collateral_Damage.jpg" width="286" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Collateral Damage by James Miller</td></tr>
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The black fly of fire-bomb death squeals past overhead, and I run, sliding my fingers along the desert rock, the stone crumbles into rough sand. My fingers, mysteriously blackened, feel into the stone. A black liquid seethes. Viscous, thick, it's oil. I realize I can't leave. The desert spring overpowers my body in a storm of evil lust. I treasure the root of all fleshly worship in this age of fire as the swarm of madness overcomes, and in a blinding instant, the stone implodes, my hand flits to dust, the Earth gives way to pools of ash, and I sink in the quicksand of eternal war, condemned to modern night. </div>
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<b><br /></b>
<b>On the Impacts of the Iraq War, Read <a href="http://www.commondreams.org/">COMMON DREAMS</a></b></div>
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<iframe seamless="" src="http://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=3777584992/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=de270f/notracklist=true/transparent=true/" style="border: 0; height: 470px; width: 350px;"><a href="http://vian.bandcamp.com/album/cosmic-soundscapes-trio-prt2-delighting-destiny">Cosmic Soundscapes Trio prt2 Delighting Destiny by Vi An, Jasmin Poon, Matt</a></iframe>
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For an ecstatic and mesmerizing experience, listen to this album while watching <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Zwcw7XAJoE">SAMSARA</a>. There are new waves of sound yet to break on the open mind who might stand to listen on these ancient shores.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/3Zwcw7XAJoE" width="420"></iframe>
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<a href="http://vian.bandcamp.com/album/cosmic-soundscapes-trio-prt2-delighting-destiny">Delighting Destiny</a>: Selections of our best during a live performance with audience. All proceeds from this album sales will go towards producing future performances and future recordings. Thank you for your continued support.<br />
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Rusty Kjarvikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03071547323352880050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6529780966234338585.post-51437702376438787462013-10-28T00:40:00.000-07:002013-10-29T01:41:11.728-07:00Globalization and All Our Relations: The Human Family Shall Overcome <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/74/Natural_disasters_caused_by_climate_change.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="140" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/74/Natural_disasters_caused_by_climate_change.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Natural disasters caused by climate change by <a href="http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/User:KVDP">KVDP</a></td></tr>
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"We've been told that climate change is a very serious threat, in fact the most serious threat facing humanity today. Groups like UNICEF and Save the Children are emphasizing the particular impact on young people around the world in developing countries, in the Global South…<br />
<br />
….[<a href="http://www.ipcc.ch/organization/organization.shtml#.Umqo36VPx8s">The United Nations International Panel on Climate Change</a>, representing thousands of scientists from 195 countries] have 95 to 100% certainty that climate change is manmade and that we really do need to be reducing the amount of fossil fuels that are being extracted and burned to get us back to that 350 parts per million. We're currently over 400 parts per million."<br />
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<a href="http://forestethics.org/author/ben-west">Ben West</a>, from a podcast published with The Media Co-op titled, <a href="http://www.mediacoop.ca/audio/vancouver-debating-resolution-divest-fossil-fuels/19412">"Vancouver is debating a resolution to divest from fossil fuels"</a><br />
<br />
<i>Recently, I was asked to produce an essay without knowing the prompt, until the moment unveiled the golden word: Globalization. The off-the-cuff piece, shown here within the body of this text, is the result; derived from a deeply studied and well-experienced life as a global citizen, a youth whose formative years traversed four continents. Read ahead:</i><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Living conditions in Third World countries are deplorable. In fact, the term Third World derives from the Cold War, signifying all of those countries outside of the pale of American and Soviet landholdings. Such countries have continued to face irremediable challenges with integration into the global economy. Culturally, such countries continue to embark on a multicultural path, as a legacy of post-colonial liberations. Yet, economic woes remain the side effect of these nations.</i> <i>Common people feel the impact the greatest.</i> <i>"War is the enemy of the poor," said Tavis Smiley and Cornel West during their recent "Poverty Tour" through the United States.</i> </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Neo-liberal economics, spearheaded by American economic globalization, creates insurmountable debt for Third World countries. The Third World is now also termed the Global South, due to the fact that most of these countries are located in the resource-rich southern hemisphere.</i> <i>Neo-liberal economics is a unique phenomenon of globalization, which has essentially led the entire globe down the same path of economic debt and cultural greed as that currently faced by the American people. Yet, unlike in America, banks in the Global South will not be bailed out, and their people will not be "defended" by the most powerful military on Earth. </i></blockquote>
<i>In recent weeks, as the snakeskin of nature shed under the turning, cyclical gaze of the heavens, I have ruminated steadfastly, and piercingly into the nether reaches of my mind with one essential question. How is one to live directly? How is one to embrace the very source of life from which their every day nourishments and hungers, joys and sorrows, deaths and rebirths emerge? It is a question asked throughout the aeons, and in the Euro-American tradition of thought, also by the transcendentalists. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Often times one will question whether they are to live as an urban dweller, bound to the manufactured waste stream that devastates as it deviates all from the nature of truth and union with creation. Simply, one might ask, "How can I live off the land?" Such self-interrogations are, at heart, nothing more than abstraction. In truth, one cannot exist without living off the land. It is our relationship to our life that matters, and by our life, I mean our water, our food, our air, our soil, our family, our Earth.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Pre-historically, human life was a bout of physical confrontation. Where, when life is lived directly, one sees straight into the eye of death, and beholds our own reflection staring back with the quiet and steaming grimace of fate. So, the trials and travesties of inter-human conflict seeded our mind as with the necessities of the harvest. Yet, today, instead of the spear, instead of the omen or plague, we have a curious social phenomenon called Globalization. Our confrontations are buffered by stone and metal walls. Our physical conflicts are transformed into backhanded and conniving corrupted relationships, not only among each other, but with all that we see, feel, taste, hear and smell. The most deviant and malign property of Globalization is that it moves to act upon a sixth sense of unreason and ignorance: consumerism. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The objectified Earth, the manufactured life, canned and packaged and shipped and digitized, provokes our habits of overindulgence, not only in the physical, but also in the emotional, spiritual and mental aspects of existence. Our life is one of imbalance when our relationship to the sources of life we depend on are marred by the anxious flux of neo-liberalized, Westernized, and finally, globalized economic growth. In the end, I wonder how we might return, or go forth, into a paradigm of holism, where things are not treated as objectified individual separations of the world (a reflection of our own egos), but as representative of one and all in the cyclical round of being, of nature, growth and fulfillment. </i><br />
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<i>_____________</i></div>
This path I have tread before. Tonight, the water is more still and tranquil, more at peace with its shores than ever; almost unified with the distant, clear sky, unmoving. Its depths seem parallel with the infinite universe behind the stars, behind my eyes, and I gaze into its elegant, silent motion. And into the moonlit waters, the icy river glows as an unconscious brew, a kindling power unfolding within the heart and source of the land. The river god sways gently in a dance of ecstasy, the slow rhythmic flow is its yearning to be one, again with the sun-fleshed mountain or of the ocean's undulating tide.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/2/21/'In_the_Spirit_of_Hermitage_at_Fu-ch'un_River',_painting_by_Wang_Hs%C3%BCeh-hao.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/2/21/'In_the_Spirit_of_Hermitage_at_Fu-ch'un_River',_painting_by_Wang_Hs%C3%BCeh-hao.jpg" width="104" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In the Spirit of Hermitage at Fu-ch'un River, painting by Wang Hsüeh-hao</td></tr>
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A lunar glint in the stone-shaped waters reflects an unnerving presence ahead. One glint so similar from the eye of prowling fur, the catastrophic bend of a predator's spine sends a million shivers into my very human soul. Though many steps away from the water, I feel as submerged in its unforgiving current. The gates of a natural death; the moment when you embrace the Earth in the fullest, and the human form disintegrates in a flash of primordial hunger. The animal, entranced, paralyzed my every last cell, as its tail swung left and right with dizzying grace, as there were two beings of the hunt, in full and impenetrable balance. And then, the Tiger stopped. Her stare, curiously enough, then was warming.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/3/3a/Kalighat_Painting_Calcutta_19th_Century_-_Brahmin_Kneeling_in_Front_of_Two_Tigers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/3/3a/Kalighat_Painting_Calcutta_19th_Century_-_Brahmin_Kneeling_in_Front_of_Two_Tigers.jpg" width="208" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Kalighat Painting, Kolkata, India, 1875 titled, "Brahmin Kneeling Before Two Tigers."</td></tr>
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As captivated by an inward swell, as a yet unfelt emotion, the pangs of belonging, of a friendship undying since an unformed word first sprang from my infant mouth. My heart welled up with the strength of tears wept before the death of the beloved, and its release followed with utmost relaxation, both bittersweet as ecstatic. She walked with me, as two lifelong friends, along the human path. And my gut sank as I heard the footsteps of a band of unweary souls approaching.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/3/39/Tsezarskaya_zabava.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/3/39/Tsezarskaya_zabava.JPG" width="210" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tsezarskaya zabava (lit. "Caesar's joy", Russian: Цезарская забава) by Vasiliy Polenov</td></tr>
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She was unprepared to join us as a race, if only to meet an individual of her heart's likeliness. As the unknowing travellers marched forward, they were met by the power of her charged fangs, her open jaw welcomed them as the air accepts a skydive. I fled, not looking back, confused, while with purpose, the scent of strength over the domineering self, over humanity and the narrow stiflings of egotism and myopia in the anthropocentric paradise of modernity.<br />
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<iframe frameborder="no" height="166" scrolling="no" src="https://w.soundcloud.com/player/?url=https%3A//api.soundcloud.com/tracks/109988222" width="100%"></iframe>
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My sister. My brother. My mother. My wife. My maternal grandmother. My step-father. My step-mother. My great-grandfather. My paternal grandmother. And my late grandfather.<br />
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All of them, lived for and with music. Music brought us forth. Music brought us together. Music gave us wings to traverse the open skies, our imaginations, the open roads and lesser-beaten paths. Through music, we know where came from, where we are going, and how we might get there. In the new single by my sister <a href="http://jessehanson.me/">Jesse</a>, "<a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/album/everything-in-between-single/id699665828">Everything in Between</a>" she brings it all home.<br />
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<iframe seamless="" src="http://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=2185335253/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=333333/notracklist=true/transparent=true/" style="border-width: 0px; height: 470px; width: 350px;"></iframe>
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Listen to Jesse's first album, or even one track on it called, <a href="http://jessehanson.bandcamp.com/track/voyageur-feat-matt-hanson-vi-an-diep">Voyageur</a>, featuring myself and my wife. Listen. The lives of countless generations speak through her tones and chords, her voice, her words. Listen, and you just might hear that one that you know like your own. </div>
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The track <a href="http://jessehanson.bandcamp.com/track/these-words-2">These Words</a> is inspired by the wisdom offered as mementos, and as initiations into the power and meaning of family, tradition and the value of life. Be Kind, speaks the first of five wisdom truths, as the Five Noble Truths of Buddhism, our father unearthed five from his own suffered spirit, heartened by the stories and ways of our grandfather, who gave him music, and who passed down not only a tradition of sound, but a tradition of respect for our fellow human beings, for the strength and truth of work and its potential to give one meaning, to give one affirmation that their work is good, that even if it largely remains unsaid, the work is good when it is done in earnest in the trial to confront one's own innermost and enduring sufferings. </div>
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In that way, Kindness transcended politeness, the mediocre drab of everyday humdrum gave way to an appreciation that bordered on spirituality. "My religion is kindness," said the Dalai Lama, and when practiced right, resonates and reverberates, and, ultimately, transcends human suffering as surely and directly as the high of a harmonious tune strummed to the effect of an age-old rhythm, not forgotten and passed down through the embrace of one's own blood. </div>
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Rusty Kjarvikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03071547323352880050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6529780966234338585.post-37822370409644820372013-10-22T01:29:00.000-07:002013-10-22T01:29:46.683-07:00The Spring of the South is the Fall of the North: Writing on Liberation<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/8/83/25th_of_January_key_freeing_Egypt.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="221" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/8/83/25th_of_January_key_freeing_Egypt.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A 25th of January key freeing Egypt by <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carlos_Latuff">Carlos Latuff</a></td></tr>
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“People who shut their eyes to reality simply invite their own destruction, and anyone who insists on remaining in a state on innocence long after that innocence is dead turns himself into a monster.”<br />
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“The poet or the revolutionary is there to articulate the necessity, but until the people themselves apprehend it, nothing can happen ... Perhaps it can't be done without the poet, but it certainly can't be done without the people. The poet and the people get on generally very badly, and yet they need each other. The poet knows it sooner than the people do. The people usually know it after the poet is dead; but that's all right. The point is to get your work done, and your work is to change the world.” </div>
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<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/quotes/10427.James_Baldwin?page=2">James Baldwin</a></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>Regarding the current situation in Egypt, the armed forces and the police backed with thugs are massively shooting and killing suspected pro-the deposed President Mohammed Morsi in streets, at mosques, and in alleys close to demonstration areas. The shooting is happening in all major cities of Egypt. Many religiously motivated violence and shooting incidents have taken place in Christian populated cities located in Southern Egypt.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>In Cairo, the violence is escalating and the death toll of Muslim Brotherhood is soaring as the grand son of Hassan El-Banna, the first founder of Muslim Brotherhood organization in Egypt was shot dead on Friday clashes (Source: Al –Jazeera News TV). Another son of prominent Muslim Brotherhood leader was shot dead on Friday evening during clashes with the police force and the army. Egypt’s temporary government has declared a State of Emergency, and all citizens, as well as foreigners, were warned by the police and the army to keep away from street demonstrations and public governmental buildings, and to avoid entering Tahrir Square.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>As you may know, most Egyptians have aggressive sensitivity to being photographed by foreigners, whether in normal daily situations or during public demonstrations. That is why we saw many Western journalists attacked at Tahrir Square, and one female journalist raped consecutively by a group of thugs in Tahrir square. It seems to me that the current military regime in Egypt has fully determined to uproot the Muslim brotherhood organization, not only in Egypt, but also in the whole region, and that might lead to the unwanted birth of another Syria in the area.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>Most pro-democracy supporters insist to protest. The Muslim Brotherhood protesters are still surrounded inside the Al-Fateh Mosque in Ramses’ Square. They want to come out from the mosque but they afraid that the thugs outside the mosque might attack them. The police force outside the mosque is striking the protesters inside the mosque with tear gas after a gunman shot at police forces from the minaret of the mosque (Source: Al-Jazeera News TV. 6:00 pm. Cairo. GMT.)</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>Mr. Abdel Rahman Siddiq Hashim, Correspondent in Cairo, Egypt (August 17)</i></div>
<br />
Thirty minutes by car from downtown Cairo, the predawn sky of Abu-Seer village revealed the most ancient, complete stonework in the world. Alone, I climbed the eroding rooftop of my host’s concrete dwelling. Sleepless, I gazed into the unworldly pyramid landscape with sand-blooded eyes. The quiet rustling of goats and chickens from an adjacent rooftop finally subsided under the mounting sun. The cool desert night slowly began to burn in the morning haze. It was as common a start as any to another harsh day in a small village of Egypt.<br />
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On the village margins, Saqqara Pyramid decayed in the encircling sands, humbled by the glowing Sahara Desert horizon. A middle-aged Egyptian man, donning a dark grey jellabiya, cautiously rode his mule across the rubble-strewn sands. Then, an airplane flew overhead.<br />
<br />
Three divergent ages of human existence on Earth emerged as one, sharing a moment, side-by-side. The eldest of the three appeared motionless. The Egyptian man meditatively attended to morning duties as his forebears had done for over a millennium. The airplane, a symbol of Egypt’s national independence and economic prosperity, vanished in an instant.<br />
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Tahrir Square, meaning Liberation Square, invited all with pleasant cafes hailing from Egypt’s belle époque period. Patrons intermingled with families at the KFC, and all coveted the dollar menu. In the square, historic speakers in the Headquarters of the Arab League heard the call of muezzin belting out the call to prayer. Five times a day, the prayer, known as the adhan, ascended above the city of a thousand minarets: El Qahira.<br />
<br />
For a twenty-year old student attending the American University in Cairo (AUC), overlooking Tahrir from the east, there was liberation. The first day of my young life in Cairo opened with one fiery orange dawn in the fall of 2007. Sipping a hot ginger tea, I waited for my cab in Tahrir Square. Mohammad, age thirty-three, chauffeured me to what would become my home for the next ten months. Zamalek, an island on the Nile, stood besieged on all sides by a city of 18 million.<br />
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In the past three years, the AUC’s Zamalek student residence went through two evacuation processes during the 2011 Revolution, and again this summer. Due to the unsafe proximity to Tahrir Square, ground zero for the infamous belligerence of military and riot police, international students were sent home. The residence became a safe haven for the AUC community; domestic students and staff were offered free accommodation and complementary meals.<br />
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Emotionally overwhelming, everyone present will never forget the bloodied streets paved with the burnt skin of nonviolent protestors. “They all have witnessed history unfold and a lot of them went to Tahrir Square. They all left in tears having to abide to the evacuation request,” Fatma Abou Youssef, Associate Dean for Residential Life at AUC wrote via email from Zamalek, Cairo on August 19.<br />
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In 2007, through a yearlong study in the humanities, Egypt held a potent charm. For a child of American suburbia, life in downtown Cairo was a true and magnificent freedom; where a dollar bought cab fare through thirty minutes of scorching highway from the Great Pyramids to the fortress of Salah ad-Din. At ground level, the city was not only safe; it was ever so welcoming. In comparison to crime in the average American city, Cairo was exceptionally low-key.<br />
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After many captivating hours learning intensive Arabic from a local Egyptian professor or studying Islamic philosophy with a visiting lecturer from England, the streets beckoned with an extraordinary spirit of discovery. Only after minutes of walking southeast from Tahrir Square, I wandered to the shrine of Saint Patron Sayyida Zeinab during the pilgrimage festival, or ‘Moled’, in celebration of the birth of this special granddaughter of Prophet Mohammad.<br />
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Irrespective of prohibitive warnings from AUC’s student orientation the day of the Moled, I decided to traverse the uninhibited grounds where Sufis and rural Egyptians (known as Sa’idis) pilgrimaged. I espied characters from a bygone era. Many had never before seen the pale face of such foreign skin. An elderly man without legs moved with the aid of wooden blocks, another with a gnarled cane and goatskin satchel appeared at the end of an impressive journey. One younger man, about my age, carried a paralyzed companion on his back. With equal wonder, they smiled at both having reached the shrine as staring into blue irises.<br />
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For the next months, practically every time I set foot in public in the city of Cairo, as throughout Egypt, children ran to greet me, jellabiyad-graced elders responded generously to my regular salaam alaikums. Peers offered a traditional glass of Egyptian whisky – the joke name for black tea served with a generous helping of sugar. Ordering a freshly pressed sugar cane drink (qasab) from street-side juicers became a delectably regular pastime under the all-pervasive sun. In fact, the original word for sugar (sukkar) is derived from Arabic. Similarly, the tamarind drink (tamr-hindi) was served by charming fez-wearing men (hearkening to Ottoman times) on street corners amid the harrowing traffic in Tahrir Square.<br />
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First impressions of Cairo were smoothed over with genuine smiles and hearty laughter. The people of Cairo soon became my teachers, more than any university professor. First having sought to learn Arabic from the locals, I then learned of dignity, humility and simplicity through their open hospitality and street-wise intuition. Uniquely, Ramadan became my favorite time, when a piece of unbroken baladi flatbread always accompanied the savored mulukhiya soup; welcoming any blessed stranger, even if arriving from the next unassuming alleyway. <br />
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Rapidly, the most frequented haunts, such as Cairo Club and El-Bustan, saw mounting anxiety. Sugar, oil and other daily commodities soared in price, both in the formal, as in the informal economy. Conversations became more grave, jokes more cynical and youth were feeling the brunt of a serious economic downturn.<br />
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One year before the 2011 Egyptian Revolution, the air was full of gunpowder. Every whisper seemed that moment, when the spark would light and the very social fabric would begin to incinerate. The deep traumas of colonialism, corruption and fear were immanent, and felt by the overwhelming majority everyday. More importantly, an unruly intensity was felt every night, when the mass of people returned to sleep on the bedrock concrete of Cairo’s sprawling suburban slums. In such an environment, the status quo ceases to quell the rage. The traditional café became peripheral to the cyber café, where social media and youth activism quickened into the perfect storm of 2011. <br />
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Three years prior, an incipient sandstorm clouded the streets on a day of mass action in the wake of an inexcusable rise in bread prices, while former Egyptian President Hosni Mubarak celebrated his 80th birthday. On that night, we crowded into El Horreya Café & Bar (literally meaning Freedom) on May 4, 2008, as on any other downtown metropolitan night in what was once the Amsterdam of the Middle East. Downing local Stella Beer and chain-smoking Cleopatra cigarettes could not snuff out the bitter cynicism looming like a rickety ceiling fan about to fall and leave the place roasting.<br />
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The very earth around Egypt is often as imperious as the social hierarchy itself. The desert becomes part of the inimitable struggle for life in Cairo as trade has nefariously altered the course of most people’s lives around the world, so dramatically in the modern era. One week before the Egyptian Revolution of 2011 commenced on January 25, my uncle, visiting on business, listened with ungraspable curiosity to his Egyptian host talk about the gaining local obsession with Facebook. The word was on its way out, and never to return.<br />
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Remembering Cairo before the Egyptian Revolution of 2011, and in light of the escalating crisis, life will obviously never be the same. There is irrevocable damage, and if the people, who lived and worked in the downtown area, survive, they may never return, and if they do it will be to a different place. Tahrir Square has become home to a near impregnable military, a scavenger’s paradise of the most lowly and vicious of thugs, a place of smoke and blood, where tear gas blinds and the storied hangouts of a bygone era are stained with the outrage of a military coup in broad daylight. In its wake rests a throng of massacred civilians.<br />
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Will the bartender at El Horreya Café & Bar return, he, who snickered and grimaced with local spite, subtly disproving yet overtly encouraging Egyptians’ mixing with European, American and African socialites over incalculable packs of Cleopatra cigarettes and football? Will the papyrus painter return, who gypped me out of a small fortune, cleverly convincing me into becoming a rare arts collector? Will his son return, learning his trade not only for the trade, but also for the tricks; he who walked with me past the now besieged Ramses’ station mosque to deliver my papyrus paintings home to America? Will the mythic female taxi driver return; she, who dazzled our imaginations by crossing the gender line into such a masculine space as the world-infamous streets and thoroughfares of Cairo’s largely unregulated (or, self-regulated) traffic? <br />
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As social critic Tariq Ali wrote this July for counterpunch, an independent investigative journalism source, after all is said and done, “Who will take the Army away?” In the intermediate period between the first Egyptian Revolution of 2011 and this year’s ongoing protests, which began with the presidential coup of Mohamed Morsi on July 3, the Iranian Green Movement receded, while Bahrani and Syrian social unrest continues to derail. After the ecstatic hype following the Egyptian Revolution of 2011, weary voices from the Middle Eastern diaspora warned of immanent crisis. Westerners scratched their heads when the Muslim Brotherhood ascended to power.<br />
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As a foreigner in Egypt, one learns that a human connection to anyone on Earth, to anywhere on Earth, from anyone and anywhere can be learned simply by walking in public, in the street, and more importantly, the square, with an open heart, engaging in dialogue and being present. When we listen, we observe how everyone has a backstory, which does not merely explain one’s present situation, but supports and rounds it out with a complex spectrum of life experience.<br />
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Today, this truth is more than possible; it is inevitable as more and more people are forced out of their homes, out of the comfort of their lives in their countries and cultures of origin, whether by war, civil unrest or the urge to change things, to meet face-to-face with another, and see the clearest reflection of one’s own life. The deaths of Egyptian protestors are not isolated incidents. They are part of the larger narrative of one unified history of all people. In another two years, will they have fallen in vain, or will everyone empowered with the knowledge of the uprising ensure that they have not?<br />
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On returning to the U.S. after three months in Cairo during the summer of 2010, the adage from the American Revolution curiously repeated in my head: No Taxation Without Representation. The city streets should see my sign, I thought, held up on display; the Revolutionary slogan of 1776, concluding with the statement: Stop Funding the Militarization of the Middle East. That sign was never raised.<br />
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After over a year of living on the ground in Cairo intermittently from 2007-2010, I had about enough of armed forces on every street corner. As an American, I felt complicit with the military presence. An iconic moment from the Egyptian Revolution of 2011 revealed the ugly face of global militarism when a demonstrator exhibited the “Made in the U.S.A.” stamp on canisters of tear gas.<br />
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As in the ancient materiality of Saqqara, the medieval trot of the mule and modern flight were spawned out of an instant on the archetypal sands of time. An airplane summons the precarious future in all its speed, might and, finally, in the local historic context, its fleeting insignificance. The pyramid, now stationary and unascending, contrasted with the way of the mule and the plane moving in the same direction.<br />
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Yet, as with today in Egypt, the very power and speed of the plane overhead not only outmatches the mule’s strength, arriving at their common destination first, it leaves nothing behind for those arriving at a deliberate pace, as allegorically, by mule.<br />
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The people of Egypt seek development through truly democratic means, as opposed to Western democratic means, i.e. foreign aid, sanctions and war. For Egypt, as with most of the world, true independence is a long-awaited, and as yet unfulfilled promise. When allowed to proceed at their own pace, in step with tradition, and an engaged contemporary society (as demonstrated in the revolutionary context), the people become aware that the plane overhead is exactly as distant and unconcerned as it appears. Contrasted to the pyramid, or the mule, the plane (and the elitism it represents) consumes the country’s (human and natural) resources with it, and all in a passing instant.<br />
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During the daily commute through Tahrir Square, one of the largest public insignias near to the square’s Omar Makram Mosque stood out: “Everything Should Be XX” (meaning: everything should be 20th century). Before the revolutionary fervor, quotidian time in Egypt screamed with the anxiety of delay. The rushes of traffic, the strength of the black tea, and the overconsumption of sugar were offset by fitful exhausts, religious rituals, and the sun; and now, an army, sponsored by the most militarized, energy-rich and power-hungry nation in the entire world. Nevertheless, as countless Egyptians stage sit-ins, many say the people of the unmoving Saqqara still live and walk in the streets of Cairo. <br />
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<b>NOTE: This article, titled, <a href="http://www.mediacoop.ca/story/fall-arab-spring/19329">Fall of the Arab Spring, was published with The Media Co-op on October 16</a>, was produced in partnership with AlternativeMediaYYC.com and the Arusha Centre with the Calgary Working Group initiative to establish a new local of The Media Co-op in Calgary</b><br />
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<b>Read our other recent pieces produced by the project: </b><br />
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<a href="http://www.mediacoop.ca/audio/vancouver-debating-resolution-divest-fossil-fuels/19412">"Vancouver is debating a resolution to divest from fossil fuels"</a><br />
<a href="http://www.mediacoop.ca/story/3rd-october/19360">The 3rd of October</a><br />
<a href="http://www.mediacoop.ca/story/egypts-war-terrorism-and-extremism/19300">Egypt's War on Terrorism and Extremism</a><br />
<a href="http://www.mediacoop.ca/audio/hayseed-magazine/19260">Hayseed Magazine</a><br />
<a href="http://www.mediacoop.ca/audio/corporations-our-heads/19186">Corporations in our Heads</a><br />
<a href="http://www.mediacoop.ca/audio/working-north/19158">Working North</a><br />
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It was our last night. The sirens of Death displaced the air with an eerie silence. The dissonant projection moved us with a most unsettling scream as from the constellations above. In an incomprehensible language, the alien voice bore down on our skulls as through our entire skeletons with the most devastating form of spiritual dread.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/8/8a/West_Bank_Barrier_cartoon_by_Latuff.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/8/8a/West_Bank_Barrier_cartoon_by_Latuff.png" width="303" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">IsraHell's concentration camp by Carlos Latuff</td></tr>
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Neo-Nazi ghosts awakened to round up non-Aryan cattle from their millennial imprisonment under the northern cross. Before the first ounce of blood was spilled, I eyed the forest beyond the edge of the encampment, where concentration then turned to liberation. For a reason unknown to me at the time, I saw my way out. Others noticed as I ran through the fencing, bewildered by the transcendent feeling of freedom beyond the barbed hatred that confined my elders, my children and brethren of closest kin.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/da/GazaVerboten.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="196" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/da/GazaVerboten.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Gaza Ghetto by Carlos Latuff</td></tr>
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Out into the wayward plain, I fled, alone, veiled under a new moon. The sky enlightened my distance with steps unheard inside the emptying prison. Yet, I could hear wails. As I moved into the dizzying silence, my heart muffled by the fear of no-return, I wept. I felt my skull crack at bearing the guilt, the shade and the humility of survival among my most honoured family and friends, of my blood and spirit, they left behind to suffer excruciating gasp of liquidation.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/6/6b/Waap5.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/6/6b/Waap5.gif" width="228" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We are all palestinian - Native Americans by Carlos Latuff </td></tr>
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The sky filled with light, and as the fog of my vision cleared, a field of people opened before me, as with the harmonious revelation of a smile. Youth prayed and rejoiced under the morning sun, strong with music, to greet the day with endless festivity. The glow of the Earth radiated as a face after being kissed by a warm lover. The air moved softly, and my skin pulsed with gratitude. I enjoyed the music, spontaneous and ambient, as if I had heard music for the first time. Then, a face stared into mine.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/7e/Forgiveness.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/7e/Forgiveness.jpg" width="269" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Forgiveness by Carlos Latuff</td></tr>
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They recognized me, where I had come from, my origins and imprisonment. I wondered if they had escaped as I had. My first reaction was to run, yet, as the moment passed, I felt their empathy. The young woman, working as an attendant to the open-air music festival, expressed her concern, and showed me the way to a bus station near to the edge of the forest. From there, I could travel on and farther away from the destitute evil of my past.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/8/85/Latuff_che.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/8/85/Latuff_che.gif" width="280" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Che Guevara wearing a keffiyeh by Carlos Latuff</td></tr>
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As I approached the station, others noticed me, with fearing eyes, saddened with the truths of human compassion, they earnestly helped me along. I couldn't decide where to go. The schedule was complicated by the tightness of the knot in my heart. Where would I go? What would I do? Should I return and face the death that had me in its embrace, and that had since now consummated its passion with everyone I had ever known? I remain, immobilized. </div>
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<iframe seamless="" src="http://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=1740635541/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=63b2cc/notracklist=true/transparent=true/" style="border: 0; height: 470px; width: 350px;"><a href="http://vian.bandcamp.com/album/cosmic-soundscapes-trio">Cosmic Soundscapes Trio by Jasmin Poon; Vi An; Matt.</a></iframe>
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Listen to live recordings taken from the Trio's debut performance on October 18th, 2013 in Self Connection Books (Canada). More on Jasmin's brilliant skills, gifts and about her amazing Crystal singing bowls please visit her today at <a href="http://www.singingbowlmusic.com/about/">Singing Bowl Music</a>. This live album was produced by <a href="http://vian.bandcamp.com/">Vi An</a>. Funds from this album goes towards artists involved and especially to fund future endeavours together as a collective, to rent venues, promotional material, transportation, meals, accommodation, etc. Thank you for your amazing continued support of these fine artists.</div>
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Rusty Kjarvikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03071547323352880050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6529780966234338585.post-63427043297459783822013-10-14T01:24:00.000-07:002013-10-15T01:43:43.380-07:00Fall of the Artist in Transformation: The Moon at Dawn Exhibit<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfxKgz1wQu68_rCsdjp2w0rwZynnkb6Wf53AAUZ7mnfyZ9gRBqnnwRNW_DagzBNd1MOKdfpgQWxPXSYWHh-U1Fj69qo-76IQI0HAjuC3AFA3eV1wde5-Wg2vxuu67OAIfA2fcprfkWJic/s1600/full+moons+and+dawn's+crepescules.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfxKgz1wQu68_rCsdjp2w0rwZynnkb6Wf53AAUZ7mnfyZ9gRBqnnwRNW_DagzBNd1MOKdfpgQWxPXSYWHh-U1Fj69qo-76IQI0HAjuC3AFA3eV1wde5-Wg2vxuu67OAIfA2fcprfkWJic/s320/full+moons+and+dawn's+crepescules.jpg" width="269" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption">Full Moons and Dawn's Crepescules</td></tr>
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"Do we break rules all the time? All the time. Do you stretch the rules, break the rules, all the time, and in the theatre in particular...It's the difference between working against the world we don't want and deciding to work towards the world we do want." <a href="http://www.headlinestheatre.com/staff.htm">David Diamond</a>, <a href="http://www.mediacoop.ca/audio/corporations-our-heads/19186">Corporations in our Heads:</a> <a href="http://www.mediacoop.ca/audio/corporations-our-heads/19186">Theatre for Living Tours New Production to Calgary</a><br />
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<i>Two Octobers ago, when the seasonal round turned, the leaves of many pages filled with the love of language. Foresight and impermanence intoned a name: SoJournal. After the first year, this weblog had reached 10,000 lucid pairs of eyes, and now one year later, the lucidity has tripled in the pupils of innumerable dreamers; thousands and thousands of imaginations sparked, eyes opened and minds revealed as the clear movement of subtle knowledge - that supernatural creativity embedded deeply within, slightly beneath the folds of memory, as the enchantment of rain through the glass of consciousness, falling with near-silence, full of potent harmony, of life and renewal. The seasonal cycle returned. </i><br />
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<i>And so, as I began the creative journey of SoJournal with <a href="http://www.cyclicalwordplay.blogspot.ca/">Cyclical Wordplay</a> - a visual and literary purging from the spiritual gut of language - I now celebrate year two of this virtual space with the sixth artwork representing the collection, Full Moons and Dawn's Crepescules, in a seven-series cycle of visual, literary and musical collections/exhibits/movements. The elaboration of dawning abstraction unveiled as the phases of a moon, coloured as with the foliage of a cosmic fall from space into the mind of humankind; as formed of ethereal dream creations engulfing and erupting with the pangs of a voracious heart. </i><br />
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<i>So, the above quote is in reference to an assertion from David Diamond's fascinating book, "<a href="http://www.headlinestheatre.com/tflbook/tflbook.htm">Theatre for Living</a>" that in order for art to be transformational it must break the rules. In dreaming, we break the rules of identity. Everything is us - and yet we are curiously not - somehow bizarrely connected with the inner world of all that dwell in the subconscious netherworld of Spirit. In my art (visual, literary and musical), I am inclined toward the same effect. Dissolving boundaries is the practice, and the technique is the creation of art that ascends to transcendent heights of unity with the source of creative energy - the instinctual centre, before reason, simply to the joy, wonder and love of creation. </i><br />
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<i>In, the artwork, Full Moons and Dawn's Crepescules, look through the wintry window light into a charged, otherworldly space where the boundaries of inner and outer dissolve, where the moon cycles around and within our perspective, where we can look through and into a realm of potential, where harmony is interpretive and the veil of beauty and truth is lifted to reveal the nude face of raw creation. As with <a href="http://rustykjarvik.deviantart.com/art/Present-Sound-Silent-Space-320027275">Present Sound, Silent Space</a>, there is an accompanying collection of written works. For now, read on, through earlier altered states of visual writing below, and into the mergence of <a href="http://sketchesofstyle.blogspot.ca/">Sketches of Style</a> in the form of sound. </i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHTi_8ssEQJVR7VIynrB4ZPdta6hQrp-yPpPNJrNLzx1K2ED36SR1kyr3_HzIOj57nQE3uyqpWCHVpIJaa1HKFn0TeIeUzf_dNm5YUkiZJ7Enlft056HERdIwkVmk6NrKnfvjgEd9FI6Q/s1600/electro-acoustic+improvisations+(album+art+-+final).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHTi_8ssEQJVR7VIynrB4ZPdta6hQrp-yPpPNJrNLzx1K2ED36SR1kyr3_HzIOj57nQE3uyqpWCHVpIJaa1HKFn0TeIeUzf_dNm5YUkiZJ7Enlft056HERdIwkVmk6NrKnfvjgEd9FI6Q/s320/electro-acoustic+improvisations+(album+art+-+final).jpg" width="170" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Electro-Acoustic Improvisations</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cyclical Wordplay</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_ikmVoyrD-zub3rg8ELgzVDMEvMmpwXknviPK8FsGzBXvpFVQ6q5WXS0SNbCHbiMmAHaZzzCT40DG_FyFuGf61tkxzijO1Cw2rvxiVU_RaTnyEyF7WLehKjxNtlYk8ZgO8rOY_11hl-8/s1600/evocations+-+cyclical+wordplay+(album+art).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_ikmVoyrD-zub3rg8ELgzVDMEvMmpwXknviPK8FsGzBXvpFVQ6q5WXS0SNbCHbiMmAHaZzzCT40DG_FyFuGf61tkxzijO1Cw2rvxiVU_RaTnyEyF7WLehKjxNtlYk8ZgO8rOY_11hl-8/s320/evocations+-+cyclical+wordplay+(album+art).jpg" width="170" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Evocations: Cyclical Wordplay</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaK-yA7XlqwGh3__BH6tuWqVySLIOgWwbdLTiMDfDpy4n0f0Wk2GfrjPp1utZIgFVETJVgo5zytYklyeQDQZvHhAiDAdjRhEUgntTH8a2Ec4OUboxqBs9i-lVe6xU49Q5LzAz-S1Bevbw/s1600/manuscript+cartography+by+exotic+settlers+(c).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaK-yA7XlqwGh3__BH6tuWqVySLIOgWwbdLTiMDfDpy4n0f0Wk2GfrjPp1utZIgFVETJVgo5zytYklyeQDQZvHhAiDAdjRhEUgntTH8a2Ec4OUboxqBs9i-lVe6xU49Q5LzAz-S1Bevbw/s320/manuscript+cartography+by+exotic+settlers+(c).jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Exotic Settlers</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ5k1YjKyKcwcYvti9-r9r9aHNoL_8iJI-zfG5gBTnrOJzS50vAUCJs9rXRWt9ZrLcPUiL8-75YLEWyjgsKWegAoDsTdqFgpny7_XFmIB0RONRZiUKeTNaOg3XHa6lvcaTR2_YaSqxLxw/s1600/evocations+-+exotic+settlers+(album+art+2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ5k1YjKyKcwcYvti9-r9r9aHNoL_8iJI-zfG5gBTnrOJzS50vAUCJs9rXRWt9ZrLcPUiL8-75YLEWyjgsKWegAoDsTdqFgpny7_XFmIB0RONRZiUKeTNaOg3XHa6lvcaTR2_YaSqxLxw/s320/evocations+-+exotic+settlers+(album+art+2).jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Evocations: Exotic Settlers</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyhWdZOFXZEj0rwExDwH9KEW99gh7fntwHUI5NobCk1BZtJPB6W24bWpfxajOXVG3GZRSz2xywy1VqjBp7Bqceck7BnFeGvW_kk5XtaL3M_Cq-oa6ZMCynsgPAyLOoWlDAO7WN9XaKBdc/s1600/Towers+of+Columbia+Diptych+(c).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyhWdZOFXZEj0rwExDwH9KEW99gh7fntwHUI5NobCk1BZtJPB6W24bWpfxajOXVG3GZRSz2xywy1VqjBp7Bqceck7BnFeGvW_kk5XtaL3M_Cq-oa6ZMCynsgPAyLOoWlDAO7WN9XaKBdc/s320/Towers+of+Columbia+Diptych+(c).jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">district.Columbia</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_qvCTqwGJ4lB0x968rYgIs1gPS7EGvrUppiX-bDJWTiDtDenaK8yvmygG_TDZPvUWmvOi6zohJ7uPEm1zZiOnkljoNSsQgs2pdh1wSlzwW54RXtKcCkvZCygMCBGqzSprNaa5ugCffJ8/s1600/district.Columbia+TRC+art+(en+fin).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="98" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_qvCTqwGJ4lB0x968rYgIs1gPS7EGvrUppiX-bDJWTiDtDenaK8yvmygG_TDZPvUWmvOi6zohJ7uPEm1zZiOnkljoNSsQgs2pdh1wSlzwW54RXtKcCkvZCygMCBGqzSprNaa5ugCffJ8/s320/district.Columbia+TRC+art+(en+fin).jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Evocations: district.Columbia</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUQetUBZH8O8O6XMJeV4o5rPrv4Rkf79apIXT8q6z4MSY7X2bFZnnMP-csR9jeJxg5TNyQu8-9ej0J6iOt9LEHt5wv3hLxJ_U4QaSL3hWoI3WrlfPtrkaQcfKg_cvXSDYZ53YtgkiILWs/s1600/truth+is+a+double+mirror+(towers+of+columbia+art).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUQetUBZH8O8O6XMJeV4o5rPrv4Rkf79apIXT8q6z4MSY7X2bFZnnMP-csR9jeJxg5TNyQu8-9ej0J6iOt9LEHt5wv3hLxJ_U4QaSL3hWoI3WrlfPtrkaQcfKg_cvXSDYZ53YtgkiILWs/s320/truth+is+a+double+mirror+(towers+of+columbia+art).jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Double-Mirror: Truths of district.Columbia</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig6XfM5kZAku0rfSXzdqfDTA8e7Ehsw4_nO1oSzyeTU1ZJj_SvDeMLcN9dXLHdl1NwP6GZC_UJUlNI8VFrP8c12dcVrY0VUEAvBLh8J7bKkl9QWE8rD1aWlWM8rX3NYjedpK_Kndu8-UI/s1600/Sketches+of+Style+Art+(c).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig6XfM5kZAku0rfSXzdqfDTA8e7Ehsw4_nO1oSzyeTU1ZJj_SvDeMLcN9dXLHdl1NwP6GZC_UJUlNI8VFrP8c12dcVrY0VUEAvBLh8J7bKkl9QWE8rD1aWlWM8rX3NYjedpK_Kndu8-UI/s320/Sketches+of+Style+Art+(c).jpg" width="273" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sketches of Style</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzXoClHed_ZWxiu0qYqz3UIlGCU27IUFfCPj320YSuBZJjxm4Wd2DzHP5Lh64ApT-uQ06Vtl_EaHD8SwrkwN5__ZP9HBNiciyAfSFEcDHTH47J_n1evEWEPkreUTWAFyKobX7vLLHy0WM/s1600/present+sound,+silent+space+(watermarked).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzXoClHed_ZWxiu0qYqz3UIlGCU27IUFfCPj320YSuBZJjxm4Wd2DzHP5Lh64ApT-uQ06Vtl_EaHD8SwrkwN5__ZP9HBNiciyAfSFEcDHTH47J_n1evEWEPkreUTWAFyKobX7vLLHy0WM/s320/present+sound,+silent+space+(watermarked).jpg" width="229" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Present Sound, Silent Space</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>_____________</i></div>
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Sketches of Style is the fourth album in a seven-work cycle of art, writing and music. Experimental, ambient, improvisations through an eclectic blend of world instruments (darbuka, frame drums, xaphoon, shakuhachi) synchronize together with original electronic beat loops conceived on very basic virtual drum pads.<br />
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The addition of electronic beats offers a new entrance into sound art that differs from the three albums preceding in this cycle of seven works. Three supporting and leading instrumental tracks are co-intoned together with voicing abstract, improvisational language - as in selections from the written form of <a href="http://www.sketchesofstyle.blogspot.com/">Sketches of Style</a>.<br />
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<iframe seamless="" src="http://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=2624989428/size=medium/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/transparent=true/" style="border: 0; height: 120px; width: 100%;"><a href="http://menachem.bandcamp.com/album/evocations-sketches-of-style">Evocations: Sketches of Style by Mister E. Menachem</a></iframe>
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Firstly, the bed track of original electronic beats, under the name "Grey Sky Jump" figures well into a mood of autumnal ambience. The orchestration of world percussion added to the repetitive regularity moves the listener through a hypnotic, ambient xaphoon melody. The vocalization, abstract and experimental, gives way to a light, almost humorous, vibration of the incipient curiosity that sparks prior to the experience of absolute wonder, and finally, open-form astonishment at hearing the raw flood of creative instinct that pours boundlessly through every last aspect of our innumerable senses of visceral and noetic perception. </div>
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Visions of Outer Conflict is a five-poem chapbook opening and setting the stage for the Sketches of Style collection with explorative extroversions of the spiralling mind. Through stories of perception into the paradigmatic movement of humankind through themes of diaspora and extinction, the chapbook then ends with Cajoled Spine-Tap, which alludes to a surgical procedure whereby the spine is alleviated of pressure to relieve a debilitating bodily experience. The aspiration is for the chapbook to have a spiritually resonant effect as the procedure, effectively allowing a clarity and relief from the pressures of normalized thought and predictable emotion. </div>
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<a href="http://www.scribd.com/doc/176204259/Visions-of-Outer-Conflict" style="text-decoration: underline;" title="View Visions of Outer Conflict on Scribd">Visions of Outer Conflict</a></div>
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Rusty Kjarvikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03071547323352880050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6529780966234338585.post-74097655493709509922013-10-07T01:40:00.000-07:002013-10-08T01:41:12.377-07:00The Wild Path: An Oceanic Reunion of Musical Discovery<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/e/e0/Lillooet_1862.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="187" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/e/e0/Lillooet_1862.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New Government Road, Lillooet, B. C. by William George Richardson Hind</td></tr>
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"I get privy to an area that most people have not seen and will not see, and that's just amazing, and I get to see it at this point in time before any of these projects go through whether they do or not - maybe they don't get approved by the NEB [National Energy Board] or maybe they do - but if they do and these pipelines happen, the places that I visit this summer or next summer or the summer past, they won't be the same as they were when I saw them.<br />
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It'll have gone through an irreversible alteration and not for the better. For the betterment of some human notion of bettering the Canadian economy, wealth, or prosperity but not for any betterment of the land." <a href="http://www.theglobeandmail.com/sports/more-sports/death-race-2013-ultramarathon-gives-alberta-town-a-fresh-start/article13570207/">Ian MacNairn</a>, <a href="http://www.mediacoop.ca/audio/working-north/19158">Working North: Calgary Worker Speaks on Labour Conditions in Northern Alberta and BC</a><br />
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<i>In two years, I hadn't seen the ocean. The epic grasslands of Alberta prairie filled my pupils with daily life, lived fully and for the present. Answering to no one except Father Sky, Trickster Napi and the Bow River, I moved humbly through the auspicious momentums of friendship, solace, distance, rootedness, and foresight. The elegant plans of my life incinerated like a vintage map under a breaking candle. In the bitter hours, I wore my bone to nothing but pure face. And the ocean called. At summer's end, as the leaves slowly dying with bursts of peace said in the silent flesh of wood, I broke past the unanswered din of prairie sky mind. The expanses narrowed with focus of sight, and the road stretched on through mysteries immemorial: a land of hidden truth and naked passion. The Earth spun on a gamble, and the sea rose. </i><br />
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<i>In two years, I hadn't seen the ocean. Firstly, through goggles of tires and binoculars of steel, I then moved through mountain fog to sail toward the island shore. Orcas lifted above the snowy crests, as solar rays burned through the misty sky raining a refreshing, and most rejuvenating, beautiful life. Water flushed my spirits in a spiralling lust, unafraid to lick the clouds and skim atop the brightening ocean. In the rain, I sang and wept oceans of longing fulfilled. The inner world lost its axis and at a loss for balance whirled in ecstatic harmony with the chaotic ring of Beginning. As the sky opened, arriving closer and closer to the island shore, my mind lunged with feline prowess over the horizon, to feel my own heart stretch across this watery earth in a divine embrace of superhuman love, of imagination and unity. </i><br />
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<i>In two years, I hadn't seen the ocean. The cedar hat and drum vibrated with untouchable grace, as I remembered the northernmost step I had taken arm-in-arm with the coastal peoples of the Canadian west. How their drum sang with opulent harmonies only so sweet as when filling the cold air above the tear-blending Pacific. Under the first sun, my friend, a luthier of fine wooden drums (harvested locally) led me to meet the Black Bear, wise fool of the gentle, lazy, clumsy earth. We found sacred fungi and cooked and smoked and bore down with rhythmic intonation over the self-built family home. The forest spoke with a voice to shelter our lives with the hard woods of a door and staircase, of walls and rooms of birth, childhood, adolescence and maturity to the soft woods of art, passion and a work to spell freedom from the burdensome street of poverty, class, race, addiction and anger. </i><br />
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<i>In two years, I hadn't seen the ocean. The night sky breathed light, streams raged in the subtle beyond as death called us inward to sleep under the reign of the green dragon tincture, a home concoction of herbal divinity. Sea lions surfaced to the call of the drum skins reverberating madly over ocean stones. Overlooking the snowcapped island range, we viewed the lush orchestral arrangement of oak, cedar and pine as nearby eruptions solidified into earth-bound communities, moved by the crafting of local life as it etches its place on currents of stone and seed. And so I left, speechless from the first mountaintop days ago as the journey from Alberta started, and from where it ended. To see the ocean, and to sing with the opening sky. To drum along the banks of the island range, seeing snowcapped mountains stare into the distance, over local life as it thrives and nests behind the silencing waves. </i><br />
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<i>____________</i></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvj1pMY_pAcAfKt9cVZ7idj_gVcVmdIdGef5-HlB5c-QudK6AgMc_MgLseDcmlJeigQ-7Tkwevk9ZTG478xWmsG8nuY6kVNT-peFttdUgjalPT7n0uBgiRFpv7FSkQYB6QNV85_5N2B3w/s1600/at+home+in+the+woods.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvj1pMY_pAcAfKt9cVZ7idj_gVcVmdIdGef5-HlB5c-QudK6AgMc_MgLseDcmlJeigQ-7Tkwevk9ZTG478xWmsG8nuY6kVNT-peFttdUgjalPT7n0uBgiRFpv7FSkQYB6QNV85_5N2B3w/s320/at+home+in+the+woods.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">at home in the woods</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCubG1UGebOPTVapD6K0u5rt9bm-dYVh38tKOwxjBy0YABa42EAmfjTKRDQ69-kVwxa99pHr_mDRyOVuKgcdPCvWE5tFFgUi9HRKIl2t1SBgdQSx2AYoTPoTL9PBuCxN5ityd3cc9W-yY/s1600/from+where+the+rain+begins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCubG1UGebOPTVapD6K0u5rt9bm-dYVh38tKOwxjBy0YABa42EAmfjTKRDQ69-kVwxa99pHr_mDRyOVuKgcdPCvWE5tFFgUi9HRKIl2t1SBgdQSx2AYoTPoTL9PBuCxN5ityd3cc9W-yY/s320/from+where+the+rain+begins.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">from where the rain begins</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnRYuN19BdF7QGZnufHOSxEokRDIsq4M_p8pxxO9RTuRgCUTsuYi7bjgqWgU2mBlfXdfXi8vMkrQdi6v_0GnJxLaTppSIQQizYwpszCvLuhNJ1-lzj814oJuC56hFo5CIigcFakPbXhoU/s1600/full+speed+behind.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnRYuN19BdF7QGZnufHOSxEokRDIsq4M_p8pxxO9RTuRgCUTsuYi7bjgqWgU2mBlfXdfXi8vMkrQdi6v_0GnJxLaTppSIQQizYwpszCvLuhNJ1-lzj814oJuC56hFo5CIigcFakPbXhoU/s320/full+speed+behind.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">full speed behind</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ8EDgRDfhml7GKSImFhsV_huGb75pNIGWmPmwUfLTMf3sid31Vp7xkkJ0q0Q0JfuH0XQM87LWMuDdcJUyzboZs59S-oNIVbltKIboTc-Mgky1xsD3tpPzOTBaJXLDowEToK3EWwBhxb8/s1600/horizontal+moments+movements.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ8EDgRDfhml7GKSImFhsV_huGb75pNIGWmPmwUfLTMf3sid31Vp7xkkJ0q0Q0JfuH0XQM87LWMuDdcJUyzboZs59S-oNIVbltKIboTc-Mgky1xsD3tpPzOTBaJXLDowEToK3EWwBhxb8/s320/horizontal+moments+movements.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">horizontal moments</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh26DbNKfiALEFb9gt71-g88SXU03FZ5dp1d-ma69O3XjB1DCaIcc1ViEJTPXOzQut44UaDy138uTuCy9kCXjT4LoXuQ9DpIm1pzNwYKZbDYJTUZxVHU-AVQHXv7pST1UOiNNeexKKLxiY/s1600/the+daily+unground.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh26DbNKfiALEFb9gt71-g88SXU03FZ5dp1d-ma69O3XjB1DCaIcc1ViEJTPXOzQut44UaDy138uTuCy9kCXjT4LoXuQ9DpIm1pzNwYKZbDYJTUZxVHU-AVQHXv7pST1UOiNNeexKKLxiY/s320/the+daily+unground.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the daily unground</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoRBFc1GwfI6YykblwEB9H0TKcMaSG6GtJQ9ZJwTXqabFuVoXg0CxN_-LaEmjGzE57pLKduWVB1r45hbeWKTsJsNCN8SPI2LYzsUDeFMeAISm_WBi8F4v1Fk2EVQbRWnwqIiIC21OsYjs/s1600/the+first+time+we+sang.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoRBFc1GwfI6YykblwEB9H0TKcMaSG6GtJQ9ZJwTXqabFuVoXg0CxN_-LaEmjGzE57pLKduWVB1r45hbeWKTsJsNCN8SPI2LYzsUDeFMeAISm_WBi8F4v1Fk2EVQbRWnwqIiIC21OsYjs/s320/the+first+time+we+sang.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the first time we sang</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjNb6gZQykydEVoH2-LYAZCTV3XfmiwuSnPMI7T3mYP8Fs9RlLjSlfPu9cCVqMqs1y40ysqOQ3712BnK0AsZeeEzIzlzaYFUXEAvOaNuK1Q_KT-uyJPQTnKeLb4QT5Z5tr_NqoDCDwQcU/s1600/the+reason+we+left.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjNb6gZQykydEVoH2-LYAZCTV3XfmiwuSnPMI7T3mYP8Fs9RlLjSlfPu9cCVqMqs1y40ysqOQ3712BnK0AsZeeEzIzlzaYFUXEAvOaNuK1Q_KT-uyJPQTnKeLb4QT5Z5tr_NqoDCDwQcU/s320/the+reason+we+left.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the reason we left</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx448IwM3B6paYdduTzkJr4ox8lLB0OvDsR6XwfkVepLElo4t1ZZ4tYEv4exOKn_v9q9tE_7V_OtIAc_hQXeUYAg61p59yIlyB8yla3ur5GI17a18N5NOKNIhKPqgZDBsXJYT5a5YhQIU/s1600/to+openness+we+come.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx448IwM3B6paYdduTzkJr4ox8lLB0OvDsR6XwfkVepLElo4t1ZZ4tYEv4exOKn_v9q9tE_7V_OtIAc_hQXeUYAg61p59yIlyB8yla3ur5GI17a18N5NOKNIhKPqgZDBsXJYT5a5YhQIU/s320/to+openness+we+come.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">to openness we come</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7Hn3fz6Uxd3YF3tKqc0mmaH-oO4wRtfWlaoBNaaWsfw6EEP1Q3-quvHlPGPTk5zDx9aacI4MzOetK_ZqJQTRfBeIabwzusTed-GbNmx-YZfPb28CUgiihIpi_bHJHo2thl1wqfJWYzSU/s1600/way+of+the+blue+unnamed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7Hn3fz6Uxd3YF3tKqc0mmaH-oO4wRtfWlaoBNaaWsfw6EEP1Q3-quvHlPGPTk5zDx9aacI4MzOetK_ZqJQTRfBeIabwzusTed-GbNmx-YZfPb28CUgiihIpi_bHJHo2thl1wqfJWYzSU/s320/way+of+the+blue+unnamed.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the way of the blue unnamed</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLrSXfY8zKKGOA3BfkD58QRDhFtyUt0xIDZuSOweHjqLev_vC_pKzVKqwXPdblOu5Lf02cfL0fYkuNFjNe-X9XVsmOrZYOQhtWK910LPz7GeOHv6Y7KzagY_EEDJOgmIIEffsw0t9HNEs/s1600/after+work+time.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLrSXfY8zKKGOA3BfkD58QRDhFtyUt0xIDZuSOweHjqLev_vC_pKzVKqwXPdblOu5Lf02cfL0fYkuNFjNe-X9XVsmOrZYOQhtWK910LPz7GeOHv6Y7KzagY_EEDJOgmIIEffsw0t9HNEs/s320/after+work+time.jpg" width="282" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">afterwork time</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>_____________</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
She came</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
She saw</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
She conquered</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/tI0RuHgLMP8" width="420"></iframe></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<u>Video Description</u>: So far the only 36 stringed zheng, Taiwanese made long zither in the world. Great innovation it was about time this was invented(?), innovated at least, because this is my first time improvising on one this grand of a size! Grateful to the luthier and to Sonia Liu of Vancouver's "Crystal Gu-zheng Centre" for allowing me this great honour to share.</div>
Rusty Kjarvikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03071547323352880050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6529780966234338585.post-51027499363439741052013-09-30T11:47:00.000-07:002013-10-01T12:02:00.710-07:00Source of New Media: Resonant Lives Harmonize in the West<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/DKp8xqJ8VoY" width="420"></iframe><br /></div>
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<i>“What I began by reading, I must finish by acting.” Henry David Thoreau</i><br />
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Where is our all-inclusive local media source, one that is not generic, yet doesn't cater to only one group, one that embraces local lore, custom and myth, one that encourages people who live the story, who are located downtown or in the community, whose lives are on the pulse of the daily, local narrative? They are to tell their story, to emphasize selected statements said by their own voice, and to speak from experience, because good media should begin with experience and end with experience. Good media should not begin with inexperience and end with inexperience. Good local media should reunite with social cause, and ultimately, incite action.<br />
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The introduction, history, structure and funding of The Media Co-op is explicitly written out in, Know Your Co-op, a nineteen page document prepared by journalist Dawn Paley in 2007 and self-published by The Dominion editorial collective. What began in 2003 as a newspaper, The Dominion (still circulating nationally), was reincorporated as a multi-stakeholder cooperative in 2007, now known as The Media Co-op.<br />
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“The multi-stakeholder is a situation in which you have more than one class of membership within the cooperative and they collaborate together to meet the needs of the different classes of membership,” Peter Hough, Fund Manager of Tenacity Works Fund at the Canadian Worker Co-op Federation told the Calgary Working Group of The Media Co-op. “In a retail store it would be trying to produce good working conditions for the employees but also trying to produce good service and fair prices for the consumer members. And then all of them would share in any surpluses.”<br />
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In 2009, the first local of The Media Co-op formed into the Halifax Media Co-op. In the next three years, Vancouver, Toronto and Montreal formed locals (in that order). “Each local has an editorial collective that meets face-to-face to discuss stories and coverage in their cities and surrounding areas,” wrote Dawn Paley, in Know Your Co-op. “The new model has required the creation of a web platform where contributors can upload news, videos, audio and photos, as well as interact through comments, working groups and discussions.”<br />
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Cooperative and local media is a process of decentralization, essentially giving media back to its rightful source: the people. In this way, the oft-repeated slogan, “Own Your Media” is The Media Co-op mantra. With stories such as the 2004 Haiti coup d’étatand the Vancouver Olympics, The Media Co-op and its locals transcend corporate media coverage, connect with untapped readership in the Canadian public and have worked with larger media organizations internationally, such as Democracy Now! <br />
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Yet, as typical to news media, the bad news is ever-present. As reiterated in Know Your Co-op, Montreal Media Co-op founder Dru Oja Jay, bore the bad news that The Media Co-op could not accept new locals in the 2010 article, How to start a local of The Media Co-op. Due to the overwhelming commitment and the underwhelming budget, The Media Co-op instead encouraged incipient Working Groups. The Calgary Working Group was opened under the direction of Jay in 2010 with top-notch international reportage on the challenges to a national election in Manila, Philippines. <br />
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Since then, the Calgary Working Group has received over 120 members with contributions on topics ranging from the G20 Summit to The Alberta League Encouraging Storytelling (TALES), to Environmental Justice, to Café Koi to Young and Future Generations Day. Articles, podcasts, photo essays, editorials and blogs are among the many mediums of cooperative journalism local to Calgary. After a new (and very active) Calgary Working Group contributor corresponded with Jay earlier this year, the momentum shifted. Dialogue on starting a new local of The Media Co-op reopened.<br />
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The potential for the Calgary Working Group to become the Calgary Media Co-op is a vision that has since been shared in the local community, and the support is gaining. The Calgary Working Group started meeting with this objective in May of 2013. Besides forming a basis of unity, and establishing an editorial collective, the Calgary Working Group requires sustained and significant contribution in order to shift gears into the full-fledged Calgary Media Co-op.<br />
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The initiative is mutually coordinated with The Media Co-op, where all posts contributed to the Calgary Working Group (and in the future the Calgary Media Co-op) will appear as published on The Media Co-op nationally-syndicated, online news source. Stories written by a local, such as the Montreal Media Co-op, also appear as such when published in The Dominion. The Calgary Media Co-op is a vision for local cooperative media, in advocating for the publication of local stories, connecting them to a national community of journalists, activists, communities and leaders.<br />
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The basis of unity and editorial collective has been organized successfully since May with core organizational capacity developed with Daniel Rodriguez, a graduate of SAIT Journalism and Melissa Manzone, who holds an M.A. in Journalism from Kingston University (U.K.). Our basis of unity establishes a rational, concerted response to the inadequate agenda of dominant media to address and give voice to local concerns, perspectives and narratives. The unity is also founded on a deep appreciation for journalism as a public base of knowledge where cooperative values are formed, maintained and encouraged.<br />
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The editorial collective organizes a weekly program of contribution. Each piece submitted to the collective will be edited by at least two other core or guest editors. Three pieces a week are to be contributed by one regular contributor and two guest contributors. The publication schedule will be organized according to three themes – Uncovered, Alternative and Editorial.<br />
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On Monday, the focus will be on misinformation in the dominant news sources. Simply, we ask, “What is the popular news not covering?” The same issue published in dominant newspapers will be assessed and critiqued with regard to the uncovered angles, perspectives and stories. Not only will contributors critique, their articles and/or multimedia pieces will address and give agency to the unvoiced, and unknown, in our community.<br />
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On Wednesday, pieces will map alternative press locally, in Calgary, and Alberta. For example, we ask, “What is being voiced by independent media sources, non-English newspapers, podcasts and blogs?”<br />
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On Friday, the editorial collective will publish editorials spotlighting special voices from within the community. This new initiative of the Calgary Working Group aspires to convene with the entire political spectrum, including all identities of class, religion, gender, and ethnicity into a refreshingly local forum to reenergize debate, understanding and willpower in the community.<br />
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The Calgary Working Group still has a long way to go until the proposed momentum is established, and finally, there is a new local chapter of The Media Co-op in Calgary. According to the latest draft of New Local Policy (pending issue by The Dominion editorial collective), the Calgary Working Group remains in Phase 0 of 5 successive stages until a full-fledged Local can open in Calgary.<br />
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First and foremost, what this means is that the Calgary Working Group may not use The Media Co-op name to raise money. All funds currently fostered through the voluntary leadership of media activists involved in developing the Calgary Working Group are nominally channeled through AlternativeMediaYYC.com, an independent media and podcast source for Calgary-based voices. At Phase 0, the Calgary Working Group may not refer to itself as the Calgary Media Co-op. At this initial stage, administrators at the Calgary Working Group helping with site content do not have editor access through working group admin privileges. <br />
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Currently, the Calgary Working Group is developing from a working group (Phase 0) to a website working group (Phase 1). In the first stage of the working group’s becoming a local new content is posted weekly, collective membership is stable and meets regularly; collective processes, membership criteria and operating principles are formed; editorial policies are adopted; formal agreement is made with The Media Co-op basis of unity; and lastly, the collective (Calgary Working Group) agrees not to use The Media Co-op name to raise money nor refer to themselves as the Calgary Media Co-op.<br />
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At this transition, the working group applies to The Media Co-op Board of Directors (in this case, through Dru Oja Jay). Leaders from this Calgary Working Group initiative are currently organizing a conference call with Dru and The Media Co-op Board of Directors. [<i>To get involved, please contact us via the Calgary Working Group coordinator, Matt Hanson (<a href="mailto:mhanson1717@yahoo.com">mhanson1717@yahoo.com</a>).</i>]<br />
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In the context of modern literary history, Hungarian-American Jewish newspaperman Joseph Pulitzer set the quality standard for publishing at the turn of the century. Pulitzer, best known for the eponymous award for not only journalism, but also photography, literature, history, poetry, music and drama is attributed with the quote: “The newspaper that is true to its highest mission will concern itself with the things that ought to happen tomorrow, or next month, or next year, and will seek to make what ought to be come to pass.”<br />
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Good media begins with the very real ground-level experience of people who are the subject of good stories. The middle ground is where people read and learn. Finally, good media ends when the lives of the people voicing their story are changed as often as the people who learn that story. Good media compels and instills action.<br />
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Mediocre or god-awful media begins with inexperience, namely the daily political rhetoric, hearsay, or at best a secondary source. Next, its core value is the repetitive sound of a cash register receiving a dollar and some change for a paper. For the tremendous act of reading is enough for some literati, however news media should be a call to extroversion and community.<br />
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Oftentimes, media consumerism ends with apathy, inaction and at best a satiated boredom, and at worst, accepting that life merely boils down to hearsay. More subtly, office-enclosed research on secondary sources so conveniently bolsters today's social (and unsocial) media frenzy; a frenzy that can overwhelm experience into the dull silence of an unprovoked voice in an abyss of unquestioned answers, facts, statistics, records.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"It's as if newspapers have broken their bargain with democracy in turning away from editorial excellence and towards profit, marketing and cost-cutting...fewer of us can turn to our papers and see what we all have in common, or what our common stake might be if we participate in our democracy." (Yesterday’s News, John Miller)</blockquote>
The glossy overdub display of empty space is often filled with meaningless advertisements, meant to convince people that their lives are as empty and meaningless as an unfulfilled consumer niche, such as the newspaper; slowly becoming a dying, trivialized miscellany for the intellectual exploits of the few.<br />
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The media less and less provokes action because it never quite does anything for anyone, yet still somehow exists because of the inkling that it could. If only media behaved as it once did before politicized buyouts and delegitimizing advertisements, when a paper was a conduit of experience through which new learning passed to connect, share and welcome all voices to truly and transparently voice an urgent cause to act! <br />
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Dominant news sources less and less provoke action, and more and more reveal mere dangers. Is our fear-based culture a result of the classist leadership in dominant sources of media and information in the public sphere, where stories are always politicized according to the dominant agenda? As a result the rhetoric dissuades change, i.e. delegitimizes alternative perspectives. The narrowing national and public debates are also a resultant of the unremitting and domesticized war on [domestic] terror and its repercussions within the consumer identity crisis of the West.<br />
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Local media often promotes reliable, ongoing coverage, because people are interested in the longstanding nature of their community. Merely because a story is told does not mean the story itself is over. Ongoing coverage on a topic that immediately concerns people, on which they have daily experience as a default to their local lives, provides opportunities for readers to learn more, gain news perspectives, contact key leaders on the issue, and most importantly, become involved in currents of change.<br />
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Dominant papers don't often voice underprivileged perspectives because they are the least marketable consumers. Instinctually, good journalism bolsters weak areas of coverage, not simply profit margins. As Pete Hamill wrote in News Is A Verb, “True accomplishment is marginal to the recognition factor. There is seldom any attention paid to scientists, poets, educators, or archaeologists.” Traditionally, papers lead communities toward mutual solutions and shared vales. Consumer marketing instills myopia and is, finally, beside the point, and decidedly antithetical to providing true information.<br />
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The advent of community, as opposed to commercial, journalism can teach citizens of a democracy (and more, a democratically inclined world) how challenging it is to create consensus. Journalists are practitioners of democracy. Their work necessitates service and humility. Community journalism cultivates voluntarism, and promotes education, vision and friendship. An unknowing public spawns a culture of denial, impotence and misinformation. The more a society realizes its source of community, the more its people are independent, thoughtful and generous.<br />
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References:<br />
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Hamill, Pete. News Is A Verb: Journalism at the End of the Twentieth Century. The Ballantine Publishing Group. New York. 1998. Page 80.<br />
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Miller, John. Yesterday’s News: Why Canada’s Daily Newspapers Are Failing Us. Fernwood Publishing. Halifax. 1998. Pages 15-16.<br />
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Kennedy, Dan. The Wired City: Reimagining Journalism and Civic Life in the Post-Newspaper Age. University of Massachusetts Press. Amherst & Boston. 2013.<br />
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Paley, Dawn. Know Your Co-op. The Media Co-op:<a href="http://www.mediacoop.ca/index.php?q=knowyourcoop">http://www.mediacoop.ca/index.php?q=knowyourcoop</a>. Canada. 2011.<br />
<br />
Jay, Dru Oja. How to start a new local of the Media Co-op. The Media Co-op:<a href="http://www.mediacoop.ca/blog/dru/4378">http://www.mediacoop.ca/blog/dru/4378</a>. Canada. 2010. <br />
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<b>The article above, <i><a href="http://www.mediacoop.ca/story/community-not-commercial-journalism/19050">Community, Not Commercial, Journalism</a></i>, was written and published exclusively for The Media Co-op on September 27, 2013. </b><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>_____________</b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I cross a deep green field. The sky, overcast, rains on a dark earth. Dusk spells weary and wayward bands of lonesome greed. The marijuana burns. I, cold in dank clothing, trail beyond the grey horizon. Smoothly, with a gliding wind, I escape across the open shield. My mind breathes awake. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/1/1c/DarioDeRegoyos001.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/1/1c/DarioDeRegoyos001.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption">Pluie de mai. Pays basque b<span style="background-color: #f9f9f9; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">y</span><i style="background-color: #f9f9f9; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"> </i>Darío de Regoyos y Valdés</td></tr>
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Cautious, I walk slow. The friend waits, cold, faceless. I unwrap a fabric, revealing the value of our exchange. Sweetgrass fills the air. Moved, life graces. Forlorn and ungraspable, we stretch out to reach the fleeting air. Police siren. The air becomes a noxious haze of suspicion. I fly. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/df/Jules_Gachet_Le_carabinier.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/df/Jules_Gachet_Le_carabinier.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Le carabinier by Jules Gachet</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
The sweetgrass confiscated. Our lives are in our hands. I look up. Abyss. Black. Open. Dead light fades. Escarpment of the human gargoyle decaying, and erased from the map of heaven. Sharp and hard, the light petrifies, crystallizes and vibrates of the endless spectrum. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/d5/John_Martin_-_The_Eve_of_the_Deluge_-_WGA14146.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="207" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/d5/John_Martin_-_The_Eve_of_the_Deluge_-_WGA14146.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Eve of the Deluge by John Martin</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
Galaxies enervate spines, nerves, veins and nodes of wonder; cosmic laughter at the sound of a split gong. Through, I, again, look up. Cobalt azure. Blinding, solar, pure and naked, sky. Cloud obscures. Rain, a memory. Summer passes in the afterglow noon. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>____________</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe seamless="" src="http://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=2592219448/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/notracklist=true/transparent=true/" style="border: 0; height: 470px; width: 350px;"><a href="http://buckmancoe.bandcamp.com/album/crows-nest-e-p">Crow's Nest e.p. by Buckman Coe</a></iframe>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
First time in Vancouver, my love and I stayed with our dear friend Buckman Coe. I left early, leaving her to an extraordinary night with rich music and great friendship, and leaving, on my way back home, I played Buckman's first CD on my headphones. The first track, "<a href="http://buckmancoe.bandcamp.com/track/give-up-the-fright">Give Up The Fright</a>", began "If you must go overseas / If that's where you feel that you ought to be." </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
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<div style="text-align: left;">
And tears streamed. I shook with the fear of love as I watched my one exit from the bus station and into the west coast cityscape. It was the first step on my way to Cairo, and further and further away from her. "Don't know if it was wishful thinking on her part / For now, this little rogue has got my heart," ends the song, a wishful lament to the ambiguity of human relationship, the lyrics struck so many chords with perfect accuracy. </div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
Years later, our dear friend's second CD, <a href="http://buckmancoe.bandcamp.com/album/by-the-mountains-feet">By The Mountain's Feet</a>, opened with Not So Farfetched, a brilliant rhythmic melody to the course and rush of love - and again, the lyrics spoke with impeccable insight as we schemed our return west, to our Pacific lust of belonging - "This is how the story of you and I begins / And it's not so farfetched..." </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
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<div style="text-align: left;">
To the resounding continuity of love in our hearts. We grow to return. </div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://lantungmusic.com/index.php/videos/video/18">Ya Ribon - Orchid Ensemble (Kashgar Project)</a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Multimedia Video on Jewish-Chinese Intercultural Music</span></div>
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Jewish and Chinese. The pot boils. Visiting the coast, we accompany a friend staying in the home of Lan Tung and Jonathan Bernard, whose special hospitality warms with musical instruments of a deep and resonant heritage. Their contemporary fusion music of world union reconciles the magic of our hearts with an unspoken quality of communal love - an uncanny similarity to our own strength of heart, soul and mind in the music of our coastal upbringing. </div>
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Rusty Kjarvikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03071547323352880050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6529780966234338585.post-48302078589578482302013-09-24T02:21:00.001-07:002013-09-24T02:21:59.381-07:00Writing: The Child of Art and Music<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://www.nfb.ca/film/wood_mountain_poems/" target="_blank"><em>Wood Mountain Poems</em></a>, <a href="http://www.nfb.ca/" target="_blank">National Film Board of Canada</a></div>
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"My grandfather Dolmic dreamed that three coffins floated through the door of his brother's house. So, he rode to the next village to investigate, and found his brother, his sister-in-law and their servant girl dead of cholera. The baby, still alive, was sucking at its mother's breast. He built three coffins and arranged the burial, and returned home with the child in his arms. And they say dreams don't come true." Ukrainian Grandmother, <a href="http://www.nfb.ca/film/wood_mountain_poems/">Wood Mountain Poems</a></div>
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<i>On May 3 of 2012, Copenhagen welcomed the largest sustainable fashion conference yet seen in the contemporary world. Sustainability and corporate social responsibility are buzzwords in the consumer industry, and are integrated more and more into every sector of the economy. What was once merely one percent of the fashion industry in 2007 – when estimated global sales of the sustainable fashion market were at three billion dollars – would increase exponentially, culminating in the 2012 Copenhagen Fashion Summit with the investment of over one thousand key industry stakeholders. </i><br />
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<i>One of the largest industries, fashion product lines contribute to the spread of over eight thousand chemicals and twenty five percent of the world’s pesticides into the natural environment. Not only that, most of the environmental impact is made after the consumer has purchased the materials. Yet, sustainable fashion is one growing eco-trend that is challenging the largely unsustainable fashion market by employing alternative textiles with less carbon footprint. </i><br />
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<i>Organic cotton is effectively transforming one of the most commonly grown crops, and so in doing, is spearheading the eco-fashion movement. Other cellulose materials include hemp and bamboo. Materials, however, are only part of the eco-equation. Renewability and source factor, as does labor conditions. The idea is to create what Rossella Ravagli, Corporate Social and Environmental Responsibility Manager at Gucci, proposed during the 2012 Copenhagen Fashion summit, as a “good compromise between style, quality and new material.” </i><br />
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<i>Arguably, bamboo fiber is especially capable of meeting the demands of the new eco-fashion market. With an absorptive quality that captures greenhouse gases, bamboo grows in abundance without irrigation or pesticides. As the fastest growing woody plant in the world, bamboo holds a unique place in the fast-paced consumer market. Although, there is controversy regarding bamboo’s claim to fame in the eco-fashion market, as the process required to turn bamboo into wearable fiber, also known as Rayon, is marred with chemical-intensive labor. Yet, relatively speaking, bamboo as a source material for clothing is a more sustainable option than most. </i><br />
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<i>Yet another alternative textile, hemp, is potentially more eco-friendly than bamboo. Also easily grown, hemp clothing is often a composite of other organic materials. With such diverse uses as building materials, paper, jewelry, and fuel, hemp is largely responsible for complementing the greater trend of sustainable fashion with style. Hemp clothing is often designed with respect to traditional eco-fashion trends, opening interest in ethnic-inspired lines. </i><br />
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<b>This piece of commercial writing on eco-fashion was originally written for a client in China, and is also published as a <a href="http://www.mediacoop.ca/blog/mattrusty26/18984">blog on The Media Co-op</a></b><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ODIQoYjkSn0Sesn-K7nft-95ENaKibu5bLuMarslSuZLy05vNlfoEcXHZt8xldkdWoXDCv_kf2pZYWZr82qzcXqEhDEy0vPF0Mub6mCBecoivO8MO3czm3JKvkKNIuLYDF_dvJjICV4/s1600/dusk+fall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_ODIQoYjkSn0Sesn-K7nft-95ENaKibu5bLuMarslSuZLy05vNlfoEcXHZt8xldkdWoXDCv_kf2pZYWZr82qzcXqEhDEy0vPF0Mub6mCBecoivO8MO3czm3JKvkKNIuLYDF_dvJjICV4/s320/dusk+fall.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">dusk fall</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoza8vS8qO6okOdZa7RqLnjAXYCaXa6s9e3Hc71g3JpqHPbUJVtgoiMMafSccuUiu5y33ONn3jOjexObbjsOmJ8e9-HW-ScBZYQ6yJAH18F36bl7abktn10CVc5amBpFW5yvWRM1lzyNs/s1600/full+equinox.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoza8vS8qO6okOdZa7RqLnjAXYCaXa6s9e3Hc71g3JpqHPbUJVtgoiMMafSccuUiu5y33ONn3jOjexObbjsOmJ8e9-HW-ScBZYQ6yJAH18F36bl7abktn10CVc5amBpFW5yvWRM1lzyNs/s320/full+equinox.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">full equinox</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXl2gh2JhXMFqqKEv5VkVlEzclQU3xBzjw9M1HGz-9fppbLeIFV8STRrqW_9y6a123gK0z_s24cPgL7-YhMIxb4hOMYetyp_wfKCN-Mxlblq5VszXvXztY1eoaa1_blL4_PtpfdgwU3sw/s1600/hell's+door.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXl2gh2JhXMFqqKEv5VkVlEzclQU3xBzjw9M1HGz-9fppbLeIFV8STRrqW_9y6a123gK0z_s24cPgL7-YhMIxb4hOMYetyp_wfKCN-Mxlblq5VszXvXztY1eoaa1_blL4_PtpfdgwU3sw/s320/hell's+door.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">hell's door</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimkmxHbdEVQEvEQAEMv0CnDvMVXXUMQpHSUasF1Ib58yQECjH22Of-uO8Z-caftbi0KYjbUb3143-bJOTSXycrDz5N-WMYnaBLEzC33-NHzPfDKTLFdD4cpVn7TjTn2tXGhIxN7WCEgGo/s1600/lonely+crossroads.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimkmxHbdEVQEvEQAEMv0CnDvMVXXUMQpHSUasF1Ib58yQECjH22Of-uO8Z-caftbi0KYjbUb3143-bJOTSXycrDz5N-WMYnaBLEzC33-NHzPfDKTLFdD4cpVn7TjTn2tXGhIxN7WCEgGo/s320/lonely+crossroads.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">lonely crossroads</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDuxGMfIWEzqUivm3E-AG7rAFvKs_eFkw6nA0Bzfwr1G-1p6mbOQLfsP1X7YAu6XvY5OwVw39iCoOTAAyos5gUDWDUsnO5MILqRdY_k99gAcakdRNeeLgvSQuw16e01oP7388b1tfM1YM/s1600/ringing+bells.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDuxGMfIWEzqUivm3E-AG7rAFvKs_eFkw6nA0Bzfwr1G-1p6mbOQLfsP1X7YAu6XvY5OwVw39iCoOTAAyos5gUDWDUsnO5MILqRdY_k99gAcakdRNeeLgvSQuw16e01oP7388b1tfM1YM/s320/ringing+bells.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">still bells</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNv8FYnqsRBYuKZArYWjAa5dkhridgBs0iBa7JH2bGENRxxEF4TJcA5QLihDRilJ1sD8t9nFiVd9Bk9Qc9GvhsIcIeEOQmTCWkqfyTrl1O8e2DwVn1rA0VmgIvecTd5PeW6SXtgom5l7w/s1600/way+back.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNv8FYnqsRBYuKZArYWjAa5dkhridgBs0iBa7JH2bGENRxxEF4TJcA5QLihDRilJ1sD8t9nFiVd9Bk9Qc9GvhsIcIeEOQmTCWkqfyTrl1O8e2DwVn1rA0VmgIvecTd5PeW6SXtgom5l7w/s320/way+back.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">way back</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJrVMrYU197_4qgdtzGBCRBDmhFUpe41NA0r7nVVrLgkb-daI2VktqdZI7djhfJngYC3WXsayHQD0SgFxhmEBYohcaxkPrtHvcLOGbrsi4XUbVgNMJkqWWaEkeHigiEClcd3VfPS_csSg/s1600/world+tree+.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJrVMrYU197_4qgdtzGBCRBDmhFUpe41NA0r7nVVrLgkb-daI2VktqdZI7djhfJngYC3WXsayHQD0SgFxhmEBYohcaxkPrtHvcLOGbrsi4XUbVgNMJkqWWaEkeHigiEClcd3VfPS_csSg/s320/world+tree+.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">world tree</td></tr>
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The week began with the resonant mergence of harmonic mastery still ringing in my ears. A meeting with contemporary legend, <a href="http://www.amiramiri.com/">Amir Amiri</a> opened my mind to the brilliant challenge of a distant sound's arrival. The shores of my thought curled and folded in a slow tide as I acquired the bittersweet taste of a traditional music's refinement into the beautiful wholeness of world.<br />
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The quick hum of the Persian santur danced behind my eyes with the lifted personification of an artist's temptation to unite with the all-breathing life of unity. Yet, nostalgic and principled, remained steadfastly earth-bound to the homely traditions of mother, father, and self. At once, another meeting with the unbound truth stared me in the face through the transfixing metallic song of the HandPan under the voice of<b> <a href="http://www.lironman.net/#!music/c24vq">LIRON MAN</a></b>. </div>
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After Man's show, Puertas, at the <a href="http://www.calgaryflamencofestival.com/">Calgary International Flamenco Festival</a>, I then met the opening musicians, one of whom, <a href="http://tamarilana.com/">Tamar Llana</a> is featured in the video below. She sings next to her mother, <a href="http://www.yorku.ca/judithc/MainEng.htm">Judith Cohen</a> - an ethnomusicologist with a special focus on Sephardic music - playing the frame drum. The joyous union of ancestry, tradition, and contemporaneity through music led to a revelation of harmony as the voice of continuity, belonging and meaning. <br />
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Rusty Kjarvikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03071547323352880050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6529780966234338585.post-3287945753976430112013-09-16T21:10:00.002-07:002013-09-16T22:13:26.213-07:00For the Love of Humanity: An Essay on the Ecological Auschwitz of Canada <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/b/b3/Bkdraft.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/b/b3/Bkdraft.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dostoevsky's notes for chapter 5 of The Brothers Karamazov</td></tr>
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"You see, I so love humanity that—would you believe it?—I often dream of forsaking all that I have...I close my eyes and think and dream, and at that moment I feel full of strength to overcome all obstacles." <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/quotes/3137322.Fyodor_Dostoyevsky">Fyodor Dostoyevsky</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/28054/28054-h/28054-h.html">The Brothers Karamazov</a><br />
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<i>“It's a scandal,” environmental activist Tzeporah Berman shouted to an encamped crowd at Indian Beach the night before the Healing Walk. Imagine, each and every CEO to all the employees of the oil and gas industry, blatantly raping their mother and profiting obscenely in the act. The Tar Sands scandal has gone viral. The proposed Enbridge Northern Gateway pipeline “is probably the most controversial project in the history of British Colombia other than perhaps Claquoyot Sound logging operations,” said Ben West, Forest Ethics Tar Sands Campaign Director, at a Project Ploughshares event in Calgary on April 27.</i><br />
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<i>It’s been the #1 talked about news story in British Colombia now for two years running. In fact there is a study that was done that shows all the next five stories, in terms of coverage, if you combined all the coverage, still did not get as much coverage as the Enbridge Northern Gateway pipeline in the last two years.</i></blockquote>
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<i>The entire world is a voyeur to the most heinous crime of physical abuse on Earth today. “All fights, all battles for the planet are important, but some are more important than others. And there is no battle on the face of the Earth more important than what’s going on here in Alberta,” Bill McKibben, climate change scientist and founder of 350.org, said for the outdoor press conference immediately prior to the beginning of the Healing Walk. “There are three or four places on planet Earth where there is enough carbon below the soil, that if it gets dug up and burned, then there is no chance that we’ll ever stabilize this planet’s climate, and this is one of them.”<br /> <br />Yet, since 1967, when the first commercial project began to exploit the Athabasca Tar Sands, the crime intensifies to the benefit of a society corrupted by cheap oil across Canada, and around the world. “From the seven pipeline spills in the last five weeks, we know that oil corrodes, and what we’re just beginning to learn is that it’s not just corroding our pipelines,” Berman asserted. “Oil in Canada is corroding our democracy.”<br /> <br />The 4th Annual Healing Walk, attended by about five hundred demonstrators, sent a clear message: local people matter, have voice and are strongly represented across the country and the world. While international activism often necessitates globalization and fossil fuels to wage peace on the Tar Sands, the First Nations in and around Fort McMurray, the Athabasca Chipewyan and Dene peoples, are leading humankind by simply walking, in prayer to the Four Directions. Because of ancient wisdom and the spirit of traditional ceremony and community, industrial traffic slowed to a near halt as far as the eye could see on July 6 around the 14km Syncrude Tailings Loop.<br /> <br />“When I went into that town of Fort McMurray, you know what it reminds me of, it reminds me of going into the town that’s the ecological equivalent of Auschwitz,” Anishinaabe author Winona LaDuke proclaimed during her keynote speech the night before the Healing Walk. </i></div>
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<i>“The town that’s sitting right next to Auschwitz and saying, ‘Hey, we’re good here, you can get a $35 steak, you can get an $18 hamburger and it’s okay.’ There’s something just psychotically wrong with all that.”</i></blockquote>
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<i>LaDuke’s Auschwitz comparison, especially in the light of modern consumer culture, is significant. Another outspoken critic of power politics, Hannah Arendt, had once led a scandal, transforming international dialogue on the perpetrations of Auschwitz into a parable of modern life. Arendt’s notion of the “banality of evil” speaks to the mass consumerism that fuels the current destruction of the planet. Status quo consumer society encourages technology and energy overconsumption. One tier of society justifies through intellectual analysis regarding energy, society and the environment, while most are overwhelmed by the unreasonable complicity of leadership.<br /> <br />Therefore, most people remain ignorant of the fact that their immediate, daily actions cause the very atrocities committed against marginalized people and the environment. Espoused in 1961 during the Eichmann Trial, the philosophy behind Arendt’s “banality of evil” teaches how everyday people perpetrate the greatest crimes of humanity, often more so than their leaders. The idea is slowly gaining acceptance among genocide scholars, such as in Daniel Jonah Goldhagen’s Worse Than War.<br /> <br />“If you breathe air and you drink water, this is about you,” Crystal Lameman, Treaty 6 activist of Beaver Lake Cree Nation, declared at the beginning of the Healing Walk at Crane Lake Park. If the great-grandchildren of Canada look back on the current generation, will they see the current society as people of today see Nazi Germany? As the Jews were liquidated for business purposes, so the Earth and its First Peoples are being bought and sold, and killed in the process, for the liquidation of bitumen tar into petroleum gasoline. Every day, Canadians are told that progress must continue and economic growth must never regress for any sake outside of myopic anthropocentricism and politicized Canadian values.<br /> <br />“On the eve of the NEB hearings for the Enbridge pipeline, when our National Minister of Natural Resources put an open letter to Canadians [in the Globe and Mail], calling anyone who opposed these pipelines a terrorist,” Berman reminded demonstrators camped only fifteen minutes away from Fort McMurray. “Essentially saying that if you express concerns then you are acting against Canada’s national interests, that you are an enemy.” When environmentalists and Aboriginal peoples who oppose pipeline development are deemed terrorists, political-economic rhetoric in Canada begins to look more like that of the Department of National Defence.<br /> <br />Dissuading public debate is typically fascist. The undemocratic nature of the petro-state further supports the colonial Eurocentric project of civilization, where marginalized minorities, such as Indigenous peoples, are meant to suffer the growing pains of modernization. Indeed, modern progress is often underhandedly defined by the achievements of warfare and genocide against marginal ways of life.<br /> <br />The Canadian infrastructure, as with much of the world, is dependent on the continued suffering, and the scandalous crimes, of the continued power imbalances from the colonial past. “We’ve got to feed these people that consume a third of the world’s resources. That requires pretty much constant intervention into other peoples’ territories, whether they’re Dene, Anishnaabe, Cree, or whether they’re in Venezuela,” LaDuke said with a voice of experience and reason at the Healing Walk. “Constant intervention into other peoples’ territories to keep up this level of entitlement.”<br /> <br />Today, there is global complicity in the status quo, in the consumers and beneficiaries of non-renewable energy resources, and its concomitant intergovernmental policies. If Canada survives into the future as a memorable entity, people may look back on the country as yet committers of yet a deeper atrocity, against Earth, and as with a genocidal inclination towards the entire human race. <br /> <br />Will others follow in the example of the First Nations of the Athabasca river basin, whose warnings resound with deep socio-ecological truth? Will Healing Walks spring from the people across the Earth, so that in the name and significance of Mother, the destruction stops and healing starts? Are people around the world willing to stop the destruction and walk for the healing of the Earth, to find a path that slows the destructive course of industry (business) as usual and that offers, not one direction alone, but Four Directions, whole and undivided? When will people begin to pray through movement, action, and participation?<br /> <br />Around the same time that unparalleled innovations in alternative energy came to the fore, there was a great leap in Western consciousness of natural philosophy. Contemporary science is providing the world with unprecedented advances in material technology and innovation. “The last two years, we have seen more advances in clean energy, in renewable energy and technology, than the last twenty years,” said Berman, at the close of her keynote speech at the Healing Walk conference at Indian Beach. “The last two years were the first two years in human history where new investment in electricity generation for renewable energy, for wind, for solar exceeded new investment for electricity in oil, coal, and nuclear combined!” Nonetheless, today there is a greater vacuum of innovation, and that is within the human mind. The current struggle for life on Earth is within each and every human being bridging the great rift between modern life and ancient wisdom.<br /> <br />“I think what has to happen is a change in understanding. It’s not a matter of power, or of muscle or of energy,” the late philosopher Alan Watts said in the documentary, Zen.</i><br />
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<i>It’s a matter of the way in which we understand and feel our own existence, not as strangers in a hostile universe, but as integral parts of that universe, as fruits of the universe, in the same way as an apple is a fruit of a tree we are a fruit of this galaxy, we belong to it, we are something it’s doing, but we don’t feel that.</i></blockquote>
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<i>Similarly, in the name of modern physics, the same basic knowledge that allows for the expansion of physical technology offers renewed integrations between ancient wisdom and modern life. The same way of applied thinking – that might destroy life on Earth when derived from philosophies of conquering nature and ethno-cultural assimilation – would also affirm interconnectedness with all forms of life.<br /> <br />Yet, petro-state fascism muzzles scientific inquiry that affirms rootedness, while ensnaring science with political ideology. “The internationally recognized journal of Nature this year, in an editorial, said ‘It’s time for Canada to set their scientists free,’” Berman, author of This Crazy Time, said at the Healing Walk. Science, as a truly inventive field of human inquiry, would logically presuppose the very undoing of its concurrent technological manifestations.<br /> <br />“The natural environment is treated as if it consisted of separate parts to be exploited by different interest groups. The fragmented view is further extended to society which is split into different nations, races, religions and political groups,” physicist and international best-selling author Fritjof Capra wrote in The Tao of Physics.</i></div>
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<i>The belief that all these fragments – in ourselves, in our environment, and in our society – are really separate can be seen as the essential reason for the present series of social, ecological, and cultural crises. It has alienated us from nature and our fellow human beings. It has brought a grossly unjust distribution of natural resources creating economic and political disorder, an ever-rising wave of violence, both spontaneous and institutionalized, and an ugly, polluted environment in which life has often become physically and mentally unhealthy.</i></blockquote>
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<i>Life is without meaning, not because it is despairing, but because it requires no other meaning than itself. Life itself is significant. Life is self-renewing. Modern human life is more and more devoid of a connection to the sources of life, and so, the mind, and its encouraged symbolic outputs, estranges daily existence from the nature of life. Proactive language (e.g. solutions-oriented media), as with the most advanced scientific thinking, gives voice and agency to ways of life that are self-sufficient, yet still recognize the interdependent nature of life.<br /> <br />The First and Original Peoples of Turtle Island, Aboriginal Peoples of Canada, continue to share the fundamental philosophical similarities with the ecological consciousness of wise, ancient cultures from bygone eras and faraway lands. Understandings that had once triggered a revival of interest in the practical philosophies of interdependence and rootedness are not only springing from Western science itself, but are being voiced by the First Peoples of the Land with greater potency. “Science is important but only if it’s governed and held in check by wisdom, and that wisdom that people have been ignoring for hundreds of years on this continent is finally reasserting itself at exactly the moment when it is most needed,” Bill McKibben said to close his speech only moments before the Healing Walk began.<br /> <br />Bad news is good news. Spotlight triggers response, and, at the end of the day, people think as they please, or, more accurately, as is pleasing. Regardless of what it is called, Oil Sands, or Tar Sands, industry gets the lip service. “I don’t want to squander my energy entirely on being reactive, on being reactive to their craziness. Be clear on where we are going,” LaDuke stressed with grounded intensity. “It’s our choice upon which path to embark. One miikanan [path] is well worn but it’s scorched. The other path, they say, is not well worn but it’s green, and it’s our choice. It’s our choice. That’s what our people said about 800-900 years ago.” The ancient wisdom of the Anishinaabe prophecy for the time of the Seventh Fire shared by Winona LaDuke at the 4th Annual Tar Sands Healing Walk offers all a path, or miikana, to a future that is fresh and green, and very simply, to a future. <br /> <br />Beyond pro- and anti-, beyond reaction and action, there is a beginning; a place, from where all people would begin life renewed. That beginning is the elephant in the room; it is every last man, woman and child. In the name of Mother Earth, the Original Peoples along the Athabasca River, and every Healing Walker: All my relations. </i><br />
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<b>This piece is featured in the current print edition of <a href="http://www.dialogue.ca/">Dialogue Magazine</a> <br /> <br />(If you would like to have a FREE copy of the issue wherein this piece is printed, please notify the <a href="http://dialogue@dialogue.ca/">magazine</a> or the <a href="http://mhanson1717@yahoo.com/">author</a>)</b></div>
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<b>Also, read my Spotlight piece, "<a href="http://www.mediacoop.ca/story/tales-tar-sands/18908">Tales from the tar sands</a>" in the current September/October print issue of <a href="http://this.org/">This Magazine</a> in an online exclusive at <a href="http://www.mediacoop.ca/">The Media Co-op</a>. </b></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgLWtbs9oBA18V8Y1OpBtRq6H_U3e3S8i3uL7tQmuFl64ybWfpYt9wFBHBsarwThBkww7R-2iB0RN87DcvhGNlgI0DdbQ5ifKAcZyJSPHJ9u0IFmgJk-FZD9aJBaY4j-QGfxCg57c4UYw/s1600/blessed+horn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgLWtbs9oBA18V8Y1OpBtRq6H_U3e3S8i3uL7tQmuFl64ybWfpYt9wFBHBsarwThBkww7R-2iB0RN87DcvhGNlgI0DdbQ5ifKAcZyJSPHJ9u0IFmgJk-FZD9aJBaY4j-QGfxCg57c4UYw/s320/blessed+horn.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">blessed horn</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOZPfPMMEtS6dZygUytho1vA6mMHvDjeGC2FzxBdwa6DL7KUU1MBGr1ltY6xARQjERisyUcLE9eLE9XuICVw7xqERPdWZNGfb6hGRrRJYjaXwZZ9CkGrY4aUtlSBK4UrvXvun4EgmeAjc/s1600/entranced+night+.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOZPfPMMEtS6dZygUytho1vA6mMHvDjeGC2FzxBdwa6DL7KUU1MBGr1ltY6xARQjERisyUcLE9eLE9XuICVw7xqERPdWZNGfb6hGRrRJYjaXwZZ9CkGrY4aUtlSBK4UrvXvun4EgmeAjc/s320/entranced+night+.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">entranced night</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUUzBA7-2dke1Xcn_cXrEn7s1mt06S7yvc5VZdsHklsRDI1UaCwD5rvqiZ4G36cwdaRnNibiOwRJmfxYP06dDaX6tC4Gmao48S3ddWlUJM0M36SCsi-Pqt9h_TI57CVT-SczAF6GN_7WQ/s1600/korean+shades.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUUzBA7-2dke1Xcn_cXrEn7s1mt06S7yvc5VZdsHklsRDI1UaCwD5rvqiZ4G36cwdaRnNibiOwRJmfxYP06dDaX6tC4Gmao48S3ddWlUJM0M36SCsi-Pqt9h_TI57CVT-SczAF6GN_7WQ/s320/korean+shades.jpg" width="181" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">korean shades</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7QT0rAZglf2JGWg-OCMkaeXmn4-b5g6VAXaueONbo9PcxDj6nK3qomyHxFwiGPOrtur3zd8fDtd0_4SozfERD-viKaqpbxIOXc05q83jPpurbZES1p0RUBwa7JBRgLY8b003XyMyXfx4/s1600/light+buddha+.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7QT0rAZglf2JGWg-OCMkaeXmn4-b5g6VAXaueONbo9PcxDj6nK3qomyHxFwiGPOrtur3zd8fDtd0_4SozfERD-viKaqpbxIOXc05q83jPpurbZES1p0RUBwa7JBRgLY8b003XyMyXfx4/s320/light+buddha+.jpg" width="262" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">light buddha</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg99Qq3K7Urs-xwRgJwAaWJ0wpn1hc_8pR_s3lIVzX5VeRPHGAtGx9uFTnUc7UJQF9r3NwJgsFBuT5F5zyx7RQWV0gxk5V_07QsEp5YjhkoPlWNALdVkUR0dDIOKX7bdXzDEGmrs1e9iTo/s1600/sun+hat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg99Qq3K7Urs-xwRgJwAaWJ0wpn1hc_8pR_s3lIVzX5VeRPHGAtGx9uFTnUc7UJQF9r3NwJgsFBuT5F5zyx7RQWV0gxk5V_07QsEp5YjhkoPlWNALdVkUR0dDIOKX7bdXzDEGmrs1e9iTo/s320/sun+hat.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">sun hat</td></tr>
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The album "Evocations: district.Columbia" is an experimental narrative sound art exploration into the text of the collection, "district.Columbia" releasing the first single, "New America" to incite the forthcoming album on the inaugural day of Aboriginal Awareness Week in Canada is auspicious and serendipitous in its symbolic import as an album whose narrations were triggered by an inner voice of resistance while in Washington D.C. where I began to dedicate myself to the literary vocation in light of my own personal development in the commission of truth - as in the social justice of 9/11 and Truth and Reconciliation truth commissions - to address political and historical-religious misinformation.<br />
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My creative work is in keeping with a lifelong demonstration to voice silenced histories, in honour and recognition of the atrocities committed against first peoples of the land, whose history, while older and more enduring, while land-based and unfathomably rich, is snuffed out by the dominant settler narratives of media and education that continue to ride the oppressive waves of war, colonization and assimilation in the ongoing struggle for american freedom that continues to this day. "Evocations: district.Columbia" is a sounding directly from the heart, unmediated by the delusional independence of exclusive american identity, for an end to the war on freedom<br />
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<iframe seamless="" src="http://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=1476264884/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/notracklist=true/transparent=true/" style="border: 0; height: 470px; width: 350px;"><a href="http://menachem.bandcamp.com/album/evocations-district-columbia">Evocations: district.Columbia by Mister E. Menachem</a></iframe>
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Inspired by the pre-colonial and pre-revolutionist metaphor for America, “Columbia,” a Goddess of Freedom, as an archetypal myth, once proudly personifying poetic optimism through feminine form. Through these writings, I personify the process of mythmaking as a dedication to compassionate awe and voiced protest in the historic confrontation with self and nation. The name Columbia was immortalized immediately before the Revolutionary War in 1775 by Phillis Wheatley, the first African American woman to publish her writing, in her poem, “His Excellency, General Washington.”</div>
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Written primarily based on a visit to Washington D.C., this collection is a vocal reclamation. These chronicles present a visitor returning to his home country, where visitation is defined by traversing an international land border. I represent my struggle to reclaim and recognize my unique voice. In these pages, I confront the realization that I am, in certain respects, an inheritor of the American way of life. Regardless, the inheritance is fraught with the psychological complexities of exile.</div>
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In this reclamation, I throw off vestigial principles of experience. I attempt to revision a new way of being through the living temperance of the written word, and specifically, my own practice of stream-of-consciousness writing. Such revision includes confronting a natural process of self-awareness, whereby self-expression revolutionizes into an identity with nature as a self-perpetuating source of renewal and life.</div>
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Spontaneous word creation, or improvisational writing, is a natural activity of the human mind. There is a power within that endless fount, that when regularly tapped as a spiritual practice, unleashes one’s surroundings with an ever-renewing energy. Such a practice motivates one personally, to interact with one’s immediate environment in dynamic ways. The reason for this effect is because in this practice, which actualizes into a way of being, the present moment becomes central. When the present is cherished with just significance, the mundane begins to breathe with new life.</div>
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The practice of improvised writing, in this sense, outlines a processional transformation in throwing off sterile notions of self and environment. district.Columbia begins by defining autonomous interactions between self and environment (as to parallel notions of the “New World” for pre-colonial Europeans and pre-revolutionist Americans) and ends with a declarative pronouncement; to create an openness to uninhibited spontaneity in personal creativity and a diverse awareness in social activity in our public spaces (as to parallel the current fomentation of creative social activity blurring the lines of public and personal art).</div>
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<a href="http://www.scribd.com/doc/114731533/district-Columbia" style="text-decoration: underline;" title="View district.Columbia on Scribd">district.Columbia</a> by <a href="http://www.scribd.com/RustyKjarvik" style="text-decoration: underline;" title="View Rusty Kjarvik's profile on Scribd">Rusty Kjarvik</a></div>
<iframe class="scribd_iframe_embed" data-aspect-ratio="0.772922022279349" data-auto-height="false" frameborder="0" height="600" id="doc_67803" scrolling="no" src="//www.scribd.com/embeds/114731533/content?start_page=1&view_mode=scroll&access_key=key-pfo9xloufqajudvze89&show_recommendations=true" width="100%"></iframe>
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Rusty Kjarvikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03071547323352880050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6529780966234338585.post-1840794660821227862013-09-09T01:43:00.000-07:002013-09-10T01:45:52.842-07:00The Woman Behind The Dream: Chopin and the Timeless Tuning<div style="text-align: center;">
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“Because perhaps to my misery, I already have my perfect one whom I have without saying a word, served faithfully for a year now. Of whom I dream and in whose memory the adagio of my concerto has been written.” Chopin, <a href="http://topdocumentaryfilms.com/chopin-the-women-behind-the-music/">The Women Behind the Music</a><br />
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<i>In the memory of such early genius as Chopin, our cultural continuity glorifies bygone eras with a creative resurgence only known to Western opulence. And looking out from the window of one's own, the sparks of desire light. At first, softly, the Earth burns. Then, the air plumes in a haze of smoke. The bonfire of magic absolves the moon of its light, and the stars become mere smoky display. Inside, and from underneath, the imagination fires the kindling of co-unity with the mind.</i><br />
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<i>And in such as a bout of unspent night, where slumber is deep and each morning fresh, I woke into dream. The longing test of emotive fire, the blinding seed of passion instilled. To work, and to find solace in worldly accomplishment deceived! The wakeful night spun an inglorious frost, a loosened hold on the sunless firmament. </i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/6/61/Pedro_Am%C3%A9rico_-_A_Noite_e_os_G%C3%AAnios_do_Estudo_e_do_Amor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/6/61/Pedro_Am%C3%A9rico_-_A_Noite_e_os_G%C3%AAnios_do_Estudo_e_do_Amor.jpg" width="236" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Night with the Genii of Study and Love by Pedro Américo</td></tr>
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<i>A summit revealed the greatest of depths as the wounded sky bled rain and ice, brewing over the darkening clouds. We traversed impossible concave stone, sharp as a split mirror, the ice moved our flesh towards the brink. In a vivid flash, I saw memory itself, bear unto the apex of Earth. The stars crowned the lonely top as we gazed into our battered arms with hands of ice and stone. </i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/6/6a/HRSOA_AlbertBierstadt-Storm_in_the_Mountains.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="201" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/6/6a/HRSOA_AlbertBierstadt-Storm_in_the_Mountains.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Storm in the Mountains by Albert Bierstadt</td></tr>
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<i>From the greatest of heights, the shadow of a man fell to die. Scattered in the colourless flush of snow, the piercing rock dashed all hope. Still, with chests full of heart, we climbed on and to the frozen prison. Alone, I emptied my eyes and climbed the last step. The day sped past in a hearse, as a vision of unity stung my heart with its sole truth: alone with the Alone. </i><br />
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To close the album, "Evocations: district.Columbia" the track, "Untrained Timeless Tuning" consists of improvisations on piano (keyboard) and xaphoon (bamboo sax). The age-old American sound of piano and woodwind hearkens to the unique sonic fusion that is completely unique and characteristic of the country. Especially in the use of a certain type of improvisation, the classic sounds evince an internal discovery of not only the human soul, but the soul of the land known to Americans as home.</div>
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In such a time as today, when war after war knocks at our doorstep, we can be reminded of the cultural heritage that more prominently identifies us as a unified people: music, the one common language of humanity. So, the sound is masked with electronic innovation into the 21st century, where the piano sound is a controller, and the woodwind is a recent invention. The first xaphoon was made only forty years ago on the island of Hawaii.</div>
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Further, the title, "Untrained Timeless Tuning" speaks to that harmony that is basic to all regardless of class, education, ethnicity or religious identification. There is a way to shared harmony, and it emerges through a music untrained by the classism and privilege of modern higher education. Whether speech, or instrumentation, the music that is untrained, while in tune with the essence of human life as pain, raw and blunt, is the very timelessness that high art seeks to capture. That timelessness is bred in every interaction and exchange whether within or between us always.</div>
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When we speak of <a href="http://www.scribd.com/doc/166839367/Re-Writing-Our-STORY">Re-Writing our STORY</a>, as in the chapbook wherein this piece is written, this very realization is the voice that carries our experience to such wonderful stretches of the imagination; present and transformational. So, the traditional keyboard and woodwind sound is transformed into an electronic movement of triumph in contemporary sound creativity. </div>
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<iframe seamless="" src="https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=1476264884/size=medium/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/t=7/transparent=true/" style="border: 0; height: 120px; width: 100%;"><a href="http://menachem.bandcamp.com/album/evocations-district-columbia">Evocations: district.Columbia by Mister E. Menachem</a></iframe>
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The following six-poem chapbook, <i>Re-Writing our STORY</i>, is the final series of works from the <i><a href="http://districtcolombia.blogspot.ca/">district.Columbia</a></i> collection. The pieces reflect the penultimate phase of true revolution as a spiritual transformation of one's narrative. That is, one re-imagines their perspective through a revolutionary act of storytelling. This kind of storytelling reflects personal truths, daily experiences and common points of view with regard to the larger narratives and mythologies that consume unknowing minds through belief, propaganda and pride. The feature piece, <a href="http://www.poydrasreview.com/Read/Blog.php?id=3401188269095080076">Untrained Timeless Tuning</a>, was published with Poydras Review in August of 2012.<br />
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<a href="http://www.scribd.com/doc/166839367/Re-Writing-Our-STORY" style="text-decoration: underline;" title="View Re-Writing Our STORY on Scribd">Re-Writing Our STORY</a></div>
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Rusty Kjarvikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03071547323352880050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6529780966234338585.post-24251556018472906712013-09-02T03:04:00.000-07:002013-09-10T02:26:25.748-07:00The Art of Nonintervention: Rumi on Syria and Virtual Exhibit <div style="text-align: center;">
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"Last night I had such a wonderful dream. That today, I feel great and satisfied. You said, 'Go, for you are the king!' True and may I be merry and glad! I am drunk without cupbearer and wine! I am King Ghobad without throne and crown!" <a href="http://www.sacred-texts.com/isl/masnavi/">Rumi, Masnavi</a><br />
<i><br />Last night, I performed music for an Afghani community celebration of the legacy of Rumi. It was a clear night. The sun melted over the horizon an incandescent vermillion azure, and a mountain silhouette graced the starlit west. I accompanied a dear friend, who plays the Persian santur, with </i><i>wind and percussion instruments. The audience was cheerful at hearing our unique musical expression of global community, and our hosts delighted. </i><br />
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<i>One young woman at the event, born in Canada, proclaimed, "I am from Afghanistan." As the Afghani and Persian language commingled in a unity of mind and understanding, the political discussion turned to musical appreciation. Music is the one common language, they agreed, Persian and Afghani, who speak a common language, are not divided by the bounds of modern nationalism, war and custom, because they share culture, language and music. </i><br />
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<i>Yet, even in Canada, where a military imperialism curses the blood-stained earth of Afghanistan, the people of that country remain proud and honour the sacred unity of their cultural heritage beyond national boundaries, and into the language of unity, peace and wonder. So, as one proponent of Sufism, Rumi and Peace said in Canada to close the June 6, 2012 podcast on <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/ca/podcast/fda-world-democracy-discussion/id452149290">World Democracy Discussion</a> speaking in reference to the Iran-Israel Nuclear Crisis: </i><br />
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<i>"Rumi was sitting was sitting with his students in his academy and one of his students ran to him and said, 'Rumi, two wise men are fighting, come and do something.' Rumi didn't react. The second student came and said, 'Rumi, two wise men are fighting, they are beating each other, come and do something.' The person soon asked, 'You don't care?' And Rumi answered that if they were wise, they wouldn't fight.'"</i></blockquote>
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URGENT: Citizen Response to Syria<br />
Letter to Alberta Members of Parliament<br />
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Dear Alberta Members of Parliament,<br />
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I am a citizen of Alberta for over five years. I arrived as a resident of Calgary directly from Cairo, Egypt, where I was a student at the American University of Cairo (2007-2008), and then University of Calgary (2008-2010).<br />
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Please recognize my plea to all Members of Parliament not to support military intervention in Syria.<br />
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In 2010, I returned to Cairo, Egypt and the Middle East through the Consortium for Peace Studies at the University of Calgary. The Consortium was formed in response to Canada's response to the Iraq War of 2003, which Canada did notparticipate in. What has changed in Canada during these ten years?<br />
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It is a well-known fact that the Canada Pension Plan Investment Board (CPPIB) invests in war manufacturing. In effect, the Canadian Federal Government is complicit in war crimes through the investment of such weapons manufacturing as cluster bombs and nuclear arms, in spite of such international agreements as the Global Landmines Treaty and the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty. Due to the fact that our tax and revenue system is inextricably tied to the arms industry, every Canadian is complicit. Why are we furthering our complicity in the deaths of 100,000 and the forced exile of over 2 million Syrians?<br />
<br />
Why is the Canadian government demonstrating support for the U.S., who used chemical weapons in Fallujah during the invasion of Iraq, and now purports to protect Syrians and the global community from the very same belligerence?<br />
<br />
As Foreign Affairs Minister John Baird says, "we are of one mind" in promoting America's call for an international coalition to intervene in Syria. Prime Minister Stephen Harper warns of the risks involved in not intervening. As a citizen of America and a permanent resident of Canada, I am embarrassed to be from a part of the world that seeks to undermine international order for the sake of economic investment.<br />
<br />
Please regard my concern and stand with the British Parliament in denouncing all support for the mounting American military intervention in Syria. <br />
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Respectfully,<br />
<br />
Matt Hanson<br />
<br />
<br />
References:<br />
<br />
Syria<br />
<br />
http://www.ctvnews.ca/canada/is-canada-going-to-war-in-syria-here-s-what-our-military-could-do-1.1431117<br />
http://www.democracynow.org/2013/8/30/headlines#8301<br />
http://www.mediacoop.ca/story/syria-intervention-or-diaspora/16492<br />
<br />
CCPIB<br />
<br />
http://www.huffingtonpost.ca/amy-macpherson/cpp-war-crimes_b_2487424.html<br />
http://www.cbc.ca/news/business/taxseason/story/2012/12/21/f-rrsp-2013-cpp-portfolio.html<br />
http://www.vivelecanada.ca/article/101709523-cpp-landmine-investments-are-we-breaking-the-global-ban-treaty<br />
<br />
General Interest<br />
<br />
http://www.mediacoop.ca/story/persian-jews-and-iran-israel-crisis/17264<br />
http://www.ucalgary.ca/md/PARHAD/studentships/student-2010-mhanson.htm<br />
<br />
<b style="text-align: left;">This letter was also posted on <a href="http://www.mediacoop.ca/story/urgent-citizen-response-syria/18736">The Media Co-op</a></b><br />
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TAKE ACTION AND CONTACT OFFICES OF YOUR LOCAL GOVERNMENT<br />
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& MORE IMPORTANTLY,</div>
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CONTACT OFFICES OF YOUR LOCAL GOVERNMENT AND TAKE ACTION </div>
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<i>EndNote: </i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>Alberta is not only the economic engine of Canada, it provides the lifeblood of economic energy for much of the world. Globally, Alberta's oil industry is the <a href="http://www.energy.alberta.ca/OilSands/791.asp">third largest in the world</a>, behind Saudi Arabia and Venezuela. The U.S. is the largest consumer of Alberta oil. When war is at our doorstep, it is economic investment in energy resources that prop up the debate in the minds of politicians who influence the direction of billions of dollars on a daily basis. Whether from the U.S. or Canada, or elsewhere around the world, we need to remind the Alberta government that their actions, whether to wage war on the Earth (industry) or its people (war), are wrong and obsolete, and must be diverted in providing the means to renewability in energy resources and sustainability in human resources.</i></div>
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<i>____________</i></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7maKYFsjySVqrPMZZFAXMV2epSdiwtmhaqUJbIn3RGuxduvzjfXsPG2YK20rN95oNatlihjr_Zoku3j2h521Ce02DNeL5Yt0Mf2E_J58iOz_zcmXSOHd57wIvi4evH6mKKAfVK-zOmgk/s1600/northern+nights.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7maKYFsjySVqrPMZZFAXMV2epSdiwtmhaqUJbIn3RGuxduvzjfXsPG2YK20rN95oNatlihjr_Zoku3j2h521Ce02DNeL5Yt0Mf2E_J58iOz_zcmXSOHd57wIvi4evH6mKKAfVK-zOmgk/s320/northern+nights.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">northern nights</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfJ7-C0Ekrlw_LoeWYYsFG6DvATcuoTqYrLUV3Ih0izVw3MSeNb0NX-pqVcZna-prIhkJwsHxv7DjiEq6QibCxzvAYtjJmvZpLWChEfJXiYofm-ztSgdVZtGwaIgQaaU7XohEB2VwmQU0/s1600/pastel+horizon.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfJ7-C0Ekrlw_LoeWYYsFG6DvATcuoTqYrLUV3Ih0izVw3MSeNb0NX-pqVcZna-prIhkJwsHxv7DjiEq6QibCxzvAYtjJmvZpLWChEfJXiYofm-ztSgdVZtGwaIgQaaU7XohEB2VwmQU0/s320/pastel+horizon.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">pastel horizon</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMU2bpXEVfP49N38_dzksov_lXcCqgWX8zqzYVbvnnfhC5MzCWkWpNuJP9Pg98N4pfm5PYhub2mgENmGx8gSCducyieLOCICgHkj42v7wqn-e75uqw4ZHAfskpHS5dhN1DvGFVmdcqhCc/s1600/persian-afghan+rumi.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMU2bpXEVfP49N38_dzksov_lXcCqgWX8zqzYVbvnnfhC5MzCWkWpNuJP9Pg98N4pfm5PYhub2mgENmGx8gSCducyieLOCICgHkj42v7wqn-e75uqw4ZHAfskpHS5dhN1DvGFVmdcqhCc/s320/persian-afghan+rumi.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Persian-Afghan Rumi</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheTVuMxmcLuKYq2xsYUAqwQzBbjcpqNM8s1e3jqlfIdQowK8jKyXHPzX2PkHOG9WZzV7iP5UsQ_YehYrJ8Ek7eBrs242CCOrPv-e3qPU5yiHuPYfMPtESpsMZJW3lotFxbls78_wm5M0E/s1600/rooted+wings.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheTVuMxmcLuKYq2xsYUAqwQzBbjcpqNM8s1e3jqlfIdQowK8jKyXHPzX2PkHOG9WZzV7iP5UsQ_YehYrJ8Ek7eBrs242CCOrPv-e3qPU5yiHuPYfMPtESpsMZJW3lotFxbls78_wm5M0E/s320/rooted+wings.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">rooted wings</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbp1wl8IGqSY-yIYVPnwrHvJFiBB5NTRzB4hhln90aJxOcdfbf5fTWJPE1JDYYdJ_D4cUAtcIx8gC9scSdnrrLhSHyBDmKy8s5zgCkFNQ13z6DY3oh9vLeH6jLqOAIw9uC6Z60Am2T5k0/s1600/watery+spectrums.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbp1wl8IGqSY-yIYVPnwrHvJFiBB5NTRzB4hhln90aJxOcdfbf5fTWJPE1JDYYdJ_D4cUAtcIx8gC9scSdnrrLhSHyBDmKy8s5zgCkFNQ13z6DY3oh9vLeH6jLqOAIw9uC6Z60Am2T5k0/s320/watery+spectrums.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">watery spectrums</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<i>______________</i></div>
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Education is the lifeblood of our culture. Contemporary miseducation conjures cultural remnants still felt, yet which are now practically nonexistent. As the government slashes the limb of theatre and jazz from the roots of culture - our education - it is the artists, and more accurately, artists' collaborations, that resurrect obsolete forms of creativity. Our art reshapes and polishes the dusty, antique lenses through which other forms of learning, knowledge and truth are remembered and reinvigorated.<br />
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This virtual exhibit is interactive, kinetic, visual, aural, and potentially recycles the space and redefines it through an exploration into its space as connected with viewers/participants. The conduit of such activity is the exhibit. <br />
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There are three essential aspects to the virtual exhibit before you.<br />
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Firstly, the original digital artwork, <i>Mountain Reflection on Cyclical Wordplay</i> is displayed. Below, a listening station plays the album, <i>Compilation Vi An</i> under <i>Mountain Reflection on Cyclical Wordplay</i>.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIINUg3y_nNb2VaTrB0TnsKpy8oGZ3g3eDundmH6g0jBIu0EdonFIkiYQxn0dpLJqfNbPrW5tW_tKBBmFcjq9lieBjeB8MCqfsKUW4Dn7AVS90urfDuy2kay0bCqqYpVTwyBn2xquucHQ/s1600/mountain+reflection+on+cyclical+wordplay+(watermarked).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIINUg3y_nNb2VaTrB0TnsKpy8oGZ3g3eDundmH6g0jBIu0EdonFIkiYQxn0dpLJqfNbPrW5tW_tKBBmFcjq9lieBjeB8MCqfsKUW4Dn7AVS90urfDuy2kay0bCqqYpVTwyBn2xquucHQ/s320/mountain+reflection+on+cyclical+wordplay+(watermarked).jpg" width="170" /></a></div>
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<iframe seamless="" src="http://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=1399205179/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=de270f/notracklist=true/transparent=true/" style="border: 0; height: 470px; width: 350px;"><a href="http://vian.bandcamp.com/album/compilation-vi-an">Compilation Vi An by Vi An</a></iframe>
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After listening in and seeing, become the seer of music by using a calligraphy brush and red ink (or creative equivalent) on blank space. Find blank space around you, the unused, neglected, under-appreciated, unassuming areas straddling the bars of existence and nonexistence. Such a space could bet the utilization of your present surroundings, depending on the configurations. However, at the very least, do not draw a blank. As a participant/viewer, engage with the calligraphy brush and red ink, the acoustic harmonies and naturalistic/vintage aesthetic of the artwork meld to produce an inner ambiance of memory, culture, history, tradition and nature.<br />
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Secondly, the original digital artwork, <i>Present Sound, Silent Space</i> is displayed. Through another listening station and a black pen (or creative equivalent) are to be employed. Below, the listening station plays the album, <i>Endangered</i> under <i>Present Sound, Silent Space</i>. As a participant/viewer, engage with the black pen (or creative equivalent).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs3-Ut89oj3etLGgDCX6L0lQuTZzrEkqWZwCh4Kzla8uzdpP4AIiGWy2r26SEaDJM7ovm4H8Sb6S_rOEPTlI3MJAecsZowlzQhrIvh8LHxVnbPG1PH-kvZ00MaK-VhpCAIzNJjc4sB6kg/s1600/present+sound,+silent+space+(watermarked).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs3-Ut89oj3etLGgDCX6L0lQuTZzrEkqWZwCh4Kzla8uzdpP4AIiGWy2r26SEaDJM7ovm4H8Sb6S_rOEPTlI3MJAecsZowlzQhrIvh8LHxVnbPG1PH-kvZ00MaK-VhpCAIzNJjc4sB6kg/s320/present+sound,+silent+space+(watermarked).jpg" width="228" /></a></div>
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<iframe seamless="" src="http://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=765853596/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=333333/notracklist=true/transparent=true/" style="border: 0; height: 470px; width: 350px;"><a href="http://vian.bandcamp.com/album/endangered">ENDANGERED by Vi An Diep</a></iframe>
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The melodious electronica beats merge with the technological fragmentation represented in the artwork, instilling a cold, metallic atmosphere of aspiration, impermanence, destruction, chaos defined by 90 degree angles. Virtual attendants to the exhibit are welcome to draw and write on the empty space while listening through the station(s) and using the appropriate material(s) made available.<br />
<br />
The visual artworks within the recorded music re-contextualized in this virtual space represent the creativity of local, independent artists as reintroduced a lost branch of independent self-education. The implications draw from a wealth of meaning in relation to institutionalizing (and budget-cutting) culture and education as the final straw in forgetting our even more archaized, unconventional cultural and educational backgrounds.<br />
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Rusty Kjarvikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03071547323352880050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6529780966234338585.post-1668783160187624422013-08-26T06:20:00.000-07:002013-08-27T06:20:55.420-07:00Becoming Yours: Creative Origins in the Music of a Silent Love<div>
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"I really just want to help people understand you can go and get those things you want. I mean I was a bodybuilder for a while, I was a personal trainer, I did boxing, I worked as a bouncer, I, you know, started writing, did the creative writing, got an MFA, started my own literary magazine. Now, I'm doing the vagabonding thing, started my own blog, now Facebook page. It's like you really can go and like do all these different things, you just have to be wiling to make some sacrifices and just realize you can do things you've dreamed about doing. And I think all my life, this is the life I wanted. This is the life I wanted, where it's like I'm constantly learning." <a href="http://jonathanstarke.com/">Jonathan Starke</a>, vagabond writer and founding editor of <a href="http://palookamag.com/">Palooka Magazine</a><br />
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<i><u>A Modern Odyssey of Vocation by Rusty Kjarvik </u></i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Essay for “Book that Changed my Life” segment on The Drunken Odyssey with John King, written for the book of Nikos Kazantzakis, The Odyssey: A Modern Sequel</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I was 18 years old, returning to my mother’s south shore home in Massachusetts after my first few months away at university. It began one evening, at the end of a series of meditations, where, motionless, I re-conceived the magic psalms of Ginsberg’s elemental void, the enlightened palms of Snyder’s versified mudras and the delicate alms of Kerouac’s prosaic spontaneity. In the pitch darkness, I wrote, “Tat Tvam Asi” on the wall with my trusty writing pencil. “You are it!” translated Alan Watts, whose English clarity rung through my mind with echoing resonance, reverberating interminably to the next day, when I had read every word on my bookshelf and sought more. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I set out, to the library of my Greek-Jewish Romaniote grandfather; whose literary meditations on the healing properties of the written word had sent him unscathed from World War II to the centenarian desk. There he sat, with a penknife shakily opening letters as his Polack Jewess wife screamed from the downstairs banister. “Take whatever you want!” He spoke over the long-winded cacophony of domestic affairs. In the name Kazantzakis, I saw another Greek, an ancestral voice unperturbed by the walled house.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>In a moment of intuition, scanning through the compendium of classics, I chose The Odyssey: A Modern Sequel. Crouched inside my off-white walls, completely bare if not for the Sanskrit scribble and a prized first draft poem hanging deliriously like a whitewashed door of perception. I began reading everything – the copyright date, the ISBN code, and every insignificant character in between. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Smashed skulls, bespattered bowels and upended spines weaned my consciousness from a walled indoor adolescence. My mind voyaged onward into the travails of a maturing intellect. Spawned with a Greek flair for disinhibiting fleshly experience, I read with a burning momentum. I needed to feel each word pulsate its rhythms of modern wisdom into every minutiae of my being. I began reciting, with the quickening taste of the classical orator, moved by the enigmatic grandeur of such literary quality. Soon, it was dusk, and the tired footsteps of my stepfather climbed the stairs to rest his weary skull on a pillow of televised static.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Reading, reciting, orating, on and on and into my pores sunk the blood of the fallen men and raped women, and from my nostrils leaked the icy salt of the Mediterranean seas. I wept with unspoken clarity for the emotional barbarism of modern spiritual greed! </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>At a break in the violent awe, I spoke sweet lines of sexual camaraderie. Women’s voices formed on my dry tongue as the fecund prosperity of mortal despair. In those tempestuous rhythms, my drunken brother stumbled longingly upstairs to lust in the barfly haven of suburban coitus. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Undeceived, unwilling to desist, I read on, with soft muttering in the depths of red twilight as Morpheus, the Greek god of sleep, laid the house to rest. In my empty hollow, I swam to the subterranean netherworlds of the creative subconscious. Emerging, still as ever, with the light of morning, my mother’s knock could not startle my ever-strengthening concentration. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I savored each of the 33,333 17-syllable verses as a ripe, freshly picked Kalamata olive, cleansing my palate, as with my cognitive sensibility. The unique versification of Kazantzakis’ voice led me onward into the depths of creative literacy, as I relished on his startlingly characteristic use of nouns, at once subjectively descriptive, while aesthetically presented with the definitive tone of proverbial lists. His “Cretan glance” remains unmatched in modern literature, evoking the spirit of the Mediterranean as an invocation to the deified ancestral hearth of earthly humanity: the book. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>On reading the final character, I threw the book into the air and sprang from my narrowing walls before the book crashed onto an unlit lamp. Visiting relatives, weakly frightened, noticed my sorry state, and their misguided sympathies amplified under the crushing noise of broken glass. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>After being handed a Greek salad, to end my bookish fast, I greeted my grandfather, whose smile shone with mutual respect and ancestral fraternity, as two men of pure literacy. Outside, a childhood friend stood to greet me. We had not seen each other since pre-pubescence. Her eyes, crooked, observed my own downward slant into the abnormal body of creative tradition. I was not mad, I was not sane, and yet, from that moment, her eyes told me what she could not. I was rapt, eternally in the powerful vocation of the word of silence and thought. </i><br />
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<b>This essay was featured in <a href="http://thedrunkenodyssey.com/2012/08/24/698/">Episode 12 of The Drunken Odyssey with John King</a> (<a href="http://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/drunken-odyssey-john-king/id534930546">1:22:50</a>)</b><br />
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________________</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisd1zskhrXoapL8cW2s9uCE5igCyVAO6dL0QVnhxbCSVLxsZwGq9y1I1RF0fOW_WimoIA8GPoKxT1HQZsiLGRE1yrmGx_ShOZjRm8CFusgn6IuCGtIzkqVgzPRgSuL9Yx26O_m8tDA4bg/s1600/Follower.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisd1zskhrXoapL8cW2s9uCE5igCyVAO6dL0QVnhxbCSVLxsZwGq9y1I1RF0fOW_WimoIA8GPoKxT1HQZsiLGRE1yrmGx_ShOZjRm8CFusgn6IuCGtIzkqVgzPRgSuL9Yx26O_m8tDA4bg/s320/Follower.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Follower</td></tr>
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<i>Taken during the Calgary flood, this piece affirms communal living as a way to stay afloat. The onlooker, under the umbrella at the side of the picture stands proportioned as a much larger, enigmatic figure, showing how the individualistic and non-participatory way of life is much larger in our view. Yet, the smaller geese portrayed survive through such calamities that would forestall all of human life. This piece is dedicated to all the volunteers who helped out during the flood. </i><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbHUTPP6fUw8Wg2hi0O4sMNZ8tgaxhiYMN0-RO9CNI19_AG0W8s42lbgSQtYISSo2jhNWvTBW52UVtWbyleC_LKDuHAKbOWl5Z7Lbx-4fhmZXBwoTKCK6vhx_x47AR_UZfmDhhNdY6G2A/s1600/Into.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbHUTPP6fUw8Wg2hi0O4sMNZ8tgaxhiYMN0-RO9CNI19_AG0W8s42lbgSQtYISSo2jhNWvTBW52UVtWbyleC_LKDuHAKbOWl5Z7Lbx-4fhmZXBwoTKCK6vhx_x47AR_UZfmDhhNdY6G2A/s320/Into.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Into</td></tr>
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<i>This piece revives a sense of mystery and adventure in the antique remnants of our city’s past as they continue into the present. So, in a sense, the very door itself offers an entry point, regardless of using it to enter the building. This piece is a practice in seeing that photographic art so meaningfully attempts to project for the seeing public. The city’s architectural heritage is reimagined through digital photography to capture the colorful beauty of the past, and to encourage everyone to see it in their daily lives at ground level. </i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVxc4HecDsjZG3MIWOWG-cIGRqCnBo1rNegZwwsTjlkAGRX8XI9rkGm3y-3aEOagUpdxXop7xDZZkUqBApzWT-IsKHvDsxZw8fFMCoTqKGNfAdx9YnYYL9zSYZDbuaephnvicGBqPq-60/s1600/Lightly.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVxc4HecDsjZG3MIWOWG-cIGRqCnBo1rNegZwwsTjlkAGRX8XI9rkGm3y-3aEOagUpdxXop7xDZZkUqBApzWT-IsKHvDsxZw8fFMCoTqKGNfAdx9YnYYL9zSYZDbuaephnvicGBqPq-60/s320/Lightly.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lightly</td></tr>
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<i>An unaltered piece on perspective and contrast, this shot portrays the inner city perspective as immersed in a constant play of dwarfed and magnified artificial environments. Every great photographer must become a master of light, and yet, even the everyday bystander is subject to the subtle nuances and grand complexity of light and how the human eye perceives it. In order to further enhance the living experience of our city, we must pay attention to the power and effect of light and seeing. With the right contrast of shadow and light, we can see the way forward. </i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVJ7oEKNH5Hs4zFoUwyhzv7BwcAnzVnBVL_ziLZxfDG2F6DLdNdWHHCa5zJmhvArtb3XWeDhgtLs9A9QhdMWeEaZtqmTqb5caFcYXRdCx1jJAB5HApubrDsN_FDdOTg_9PmRcjwm4nGOE/s1600/Passage.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVJ7oEKNH5Hs4zFoUwyhzv7BwcAnzVnBVL_ziLZxfDG2F6DLdNdWHHCa5zJmhvArtb3XWeDhgtLs9A9QhdMWeEaZtqmTqb5caFcYXRdCx1jJAB5HApubrDsN_FDdOTg_9PmRcjwm4nGOE/s320/Passage.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Passage</td></tr>
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<i> Shot on the Bleriot Ferry on the Red Deer River, the clarity of the flags over the oblong shapes and angular wirings on the ferry starkly contrast with the badlands horizon in the background. The contrast is not only in shape, but also in colour and texture, further emphasizing the newness of modern industrial technology to the land. The reflection of the badlands in the water is housed under the wiring for the lifeboat. The red of the ferryman’s jacket meld with the ocher stone and national flag, yet the provincial flag of Alberta stands taller and larger in the unworldly sky. </i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixv8cBDnqVhcQlXdCsQMVI0SaiQ3IY-phZbACwJ2v_fPrTqGZeWAzqlp4JfLB6FY3Rw6gqruxm0VGgrA6QwSKb_TpVaeIqUngKk_OMycavsclCWiftMFJTvl0qP9h_uBwegm4RD-XQQD0/s1600/Plaza.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixv8cBDnqVhcQlXdCsQMVI0SaiQ3IY-phZbACwJ2v_fPrTqGZeWAzqlp4JfLB6FY3Rw6gqruxm0VGgrA6QwSKb_TpVaeIqUngKk_OMycavsclCWiftMFJTvl0qP9h_uBwegm4RD-XQQD0/s320/Plaza.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Plaza</td></tr>
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<i>Taken at Olympic Plaza on Canada Day, the public was out in full form. The scene depicts Mayor Nenshi collecting impromptu charitable donations as the public crowds around him with money in hand to exemplify our compassionate, community spirit. On the horizon, the Calgary Municipal Building completes a semi-circular shape in continuity with the crowd below. The vibrant blue of the building matches the sky as if to emphasize the overarching presence of the municipal leadership, especially on that day, and especially with Nenshi’s leadership. The blue of the Alberta flag shows with a singular display, connecting the overall red color of the Canadian people to the local experience in Alberta, with special solidarity in light of the flood disasters.</i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJZ7cv3y4aIshB6tpWtkvlPBs6Qgp4hqfr8ba6jt-6ZjERKkfvx2iCgVPaQfgADiH9AaYcEamJyvsULXCKDIEIioB52-9efxrtjCnMy3bem0yL6cCGgq0E-pV-O2ZwJxLkyD01Ragqxkc/s1600/Simplicity.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJZ7cv3y4aIshB6tpWtkvlPBs6Qgp4hqfr8ba6jt-6ZjERKkfvx2iCgVPaQfgADiH9AaYcEamJyvsULXCKDIEIioB52-9efxrtjCnMy3bem0yL6cCGgq0E-pV-O2ZwJxLkyD01Ragqxkc/s320/Simplicity.JPG" width="243" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Simplicity</td></tr>
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<i>A piece to reflect the feeling of cycling, this shot was taken on the riverfront bike path on bright and clear sunny day. The retouched colouring of the photo encourages the idea of each person experiencing and seeing the world through his or her own eyes. The ovular shape of the photo is meant to display the image as if directly seen through the eye of the seer. Light touches of white glow against the tips of the tree as sparse clouds drift. </i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfijo1iQg-KmfgX3voIWKsXcrm-8ZN2Kv4hC9PDFa4ZfGKIYOgOH-OYmqwwlTTnaUv0Uw3WlytdUP1AwlVU8-6o9N-UTTUTukTTTkn_e11CfavOKtvFuut4_FkZDEFD4J83V_bi_ndGhw/s1600/Solitude.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfijo1iQg-KmfgX3voIWKsXcrm-8ZN2Kv4hC9PDFa4ZfGKIYOgOH-OYmqwwlTTnaUv0Uw3WlytdUP1AwlVU8-6o9N-UTTUTukTTTkn_e11CfavOKtvFuut4_FkZDEFD4J83V_bi_ndGhw/s320/Solitude.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Solitude</td></tr>
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<i>Also taken during the Calgary flood, the image intends to capture the vibrant and intense presence of water, and the Bow River more specifically, entering our daily lives. What was once an anthropocentric, urban reality has become a very real connection to the presence and power of nature in her greatest manifestation. We cannot now go about our daily lives, nor even cross the street as this picture conveys, without being at least somewhat submerged in the omnipresence of the natural environment. </i></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGWUNLMvI1yW68bhNnr6_vfQ-v2jfH10gbIpAR96t_C8cNkalOYTNFnD5NDDAJBDkhcAzJOXjDTheleOSZzQUYSqb81zGDmhtZYM8JOPrmy_3mgiVZYvj_AyMYNe6eMbpgYs0SQDTu8-s/s1600/Ancients.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGWUNLMvI1yW68bhNnr6_vfQ-v2jfH10gbIpAR96t_C8cNkalOYTNFnD5NDDAJBDkhcAzJOXjDTheleOSZzQUYSqb81zGDmhtZYM8JOPrmy_3mgiVZYvj_AyMYNe6eMbpgYs0SQDTu8-s/s320/Ancients.JPG" width="243" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ancients</td></tr>
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<i>Set during Canada Day Pow-Wow at Olympic Plaza, my wife modeled under the spiraling flue of a magnificent, traditional tipi. The photograph emphasizes the Four Colours (yellow, white, black and red). Human life, within the womb of domesticity is constantly immersed in the sacred hoop of the Medicine Wheel, representing the Four Directions, Colours and Humours, among other symbolisms. The human figure is silhouetted in black, in connection to the black outline of at the very apex of the tipi. In this way, humanity represents the closest connection that we would have to the greater life in the original circle above, represented by the greenish-blue of the sky beginning the circular form of the tipi’s shape around the standing human form. </i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3KFR1lSl-WmLwpu6vNGEjIGnIzrkDZrLdDp_VbkP2qnu5q0qfc5KGwmOoPgsDJcohoqMZb3kVCifrzuPOggzq7voI3k1E0DqVEWzhiHTKiEut93Y79rFjpw3E24uI_mfSqDajr7tnUcY/s1600/Civilization.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3KFR1lSl-WmLwpu6vNGEjIGnIzrkDZrLdDp_VbkP2qnu5q0qfc5KGwmOoPgsDJcohoqMZb3kVCifrzuPOggzq7voI3k1E0DqVEWzhiHTKiEut93Y79rFjpw3E24uI_mfSqDajr7tnUcY/s320/Civilization.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Civilization</td></tr>
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<i> Taken on a rooftop above Stephen Avenue. The image invigorates metaphors of the great urban passage through civilization in the shapes of modernity and industry in the 21st century. This piece highlights Calgary’s inner city architecture as from within, looking out through a small rectangular break in the multicolored, almost prismatic shapes of the contemporary building, as it were, virtually closing in. Yet, the sensational digital display is alluring and captivates with a fantastic beauty. Below, subterranean shapes represent the surfacing below, a whole image of the city as a living being. </i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHvG7uCogxORGeGxEA0s_0UPlpounOFCoQPgSyQWHYdKkaE_fgiuxfb7w6_dI6ZDsI1P5ZDSNtQapLcdLy2KsPPYh6kac7NQC8lXYZdv6ZDByLMgPU7i3XGiLBDUD9Mmq3izfJNAaXwlM/s1600/Danger.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHvG7uCogxORGeGxEA0s_0UPlpounOFCoQPgSyQWHYdKkaE_fgiuxfb7w6_dI6ZDsI1P5ZDSNtQapLcdLy2KsPPYh6kac7NQC8lXYZdv6ZDByLMgPU7i3XGiLBDUD9Mmq3izfJNAaXwlM/s320/Danger.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Danger</td></tr>
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<i>During a music video shoot not far outside of the city of Calgary, this still captures the remains of a true-life crash landing. Further dramatized by the winter prairie landscape in the background, the grounded plane conveys a sense of isolation. The remote and forgotten remains of a crash-landed plane convey a sense of warning to a society needing to avert its course, even if it may feel it is flying, and instead embrace greater diversity in transportation, such as cycling. </i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHHtAXI5uGYgWbPccbPBGslyHP_qO4aD0eGGP6fC-4I8sLeq5pJSD_-6Zwe-oHfA0eaRXElr-mFeYZJ7d2xBvpZSi4nkK5IkqBKUJT8B_OVaWypZyVng6iw90svG7QOmhOMGzQ7tmZ4Tk/s1600/Direction.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHHtAXI5uGYgWbPccbPBGslyHP_qO4aD0eGGP6fC-4I8sLeq5pJSD_-6Zwe-oHfA0eaRXElr-mFeYZJ7d2xBvpZSi4nkK5IkqBKUJT8B_OVaWypZyVng6iw90svG7QOmhOMGzQ7tmZ4Tk/s320/Direction.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Direction</td></tr>
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<i>Like much of my photography, there is often a central focus made blatantly apparent. Similarly, this shot invites viewers to remain true to a course that goes in peace with the natural environment. Even though there is an arrow pointing (with as strong a sign as any) in one direction, we need not always follow it. Instead, like the goose in the picture, we might simply sit on it, and reflect over the calm, natural flow of things as they are. </i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0WwAsLCG3iE9ImtTEqZFAYKEHtQ3OR2NN7G5TvqvtYLToIcMXRouXoNtRkA_Du0SOPOwqYmW0mdiX3Rte4mPZqGd48Kkx2sqf8FJQyuA4tseinG-wtqQXL2H-XofXzm7UxHfXCG7aRrY/s1600/Emerge.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0WwAsLCG3iE9ImtTEqZFAYKEHtQ3OR2NN7G5TvqvtYLToIcMXRouXoNtRkA_Du0SOPOwqYmW0mdiX3Rte4mPZqGd48Kkx2sqf8FJQyuA4tseinG-wtqQXL2H-XofXzm7UxHfXCG7aRrY/s320/Emerge.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Emerge</td></tr>
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<i>This piece speaks to the introverted, indoor culture of Calgary created by our housing, and, equally, by a harsh climate. Yet, this photo affirms the emergence of the public figure, to brave the weather and to go beyond the domestic sphere and simply get out. The photo embraces the creation of an extroverted, outdoor culture that is ready to move from isolation to community as the developing maturity of a young city. </i><br />
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<i>_________________</i><br />
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<iframe frameborder="0" scrolling="NO" src="http://chirb.it/wp/MIe8Jp" width="380">If you can not see this chirbit, listen to it here http://chirb.it/MIe8Jp</iframe></div>
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<a href="http://chirb.it/MIe8Jp" style="font-family: helvetica,arial,sans-serif; font-size: 8pt; margin: 5px; text-align: left;" title="El Toubab y Nos | social audio">Check this out on Chirbit</a>
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"Journeys end in lovers' meeting" wrote Shakespeare in the comedy, <i>Twelfth Night. </i>All the more so when the journeying are lovers of music! And so, the saying, "I'll see you on the other side" is expressed in the pure creativity of Earth and Sky, of rhythm and wind, of bone and breath, wherein musicians enter and emerge from the collective realm of collaborative unity through the essence of sound as beat, melody and harmony.<br />
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And in the above recording, a serendipitous connection forms between two lovers of music across the expanse of the Atlantic sea. From Barcelona to Boston to Calgary to Vietnam, windswept and travelling to the Chinatown home of two artist-seers of sound and light, we anchored our minds in the vast breadth of the true love that rests in our hearts. Improvising on the rhythmic influences of African blues, intermingled with Cuban folk music and original hymns of Catalonia through the instrumentations of guitar and voice (<a href="http://www.festivalnuitsdafrique.com/spectacle/el-toubab/17/sep/2013">El Toubab</a>), zheng (<a href="http://zhengjazzensemble.weebly.com/">Vi An</a>), together with my xaphoon and percussion.<br />
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The recording above represents one of the larger productions and mixings that I have engineered through collaboration, as opposed to my solo project, <a href="http://menachem.bandcamp.com/">Mister E. Menachem</a>. At first, I was inspired to reach back through the catalogue of recorded memory through field recordings of concerts, jams, cafe moods and late-night stirrings. Listen below for a collection of such recordings. Their wealth of emergent intonation in the voice of a flowering mind speaks tales and tomes of innocence and experience, of the extrovert amateur and introspective auteur, of the public artist and private dreamer.<br />
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After reflecting on the raw grit of creativity in the burgeoning flesh of a new community, a new movement, an incipient birth of open life, we see the whole society unvarnished. As the economy becomes more and more a blasphemous term of bitter and cold forewarning, the heart deepens and the mind sharpens. Look around. In every corner of the world there are shadows. Gold and oil are self-destructing through a mutual phase-out, blurred by irrelevance.<br />
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Each and every one has, and are part of, only <i>one</i> life. As I wrote in the essay, <i>A Modern Odyssey of Vocation, "</i>I was not mad, I was not sane, and yet, from that moment, her eyes told me what she could not. I was rapt, eternally in the powerful vocation of the word of silence and thought." SoJourn(al) is an offering of time to explore the inner space (the dream space) where the natural watercourse way of existence merges with the choice to be in unity with all of creation; the way of the wise fool, the blind seer, and the musician...of silence. <br />
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<i><br /></i>Rusty Kjarvikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03071547323352880050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6529780966234338585.post-12123727627280727552013-08-19T02:48:00.000-07:002013-08-20T03:10:24.774-07:00The Artist of Moloch: Creativity and Capitalism in the New West<div>
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“Moloch in whom I dream angels...Dreams! adorations! illuminations! religions! the whole boatload of sensitive bullshit!” from <a href="http://www.allenginsberg.org/">Ginsberg</a>’s <a href="http://www.audioport.org/audioport_files/specials/Howl-Final-128.mp3">Howl, Part II</a><br />
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<i>What is it to be an independent in thought and action, to be an artist of heart and mind, and, most radically, to live within one's means in the New West? I live in a city where my next door neighbour makes over a billion dollars a month. I, personally, don't make money. Or, more accurately, my profits are nearly zero. Yet, I live life fully and exuberantly. On a whim I could splurge on an evening of luxury fine dining with my wife, or rent a car and go to the mountains, or even purchase a new musical instrument and the latest computer hardware. I am not in debt. In fact, the one and only stipulation to entering higher education, was that I not get into debt. I save, and live within my means, although I don't exactly see my money growing as the incessant growth models of Western capitalism would encourage. </i><br />
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<i>Nonetheless, as a city dweller, and especially in the city wherein I live, considered a global oil capital, the mean streets of capitalism are hawk-eyed and omnipotent on every corner. As an artist, the very ground under my feet is funded by the turning soil of the most destructive earthquake in human history known as the fossil fuel industry. Living the majority of the time through physical self-propulsion as a primary means of transportation balances one's perspective as an outsider of marginal and radical import to the status quo. Energy and economy, in their most fundamental and basic meanings, derive from the physique in relation to the sources of life in the ground (energy) and the way of relating to living exchanges through reciprocity and foresight (economy). Happiness is learned when expense is measured in sweat, growth in a smile and dividends in generosity. </i><br />
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<i>Daily the innocence of play in the mind of art, creativity and community is buried under the debris of an open-pit mine with lightning swift efficiency. Once aware of the mounting genocidal ecocide inherent in the dominant global energy policy, how can one go on knowing that at the end of the day the artists of the world become mere charade, trick and distraction for the bowling force of industrial belligerence? One of the greatest pearls of wisdom that my grandfather shared with me was what he had learned among his Greek family of early immigrants to Lower East Side Manhattan, New York. "We were poor, but we were happy, because we were together," he repeats like a charm against the malevolent truth of Western life: family separates. </i><i>So, often, I feel, as a communitarian-individualist independent-ecologist artist-worker radical-traditionalist of the 21st century and of eternity, that my life is the epitome of what Ginsberg describes above, as in Moloch, and dreaming of angels. </i><br />
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<i>In the next weeks, I will be transitioning the SoJourn(al) site as a supplement to a new web-source exhibiting an ongoing creative non-fiction work that gives breath and voice to original knowledge. Oral storytelling, family tradition, and cultural literacy are waves of realization that have revealed a sliver of moonlight over the oil-dark sea. I see a way, and directed by intuition, the art of living further breathes a channel of oceanic action towards as yet unseen, inner prosperity. Philo of Alexandria, an ancient who fused Jewish and Greek philosophy at the beginning of the first millennium of the common era, is <a href="http://quotationsbook.com/quote/26496/#sthash.Ue10nMiM.dpbs">quoted</a>: "Households, cities, countries, and nations have enjoyed great happiness when a single individual has taken heed of the Good and Beautiful. Such people not only liberate themselves; they fill those they meet with a free mind." </i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2G-2IO_N0bGVrOkb_JmiNs-8pYmCzudVBGTSFvCVYRfqFQApCqDXXpsHdUkHr0Oq-BddgkYykFvPFBwn5JaM782O3yturCuAzlq-DebM15g6IHfb8-YeA_95FOYxWOIIUd9cUON-P2uA/s1600/away+up.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2G-2IO_N0bGVrOkb_JmiNs-8pYmCzudVBGTSFvCVYRfqFQApCqDXXpsHdUkHr0Oq-BddgkYykFvPFBwn5JaM782O3yturCuAzlq-DebM15g6IHfb8-YeA_95FOYxWOIIUd9cUON-P2uA/s320/away+up.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">away up</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfy7GsQ0xE1ICo4peCTTSCvjzRW12lBivePt-hdY3smGcSglK1C9-rgZqKi0xZ0bkbqhZBVNZC53lUJX3ZBzMgNAgc6ej7eZ6iE2UM8SQu9CZT16mRUPDWeHE84X15CTiF9xaTd_sVrfc/s1600/passive+aggressive.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfy7GsQ0xE1ICo4peCTTSCvjzRW12lBivePt-hdY3smGcSglK1C9-rgZqKi0xZ0bkbqhZBVNZC53lUJX3ZBzMgNAgc6ej7eZ6iE2UM8SQu9CZT16mRUPDWeHE84X15CTiF9xaTd_sVrfc/s320/passive+aggressive.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">passive aggressive</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbMvnvJnLuGUlCT_sQrCVB3WfHi2dC9DgQmP9ddZ-shnC7pVRTsiUcFOkj8HxqiDzKgcR2q8tIFPt0w8-LU1KxKrrvebTzN4ED2hFpULAAwlHJF52_4f1MSNHPw1Kd_HAas6WNPXSpAQQ/s1600/play+waste+.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbMvnvJnLuGUlCT_sQrCVB3WfHi2dC9DgQmP9ddZ-shnC7pVRTsiUcFOkj8HxqiDzKgcR2q8tIFPt0w8-LU1KxKrrvebTzN4ED2hFpULAAwlHJF52_4f1MSNHPw1Kd_HAas6WNPXSpAQQ/s320/play+waste+.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">play waste</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ngFW2rCw2kzOGGBTxODA8eYQmwPgVKX-6CFy2SQvM49el8JIle0gWdZphQ-UCe1_fARpuiJ45Qc192INfw17Mo3vJHGAIks3hzTnBHw-sKXRvUXjHImpo3UpJJzne0E4ngyVW-qj4QA/s1600/science+silenced.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ngFW2rCw2kzOGGBTxODA8eYQmwPgVKX-6CFy2SQvM49el8JIle0gWdZphQ-UCe1_fARpuiJ45Qc192INfw17Mo3vJHGAIks3hzTnBHw-sKXRvUXjHImpo3UpJJzne0E4ngyVW-qj4QA/s320/science+silenced.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">science silenced</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJXqibaksV0Og1aYYq0wrjj-zTz255lOkR7ZMLdaVVx3JLXmwXU796USAJHB1ahVxQbS6TJIxfE5fBvs8wHyYK-SVlSbTFQh_GmHL4-_LWBbbOtCrqjfWQVo40EGmuhJ3H6M2HNa8y_J0/s1600/weary+night.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="151" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJXqibaksV0Og1aYYq0wrjj-zTz255lOkR7ZMLdaVVx3JLXmwXU796USAJHB1ahVxQbS6TJIxfE5fBvs8wHyYK-SVlSbTFQh_GmHL4-_LWBbbOtCrqjfWQVo40EGmuhJ3H6M2HNa8y_J0/s320/weary+night.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">weary night</td></tr>
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The track, "Columbian Map" is derived from the written piece, "Phantom Pages of a Medieval Columbian Map" from the district.Columbia collection of experimental writing. The meaning of the title refers to Columbia, the goddess myth of precolonial America, the ubiquitous feminine divinity of the land itself as seen and heard through Western European eyes. The "Phantom Pages" open an understanding of the land that transcends European representation through the cartographic delusions of "discovery", colonization and settlement.<br />
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A narrative art sounding is embedded between guitar and shakuhachi music. The introductory guitar melodies on the track are resonant of Indian Sitar music, yet also merge into influences from West African blues and Middle Eastern Oud playing techniques. The shakuhachi, through its abject dissonance and airy ambience, bridges two instruments from opposite ends of the globe, that through harmony and chaos move the voice to speak, as middle ground, as the remoteness of truth between directional extremes. My approach to the guitar (a quintessential Western instrument) as the embodiment of non-Western sonic influence further melds with my approach to the shakuhachi without any classical training, thus playing it with a Western ear. And so, western instrument with an eastern ear, and eastern instrument with a western ear redirect the two-dimensional cartographic reality of discovery into the 4th dimension of time through sound as narrative, voice and, more, a pure medium of truth.</div>
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<iframe seamless="" src="http://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=1476264884/size=medium/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/t=6/transparent=true/" style="border: 0; height: 120px; width: 100%;"><a href="http://menachem.bandcamp.com/album/evocations-district-columbia">Evocations: district.Columbia by Mister E. Menachem</a></iframe>
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A collection of five works from the penultimate chapbook from district.Columbia, "Changing our PERSPECTIVE" includes such works as "An Unknown Pleasure of Respect" and "Phantom Pages from a Medieval Columbian Map". With an ahistorical to contemporary thought in light of the current need to shift from an industrial to ecological society, this chapbook addresses that first perspective, or where we stand is the crucial point of change. Perspective, is also history. Until we transcend the dualistic norms of media consumption and direct experience, there is no way to begin again from a new point in history. The junction of the present and the past affix humanity at a crossroads of time. </div>
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Before ascending into the next era of humanity on Earth and traversing the crossroads ahead, each and every last individual will be asked, Who are you and where have you come from? Anishinaabe Elder Dave Courchene wisely advises all people to return to creation, to return to the very beginning of our nature whenever unsure, whenever inundated with a sense of ignorance, confusion, loss. On the path to inner knowledge, light blinds, and the shadows reveal the road home</div>
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<div style="-x-system-font: none; display: block; font-family: Helvetica,Arial,Sans-serif; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 12px auto 6px auto;">
<a href="http://www.scribd.com/doc/161580818/Changing-our-PERSPECTIVE" style="text-decoration: underline;" title="View Changing our PERSPECTIVE on Scribd">Changing our PERSPECTIVE</a></div>
<iframe class="scribd_iframe_embed" data-aspect-ratio="undefined" data-auto-height="false" frameborder="0" height="600" id="doc_37960" scrolling="no" src="http://www.scribd.com/embeds/161580818/content?start_page=1&view_mode=scroll&show_recommendations=true" width="100%"></iframe>Rusty Kjarvikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03071547323352880050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6529780966234338585.post-73771324920513111222013-08-12T03:11:00.000-07:002013-08-20T03:10:39.583-07:00Nonviolent Dreams of the Mystic Heart: The Sufi Path of Silence <div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/VTsLqvk4s9o" width="420"></iframe><br /></div>
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"I have found in every word a certain musical value, a melody in every thought, harmony in every feeling, and I have tried to interpret the same things with clear and simple words to those who used to listen to my music."<i> </i><a href="http://www.sufimessage.com/">Hazrat Inayat Khan</a>, <i><a href="http://www.sufimessage.com/music/index.html">The Mysticism of Sound and Music</a></i><br />
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<i>In the beginning, there was sound, and not only sound - a sound. What was that sound? Was it the sound of one hand clapping? OM? The percussive bang of everything exploding into existence? It was the sound of all sound, the sound from where all originates, the intonation of creation. </i><br />
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<i>In traditional music around the world, percussion precedes music, or more accurately, melody. Percussion is the first sound. From the clacking of bones to the taut skin of the drum, the percussive rhythm announces the beginning of music, and thus art, language and community.</i><br />
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<i>What is the origin of language? Seekers for the origin of language are mystified and further entrenched in mystery by searching through the very device they seek to derive from its source. It is obvious that language originated as sound. It would be only logical to presume that language was derived of music, rhythm and song.</i><br />
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<i>Does music influence language, or more intently, the way we speak and what we say? If music is a prime suspect in the origination of language, then it would not only influence the way we speak and what we say - music will cause us to speak. Yet, speech caused directly by music uses the language of poetry, lament, cries of ecstasy and deep reflection.</i><br />
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<i>Speech caused by music is also self-reflective, sympathetic to the transformative creativity within the subjective life. Imagine, the first sound of the universe - a cry - reverberating throughout time and creation as a lament for the ultimate truth - that beginning ends.</i><br />
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<i>In narrative, beginnings are almost always preceded by an end, giving rise to the potential for beginning anew. Music is a constant affirmation of the cyclic nature of ending and beginning, as sound falls and rises, always with the shadow of silence before, after and throughout. Indeed, great music is often a testament to the musician's play with silence.</i><br />
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<i>Silence teaches of right listening. Music is the result of right listening. Music teaches of right speech. Knowledge is the result of right speech. Knowledge teaches of right action. Enlightenment is the result of right action. Enlightenment teaches of right listening. Silence teaches of right listening. </i><br />
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<i>In the film, <a href="http://www.cultureunplugged.com/documentary/watch-online/play/7713/The-Way-of-the-Heart">The Way of the Heart</a>, Hazrat Inayat Khan's wisdom is conveyed through his prophecies of music as becoming the future religion of humanity. Inayat Khan taught how all religious and social disputes are founded in the inconsistencies and ambiguities within verbal language. Yet, in music, where profound meaning is clear and immediate, ideas and beliefs are expressed without conflict. </i><br />
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<i>When speaking is united to the knowledge of music, the silence of listening births a voice of the path. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>Listen to more Dreams of Sufi Music: <a href="http://grooveshark.com/#!/mercan_dede">Mercan Dede</a><br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jo_mohlpWuA&feature=related">Dream of Shams</a>, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VsRUplkHdaQ&feature=related">Dream of Perhan</a>, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LYe-Fz75i9c&feature=related">Dream of Lover</a><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLvu3sBF-gfVu8tMn_SXaakMyzkJDyMRlLwvYgFTsNIRdXtx4KXukH-_6ozwcf_MVf8US5EeJrLAQfIZP7e3EjFEbNq0Plc6WNRl97BFXN4eZQrFf_RXECZa5URzz_rJnB-RjqKU_3pn0/s1600/flightless+dragon+.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLvu3sBF-gfVu8tMn_SXaakMyzkJDyMRlLwvYgFTsNIRdXtx4KXukH-_6ozwcf_MVf8US5EeJrLAQfIZP7e3EjFEbNq0Plc6WNRl97BFXN4eZQrFf_RXECZa5URzz_rJnB-RjqKU_3pn0/s320/flightless+dragon+.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">flightless dragon</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqYsL84Mao4lFDTR4t6AY4Dk7qnjf5fyQkd33QzGyAOsLHdkliaVLHAhNesWCd3gNJgAjH9lSB7kdzUCpFd_u9j5sQ1j7fBmlRbuuQZ-YrR17bNapCwKnGumOqFmLo3GPPNPJESU_woNQ/s1600/memory+blast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqYsL84Mao4lFDTR4t6AY4Dk7qnjf5fyQkd33QzGyAOsLHdkliaVLHAhNesWCd3gNJgAjH9lSB7kdzUCpFd_u9j5sQ1j7fBmlRbuuQZ-YrR17bNapCwKnGumOqFmLo3GPPNPJESU_woNQ/s320/memory+blast.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">memory blast</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7qR1A7rYTM1rojjgIuB-ffzvYh82iekhKd88fDKFCsO_GzaXVSqdI9wEu-2VViAleZ57z6NhzsiQG0e4IQH0FRBmDFIJKyB6lspZygm0kU7Y5uEjV5eerr1_f1t_BoajeAwvK_4qpFDM/s1600/rash+city.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7qR1A7rYTM1rojjgIuB-ffzvYh82iekhKd88fDKFCsO_GzaXVSqdI9wEu-2VViAleZ57z6NhzsiQG0e4IQH0FRBmDFIJKyB6lspZygm0kU7Y5uEjV5eerr1_f1t_BoajeAwvK_4qpFDM/s320/rash+city.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">rash city</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrsKuNPiqrrwkD_90qVmyFs7WJogvSUu3EzEEK5uN2eR9TvtJqhhtpPkyCpJGQQEdJ4fclNau0XVcRcJqo4DbcjLlpqolQXJuwzAoD7aTHfDQCY_Nu1b392msB4IOz4lc3Pvz0jTvdpVw/s1600/silent+anger.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrsKuNPiqrrwkD_90qVmyFs7WJogvSUu3EzEEK5uN2eR9TvtJqhhtpPkyCpJGQQEdJ4fclNau0XVcRcJqo4DbcjLlpqolQXJuwzAoD7aTHfDQCY_Nu1b392msB4IOz4lc3Pvz0jTvdpVw/s320/silent+anger.jpg" width="317" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">silent anger</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiijI-vAtdQx03tjKIlGKeAj2v9kkhtmeTLn9kbyjfd5P8gMpCVU3KbeQrqHxdC7uj0m8gLaoeVdDL-SoOSKA1jauR5oDjnE7QZd1wu7gA67ZnrPzXU8yK7YaoHrIzNQzpnMblYs8VDSRs/s1600/three+ways.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiijI-vAtdQx03tjKIlGKeAj2v9kkhtmeTLn9kbyjfd5P8gMpCVU3KbeQrqHxdC7uj0m8gLaoeVdDL-SoOSKA1jauR5oDjnE7QZd1wu7gA67ZnrPzXU8yK7YaoHrIzNQzpnMblYs8VDSRs/s320/three+ways.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">three ways</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxUMJvQxJ8rY-jtVVBBtsn-ASjCLJUjOkjUihBVY0X6ip04E_X6rLBP8J8wB4xvlItVywHaq6oIe-nwJqE9Gb5h65uV-b2xHzGs3xnbUSFlPEDk6SzLTGoai5H0Lphzt7cd4J1iBI2V4M/s1600/urban+nature.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxUMJvQxJ8rY-jtVVBBtsn-ASjCLJUjOkjUihBVY0X6ip04E_X6rLBP8J8wB4xvlItVywHaq6oIe-nwJqE9Gb5h65uV-b2xHzGs3xnbUSFlPEDk6SzLTGoai5H0Lphzt7cd4J1iBI2V4M/s320/urban+nature.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">urban nature</td></tr>
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Created immediately before a Lantern Memorial remembrance for the victims of the bombing of Nagasaki on August 9, the track features a poem published with the University of Texas, El Paso, entitled, "Lugubrious Background Nearing an Electro-Magnetic Haze". The piece, transformed into narrative sound art through the trajectory of experimental music, is essentially about the explosive omnipresence of America juxtaposed with its remoteness. The marginal landscapes of America are the birthplace for one of the the world's greatest questions: atomic energy. The poem, "Lugubrious Background..." begins in the traditional lands of the American Southwest, with its rich history of Original Peoples. That history becomes estranged into small-town marginality by the overwhelming shadow of a towering American presence. Leading finally to the sounds of New York, the sirens of immigration and post-colonial history remove the people further from the true and original history of the land, until, finally, the inside becomes outside, and the electrified modernization of progress displaces connectivity in nature with a sheen of bright lights. The outside has transformed to the inside, and without a way out, people are terminally trapped by misperception and ignorance.<br />
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The musical instrumentation on the track, "Lugubrious Background" speaks to another contemporaneous event, namely the 400th year anniversary of the first treaty between Europeans and Native Americans. On the same day as people remembered the bombing of Nagasaki, canoes waded down Hudson River to New York City to meet delegates of the UN to not only celebrate World Indigenous Day, but to remember the beginning of a formal international relationship between Native Americans and European settlers, begun by the Iroquois Confederacy and the Dutch Kingdom. So, the instrumentation on this track, a frame drum (bodhran) and a xaphoon (bamboo sax) speaks to a renewed history of American tradition. The modern frame drumming techniques of North America have spawned an entirely new way of hearing and playing the frame drum. Although using a bodhran, the frame drum is a universal instrument known throughout the Original Traditions of Native Americans across Turtle Island. Similarly, the xaphoon is likened to a refreshed jazz tradition, wherefrom Hawaii a new saxophone was invented only thirty years ago. The sound of the fame drum with a bamboo sax conjures American sentiments from the historical age beyond the contemporary into the imagination of a future where co-existence revives cultural tradition.<br />
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<iframe seamless="" src="http://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=1476264884/size=medium/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/t=5/transparent=true/" style="border: 0; height: 120px; width: 100%;"><a href="http://menachem.bandcamp.com/album/evocations-district-columbia">Evocations: district.Columbia by Mister E. Menachem</a></iframe>
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The title of the following chapbook, "Truth our Up-Pressing" is a call to evince our oppressive actions, and speak our truth in a humble way. Either through poetry or prose, the human voice is a powerful agent of active creativity in the spirit of life, survival and freedom. "Truth" is here used as a verb, a kind of call to transform our forms of oppression that we often feel entitled to uphold in the name of family honour, and to dismiss that, and in turn, change our language. Therefore, I use "Up-Pressing" instead of "Oppressing" to say go from seeing our oppression as being a burden on others to seeing our oppression as a burden on ourselves. The oppressed oppresses, the oppressive are oppressed. In truth, all are both oppressor and oppressed, and until each and every last human being realizes this, there is no freedom for anyone.<br />
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<div style="-x-system-font: none; display: block; font-family: Helvetica,Arial,Sans-serif; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 12px auto 6px auto;">
<a href="http://www.scribd.com/doc/159936694/Truth-our-Up-Pressing" style="text-decoration: underline;" title="View Truth our Up-Pressing on Scribd">Truth our Up-Pressing</a> by <a href="http://www.scribd.com/RustyKjarvik" style="text-decoration: underline;" title="View Rusty Kjarvik's profile on Scribd">Rusty Kjarvik</a></div>
<iframe class="scribd_iframe_embed" data-aspect-ratio="0.772922022279349" data-auto-height="false" frameborder="0" height="600" id="doc_67682" scrolling="no" src="http://www.scribd.com/embeds/159936694/content?start_page=1&view_mode=scroll&access_key=key-22mn4ietkjdvecbk5f3c&show_recommendations=true" width="100%"></iframe>Rusty Kjarvikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03071547323352880050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6529780966234338585.post-85956929433111036472013-08-05T00:55:00.000-07:002013-08-06T00:56:41.830-07:00How to Listen to the Land: Raincoast Music and the Eye's Awakening<div style="text-align: center;">
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"Right now is the time when we wake up and start paying attention to what we are actually doing. I've always said we can do whatever we want. The question is what do we want to do. And we need a new definition of progress, you know, toward listening to scientists, and toward elegance and beauty. And so we have to get our philosophy right. What way do we want to go forward? And we need a critical mass of people who care deeply in their hearts about nature." <a href="http://batemancentre.org/">Robert Bateman</a>, Canadian artist from the B.C. coast sponsored by <a href="http://www.raincoast.org/">Raincoast Conservation Foundation</a> for an <a href="http://www.raincoast.org/oil-free-coast/">Oil-Free Coast</a></div>
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<i>This past weekend, I headed a block over from my apartment to grab my usual afternoon matcha. As I swung my head around to grab a coffee cup lid, my line of sight was crowded with the most peculiar, and at once familiar, beauty. Frame drums, doumbeks, and instruments of all kind, beautifully hand-crafted in the likelihood of natural aesthetics. The clouds of a waking dream parted as I stepped forward to shake the hand of the drum-maker himself. </i></div>
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<i>From Vancouver Island, <a href="http://sylvantemple.ca/">Sylvan Temple Drums</a> boasts specially crafted hand-made local woods just south of the Great Bear Rainforest. At first meeting, the key to my city's grandest music festival was gifted, unceremoniously, and with the sincerity of a true friendship. Before purchasing an absolutely gorgeous alder doumbek, I became privy to the music of such as Alabama Shakes, Thievery Corporation, Cat Empire, Caravan Palace, The Harpoonist and the Axe Murderer, Mamselle, <a href="http://haram.bandcamp.com/">Haram</a>, and on. It was a splendid weekend. The gift of music breathed new life, and as through the wood of our country, the sound reverberated with untouchable magic into my heart and marrow. </i></div>
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<i>Such as luck would have, the serendipitous vibe of the exchange revealed the marked truth of reciprocity in nature. Human beings are mere messengers, and vessels of light and wisdom, others more naked and bright than the rest. They who are naked and bright are merely known as generous to us more gross souls. And so, in a parable of ancient China, correlative meaning ensues. </i></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.galenmongeau.com/03-Parable/Section-03-Parable.htm">Source: Galen Mongeau</a></td></tr>
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<i>After receiving the great gift, not as from divinity, but from the hands of a fellow man. I was moved to wonder on the spiritual nature of the harvest. In such a world as where the sense of harvest has breached sustainability to egregious excess in exploiting the natural resources of the land, where is the sane harvester of life's great gifts of creation? And from the musical instrument of the trees sings a tale of the potent harmony embedded within the forest, within the land. The land is imbued with the music of life, with the instruments of soul, art and meaning. </i></div>
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<i>When will we honour right harvesting, as in those who are traditional users of the land since time immemorial, not mere environmentalists, but as local harvesters who depend on the land for their livelihood? Whether it is in the food or the materials, in opening a doorway to family, community and inner fulfillment, our vocation, role and fulfillment is in the land, offering all a place, as a truly honest way of making each our own living. </i><i>Might we see the hidden inner nature of the Earth as not only our source of physical life, but as our source of grounding and flight, as our source of reciprocal creativity, the inertia of magic and play as the source of harmony itself, as a way to growth, promise, and all our relations?</i></div>
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<b>Learn More about Pipelines:</b></div>
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<b>And the People Protecting Future Generations:</b><br />
<b><a href="http://www.keepersofthewater.ca/athabasca/voices/jochiese">KEEPERS OF THE ATHABASCA</a></b><br />
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Also, read my <a href="http://www.geist.com/findings/prose/a-new-canadian-myth/">Comment on Geist.com</a> on the Energy&Art debates</div>
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A pipeline twice the size of a whale. A gargantuan opening, closing the way through into an opaque, unholy void. The brackish filth of water moves as on its own under our quaking boots. And the spill seeps into the metallic soil below. The Earth shrieks, yet her voice is muted under a dense, resin helmet. Deafened by fortunes of squandered wealth, the murderous cold frays the nerves with blinding speed, and then, all there is to do is work.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Interior of an Ironworks by Godfrey Sykes </td></tr>
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"Give 'em yr bucket." Our manager removes our defecation pails, to be filled with drinking water for the next hour. The only change of the guards is vomit and an empty stomach. Coffee, whisky and blood. The grisly, noxious sky burns with the weight of an Earth turning on its side, looking out through grey eyes, a globular iris of naked waste. The entombed sky wretches as the darkening muck churns and writhes like a cold snake. What was once soil and groundwater, turned to the tar and feathers of the shamed petro-state of Canada.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cottonopolis by Edward Goodall </td></tr>
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The pipe gargles and spews rasping smoke, as if it were a choking throat, attempting a last word before immobile onlookers. The brevity of life and death makes us motion-sick. There is a sea of greed, corruption and ignorance below these decks of metal and bone. The quiet break the loudest. And at once, as the gushing oil explodes with a merciless fire from the side of frozen metal, men are trapped behind the void. Wading in the flush of a liquid worse than sewage, the brain nauseates, overwhelmed with the job of planetary death.<br />
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In celebration of the filters of raw earth into breathable air. The track "America! America!" is inspired by the forestal creation of a hand-crafted alder doumbek from Vancouver Island, at the cusp of the Great Bear Rainforest, a place that also signifies a cusp of human civilization. So, the sound of the wooden drum, of the local land, is played in conjunction with a Maple Shakuhachi (also indicative of the local country's national tree).<br />
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<iframe seamless="" src="http://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=1476264884/size=medium/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/t=4/transparent=true/" style="border: 0; height: 120px; width: 100%;"><a href="http://menachem.bandcamp.com/album/evocations-district-columbia">Evocations: district.Columbia by Mister E. Menachem</a></iframe>
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The doumbek and flute seek a passage, of wind and earth, into the waters of being and becoming, towards a sense of grounding (drum) and direction (flute). The vocalization/narrative sounding muses on the exhausting reactionary sense of progress that ensues in the modern world, where people continue to consume and waste, yet there is a lack of listening, and a lack of sheer creation.<br />
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The calamity of today is not one of natural resources, it is our state of mind, and as the musical instruments of the natural world teach us, there is much to learn from the shapes and sounds within. As Chuang Tzu said, "What happened was my own collected thought encountered the hidden potential in the wood. From this live encounter came the work that you ascribe to the spirit."<br />
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This nine-poem chapbook speaks to the deformed nature of land under the warped perception of consumerist greed and a wholesale corruption of value in life, and unsurprisingly human life. The interludes speak to a frenetic base of experience in the fragmented world of manufactured waste and devastated landscapes that have become the norm, closing our minds and eyes from the truths and repercussions of our noxious way of life.<br />
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Through poetry, I affirm and re-encounter all my relations through a sense of the inner community. Creative language inspires an inward journeying to find the root and nature of mind. The place where our whole selves may firmly take root in the most fertile of soil, in the home of universal belonging, and so give back and become one with the self-regulating, self-sustained renewability of life in harmony with all of creation.<br />
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<a href="http://www.scribd.com/doc/158396027/Interludes-via-FREEDOM" style="text-decoration: underline;" title="View Interludes via FREEDOM on Scribd">Interludes via FREEDOM</a></div>
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Rusty Kjarvikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03071547323352880050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6529780966234338585.post-5678969764289722762013-07-29T23:23:00.000-07:002013-08-09T03:35:31.285-07:00Student Action to Global Citizenry: The Voluntary Heart of Community<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://vimeo.com/2669395">Optionless</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/norayounis">Nora Younis</a> on <a href="https://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.<br />
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"I recall the brutal massacre of Sudanese refugees in Mostafa Mahmoud square in 2005 when security forces violently interfered to dismantle their protests in front of UN Refugees Agency Office resulting in killing dozens of protesters including women, children, and elderly people." <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/04700769535123953255">Ahmed Awadalla</a>, Cairo-based <a href="http://globalvoicesonline.org/author/ahmed-awadalla/">Global Voices</a> blogger (also published on <a href="http://www.dailynewsegypt.com/2013/03/20/a-diverse-scope-of-refugees/">Daily News Egypt</a>)<br />
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<i><u>Introduction</u><br /><br />The focus of my volunteerism is with those who currently experience oppressive marginalization in the inhospitable host country of Egypt, who in 1951 made reservations to refugee rights chartered by the UNHCR Refugee Convention, also known as the Geneva Convention.<br /><br />El-Wafaa Refugee Culture Centre was founded in 2006 in Ain Shams, a neighborhood in the outskirts of Cairo known for its African migrant population, by a group of committed Darfurian community leaders in order to address challenges within the refugee population in Cairo, with a focus on refugees from Darfur. The mission statement of the El-Wafaa Centre is to alleviate suffering of vulnerable refugee communities in urban areas.<br /><br /><u>Background</u><br /><br />Egypt’s reservations to the UN’s Refugee Convention withhold national responsibility with regard to refugees within their country accessing public relief and humanitarian assistance. There are no refugee camps in Egypt. African peoples seeking asylum in Egypt continue to be unjustly marginalized based on race, ethnicity, religion, etc.<br /><br />Initiated in July 2006 by local community within the African forced migrant population of Cairo, El-Wafaa Centre was physically founded in September 2006, with the assistance of Student Action for Refugees (STAR), a student-run organization at the American University of Cairo. Then president of STAR, Jennifer Renquist, now a foreign officer with USAID, organized the orientation of new students at El-Wafaa Centre, as well as the donation of books and stationeries to the center’s library, remaining a principal need.<br /><br />I was introduced to this world in 2007 as a young student of literature and language at the American University of Cairo, after volunteering for STAR as an outreach English teacher. I soon met the director of the Refugee Culture Centre, named “El-Wafaa” (The Fulfillment in English) after teaching an intermediate level English course to an incredibly diverse class of migrants, asylum seekers and refugees from all over Africa.<br /><br />The director of El-Wafaa, Abdel Rahman Siddiq Hashim, is from Darfur, Sudan, educated at a Sudanese university in English. He is a respected and humble community leader, known by many Cairo-based African refugees as “Teacher”. Abdel Rahman’s activism was far-reaching and all-inclusive, welcoming students into the education center, also serving as a cultural and community resource center, without discriminating ethnicity, religion or politics.<br /><br />During my initial ten-month stay in Cairo, I became deeply involved in the refugee community beyond the interests of Student Action for Refugees (who soon abandoned and undermined local leadership), including organizing independent classes through the El-Wafaa community, running a food bank and managing library resources. Since then, I have poured over the role of the international community as a last vestige of light for the urban refugees of Cairo. <a href="http://www.ucalgary.ca/md/PARHAD/studentships/student-2010-mhanson.htm">In 2010, I returned to Cairo</a> through a fully funded research endeavor with support from a Peace Studies consortium at the University of Calgary, where from I graduated the same year with a B.A. in the Social Sciences.<br /><br />Highlights from the 2010 research period in Egypt include directly funding the El-Wafaa Executive Director’s return trip to Sudan to register El-Wafaa in Sudan, as well as with a Darfuri NGO network, to assess the situation of refugees returning home to respective countries of origin after living in Egypt as a refugee. Other successes included a film screening and discussion evening on related issues at the inner city Sudanese-led NGO Tadamon, offering charitable funding to vulnerable women-in-need, engaging Sudanese youth students in a music and culture recording project, and personally meeting and attending a course with Barbara Harrell-Bond, founder of the Refugee Studies Centre at Oxford University, the world’s first institution for the study of refugees.<br /><br />Through my studies, research, and experiences in activism and fundraising since 2007 to the present, I have concluded that it is truly up to international civil society activists to help community leaders foster educational and cultural activities in their communities. UNHCR and local NGOs in the region have proven insufficient, whether as seen in the outcry of the <a href="http://muftah.org/refugee-protests-in-cairo/">Mustafa Mahmoud demonstration in 2005</a>, or the current state of <a href="http://www.irinnews.org/report/97562/egypt-apos-s-turmoil-makes-life-tougher-for-refugees#.Udbh-XNgPOw.email">life for refugees during the unstable political turmoil in Cairo, today</a>.<br /><br />Their is a great need to support those who appreciate and enable the sustainable establishment of human rights organizations in Egypt providing proper services to any and all people, with a focus on African refugees.<br /><u><br />Demographic</u></i><br />
<i><u><br /></u>The target demographic of El-Wafaa Refugee Culture Center is any and all residents and migrants of Egypt seeking a safe and inclusive community resource center that specializes in language education services. The target communities are refugees and asylum seekers from African countries who seek to transition from Egypt to resettle in a more hospitable country, or move back home after losing many years of their lives to impoverishment, lack of education and opportunity for employment. Such social challenges are due to many causes, including misinformation and a serious deficiency of awareness regarding the nature of life in potential resettlement countries, as well as in returning to often conflict-ridden countries of origin.<br /><br /><u>Conclusion</u><br /><br />Currently, the El-Wafaa Refugee Culture Center and its concomitant community initiatives are in dire need to generate sustainable activism (both local as well as international) to support the immensely wide gaps unfulfilled by the UNHCR, NGO, and academic, as well as faith-based service providers in Cairo.<br /><br />On behalf of an international network to support the community vision El-Wafaa, led by the volunteerism of PhD student and Fulbright scholar based in New York City, Thomas Leddy-Cecere and myself, a freelance journalist and human rights advocate currently based in the city of Calgary in western Canada, we petition support.<br /><br />Currently, the 2013-2014 budget for El-Wafaa Refugee Culture Centre to thrive in Cairo requires 1,280 USD (center rent, office supplies, external programs). Membership fees from refugee communities in Cairo seeking services are not adequate. International networks with preexisting solidarity groups in the U.S. and Canada are integral to the sustainability and overall maintenance of the El-Wafaa Refugee Culture Centre.<br /><br />Related issues raised by the refugee community in Cairo include accessing micro-credit loans, contacting UNHCR, overcoming crises in housing and basic needs, among other areas of recurrent concern.<br /><br />Anyone can learn more. If interested, please correspond with mind to the pressing need for immediate action. I would very much like to start a meaningful dialogue on this issue on behalf of an extended engagement with the urban refugee communities of Cairo.</i><br />
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<b><i>References:</i></b></div>
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<a href="http://www.irinnews.org/report/97562/egypt-apos-s-turmoil-makes-life-tougher-for-refugees#.Udbh-XNgPOw.email"><i>IRIN Middle East: Egypt’s turmoil makes life tougher for refugees</i></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.irinnews.org/report/97562/egypt-apos-s-turmoil-makes-life-tougher-for-refugees#.Udbh-XNgPOw.email"><i>Muftah: Refugee Protests in Cairo</i></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.irinnews.org/report/97562/egypt-apos-s-turmoil-makes-life-tougher-for-refugees#.Udbh-XNgPOw.email"><i>2010 Peace Studies Research in Cairo</i></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.irinnews.org/report/97562/egypt-apos-s-turmoil-makes-life-tougher-for-refugees#.Udbh-XNgPOw.email"><i>Egypt’s Reservations to UN Refugee Convention</i></a></div>
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<b>This blog was originally published at <a href="http://www.volunteercenter.com/blog/student-action-to-global-citizenry-volunteering-with-urban-refugees-of-egypt-2/">VolunteerCenter.com</a> on July 29, 2013</b></div>
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<li><b>Please contact me @ mhanson1717@yahoo.com for a free informational brochure if interested in learning more about my initiative with refugees in Cairo, Egypt</b></li>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With the Executive Director of El-Wafaa Refugee Culture Center, Mr. Abdel Rahman Siddiq of Darfur, Sudan<span style="text-align: left;"> </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Walking Away into the Bright Lights of Cairo</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUwgozDOM6Vgk9tpGI8k39Ycyo3S6oQx_Mj8BTy9Ao48XAEMIKSz5u7xzCpMCrL5ddrZSJguh4huScfxIFifGnvkHpPUA0pwln_KYuBewZ3T76hZpM9RyyngPCUKkTVgmlAhLHUNoHs0g/s1600/DSCI0001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUwgozDOM6Vgk9tpGI8k39Ycyo3S6oQx_Mj8BTy9Ao48XAEMIKSz5u7xzCpMCrL5ddrZSJguh4huScfxIFifGnvkHpPUA0pwln_KYuBewZ3T76hZpM9RyyngPCUKkTVgmlAhLHUNoHs0g/s320/DSCI0001.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Partnership with the Bangladeshi Community</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIhmgXBcxjQOkJcbxNYv9VA2xpDpJ5YGDVRw5KpTvsNVSA9RFJbF9PWVQkhJwwSD4UiHF6-qYOERiSkeL3_xPR5SDBci_ZEPPRWahzx9s-fSTfH8qjeRi4bNXKkzD5NdJXbesPT5fwrOQ/s1600/DSCI0003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIhmgXBcxjQOkJcbxNYv9VA2xpDpJ5YGDVRw5KpTvsNVSA9RFJbF9PWVQkhJwwSD4UiHF6-qYOERiSkeL3_xPR5SDBci_ZEPPRWahzx9s-fSTfH8qjeRi4bNXKkzD5NdJXbesPT5fwrOQ/s320/DSCI0003.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Global Youth in Cairo Apartment</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG2prFu06X8vLn1kEWCPTlz2xVO72nPyMSlZtx-eZ1YF4fapBNWcch5dsYfmGUjK2y47f8cEWikg4usgP7Shy1JNhyphenhyphenXp2kzqnkLUJn-_G63QUNKztlEeTpE7r5D62QSJffpXOxVkdYvRw/s1600/DSCI0006.3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG2prFu06X8vLn1kEWCPTlz2xVO72nPyMSlZtx-eZ1YF4fapBNWcch5dsYfmGUjK2y47f8cEWikg4usgP7Shy1JNhyphenhyphenXp2kzqnkLUJn-_G63QUNKztlEeTpE7r5D62QSJffpXOxVkdYvRw/s320/DSCI0006.3.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With Student and Singer from Kordofan </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJNA24-QMB0rKAKvUFRhJEAAxIRBjQYjzOSnZLVaTQOWzIIdqEG1fChYOZjCa0X7NlSezZU1z7j2YDlxkEOQ74fuAqZzp4eK46V-p2jM3qxsLxggOZrJLNNyHZd45zFUDMCemKJ6vcK6I/s1600/DSCI0007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJNA24-QMB0rKAKvUFRhJEAAxIRBjQYjzOSnZLVaTQOWzIIdqEG1fChYOZjCa0X7NlSezZU1z7j2YDlxkEOQ74fuAqZzp4eK46V-p2jM3qxsLxggOZrJLNNyHZd45zFUDMCemKJ6vcK6I/s320/DSCI0007.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Twilight of Peace</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij6WnwepemQJM3gJcG-PgDSqQpq6WGL_oGWuRTGNsNZIZDCn7rEdp6HTbyxs7aCCrS_LrTG9iN67XE1fwsLyNke5GSV_1H61a4ic0U7en9HUeSJ6qC9U2YzjaUsYihkmVHjeK2Bd5MVMs/s1600/DSCI0009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij6WnwepemQJM3gJcG-PgDSqQpq6WGL_oGWuRTGNsNZIZDCn7rEdp6HTbyxs7aCCrS_LrTG9iN67XE1fwsLyNke5GSV_1H61a4ic0U7en9HUeSJ6qC9U2YzjaUsYihkmVHjeK2Bd5MVMs/s320/DSCI0009.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With Student at St. Andrews Church in Cairo</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb8OEKXF1_OGbAcBTpLtxx65CDnYj-xPjvRYg0EDVlEmCMOfiB3mlTRJ7wScutt0Tl7RDPUF_8zLCHU87y2MHJJT6oPjayjoz0lU1iGLiw1vOnTjgVFFBOsF8Mmklpkq1eb_dZj60YSo4/s1600/DSCI0039.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb8OEKXF1_OGbAcBTpLtxx65CDnYj-xPjvRYg0EDVlEmCMOfiB3mlTRJ7wScutt0Tl7RDPUF_8zLCHU87y2MHJJT6oPjayjoz0lU1iGLiw1vOnTjgVFFBOsF8Mmklpkq1eb_dZj60YSo4/s320/DSCI0039.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Creative Student at Arba Wa Nos Centre</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3F2__hPzlonQCIeVBIAELryoLtJaclU7ZwxZ6D0sXENjc7Tqfo7tEQZsQhjYizwhQrEihWa39v6KS1VbZY5-3AzFI50kP3iI1IPA6WJxRCQ4Qe_brkTjcbTws1wXHEtvKRBfBKx2bO70/s1600/DSCI0095.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3F2__hPzlonQCIeVBIAELryoLtJaclU7ZwxZ6D0sXENjc7Tqfo7tEQZsQhjYizwhQrEihWa39v6KS1VbZY5-3AzFI50kP3iI1IPA6WJxRCQ4Qe_brkTjcbTws1wXHEtvKRBfBKx2bO70/s320/DSCI0095.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Night Cafe with the Bere People of Sudan</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAXHGqaGWgVo0kshdA8CQ89CrE2dZavWfnQZ9SEEZ-LcSugfVJu891FjkibgIxWQBsBQWZHPOqQ_uqckZjQ9KzgxFfrXU2tVeATDsvmn_U7J_O-Coqek2BAzZVoKpP_LYeWEYkbaqBDI4/s1600/DSCI0098.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAXHGqaGWgVo0kshdA8CQ89CrE2dZavWfnQZ9SEEZ-LcSugfVJu891FjkibgIxWQBsBQWZHPOqQ_uqckZjQ9KzgxFfrXU2tVeATDsvmn_U7J_O-Coqek2BAzZVoKpP_LYeWEYkbaqBDI4/s320/DSCI0098.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">American University in Cairo, Old Campus</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB9ZWC2DYpKsCCQhATl6XqVy3k6TXKrClwpXkWmfvPv9L6Ynb2qUh6_T2ON700o-ncdpp-jaNtrRkK79-hbFy6RsdU-EN9Ez8RYTLfhGnGIhg0fwBDPb-aZ985l14zi2yliKw5BeTXzJc/s1600/DSCI0106.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB9ZWC2DYpKsCCQhATl6XqVy3k6TXKrClwpXkWmfvPv9L6Ynb2qUh6_T2ON700o-ncdpp-jaNtrRkK79-hbFy6RsdU-EN9Ez8RYTLfhGnGIhg0fwBDPb-aZ985l14zi2yliKw5BeTXzJc/s1600/DSCI0106.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Abdel Rahman Siddiq, the Teacher</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6IbVliX9gO-FTJPc-NVfZURJzeyvRGDEpN_GChugadAr9vCqGURB67VJnQ5e4LJg8FzrJQJG158h8KqpxifGJGZK3-Dchbg5C-NU4T9IZCNZ7oQBhdm7FY2AH1VDZPdRj9aKN4hIBxZI/s1600/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6IbVliX9gO-FTJPc-NVfZURJzeyvRGDEpN_GChugadAr9vCqGURB67VJnQ5e4LJg8FzrJQJG158h8KqpxifGJGZK3-Dchbg5C-NU4T9IZCNZ7oQBhdm7FY2AH1VDZPdRj9aKN4hIBxZI/s320/3.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In Honour of Community</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNC_3iIXz2MBJgqQVii_WArRn7rk2lh4gMmMaUZgfHCUWkwLDXGpSAzbCNpNvOV_8roL-xpPutIO4FOGj3V7ogj75zGCgvr19zS-PhgeXUnGhjRBPD5jC6pGzZWPKwCQvougfR5iUBIMc/s1600/elwafaaculturecenterlogo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNC_3iIXz2MBJgqQVii_WArRn7rk2lh4gMmMaUZgfHCUWkwLDXGpSAzbCNpNvOV_8roL-xpPutIO4FOGj3V7ogj75zGCgvr19zS-PhgeXUnGhjRBPD5jC6pGzZWPKwCQvougfR5iUBIMc/s1600/elwafaaculturecenterlogo.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">El-Wafaa Refugee Culture Center Logo</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoCz_LNmgyGLqsklkaKuG3ErQHI2O0LpTwk7IxbL_2RHvdhIZbpbUYWpH7DM99lPDKn8nDfWJu6B0IQkQx0xCDS81VuYuprgaFbnAFr0c6bvZ_XvUqbxB-X5ZR3fu328rbPjS9vDaUiLM/s1600/Jullia1+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoCz_LNmgyGLqsklkaKuG3ErQHI2O0LpTwk7IxbL_2RHvdhIZbpbUYWpH7DM99lPDKn8nDfWJu6B0IQkQx0xCDS81VuYuprgaFbnAFr0c6bvZ_XvUqbxB-X5ZR3fu328rbPjS9vDaUiLM/s320/Jullia1+(1).JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With favourite tea-seller, Julia</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLVuOQ61iVBr2DkwWl3XJPX745mrXME5qvT7cOEbrDq6WDarr864oscEU-iouQtBmhVgM2K3x5e3LKOllYzAQsn4aE8LNdBXiqL6lY4T_HJ6-mpU_YLOhMm6_0f7K8-RHBAjG6BVz4lQ0/s1600/DSCI0021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLVuOQ61iVBr2DkwWl3XJPX745mrXME5qvT7cOEbrDq6WDarr864oscEU-iouQtBmhVgM2K3x5e3LKOllYzAQsn4aE8LNdBXiqL6lY4T_HJ6-mpU_YLOhMm6_0f7K8-RHBAjG6BVz4lQ0/s320/DSCI0021.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With student from Central African Republic at Tadamon Centre</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh_FfP6Vl0n15VAyLgXacnEkq5eTEDrzEwI9M3fAbkkLCrVoXxE0vAL9ehYEFNJrWF2dflV3vl_Ff969HdHYFOlN6naKlF_CTV_-4gNAL-bZZ4JIPAwPJgap28TbaYR2qxn2qfNeMoJDQ/s1600/Registration+at+El-Wafaa+by+the+First+Sudanese+Teacher+at+the+center+from+North+of+Sudan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh_FfP6Vl0n15VAyLgXacnEkq5eTEDrzEwI9M3fAbkkLCrVoXxE0vAL9ehYEFNJrWF2dflV3vl_Ff969HdHYFOlN6naKlF_CTV_-4gNAL-bZZ4JIPAwPJgap28TbaYR2qxn2qfNeMoJDQ/s320/Registration+at+El-Wafaa+by+the+First+Sudanese+Teacher+at+the+center+from+North+of+Sudan.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sudanese Teacher Registers Students at the El-Wafaa Refugee Center</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYwWZhuei18MQzoyqiRHUuMrWr8JMXG2NHs4FO9IHHqc6mWDPREj3GS4xTXOIAQ2lbxaWrQEbpsGGLq4gAa3nBl9mGpNTkRxWQ_h5fRIh4OslvZmrRCElrXvnrUKEpN94OI5SLBD1rt5o/s1600/DSCI0116.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYwWZhuei18MQzoyqiRHUuMrWr8JMXG2NHs4FO9IHHqc6mWDPREj3GS4xTXOIAQ2lbxaWrQEbpsGGLq4gAa3nBl9mGpNTkRxWQ_h5fRIh4OslvZmrRCElrXvnrUKEpN94OI5SLBD1rt5o/s320/DSCI0116.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cultural Heritage of Sudan</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhatUOMcqambnIoEgJ0TI-Z4zrYgWN32-9B_x8Ae3w8k7kElNpBmKRx9Qm55jSqUYKlCuuQTEgbms92Hs8gAyqp7kt5oehdQlGCFPE7-Or4ZHdvjE0R4VgQne0mdR0dl6duUmqGJ7egICI/s1600/DSCI0012.1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhatUOMcqambnIoEgJ0TI-Z4zrYgWN32-9B_x8Ae3w8k7kElNpBmKRx9Qm55jSqUYKlCuuQTEgbms92Hs8gAyqp7kt5oehdQlGCFPE7-Or4ZHdvjE0R4VgQne0mdR0dl6duUmqGJ7egICI/s320/DSCI0012.1.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Quintessential Meeting Ground, the Sudanese Restaurant</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
____________</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<a href="http://districtcolombia.blogspot.ca/2012/02/from-behaved-freedom-to-absolute.html">From Behaved Freedom to Absolute Nonsense</a><br />
<br />
I go from a behaved freedom to absolute nonsense<br />
Without friends yet steeped in family love,<br />
I publicly play and proclaim the monetary divide<br />
In my rich eyes which disguise the poverty<br />
line’s frozen glare<br />
In Canadian expatriate stench, painstaking<br />
To be fugitive without mind<br />
to the loosed volley<br />
Cracking against the one shield fortress of Mattapoisett<br />
One place of rest made into settlement with guns<br />
and stolen disaster<br />
Ripped from the bosom of Europe’s scheming<br />
English name<br />
Now massacring the playful<br />
artistry of our own inborn life<br />
<br />
On this impossible continent<br />
Freely taken from a gamble and faith<br />
In blond-headed angels<br />
Whose divinity was parted<br />
by the bald imprisoned hallucinations<br />
Driving out demons with Masonic symbology<br />
Over the infinite sands of civilization,<br />
breathed and created out of time<br />
In the sun’s ravishing corner of a universe,<br />
un-tempted and forever at a loss<br />
Between the child’s two eyes<br />
closing<br />
On death and the holocaust of our forsaken government<br />
Laughing at the trees’ roots<br />
<br />
When stretched to the bottom of India’s or Africa’s wells<br />
Ousting up the belief in life as a drunken tragedy<br />
Yet, be not humorless<br />
nor without comic sophistry<br />
<br />
In the dance and song<br />
Come alive by the sexual majesty<br />
In theatre’s delicate ways,<br />
<br />
To present the creative being<br />
as one with truth’s bold and upheld music<br />
Reflecting back in the caged mirror<br />
A creator anew<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>This poem was featured in my most recent self-published chapbook, <a href="http://www.scribd.com/doc/154063621/Act-or-Confront">Act or Confront</a></i><br />
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/ixxV3-teKpU" width="560"></iframe>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<b>Introducing ContinuuMusic</b><br />
<br />
Musical explorations within continuous evolutionary creativity. Discovering new world fusion - instrumental, improvised music.<br />
<br />
"For global community awareness" <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nXeHFyaDEg4">Vi An said at the TedxYYC</a> event this summer to a packed house of 1500+ audience members, plus a streaming webcast to the entire world, before beginning a ten-minute set with co-creators Bijan Maysamie on Persian Santur, and Matt Hanson on xaphoon and percussion. <br />
<br />
The debut concert of the ContinuuMusic trio is intended as a gift to the community. Often performing for charities and private events, ContinuuMusic has raised thousands of dollars for Ten Thousand Villages, Children's Health and Education in Iran, among other meaningful initiatives.<br />
<br />
Inspired by their invitation to perform for TedxYYC at the grandest concert hall in Western Canada, ContinuuMusic is looking to sustain their creative efforts well into the future. Vi An is a professional artist of over 18+ years, an award-winning (Betty Mitchell) theatre composer with the Green Fools Theatre and recording artist with over 15 albums and hundreds of collaborative tracks worldwide. Bijan Maysamie is steeped in the classical tradition of Persian music. Originally from Tehran, Bijan is now venturing into fusion music for the first time, and is enthused as ever, at the helm of organzing this debut concert. Matt Hanson is a multi-instrumentalist, whose artistry draws deeply from a musical family with roots in Mediterranean and American intercultural tradition. <br />
<br /></div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe seamless="" src="http://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=1298967078/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/notracklist=true/transparent=true/" style="border: 0; height: 470px; width: 350px;"><a href="http://continuumusic.bandcamp.com/album/coninuum-trio-ep-promo">Coninuum "Trio" EP Promo. by ContinuuMusic</a></iframe>
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</div>
<br />Rusty Kjarvikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03071547323352880050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6529780966234338585.post-24092496768720676022013-07-22T01:08:00.000-07:002013-07-23T01:16:49.091-07:00Adaptable Rootedness: Visionary Revelations of Winona LaDuke<div style="text-align: center;">
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"The other thing I brought up here, which I happen to always carry around, is my corn. My father, he passed away about twenty years ago, he’s a pretty simple guy. He was from our reservations. He used to say to me, Winona, you’re a really smart young woman, but I don’t want to hear your philosophy if you can’t grow corn…<br />
<br />
I grow corn…it’s like us, corn is all different…this is a corn that’s called a Manitoba White Flint…our Anishnaabe people…we’re the northernmost corn growers in the world. Corn is very smart, it can grow almost anywhere…"<br />
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<a href="http://www.honorearth.org/winona-laduke">Winona LaDuke</a>, <a href="http://www.mediacoop.ca/story/human-being/18312">speaking at the 4th Annual Tar Sands Healing Walk</a><br />
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<i>Truly, and now, experientially, the life of waking reality and the life of dream consciousness are one and equal. When confronted with the practical evidence of vision, with eternal meaning, a deep mystery of the soul unveiled in the shade of internal belonging, I know. So, when meeting with mystic voices whose souls are married with the beyond in a harmonious union of the opposites, dream and waking, the mind begins to know the path of the heart, of intuition, love and sound. As such, in SoJourn(al), I revision virtual experience through the lens of a unique self-knowledge, yet in so doing, I seek to inspire visions anew in visitors whose wanderings are never lost to the immediate necessity of connectivity, interdependence, and the shared internalization of the psyche, manifest. </i><br />
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<i>When I heard the humbling voice of Anishinaabe author, orator and activist Winona LaDuke, whose bountiful and beautiful mind I sought excitedly for a devout listening, she spoke of my dream. Her musing answered the image of my dream with a new vision of the Earth. When she spoke of <a href="http://m.mprnews.org/11137/show/fe7ef04e40382063e4a3dd97bb7bc722&t=b4ba44f5ef6690aa2cc50f5f3b736a11">Manitoba White Flint</a>, the earth fell into the sky, and the sky grew below the earth, the waters condensed into air and the air evaporated into water, and dream became real, reality became a dream. In her hand she held my subtle imagination of nights in the solitude of my furthest inner reaches. Read ahead for the unshakeable truth, as she grounded my nightly revelation into the fine nourishments of sacred knowledge: </i><br />
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<i>“In the morning, eat of the red corn,” says he, Herbsman. An ear of red corn emerges as with the pleasure of an offering, gift or invocation from the mouth of a ground and tongue of a seed. One kernel, consumed, and my flesh lightens with the bread of fulfillment, and all my wishes humbled with regard to the constant water that flows to the life of all. Cleansed, opened, revived, moved and lifted, I listen, intent with respect.</i> </blockquote>
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<i>“At night, eat of the white corn.” As the morning eye of fire stares into my forehead barely above the horizon, I yet see a vision of the white corn in mind’s eye, unknown on Earth. The Herbsman continues to pour the clear-souled water of natural wisdom through the mystic wine of musical friendship over each and every pour with all movements and messages invoked, intoned, and conveyed with brevity, clarity and unity.</i> </blockquote>
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<i><a href="http://rkjarvik.blogspot.ca/2013/07/returning-home-teachings-of-priests-of.html">Returning Home: Teachings of the Priests of Dream</a></i></blockquote>
<i>Yet, as Winona LaDuke shared with all Healing Walkers, "some things are supposed to stay in the ground" and so, there are visions, dreams and insights that are meant to stay in the subtle realms beyond memory and imagination, beyond the creative manifestation of personal will and worldly attachment, beyond the attainments of knowledge, beyond the bearing of tradition. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>And in the <a href="http://www.dancingtoeaglespiritsociety.org/medwheel.php">Medicine Wheel</a> tradition, so the dream of the red corn for the morning, and white corn at night affirms the basic principles of the Four Colours within the Aboriginal Medicine Wheel. The colour red, and the eating of the red corn, affirms the element of growth, time and developing the mind. Whereas the colour white, and the eating of the white corn, would affirm place, achievement, reflection, and spiritual understanding. Therefore, the advice by the Wise Herbsman of Dream, seems a revelation to practice a harmonious way of life, where the morning is equated to growth, and the night to reflection. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>More, corn also teaches that rootedness does not oppose adaptability. So, as people of this land, for and of ourselves, we learn to adapt anew, with a sense of rootedness that overcomes dominant cultural stereotypes of the stale, the old, the past, and the traditional, and instead seeks truth in the likes of our Western imagination, as in the mind of Tolkien who wrote, "The old that is strong does not wither, / Deep roots are not reached by the frost". Adaptable rootedness is the way of the wounded healer, the traveler, the wanderer who, as Tolkien wrote, is not lost, and who instead leads all on with a prayer at each step to the beating blood that flowers in the voice of a pure heart. </i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRZx_P2wzTmnun6x16LggQnYkPcCj9aENI9WUl78zV4JyooLm4_4tv152SUhzSyCLrOW38AXCtMKySsAM8OSJ1E13bf0DIYK8VhKUpWlEYK3DMXDqJkN8xWIzaNf5MGC6y7wRB2xoGKoI/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRZx_P2wzTmnun6x16LggQnYkPcCj9aENI9WUl78zV4JyooLm4_4tv152SUhzSyCLrOW38AXCtMKySsAM8OSJ1E13bf0DIYK8VhKUpWlEYK3DMXDqJkN8xWIzaNf5MGC6y7wRB2xoGKoI/s320/photo+1.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">summer tradition</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgml292HtagHs73hVyCXBMBXdrVQsneUjpO492hhrU0nJLX9GbM8EMWzH33SFirXL2V69W-N5HL2FvsscYSPx3Mx-ItoapltwkSrUNJ_QdvINrZVDVQn9mV5YUotY9kAGGqgCBI54CBZfw/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgml292HtagHs73hVyCXBMBXdrVQsneUjpO492hhrU0nJLX9GbM8EMWzH33SFirXL2V69W-N5HL2FvsscYSPx3Mx-ItoapltwkSrUNJ_QdvINrZVDVQn9mV5YUotY9kAGGqgCBI54CBZfw/s320/photo+2.JPG" width="243" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">mystery of love</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiANoxTEwHaMHq9J9_gG9krT_EJr_a1HdpeIRDVGawPUqj0nqo8u8R4TA39K9Xeml4Yetppa_G350kTYeuj_fEP_CfVsJvONNtr4bVWA5KBMEKbLGDYEVxkB3fjv21Cu5BhXItla0IRfho/s1600/photo+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiANoxTEwHaMHq9J9_gG9krT_EJr_a1HdpeIRDVGawPUqj0nqo8u8R4TA39K9Xeml4Yetppa_G350kTYeuj_fEP_CfVsJvONNtr4bVWA5KBMEKbLGDYEVxkB3fjv21Cu5BhXItla0IRfho/s320/photo+3.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">bridge to ecstasy</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF8trmsKUW-OKy0x9EluysN6YPKEVTZwarZP0kDf3JosuNGx7RGsgNTyDDJ1VfJFPKnuj74LtD9bGgf5Ow-uXiiDIl4TZPJ2Hp6AVCPNQY4T5a464T-lcPHJcV_u12qnyEhMdxJRYHcEs/s1600/photo+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF8trmsKUW-OKy0x9EluysN6YPKEVTZwarZP0kDf3JosuNGx7RGsgNTyDDJ1VfJFPKnuj74LtD9bGgf5Ow-uXiiDIl4TZPJ2Hp6AVCPNQY4T5a464T-lcPHJcV_u12qnyEhMdxJRYHcEs/s320/photo+4.JPG" width="243" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">eye for simplicity</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_WcFBO3xJQ8n2K_pfmTHx5y8PR_aiddXWSH8vL2u6jyFZs8JjLdySAvxQHABlhlZiVEZPX7rfMVbYBt9HIkmvWfCPfsNtw_bZbpcgi5IhqnFlWu-kknF0Z12jTdxZUpZtb5D_sXSpQIo/s1600/photo+5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_WcFBO3xJQ8n2K_pfmTHx5y8PR_aiddXWSH8vL2u6jyFZs8JjLdySAvxQHABlhlZiVEZPX7rfMVbYBt9HIkmvWfCPfsNtw_bZbpcgi5IhqnFlWu-kknF0Z12jTdxZUpZtb5D_sXSpQIo/s320/photo+5.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">endangered light</td></tr>
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<a href="http://districtcolombia.blogspot.ca/2012/02/with-still-unborn-eyes.html">With Still Unborn Eyes</a><br />
<br />
A presence belied in the soft air aglow with diligent drizzle<br />
From this, our American lighthouse heaven,<br />
Alit with dream<br />
in stories told by great-grandmother’s <br />
Life lived outside the pages of the “true”<br />
And into the truly earth-quaking<br />
of dream,<br />
<br />
A silent praise now unforgiving in this one unkempt death<br />
Blowing past the burly crevasse of a listless youth<br />
Climbing up past the gold icon in Biblical temptations<br />
To screw women into their darkest pain<br />
In a house filled<br />
with the semen of timeless wandering<br />
<br />
Men whose throats burn with the soil of their unloved mother<br />
Croaking up agro-fossil drains<br />
Reaching from modern skylines to prehistory,<br />
issuing from our Christ-death<br />
<br />
In the end of an age<br />
As inevitable as the reptilian fate in the everyday brain<br />
Expanding with the feared herbs growing<br />
like weeds in our Western mythology<br />
Built in smoke<br />
and the knowledge of Earth’s ever-forgiving<br />
blessings<br />
Bringing America’s children reason<br />
to explore mind<br />
In the socio-pathic<br />
lie of success and money<br />
As we corner the livid<br />
daze of the booming war<br />
Fertilized wombs<br />
manifest<br />
As<br />
westward<br />
suburbia<br />
<br />
In the housed mystery of our yet undiscovered world<br />
Beneath each colonial home<br />
Shot out of the ugly worldview<br />
Misplaced over the moral genealogy<br />
<br />
In an ecological philosophy<br />
To dry the eyes of our spectral hosts<br />
Who watch and wonder<br />
With still unborn eyes<br />
<br />
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<i>This poem was featured in my most recent self-published chapbook, </i><a href="http://www.scribd.com/doc/154063621/Act-or-Confront">Act or Confront</a><br />
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Rusty Kjarvikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03071547323352880050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6529780966234338585.post-48669094406717722272013-07-15T03:25:00.000-07:002013-07-17T01:11:41.540-07:00Transformative Art, Spiritual Fusion: Wisdoms of Ireland and India <div style="text-align: center;">
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"'All Balzac's characters;' said Baudelaire, 'are gifted with the same ardour of life that animated himself. All his fictions are as deeply coloured as dreams…' </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Art takes life as part of her rough material, recreates it, and refashions it in fresh forms, is absolutely indifferent to fact, invents, imagines, dreams, and keeps between herself and reality the impenetrable barrier of beautiful style, of decorative or ideal treatment </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Life holds the mirror up to Art, and either reproduces some strange type imagined by painter or sculptor, or realises in fact what has been dreamed in fiction.” </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: right;">
<a href="http://www.online-literature.com/wilde/1307/">Oscar Wilde, The Decay of Lying: A Protest</a></blockquote>
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<i>Here the abbreviated wisdom of Oscar Wilde, writer of voice and ear, the triumph of the great artful listening bespeaks a wind chime of honest and natural truth. The delicate interweaving of Art and Life brews a certain mould, from which the divine spark of the punch-drunk imagination breathes with ever raging glory. That mould is Dream. As such, fiction follows with music, as the pure intent of the human imagination to express the most basic intuitive sustenance of life at its clearest and most meaningful. </i></div>
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<i>During the past week, I had experienced an especially overwhelming night in the overactive imagination, a flood of subtle sensation, burrowed deeply under the skin, an impalpable bitterness, of a foreign spiritual strength outgrowing and boiling over in the silent reaches of sleep. The raw experience did not give way overnight, and yet transcended recurrence. The seed of a spirit spoke in dream, of a catastrophic undercurrent, sweeping virulently through the mud of a quaking settlement on Earth: the city. </i></div>
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<i>River and sun transformed to tower and spear, and I woke more tired than I had lain the night before. Yet, with the vigour of independent living and creative meaning, I rose through the art of sound to wake well beyond the confining, artificial binary of sleep and waking; to a spiritual awakening! And through an outpouring of musical emotion, I stirred my brain with cathartic rhythmic trespasses over the faraway and distant geography of my inner reaches. At one among many; dancers, drummers, singers, storytellers and artist of sound and space, we together climbed the staircase of fiction to a higher reality, to a truth of our own making. </i></div>
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<i>For nights after, and indefinitely in the frame of the images spawned in the post-traumatic flash of outpoured nightly grief, there was peace. Nyx bloomed like a sunflower in the hazy morning of calm, human flesh. The rites of Psyche and Morpheus drew from the magical fount of youth and light a knowledge as seminal as birth; that our waking lives are inextricably tied to the dream fiction of our conscious and unconscious lives made whole. </i></div>
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<i>Or in the profoundly authentic voice of master artist Ali Akbar Khan, "If you practice for ten years, you may begin to please yourself, after 20 years you may become a performer and please the audience, after 30 years you may please even your guru, but you must practice for many more years before you finally become a true artist—then you may please even God."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<b>Read my <a href="http://unsettlingamerica.wordpress.com/2013/07/11/transformative-decolonization/">recent publication for Unsettling America on Decolonization and Transformative Art</a></b></div>
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_______________</div>
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All in the Wailing City raised their arms, for the plagues of a swollen Earth flushed the unmentionable presence of God away, way beyond the horizon of knowledge and meaning. A great riverine tide swayed the living to their backs, drowning in a liquid rage. The seaside howled an unforgiving pain, calling all to remember its earnest retch of longing. Under the deep duress, a pause from the hollow movement, atop a quaking hilltop soon besieged on all sides by the amassing shores, I gazed ahead. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/3/3c/V%C3%A1g%C3%B3_Szegedi_nagy%C3%A1rviz_(1879)SF_020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/3/3c/V%C3%A1g%C3%B3_Szegedi_nagy%C3%A1rviz_(1879)SF_020.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> In 1879 the great flood in Szeged by Ferenc Somorjai (Somorjai Ferenc anyaga)</td></tr>
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Gargantuan machines, with power enough to puncture a mountain, rammed innumerable tons of metal into the rising waves. All human effort subsided in a last ditch effort, as the naked winds blew away every last measure of reason, exposing the humbling futility of Man as a self-conceived separation from Nature. And the skies then parted, revealing the unspoiled Earth anew. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/a/a4/Bonaventura_Peeters_-_The_Great_Flood_-_WGA17128.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="175" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/a/a4/Bonaventura_Peeters_-_The_Great_Flood_-_WGA17128.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Great Flood by <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bonaventura_Peeters">Bonaventura Peeters</a></td></tr>
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Cleansed of human pain, the memories yet unearthed buried as spirit-hosts in the nightly youth whose ruined minds attuned with sensitive grace to the crushing prowess of the Earth. Ahead, I stole beyond the limits of the city lain to a soggy rubble in a flash. The riveting sun splayed its arms and legs with eye-splitting rays as gorgeous as the purity of Light itself. A golden cliff summit rose as an open palm to greet and hold me into a warm embrace. Amiable pelicans touched over the soothing flow of salt and weed, as my feet sped off, flying as together with the ancient birds of Attar; the flight of survival in beauty, circulation and ascendance.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/0/02/Rocky_Cliff_with_Stormy_Sea_Cornwall-William_Trost_Richards-1902.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/0/02/Rocky_Cliff_with_Stormy_Sea_Cornwall-William_Trost_Richards-1902.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rocky Cliff with Stormy Sea, Cornwall by <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Trost_Richards">William Trost Richards</a></td></tr>
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Arisen again, to the opaque summer sweat of passion and greed, the ascendancy was of illusion, a taste of mad lust in harnessing, benefitting and exploiting the power of Earth. I am only human. And, so I climb stairs and escalate to office-window pride, in the shy, glum and austere rest of an angering soul. Midwestern city of black flies and pale steam, the ire of billions casts a spectral gloom over such towering hypocrisy; dense as the soil of the Bitumen God of Calgary.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/1/1a/Ivan_Konstantinovich_Aivazovsky_-_The_Galata_Tower_by_Moonlight,_1845.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="219" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/1/1a/Ivan_Konstantinovich_Aivazovsky_-_The_Galata_Tower_by_Moonlight,_1845.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Galata Tower by Moonlight by Ivan Konstantinovich Aivazovsky</td></tr>
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Uprooted, the towers of Oil and Untruth move as a serpent staff in my hand, readied and pointed toward the heart of the Jungle, the most immaculately climaxed biological development of all life's known diversity here on Earth. The jungle heart beats with the breathing of a thousand trees giving air to a wounded atmosphere of acid night. Within shot, the Awajun stare back, defending their land as all Land; to defend the very source of human existence. I shrink back, retreating and lacking the muscle to flesh out my own hypocritical ground, resting on the fat of the land in the cruelest eye of the storm, shrouded by cheap intoxicants and ignorant bliss. </div>
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_________________<br />
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"Holy Rope" is a metaphor for the piece of twine I've used to snare my 16' frame drum featured on this track. Inspired by the masterful and spiritual frame drumming of the First Peoples on the traditional territories now known as Canada. Aboriginal peoples from northern Manitoba to Athabasca territory in northern Alberta, where I had camped, exhibited their powerful and endangered musical traditions. The use of a piece of twine or rope over caribou and buffalo hides struck a particular tone of nostalgia within my own ancestral memory as a musical being. Most well-known to North Africa, the tar frame drum is one of many snared frame drums in the deep Mediterranean musical heritage. The buzzing vibratory emittance that issues from a snared frame drum as similar to the First Peoples of Turtle Island as in the Mediterranean moved me to ecstatic prayer through drumming at Indian Beach campground. As I joined Dene drummers, I was moved with singular intention towards a spiritual fusion of sound, harmony, and ecstasy.</div>
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So the musical interpretation to the piece, "Holy Rope" lyrically carries the meaning and message of the experience of intercultural spiritual fusion music. Begun, "the executioner's raffle" signifies the great life-or-death gravity of the drum, as for many, the lifeblood of tradition, voice and inner fulfillment. The use of a shaker stands for the regular heartbeat rhythm that is carried by traditional Aboriginal drummers, who then commonly sing with syncopated bravura over a simple, steady rhythm. So, in this case, the shaker represents the rhythmic attuning of the First Peoples of Turtle Island, while my snared frame drumming represents the lyrical rhythmic temperament of my own Mediterranean heritage as the descendent of a Greek Jewish lineage.</div>
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<iframe seamless="" src="http://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=1476264884/size=medium/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/t=3/transparent=true/" style="border: 0; height: 120px; width: 100%;"><a href="http://menachem.bandcamp.com/album/evocations-district-columbia">Evocations: district.Columbia by Mister E. Menachem</a></iframe>
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The following chapbook, "Act or Confront" derives its source of meaning and intent from the omnipotent realization of the fleeting and mortal nature of human existence. With deep regard for the passing flame, we are fulfilled at its passing in the conscious effort of continuing life on this sacred and beautiful planet Earth.<br />
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When the passing is not confronted, and is ignored for greed, or lack of honesty in any form, life itself is denied to future generations and to the vulnerable and marginalized peoples who have been placed at the end of the classist food chain hierarchies of the global market chains, as per their specific history in the multi-tiered colonization of Mother Earth across the great breadth of each and every corner of the Four Worlds (South-Emotional-Red; East-Spiritual-Yellow; North-Mental-White; West-Physical-Black). And on, ever deeper into the innate existential confrontation of co-existence and the inherent conundrums of reality, we "prepare our action". In continuity with confronting mortality, to prepare action is to recognize that we are action. As a basic principle of existence, we all act, and are all intimately involved in every last living and non-living process of becoming and disintegrating.</div>
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Rusty Kjarvikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03071547323352880050noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6529780966234338585.post-89159102940117979532013-07-08T01:36:00.000-07:002013-07-09T04:13:04.086-07:00Walking the Tar Sands: Storytelling from the 4th Annual Healing Ceremony<div style="text-align: center;">
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"If the development of the Tar Sands has one good thing about it, it might be that <i>it wakes us up</i>.<br />
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Business as usual is over. We've run out of time. It is the tipping point. It's telling us that everything about fossil fuel economies have changed, in terms of cost, in terms of scale, in terms of environmental footprint. Everything has changed. Now, if as a society we can respond to that and say, you know what, we need to get off this within 30 years, then that would be great. If we don't respond to it, then as a society we will likely collapse, because you can not sustain a civilization on a resource as dirty as bitumen." <a href="http://andrewnikiforuk.com/page2/page2.html">Andrew Nikiforuk</a>, multi-award winning Canadian journalist, and author of Tar Sands, in the documentary <a href="http://tippingpointdoc.ca/view-clips/">Tipping Point: The End of Oil</a><br />
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<i>Highway 63 to the Athabasca Tar Sands, past cords of balsam poplar, I am reminded of the old adage from the Second World War. "Bodies stacked like cords of wood." The puncturing wind howls and slams with a dry heave over the windshield as sixteen wheels burn past, loaded with split trunks. To my right, a comrade of voice and indigenous rights advocate, <a href="http://www.dolectures.com/speakers/gregor-maclennan/">Gregor MacLennan</a> tells me the green corridor of lush grassy, treelines are a mere trick for the eye. Behind them lies the gargantuan tragedy that could only be wrought by the world's largest industrial project. Gregor had visited the Tar Sands with the Achuar people of Peru, who had recently fended of Calgary-based oil company Talisman from drilling on their territory in the Western Amazon rainforest. Not long ago, as a student in Iquitos, the largest city in the Western Amazon, multiple truckloads of logged jungle timber floating along the Amazon basin became a common sight for me. First impressions on bearing witness to the immense destruction and its repercussions for local communities along the Athabasca river, the Achuar, Gregor said, were overcome with sadness, and lack of hope from the locals. </i><br />
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<i>Yet, on July 6, as a contingency of solidarity groups, activists, environmentalists, scientists, and First Nations leadership, including </i><i><a href="http://www.honorearth.org/winona-laduke">Winona LaDuke</a>,</i><i> <a href="http://www.billmckibben.com/">Bill McKibben</a>, <a href="http://www.naomiklein.org/main">Naomi Klein</a>, walked the 4th Annual Tar Sands <a href="http://www.healingwalk.org/schedule">Healing Walk</a>, there was certainly no shortage of hope. Beyond hope, however, there was the sheer presence of strength on that full day of walking to bear witness, pray and heal in solidarity. The Healing Walk encircled Tar Sands development, pausing for a moment of silence at each of the Four Directions to heal Mother Earth. Together with elders, traditional drummers from the Dene Nation led all who followed in support. At the final direction along the path, having reached the homestretch, I asked one of the lead drummers for an extra drum, as I had forgotten mine, and wished to accompany the rhythm. "We don't have any others, it's personal. We each cut our own," he said. As they proudly held their snare-tightened skin-headed drums.</i><br />
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<i>In that moment, I was struck by a revelation. Jokingly, the drummers made affable conversation, to lighten the moment through friendship and good spirits, and I was struck by each of their genuinely unique relationships to their respective drums. It was as if the making and playing of one's drum represented the circular holism of life, and the central role that creativity plays in that sustenance, that deep nourishment of living in the human experience. As they played on, not with the sophisticated manner of virtuosic world-class music, but with the honest grit and sincere genuflection of direct connection to the spirit of creativity: the heart. And the heartbeat rhythms moved me through the pain and humbling endurance of the Healing Walk. Each step a strike of the skin, a beat of the drum, the rhythm of forward movement, of positivity, of light and love. </i><br />
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<i>The number 4 had especial significance to my experience at the 4th Annual Healing Walk. Not only is the number 4 a deeply meaningful symbol to Aboriginal culture, but also to my own ancestral culture. The night before the Healing Walk, the two converged in a momentous expression of joy and harmony. On Turtle Island, 4 represents the directions, seasons, and in the Medicine Wheel of Four Colours (Red, White, Black, Yellow) and Four Lives (Mental, Spiritual, Emotional, Physical). </i><br />
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<i>In my musical life, deeply bound by Mediterranean musical culture, I have given to the Sufi spiritual practice of seeing the numerical symbol 4 as sacred. More closely allied to my blood, in Kabbalah or Jewish mysticism, the wisdom tradition of the Four Worlds, symbolizes the spiritual realms. And so, I dedicate 4 hours of every day to meditation through music, which is a special revelation of Sufism and other world spiritualities. </i><br />
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<i>At Indian Beach campground, around the sacred fire, I drummed on a 14' frame drum with Dene Nation drummers local to Fort McMurray, who inspired all present to grace the Earth with a ceremonial round dance. Our frame drums, created of the spiritual womb of Turtle Island and the Mediterranean, danced in unprecedented harmony under the inspiring rush of Dene song. Their welcoming me was a moment of incredible significance as I sunk my mind deep into the heartbeat of Mother Earth, to emerge, offering the light step of a dance, the voice of a song, and the resonance of a drum. </i><br />
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<i>So, as with SoJourn(al), the drum represents a spiritual and personal expression, where we all move and feel necessary to ourselves and the world, whether on a stage, in a publication, or through a drum, we live our lives with enduring harmony and perennial meaning. The traditional drumming is in no way redolent of economic ambition, but of an honouring for the ancestral and allied community that warms us and embodies our truth. The drum is the inner life, the spiritual life, the way to sacred holism, to health and healing. To beat the drum is to impress upon one's spirit the unshakable continuity of the richness that the inner life provides, as to forego the unwelcome trespasses of soulless possessiveness, greedy overconsumption and mindless ignorance. So, in beating the drum we are humbled as we are fulfilled. I could not imagine a more fitting leadership to the 4th Annual Tar Sands Healing Walk, than the unwavering spirit of the Dene drummers. </i><br />
<b><i><br /></i>See Previous Posts on the Alberta Tar Sands:</b><br />
<ul>
<li><a href="http://rkjarvik.blogspot.com/2013/06/the-value-of-people-voices-of-struggle.html">The Value of People: Voices of Struggle and Creation in Western Canada</a></li>
<li><a href="http://rkjarvik.blogspot.com/2012/02/responding-to-critical-condition-of.html">Responding to the Critical Condition of Earth</a></li>
</ul>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA52QVCObNc9uK3BqkggBWcfX_sXjOFhbkKApcSxs5ZDZJA5vI6iOhBSlPF7Fx8LkZcCo18UAQNRH9gRBeIoCyRw_2WAr-84BTLLOC0WOu_aTaul9wwqjIWTInGigkyXg7cOWHChX-jRw/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA52QVCObNc9uK3BqkggBWcfX_sXjOFhbkKApcSxs5ZDZJA5vI6iOhBSlPF7Fx8LkZcCo18UAQNRH9gRBeIoCyRw_2WAr-84BTLLOC0WOu_aTaul9wwqjIWTInGigkyXg7cOWHChX-jRw/s320/photo+1.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">water is sacred</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPVhJHoobUeAfmaCtGmWo0buI79TVKEXdUAYHcpRL4DkuhLKDVHxpRbfmKi3WnlNZuD4lYUdS9n4P9Gw8As3aRDcwuFQMIBL5tHFvGv3t2YD2CA_fv3ax3HLyhgDRuB-MEOnzrWZHzXms/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPVhJHoobUeAfmaCtGmWo0buI79TVKEXdUAYHcpRL4DkuhLKDVHxpRbfmKi3WnlNZuD4lYUdS9n4P9Gw8As3aRDcwuFQMIBL5tHFvGv3t2YD2CA_fv3ax3HLyhgDRuB-MEOnzrWZHzXms/s320/photo+2.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the whole world is with us</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqS81-Dkmvhnz526WxE65xbj-71JoyQN48jxwSQl08fNIOZW7cAAVSOMRyS9NmDTcB3Jx7VpMMdRM87nQMhAcdmod_XJywu3qO30klRaXNK1l7bJ_682jbnbj6EdBl4rQZu2r63Lqa2MI/s1600/photo+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqS81-Dkmvhnz526WxE65xbj-71JoyQN48jxwSQl08fNIOZW7cAAVSOMRyS9NmDTcB3Jx7VpMMdRM87nQMhAcdmod_XJywu3qO30klRaXNK1l7bJ_682jbnbj6EdBl4rQZu2r63Lqa2MI/s320/photo+3.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the fourth direction</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcmd93O7_KQx9cf4W8fgz9tseibYhoMd_ORPpwjerKR3wJdurrKqb2FEEla-HN_gC1k70Ix0xQemHpjeYrFYj1wt-wSj28mEQz9DT7YknNDMXeKkoaZvL9D0MmdFfaFzk9cTdnpyjqkTU/s1600/photo+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcmd93O7_KQx9cf4W8fgz9tseibYhoMd_ORPpwjerKR3wJdurrKqb2FEEla-HN_gC1k70Ix0xQemHpjeYrFYj1wt-wSj28mEQz9DT7YknNDMXeKkoaZvL9D0MmdFfaFzk9cTdnpyjqkTU/s320/photo+4.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">gathering firewood for community</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ9uKiUjx9S7nXHv9_1hhXHK8lfPDJ3wvfSq0wK7GGYwdqmklL5v57bqvltI82wUNUZyS2dALxsIHTSzrggbLpg3-xMvj6w04WCK1SI_lVx9IgVCD6Kr8nZfOhGomvmVjbCIW43olt9pk/s1600/photo+5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ9uKiUjx9S7nXHv9_1hhXHK8lfPDJ3wvfSq0wK7GGYwdqmklL5v57bqvltI82wUNUZyS2dALxsIHTSzrggbLpg3-xMvj6w04WCK1SI_lVx9IgVCD6Kr8nZfOhGomvmVjbCIW43olt9pk/s320/photo+5.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">remember Indian Beach</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik0sQOUYsIgY7zNyKFOogpGsqgT4nrwv3Vcu9a6aTEN7WwQRWi7-Ag4cqVEciQK5nVO3HlaXlO-OH5pzCZSoKocMhL1oRc8GtEW4tPO-sPWrCPZ1lYe-gTx6d1eO_aPHKWhU1ofaEHJq4/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik0sQOUYsIgY7zNyKFOogpGsqgT4nrwv3Vcu9a6aTEN7WwQRWi7-Ag4cqVEciQK5nVO3HlaXlO-OH5pzCZSoKocMhL1oRc8GtEW4tPO-sPWrCPZ1lYe-gTx6d1eO_aPHKWhU1ofaEHJq4/s320/photo+1.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">awake at first light</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic4d8Y8NqccagBXNlgdLGUXeR5j0-L56CcGw31UlR1j5JSTpx-IOVW4-gtZGBxWBSuZX5-1UX4dWIMoKiRtVvl04oOjRFb_EuD0Ro4Hf8J-JiLmOLcAuSAs6lYOrgqULxXdTgcGEZ09ek/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic4d8Y8NqccagBXNlgdLGUXeR5j0-L56CcGw31UlR1j5JSTpx-IOVW4-gtZGBxWBSuZX5-1UX4dWIMoKiRtVvl04oOjRFb_EuD0Ro4Hf8J-JiLmOLcAuSAs6lYOrgqULxXdTgcGEZ09ek/s320/photo+2.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">living in unity</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0DMUpukQ7aRJ28_aEzO-CI1c1HYm4uvro-G9SgqtpM4iSqZRMX9gS8T_jS6dtU2HiYv7bzPADUZBXm0gg96TK1JjbFwFRDDUDmHOwTQHB6uflm1E9Fts4YPugzV2WqfJF5ALApNHk-iE/s1600/photo+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0DMUpukQ7aRJ28_aEzO-CI1c1HYm4uvro-G9SgqtpM4iSqZRMX9gS8T_jS6dtU2HiYv7bzPADUZBXm0gg96TK1JjbFwFRDDUDmHOwTQHB6uflm1E9Fts4YPugzV2WqfJF5ALApNHk-iE/s320/photo+3.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">on the land</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhroICzgWjVJZqAErB3ndzwRpOa8iIQWIenQLTJmGJHgLcMDgiRcfA_KC3lLKrroTW52x3W9bEXyGEZVLP4tU3p-UlR-1ffjjSw4_8zYVFXACye7NSI6shlaE10qBaStFfDt2XJsDRH2-s/s1600/photo+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhroICzgWjVJZqAErB3ndzwRpOa8iIQWIenQLTJmGJHgLcMDgiRcfA_KC3lLKrroTW52x3W9bEXyGEZVLP4tU3p-UlR-1ffjjSw4_8zYVFXACye7NSI6shlaE10qBaStFfDt2XJsDRH2-s/s320/photo+4.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">remnants of Fort McMurray</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjABq-2PoCi1xBTW7cSeF7R1UjEyHeshm_6nHV-0fDvX1nK2Lcx6RTH8sxUO0vOeIFeWzrP3s9osldRDIXuiSFTqTDKFDe9EPtBGwJw8HAPkCfP4DNv1OIo7O_D9kqPPYFuZdyjFEnZrWQ/s1600/photo+5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjABq-2PoCi1xBTW7cSeF7R1UjEyHeshm_6nHV-0fDvX1nK2Lcx6RTH8sxUO0vOeIFeWzrP3s9osldRDIXuiSFTqTDKFDe9EPtBGwJw8HAPkCfP4DNv1OIo7O_D9kqPPYFuZdyjFEnZrWQ/s320/photo+5.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">onward to the end of the tunnel</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsQQ7wUC3zRBIwVLa536fQQSbkyMDtNjJLbPUUBxNT_AND7ETD4pPJqPPMkvI9FhJ5EC1uy9Qp-BN91Tgx4SeXpCkpnQImkJeJXV4F8Hjsh3-0ZENudDTNucU9ZYzBFx5r8UkCWUO8UVM/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsQQ7wUC3zRBIwVLa536fQQSbkyMDtNjJLbPUUBxNT_AND7ETD4pPJqPPMkvI9FhJ5EC1uy9Qp-BN91Tgx4SeXpCkpnQImkJeJXV4F8Hjsh3-0ZENudDTNucU9ZYzBFx5r8UkCWUO8UVM/s320/photo+1.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">touch the cleansing water</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeeP3Sol7RtjqawL7ChWeiUWGKucf-UWCPMHdlfbKmNcvQvd-pMyM70uOZ8iHExzfnh2GSRpWeGk4MdpW5WEBn6Y7GxyT6TJIyfQvrn8QS-AwgQE1KEf9tYRJGd_3QSpxrqe2BJWXWnQQ/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeeP3Sol7RtjqawL7ChWeiUWGKucf-UWCPMHdlfbKmNcvQvd-pMyM70uOZ8iHExzfnh2GSRpWeGk4MdpW5WEBn6Y7GxyT6TJIyfQvrn8QS-AwgQE1KEf9tYRJGd_3QSpxrqe2BJWXWnQQ/s320/photo+2.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">women lead from the beginning</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu2kfCGsgPBj30LsOMy8bZxq8ioWiZxyOB0VvDKELeArCR42QFIS6xdkUpWt61INBVsHQYRJk7AqpD45KP3qLlu2EWpmNe5tUOVRxILnrXAl8Hp8emELzi3L5QQ4hY7NNKVs4KbCdNRmY/s1600/photo+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu2kfCGsgPBj30LsOMy8bZxq8ioWiZxyOB0VvDKELeArCR42QFIS6xdkUpWt61INBVsHQYRJk7AqpD45KP3qLlu2EWpmNe5tUOVRxILnrXAl8Hp8emELzi3L5QQ4hY7NNKVs4KbCdNRmY/s320/photo+3.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">caribou-hide singers with Dene National Chief <a href="http://www.denenation.com/dene_national_chief.html">Bill Erasmus</a> </td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7_XWwiAEgBVyDpFk61bbhWZCm6j8MpiklrtTEE6AY9-2RJTZgIqISurJupO32jt3d2D7UdcU67IfkuO4jWcuWQUXWGIadnAaaUMJr-x7TaU5OZn9-cxLjjzmQjPADyi2-MNbqCIkBlo4/s1600/photo+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7_XWwiAEgBVyDpFk61bbhWZCm6j8MpiklrtTEE6AY9-2RJTZgIqISurJupO32jt3d2D7UdcU67IfkuO4jWcuWQUXWGIadnAaaUMJr-x7TaU5OZn9-cxLjjzmQjPADyi2-MNbqCIkBlo4/s320/photo+4.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the sacred circle of the round dance</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirai5cbycF_0Gd6berbNJzeiUt-qvEtojoJ_pDMct_Dc0LiSFK_8uV7fPjHE3gb0PP6pjVnrU9yzqRtSqIhJScNoG61imVruaOsGugwSMwM-uiG7SdNpDkpK1UExxdtg0K4oW-cRs90iY/s1600/photo+5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirai5cbycF_0Gd6berbNJzeiUt-qvEtojoJ_pDMct_Dc0LiSFK_8uV7fPjHE3gb0PP6pjVnrU9yzqRtSqIhJScNoG61imVruaOsGugwSMwM-uiG7SdNpDkpK1UExxdtg0K4oW-cRs90iY/s320/photo+5.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mohawk and Algonquin Confederacy youth dance in pride</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiBoQc-0Guk1X5qO9uhD1BIQ73AXa9vl_Pbpl918EhnAHfKcI74eiyLNsPtybCwMPq9jv0U3ziY56RexXmAinqu8Yp7N5vBX8ZBp-W2TNWZDcNSdQpEtEzQpvEqYdMlhIRUT-SmHk-u-Q/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiBoQc-0Guk1X5qO9uhD1BIQ73AXa9vl_Pbpl918EhnAHfKcI74eiyLNsPtybCwMPq9jv0U3ziY56RexXmAinqu8Yp7N5vBX8ZBp-W2TNWZDcNSdQpEtEzQpvEqYdMlhIRUT-SmHk-u-Q/s320/photo+1.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">to the pipe ceremony to begin the healing</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhOOXXzDRqXMCOLOYbzVsTGwy9Xx4VZhz32N-Rf5SGzofS0TNuDpNz-iXJp73WvhfZrvoGP1bEppbzzO_HZAD94SttuI0LH1LESkATZf9BTb27rfh4fh8_cEQ1haGF9mThlnsf1UmX-x8/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhOOXXzDRqXMCOLOYbzVsTGwy9Xx4VZhz32N-Rf5SGzofS0TNuDpNz-iXJp73WvhfZrvoGP1bEppbzzO_HZAD94SttuI0LH1LESkATZf9BTb27rfh4fh8_cEQ1haGF9mThlnsf1UmX-x8/s320/photo+2.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">suspicion lurks amid catastrophe</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFiAAmQqQkEvI4TYKSaj6hFu3TgZGifV_hxhRRoX27VPb6WbEctfoJVsyuQize8W8wiVsPEYKNbPGt00Yehes8AJeuoI_zPYpThd6qHIo4wYDjkDNpwJPYY5XA6LmoylTGVp3NqUDwWHg/s1600/photo+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFiAAmQqQkEvI4TYKSaj6hFu3TgZGifV_hxhRRoX27VPb6WbEctfoJVsyuQize8W8wiVsPEYKNbPGt00Yehes8AJeuoI_zPYpThd6qHIo4wYDjkDNpwJPYY5XA6LmoylTGVp3NqUDwWHg/s320/photo+3.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">allies in solidarity wear Healing Walk t-shirts</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhArKF9TSZdylNNqvOlAsGRt04QtwGjoBVxhGOx7QH6Wc1LUedfNpctGKEFv06kd-a6TQTr9MwBf7J4hQCaVqd09R3nbVUrS-npzc_EXw-Ou_kRO_wpaFktMO-mub2Zxj-ViCgeca_n0-Y/s1600/photo+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhArKF9TSZdylNNqvOlAsGRt04QtwGjoBVxhGOx7QH6Wc1LUedfNpctGKEFv06kd-a6TQTr9MwBf7J4hQCaVqd09R3nbVUrS-npzc_EXw-Ou_kRO_wpaFktMO-mub2Zxj-ViCgeca_n0-Y/s320/photo+4.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dene Nation youth represents with <a href="https://twitter.com/ErielTD">Eriel Deranger</a> and <a href="http://www.acfn.com/#!chiefandcouncil/cjg9">Chief Allan Adam</a></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiyH9nU-vX85w1g869fI6YI6J5BnfmKtDkhiRJAs0vznyLXCO1za_CRyiiPuGqTOV_N2EBkg85sXH6OnBh5ptmDOi6b1BzEk3ju8qxY_6EujoajxlWovTfM8DelFRRATZuDIKuS5yk96s/s1600/photo+5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiyH9nU-vX85w1g869fI6YI6J5BnfmKtDkhiRJAs0vznyLXCO1za_CRyiiPuGqTOV_N2EBkg85sXH6OnBh5ptmDOi6b1BzEk3ju8qxY_6EujoajxlWovTfM8DelFRRATZuDIKuS5yk96s/s320/photo+5.JPG" width="187" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chief Bill Erasmus smudges for all near <a href="http://www.tantoocardinal.com/">Tantoo Cardinal</a></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAVy3VwD7Kc_uoRL4fOBL0ajYfRIXwAViHqxQ96LziGy79A4lGff9bOqLqzcuDEM4J7iImOfJKf-v9JptQfnz3RKlPN7oxKUGRaRgyKrlo0g6t04aRb7SxoAb9WsGGa43lolNPJS0m4C8/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAVy3VwD7Kc_uoRL4fOBL0ajYfRIXwAViHqxQ96LziGy79A4lGff9bOqLqzcuDEM4J7iImOfJKf-v9JptQfnz3RKlPN7oxKUGRaRgyKrlo0g6t04aRb7SxoAb9WsGGa43lolNPJS0m4C8/s320/photo+1.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://occupylove.org/cleo-reese/">Cleo Reese</a> speaks to media prior to Healing Walk </td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAznfFbrtige-cmSos4D7Ea62_1GYAAujtfh4fiFWmIo8iHIiXpe-7afiMF_6BrNCtR_UO53Hyg2-cHw1n2R_bwT4HUerAY0_llnp27U5K1NqgqZ6VSY53mcWNlPaKbXcG_YM9xWNbE9g/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAznfFbrtige-cmSos4D7Ea62_1GYAAujtfh4fiFWmIo8iHIiXpe-7afiMF_6BrNCtR_UO53Hyg2-cHw1n2R_bwT4HUerAY0_llnp27U5K1NqgqZ6VSY53mcWNlPaKbXcG_YM9xWNbE9g/s320/photo+2.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dene National Chief Bill Erasmus opens Walk</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMzKvs5GnUTYWL-eZJmYdDR6VL_ZarBSSNdhyphenhyphenUE6rSZpu0dHH9etv0d7UcIuJ6frV93ZVh_iP75YdGAlQe8C_-S0xf4XXMs2u2icXiFj73geFhd9QY-XOqcbF63zQagTXgf_KW8Z6lbd4/s1600/photo+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMzKvs5GnUTYWL-eZJmYdDR6VL_ZarBSSNdhyphenhyphenUE6rSZpu0dHH9etv0d7UcIuJ6frV93ZVh_iP75YdGAlQe8C_-S0xf4XXMs2u2icXiFj73geFhd9QY-XOqcbF63zQagTXgf_KW8Z6lbd4/s320/photo+3.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">start the Healing</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_lnymntpQdQRS4KzVenObWtlt13U3JBX39H0quSQENufxNuOTvZsqnvbzECdcroVzgVaY546UXsasCbg3Fo7kq6oCvI12C5lFNHVMmfbYYF6pxZ6On3pTQ3mbOM4cahQ93W7hNaE5O2Y/s1600/photo+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_lnymntpQdQRS4KzVenObWtlt13U3JBX39H0quSQENufxNuOTvZsqnvbzECdcroVzgVaY546UXsasCbg3Fo7kq6oCvI12C5lFNHVMmfbYYF6pxZ6On3pTQ3mbOM4cahQ93W7hNaE5O2Y/s320/photo+4.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">active media set off by way of Fort McMurray</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmTwaeLegQDCae9EbbeopGLjJkezSqlAP8myjC2aiJRj5zLJI-E9aOY22Vi3VfRetItiz1d7V6zhtb8JgGbRd6pEA4BomoCfqFMjYvQd2OIBHuMsqS3DQsFy5Xeq3QtjZQZykzj_nD-yU/s1600/photo+5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmTwaeLegQDCae9EbbeopGLjJkezSqlAP8myjC2aiJRj5zLJI-E9aOY22Vi3VfRetItiz1d7V6zhtb8JgGbRd6pEA4BomoCfqFMjYvQd2OIBHuMsqS3DQsFy5Xeq3QtjZQZykzj_nD-yU/s320/photo+5.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">and the smoking gun</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaZhyrlHk94PpnbFr7G83b7h9aYnOwdI1WFw57YgzZ2z21xF2iFmw6sM21rlMFQn_ijtv4ktJqlrmblGnBU8xvzDnEZF4qvwzuUDI82WEbOcxpxFr9rMeG5VSkw-M4RP8ZyG8j4xro67M/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaZhyrlHk94PpnbFr7G83b7h9aYnOwdI1WFw57YgzZ2z21xF2iFmw6sM21rlMFQn_ijtv4ktJqlrmblGnBU8xvzDnEZF4qvwzuUDI82WEbOcxpxFr9rMeG5VSkw-M4RP8ZyG8j4xro67M/s320/photo+1.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">exhale emotion</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3W32rz7mQXPxYKV7SXNh_IrMWgcGo8NgKsb7hagqlo9JicdjPK2uCGDvNYLQKfn1Yd1sNoAZrvMsIrYlDjqFZDIqukjkMzMSB5htgKUJakXisXYHZ812Gzx-2Yg-ytQK0m8SyCoilofk/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3W32rz7mQXPxYKV7SXNh_IrMWgcGo8NgKsb7hagqlo9JicdjPK2uCGDvNYLQKfn1Yd1sNoAZrvMsIrYlDjqFZDIqukjkMzMSB5htgKUJakXisXYHZ812Gzx-2Yg-ytQK0m8SyCoilofk/s320/photo+2.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">where the treeline ends</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbSmHiLu22TDGLGecBMBZU5S3zJ3zV4uUf5Rl_mvSZ7l6_cQ8siIAR4uczAWH1pHhkPGlYUQZ9kdZdoNwVcHSA2PYB-FZdrN79fhARdod-cFb_PZIABjG9Ph5oMqnIZn3MkxvHxTlgBAk/s1600/photo+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbSmHiLu22TDGLGecBMBZU5S3zJ3zV4uUf5Rl_mvSZ7l6_cQ8siIAR4uczAWH1pHhkPGlYUQZ9kdZdoNwVcHSA2PYB-FZdrN79fhARdod-cFb_PZIABjG9Ph5oMqnIZn3MkxvHxTlgBAk/s320/photo+3.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">warnings echo the birds away from deathly toxic waters</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT0aGhqzOQ9SpCh_6iRFcAEp-hV0dD3ByifYYYAInprQTcdusZt-Cpv_uRuyiJUNogXbQMG32EHHZJABeZpPR5L3kFRZqf8QknDhXulzYrMpOe6JBUBymXQnom6n63wex6DNgvgwG0L4k/s1600/photo+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT0aGhqzOQ9SpCh_6iRFcAEp-hV0dD3ByifYYYAInprQTcdusZt-Cpv_uRuyiJUNogXbQMG32EHHZJABeZpPR5L3kFRZqf8QknDhXulzYrMpOe6JBUBymXQnom6n63wex6DNgvgwG0L4k/s320/photo+4.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">wavering dispersal of fear and anxiety</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYZ-TkR6Z1BPFQmNa_ugPCYIdZZLTwxh1fmOwEF77wCfTf4EeU0jVYf-3Gg5q4ZXjODe2GhMCb9KtiFMpVs1MSZOapYD1tXjkWYvrlMUjKIcZXfDb_2RXKykrn_u8zbIir05PfV1mHAZA/s1600/photo+5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYZ-TkR6Z1BPFQmNa_ugPCYIdZZLTwxh1fmOwEF77wCfTf4EeU0jVYf-3Gg5q4ZXjODe2GhMCb9KtiFMpVs1MSZOapYD1tXjkWYvrlMUjKIcZXfDb_2RXKykrn_u8zbIir05PfV1mHAZA/s320/photo+5.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">straight and narrow solidarity as a movement of one</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk8xioFtz-kx7W_ALT_WH-46vHEj6o0dIrQViAQsy0C9tOineFkyDrK0E5He2df2PanVhFq_AGOCGdKe5jO31hWhue2zRaejkxkI_vHPo_8NcqtAfKDn9zWUwd0xvjBET4tStP-j933Tc/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk8xioFtz-kx7W_ALT_WH-46vHEj6o0dIrQViAQsy0C9tOineFkyDrK0E5He2df2PanVhFq_AGOCGdKe5jO31hWhue2zRaejkxkI_vHPo_8NcqtAfKDn9zWUwd0xvjBET4tStP-j933Tc/s320/photo+1.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">forward</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtcEfPGlP4E66aoz4e9odb2ii8GdyyLkLVB_NescXlcNS8v7tnoSHNi3GMLnL2mA-s4fTnKMlJYLOwiOQPAexj2vnB54SSgBxDlhHXduvg_2U_Q5i_BpWP1I3MpxNGbJs_cIp9hTZVNGQ/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtcEfPGlP4E66aoz4e9odb2ii8GdyyLkLVB_NescXlcNS8v7tnoSHNi3GMLnL2mA-s4fTnKMlJYLOwiOQPAexj2vnB54SSgBxDlhHXduvg_2U_Q5i_BpWP1I3MpxNGbJs_cIp9hTZVNGQ/s320/photo+2.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.billmckibben.com/">Bill McKibben</a> interviewed at Buffalo viewpoint</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg37X8lV_CxgpikAbbEuG5nblLMzNFaDwF8Zslarnlw0ClxIa9P63SVGqx0R79YrNK2h6SKUiF-0v6zcisYvl3T2GklvFcpup0SWtUYllFYT9pJj2JsSaXhHL6BIisnU4lLe6TSZE2Ek9w/s1600/photo+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg37X8lV_CxgpikAbbEuG5nblLMzNFaDwF8Zslarnlw0ClxIa9P63SVGqx0R79YrNK2h6SKUiF-0v6zcisYvl3T2GklvFcpup0SWtUYllFYT9pJj2JsSaXhHL6BIisnU4lLe6TSZE2Ek9w/s320/photo+3.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">youth of the Mohawk and Algonquin Confederacy show pride </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNp5vNqcJGH70-B0iPIhz8lrb-qcp0bpn_I7UZiY1ENDiCtofgwTsHx3nWH0frMMjJ2fsTv860N08xfYTS4ayNRplDduOggyOwEtceYTvtDowITLen2BLI4RVXghAYNdaMe-ToXt_K9U8/s1600/photo+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNp5vNqcJGH70-B0iPIhz8lrb-qcp0bpn_I7UZiY1ENDiCtofgwTsHx3nWH0frMMjJ2fsTv860N08xfYTS4ayNRplDduOggyOwEtceYTvtDowITLen2BLI4RVXghAYNdaMe-ToXt_K9U8/s320/photo+4.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">seize the day and slow industrial traffic! </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB9VyRge_Dh69elvGvukzMGC2l6fLOYU4HQCZ-ddlaD-haxj4sKKckE9JIF6-nBYNBNJm8O-U1CqMvQEjngG5elHO4DWXub82jPU37H8cLvKw72G-kZTKGEom3UiIyv2ARdBqC1S06wxY/s1600/photo+5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB9VyRge_Dh69elvGvukzMGC2l6fLOYU4HQCZ-ddlaD-haxj4sKKckE9JIF6-nBYNBNJm8O-U1CqMvQEjngG5elHO4DWXub82jPU37H8cLvKw72G-kZTKGEom3UiIyv2ARdBqC1S06wxY/s320/photo+5.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">as one we are the strength of many</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqnI6Za5fEaQ7thYVIr6gpE_r-wZt9iN8ZlVAOQSxGQ7yvrBXept_qrQr2W8zGCsI22kiFYwCzymEKHkpvDwzASD5GUebxZb443A4P4y06_yO9zcYLVDFpBFwu1CajVGbAAZnRzArW65I/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqnI6Za5fEaQ7thYVIr6gpE_r-wZt9iN8ZlVAOQSxGQ7yvrBXept_qrQr2W8zGCsI22kiFYwCzymEKHkpvDwzASD5GUebxZb443A4P4y06_yO9zcYLVDFpBFwu1CajVGbAAZnRzArW65I/s320/photo+1.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">exiles march through babylon </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEissljUeEQ1sMV2jsC_7GXxWQhZ837R6Yj_yrc9-JTS0RwSilkGupKPZRalYn_u9GYZoIFQph_fjQcbGZQvc2kHDCfE-Y95TImwq6v9rBc5XAhh5Mapo58evuvfySXOy7FASk6WzYcutWM/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEissljUeEQ1sMV2jsC_7GXxWQhZ837R6Yj_yrc9-JTS0RwSilkGupKPZRalYn_u9GYZoIFQph_fjQcbGZQvc2kHDCfE-Y95TImwq6v9rBc5XAhh5Mapo58evuvfySXOy7FASk6WzYcutWM/s320/photo+2.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">never let your flag below our sight</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJf3xMwdFT3tyTdpPYrzO0w2cxOjhRZvpqjffhlBmh51eUbiz0UY0AWKi6caZmrs6-Sjx_Z7LFj2yyFuffdz4MeKFdaIb-ibLRr4pkI608cUKzDK8DARf2RFq5bQ1feVrN6y7Z4ekXWXI/s1600/photo+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJf3xMwdFT3tyTdpPYrzO0w2cxOjhRZvpqjffhlBmh51eUbiz0UY0AWKi6caZmrs6-Sjx_Z7LFj2yyFuffdz4MeKFdaIb-ibLRr4pkI608cUKzDK8DARf2RFq5bQ1feVrN6y7Z4ekXWXI/s320/photo+3.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">going the wrong way</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs-3uMvqzsShsE9v_lo8R4dtoLsxQe-KdlsEwy1QOgJ4qZ_IwoZxb3ZKnNYY_PhqRLSJ2n0ezFyHlR7n9MaRqFV4BEOWDQn8PF1WVE0_UX9jNWGawaH5tnwtUZWU5Ul6kf8w2tig6U4Ms/s1600/photo+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs-3uMvqzsShsE9v_lo8R4dtoLsxQe-KdlsEwy1QOgJ4qZ_IwoZxb3ZKnNYY_PhqRLSJ2n0ezFyHlR7n9MaRqFV4BEOWDQn8PF1WVE0_UX9jNWGawaH5tnwtUZWU5Ul6kf8w2tig6U4Ms/s320/photo+4.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">see Earth as one of one mind</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjumi4gn9VDDB1TWMMLgqLqqPIWuimPuvs8Tb12aEJkWDJTHTpLa_ava9adnjFXGsXcNcgUpaXTx3laO96cyPfzULntAcYGFPCR8Av9-Hz4A2NVoEfBeCpBr1jomtIV86JvoCGLZ5y-3zQ/s1600/photo+5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjumi4gn9VDDB1TWMMLgqLqqPIWuimPuvs8Tb12aEJkWDJTHTpLa_ava9adnjFXGsXcNcgUpaXTx3laO96cyPfzULntAcYGFPCR8Av9-Hz4A2NVoEfBeCpBr1jomtIV86JvoCGLZ5y-3zQ/s320/photo+5.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">stronger than anything on our path</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYASiyncx62JwyFDS87KYa35ko61eUY8OHNi5fFAKOQrfRXx2yg-1ixMT47wvLzlEkYLyfLWya_-szF2nvvQlROzFzDLtND3dYWhnJkNq3-hEeFkc1jT36DqboHvXOmIvxDhn6Ra_h2tk/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYASiyncx62JwyFDS87KYa35ko61eUY8OHNi5fFAKOQrfRXx2yg-1ixMT47wvLzlEkYLyfLWya_-szF2nvvQlROzFzDLtND3dYWhnJkNq3-hEeFkc1jT36DqboHvXOmIvxDhn6Ra_h2tk/s320/photo+1.JPG" width="257" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">hold up the flag of the <a href="http://www.acfn.com/">Athabasca Chipewyan First Nation</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBNJ17_VtJW5opibOXkHtcVrHVW_5GjqPf5c-2gWJTk48L8mrBdJYoZ8BughgrLE7ltSclnimY6O13P8A9dJX26M9lQZS-gGZ-987sLjh7o1DprF5sgC1dhw-Nk7YVKSm4ABWFYstMWkk/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBNJ17_VtJW5opibOXkHtcVrHVW_5GjqPf5c-2gWJTk48L8mrBdJYoZ8BughgrLE7ltSclnimY6O13P8A9dJX26M9lQZS-gGZ-987sLjh7o1DprF5sgC1dhw-Nk7YVKSm4ABWFYstMWkk/s320/photo+2.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.honorearth.org/winona-laduke">Winona LaDuke</a> meets <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brigette_DePape">Brigette DePape</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu0axph0qdZMqVmfQHlcSS2LyOJCFeShoKu0R2fw9O3qZ7_vtQmpTVa6LEYtWZREtfmT0l0ZJ14EzSMSxZZTV4cVTTBRGbrNj30wV5XU5y7KqAT6VokBH_qhAmJT_vIpGnMirwcMOzLZ8/s1600/photo+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu0axph0qdZMqVmfQHlcSS2LyOJCFeShoKu0R2fw9O3qZ7_vtQmpTVa6LEYtWZREtfmT0l0ZJ14EzSMSxZZTV4cVTTBRGbrNj30wV5XU5y7KqAT6VokBH_qhAmJT_vIpGnMirwcMOzLZ8/s320/photo+3.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">left behind for dead</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbOP7vkHwksyVGdTHxuXlZ_ZMYYnLiW5Av9wa6b-A83Gx2r6hNzdnLXaDyxgL3flfajsmWN26UYi7ugdZ48PjfZ7iUTzaO6f4oCt1nMVwc-aswTwwaQDmu1eFuBNeAR2yFOOZu4-qqlQg/s1600/photo+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbOP7vkHwksyVGdTHxuXlZ_ZMYYnLiW5Av9wa6b-A83Gx2r6hNzdnLXaDyxgL3flfajsmWN26UYi7ugdZ48PjfZ7iUTzaO6f4oCt1nMVwc-aswTwwaQDmu1eFuBNeAR2yFOOZu4-qqlQg/s320/photo+4.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">self-portrait at Tar Sands</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQNrZPYDkbLBP20AkVSqRPsqH4558xE4EEDdkbQQ0ICfoxcaa3yDfoHRmLVzXYNlsucR2VnL8vl9pj2KKjbQaBnSDdgs8a8SxAs_C55pX12W0c3zIiGstCv9sZCrX29MSVopiOZbD-vJA/s1600/photo+5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQNrZPYDkbLBP20AkVSqRPsqH4558xE4EEDdkbQQ0ICfoxcaa3yDfoHRmLVzXYNlsucR2VnL8vl9pj2KKjbQaBnSDdgs8a8SxAs_C55pX12W0c3zIiGstCv9sZCrX29MSVopiOZbD-vJA/s320/photo+5.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">praying to the first of the Four Directions</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwQZPpcgDH-gWdJ2y2A7FmLkzx0XP4g-ZJOZ5M7VtY5QAkWneBcj_-DL0_mQTfsyFuLC4L9QQyqELVrbyUSdfmnE_pTCflgyChY4vjUXe1aH7MhiJzGr4eSDyvrtDrzTPYcBmnDS-cCU8/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwQZPpcgDH-gWdJ2y2A7FmLkzx0XP4g-ZJOZ5M7VtY5QAkWneBcj_-DL0_mQTfsyFuLC4L9QQyqELVrbyUSdfmnE_pTCflgyChY4vjUXe1aH7MhiJzGr4eSDyvrtDrzTPYcBmnDS-cCU8/s320/photo+1.JPG" width="155" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">clear-cut deforested desertification in the boreal forests</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZNx26mUkaqne5gl-hrg9Mli0j0WuAZ34hkDseEvqoVLIXL7QBcDgwU4ZFVyAJyNQ3CFl36maZ4rv4oOVrpAmYt4TdEO9S-7rGwPSMmn8XBQIWIsydRckhyphenhypheneAByfDjAVWWd98-ocZdL-o/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZNx26mUkaqne5gl-hrg9Mli0j0WuAZ34hkDseEvqoVLIXL7QBcDgwU4ZFVyAJyNQ3CFl36maZ4rv4oOVrpAmYt4TdEO9S-7rGwPSMmn8XBQIWIsydRckhyphenhypheneAByfDjAVWWd98-ocZdL-o/s320/photo+2.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the Algonquin Confederacy is from the ground</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinkhC0duzKUYnvzp65wQIKbe3KazUowMoH_mRH16IUuHcXARKXFdBhTb6ifgfJNGv256jgALf7_Y0ueI1fU_ntOFnWZJMXedN7j6G5AcKmzCSHOnrVChCDo3vNRUBTLF4N5OmnMjqEnGY/s1600/photo+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinkhC0duzKUYnvzp65wQIKbe3KazUowMoH_mRH16IUuHcXARKXFdBhTb6ifgfJNGv256jgALf7_Y0ueI1fU_ntOFnWZJMXedN7j6G5AcKmzCSHOnrVChCDo3vNRUBTLF4N5OmnMjqEnGY/s320/photo+3.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">protect your mind in the unholy land of destructive ignorance</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvEUnloEj3TS-B2RGJhipJiaVgZKhASUnXcOMLSJSmGOK2yxXb06RTV5RtnDGmy4dt115biS6muCSjn2ygv6oESDU-KlFlMCnS4NAkJJe70-hSiIW4xuNtGAAKEWbWSqf33jp9FNG4tRE/s1600/photo+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvEUnloEj3TS-B2RGJhipJiaVgZKhASUnXcOMLSJSmGOK2yxXb06RTV5RtnDGmy4dt115biS6muCSjn2ygv6oESDU-KlFlMCnS4NAkJJe70-hSiIW4xuNtGAAKEWbWSqf33jp9FNG4tRE/s320/photo+4.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">human death sanctifies the wounded earth</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijRg56Un_WDF8igT4I-xwTFL86NqHRulmWaJYzNbv4djzojqo7JobkoeJDgjBpNeh1Zu_Z88eJ7CIvrTAha-K235Q9RiVbXyiAlqjV7Ri2jFQ3TIxaul1rlnNSdn7tVENsAASc8IC-Hp4/s1600/photo+5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijRg56Un_WDF8igT4I-xwTFL86NqHRulmWaJYzNbv4djzojqo7JobkoeJDgjBpNeh1Zu_Z88eJ7CIvrTAha-K235Q9RiVbXyiAlqjV7Ri2jFQ3TIxaul1rlnNSdn7tVENsAASc8IC-Hp4/s320/photo+5.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> sign reads, "reclamation area" at the world's largest industrial project</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWYbIfBRF5A9w1zUijDFCF0j9YQndhg8iDe8F8kRpKUwOlxwTUTIFSAgCOl7tJxmJsuj_JXro5D-S3Eoll8jRVXRiGmznALp6uDNQw2c_mQP6jKxx5fBtkeT8z9PCYAfIBzj2_I5Us2L0/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWYbIfBRF5A9w1zUijDFCF0j9YQndhg8iDe8F8kRpKUwOlxwTUTIFSAgCOl7tJxmJsuj_JXro5D-S3Eoll8jRVXRiGmznALp6uDNQw2c_mQP6jKxx5fBtkeT8z9PCYAfIBzj2_I5Us2L0/s320/photo+1.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">carrier of the Medicine Wheel walks on Turtle Island</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNn7eOFQmdpjFA5BXhbeXjAOg9xS5sCawc1Hr5hbbV9n9orYM8TtZLaHalzvX5Yhb7OxXS8RsYe15wuvu8dLmV7gOK70ee4jlEs67TqQSsEie5xkMEl-nnTLWskvCXuOTKco6qX_V-mJU/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNn7eOFQmdpjFA5BXhbeXjAOg9xS5sCawc1Hr5hbbV9n9orYM8TtZLaHalzvX5Yhb7OxXS8RsYe15wuvu8dLmV7gOK70ee4jlEs67TqQSsEie5xkMEl-nnTLWskvCXuOTKco6qX_V-mJU/s320/photo+2.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">youth drummers inspire all to step to the sacred heartbeat of our Mother</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvNTTif3gKM252YC-5hdmUObBHVfu5QQ1sT-Yn5OFH9yYrOIXmXM23Wx4O2lAPKbNTtYVefPiAyknX_SSuxttUllo3eWLN8UtFFaVY_3v8fCVSA9V98wbFq-DCl8HGbzn227hobRqp29o/s1600/photo+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvNTTif3gKM252YC-5hdmUObBHVfu5QQ1sT-Yn5OFH9yYrOIXmXM23Wx4O2lAPKbNTtYVefPiAyknX_SSuxttUllo3eWLN8UtFFaVY_3v8fCVSA9V98wbFq-DCl8HGbzn227hobRqp29o/s320/photo+3.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dene elder represents his Nation</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuRozYhyGtQ4OUYC6q5UV77uqcCQsgg9o2WvnOCNG3YNeNmK1GFc3KEDKxdNFGkpi4RXN3WsZv-7S4qJQ5T7E4JYS3Ugy8PDg7hL0ITJCySNMeb1h4cJE514JxonDojLApXl5eVr8o1Nw/s1600/photo+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuRozYhyGtQ4OUYC6q5UV77uqcCQsgg9o2WvnOCNG3YNeNmK1GFc3KEDKxdNFGkpi4RXN3WsZv-7S4qJQ5T7E4JYS3Ugy8PDg7hL0ITJCySNMeb1h4cJE514JxonDojLApXl5eVr8o1Nw/s320/photo+4.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">dwarfed under acid skies</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_wRkySduy5dfE-8KabAKpGkicmUpJDQ6vJ87vXxjm7wxUNvlA1eKXYxOY6oRhqa5dN-4On1kfBqQnWxzeJ231wqIQLkYVyrLVTNJcEqYVKthuBelSyDOfImOo-FTiWsb2hc6-5XXFK8Y/s1600/photo+5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_wRkySduy5dfE-8KabAKpGkicmUpJDQ6vJ87vXxjm7wxUNvlA1eKXYxOY6oRhqa5dN-4On1kfBqQnWxzeJ231wqIQLkYVyrLVTNJcEqYVKthuBelSyDOfImOo-FTiWsb2hc6-5XXFK8Y/s320/photo+5.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">raise a new flag in the name of Aboriginal justice</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYyIfj-eHPjdIEqDQKJ2ENJTEtGuKEMZEo05Go9BLUNXijLzXQk_Ix6Y2vvmL0iDGeVQXVOjHBvLMzdEePhyphenhyphenM1bqyoEtIDDz8GGj4OryAMaHxb0FqI2cglhRjqryyKF1OMMtjF-FeJa4Y/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYyIfj-eHPjdIEqDQKJ2ENJTEtGuKEMZEo05Go9BLUNXijLzXQk_Ix6Y2vvmL0iDGeVQXVOjHBvLMzdEePhyphenhyphenM1bqyoEtIDDz8GGj4OryAMaHxb0FqI2cglhRjqryyKF1OMMtjF-FeJa4Y/s320/photo+1.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aboriginal youth bear witness</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibfVoEtV12Udi08qYO1OLClqOAlMZR-x8WNwMe6UMTO-3Ze_W3fO2DkSonc2qmn1Ym_w98n0JeMrBu4PreQ3jTRuiRmsAv-CNWQitQa3KONvPoSB50FrxYa971YQu7GdZL-23_YZDPGBk/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibfVoEtV12Udi08qYO1OLClqOAlMZR-x8WNwMe6UMTO-3Ze_W3fO2DkSonc2qmn1Ym_w98n0JeMrBu4PreQ3jTRuiRmsAv-CNWQitQa3KONvPoSB50FrxYa971YQu7GdZL-23_YZDPGBk/s320/photo+2.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">we shall overcome </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR8WNgtkYqIQLdkcSaXNxBiwOZ6US8AfrUPda9LrgeQxloi1ZWbGu5ldk5UtO6QT1zBkRSXezzzjFit3I0yI_93fGUujmn46ePYOH7oogGMoQ5WbYafLB4z7ipBxGkW3GU-NnahJHyOvw/s1600/photo+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR8WNgtkYqIQLdkcSaXNxBiwOZ6US8AfrUPda9LrgeQxloi1ZWbGu5ldk5UtO6QT1zBkRSXezzzjFit3I0yI_93fGUujmn46ePYOH7oogGMoQ5WbYafLB4z7ipBxGkW3GU-NnahJHyOvw/s320/photo+3.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">under darkening skies we march ahead</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCkd4ps7uyCiCl4SyJdNHhGPoK0-gNodjuD44ipZxClsXO8XKBGp7VXhsE7UQrKhXuFWOloMSxtvd2c1hjkWu0-EK8B4KRR3Iyatxd5LGNH8dOc-5k4xMWmT-NGbW7PfMFqrof6RmMOjc/s1600/photo+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCkd4ps7uyCiCl4SyJdNHhGPoK0-gNodjuD44ipZxClsXO8XKBGp7VXhsE7UQrKhXuFWOloMSxtvd2c1hjkWu0-EK8B4KRR3Iyatxd5LGNH8dOc-5k4xMWmT-NGbW7PfMFqrof6RmMOjc/s320/photo+4.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">walk the land and see for your self</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkOAUl1yZ7OlJtH3OR7zrv_uEm8m2gYv54wKxVui55abCPQTg5GT1d9N13CH92K2x6ejkLywZiTKpMTk_WbusvghADp11okVZ1MBhw9HVYXJXxfsHMojjNYQv32yRQurniz-MCNcQA5RM/s1600/photo+5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkOAUl1yZ7OlJtH3OR7zrv_uEm8m2gYv54wKxVui55abCPQTg5GT1d9N13CH92K2x6ejkLywZiTKpMTk_WbusvghADp11okVZ1MBhw9HVYXJXxfsHMojjNYQv32yRQurniz-MCNcQA5RM/s320/photo+5.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the largest industrial project on Earth spins out of control</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJicCESexKHYKQUyxgEAMRfN1U5i9FAIlZCo16-H502596NTnxF4QSub6ZUPB1PrAKUL94ZwFoqgy_s7R-QjyqXruHmBKcdt_XSpx0aFX_5X7gc_CP0bQnCIa7DHsq3azw8cRqucOKR40/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJicCESexKHYKQUyxgEAMRfN1U5i9FAIlZCo16-H502596NTnxF4QSub6ZUPB1PrAKUL94ZwFoqgy_s7R-QjyqXruHmBKcdt_XSpx0aFX_5X7gc_CP0bQnCIa7DHsq3azw8cRqucOKR40/s320/photo+1.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">life emerges still from the deepest atrocity</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMjXftAoJs8k9uo1vdWGsOsrluJr3to9Ws5bjohK9VodX-z-dyivu6Da8WDI1S8CRQ2qKwqKKUAC08wZWaXYkZcobiJgt9OE-QPNP3yiepW7VTL0ZwkwcLN1ffZfVDR_LoR3QTgba5Es0/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMjXftAoJs8k9uo1vdWGsOsrluJr3to9Ws5bjohK9VodX-z-dyivu6Da8WDI1S8CRQ2qKwqKKUAC08wZWaXYkZcobiJgt9OE-QPNP3yiepW7VTL0ZwkwcLN1ffZfVDR_LoR3QTgba5Es0/s320/photo+2.JPG" width="195" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">forward this image so all may see and bear witness</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgheQDF8eKajXZvgjn6vXyGeKcBc44km-ol7ezVT6uDXgGSabfY-_5S2ZniHZaz6nv3wSaaEKNtsIXFuX6eAj0fWljvXePCru07BviER7-wFPIbwJMdKsxPts_a8m3HtJ1VJRf89jFJalc/s1600/photo+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgheQDF8eKajXZvgjn6vXyGeKcBc44km-ol7ezVT6uDXgGSabfY-_5S2ZniHZaz6nv3wSaaEKNtsIXFuX6eAj0fWljvXePCru07BviER7-wFPIbwJMdKsxPts_a8m3HtJ1VJRf89jFJalc/s320/photo+3.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">violence begets violence and madness fuels madness</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghxnY7tPpI6eKsnWAdw8pRM2Txd6HJmf-4NpoPInYNiP4R0oRQKNF8O3qvCIEWpar_S0VrxgcKGJOHBWEmk9ffeXhqmGU5f5OKeof1fgE689KBkSUqS1clIVJL4OxK7oyNak5a6s19pVM/s1600/photo+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghxnY7tPpI6eKsnWAdw8pRM2Txd6HJmf-4NpoPInYNiP4R0oRQKNF8O3qvCIEWpar_S0VrxgcKGJOHBWEmk9ffeXhqmGU5f5OKeof1fgE689KBkSUqS1clIVJL4OxK7oyNak5a6s19pVM/s320/photo+4.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">look and look again and meditate on your newfound awareness</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisX2kiKy9Pa05jOtKcwve3Bw2jYoycPDX9lEvjbtaJoaULECiPKlCiadXZHi2WmF4zHrNkLPgDz3Z93hbJUhx8uozUAlcOH18bzwySZHcMUje5sLqha_kf8EcJVgBWVlZ3-rugylIPYzc/s1600/photo+5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisX2kiKy9Pa05jOtKcwve3Bw2jYoycPDX9lEvjbtaJoaULECiPKlCiadXZHi2WmF4zHrNkLPgDz3Z93hbJUhx8uozUAlcOH18bzwySZHcMUje5sLqha_kf8EcJVgBWVlZ3-rugylIPYzc/s320/photo+5.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">pipe dreams of the Old World </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX__DpXEQ3tN8WVfSkD0-lfVLxgZMbVlENjXHw0x1IxjEohO5C5xawG13ojceanpxGQvePcWTkgpa0WtIGZ2A2eA0uNIuWjPPgfVzSC2esgs19FzhC5TLg0kLwZ-pibB_Ogu7yZHJcBY0/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX__DpXEQ3tN8WVfSkD0-lfVLxgZMbVlENjXHw0x1IxjEohO5C5xawG13ojceanpxGQvePcWTkgpa0WtIGZ2A2eA0uNIuWjPPgfVzSC2esgs19FzhC5TLg0kLwZ-pibB_Ogu7yZHJcBY0/s320/photo+1.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">we see so clearly yet they are blinded by greenhouse emissions</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRPQtvA5ifI9QH-tJUVg8N30dwT96yN7lFUAQZrFh_BcduR47_mWEt49nJ9mnYyiUg6gGwg3iveW0bM1lT5xcUp2pmn2kZ7GZYpqUNiWHLf7t7VOMI3h0W_67WlH95-R0gUc0DFDRQx5Q/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRPQtvA5ifI9QH-tJUVg8N30dwT96yN7lFUAQZrFh_BcduR47_mWEt49nJ9mnYyiUg6gGwg3iveW0bM1lT5xcUp2pmn2kZ7GZYpqUNiWHLf7t7VOMI3h0W_67WlH95-R0gUc0DFDRQx5Q/s320/photo+2.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">walk across the devastated earth with hallowed footsteps</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqeXWLqzkEV_8Xztponm45b87dhxaDoKcK7DjAxvJKsloggv7WZ7BOBxaYEMzIFz3dz9kzpjqJyUltpjTEhyphenhyphen6xaTWQA7Uo5HEkL1aPujvMU7mXAD91Ayenl3v6Esm5_8_DEON4SbwaxPE/s1600/photo+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqeXWLqzkEV_8Xztponm45b87dhxaDoKcK7DjAxvJKsloggv7WZ7BOBxaYEMzIFz3dz9kzpjqJyUltpjTEhyphenhyphen6xaTWQA7Uo5HEkL1aPujvMU7mXAD91Ayenl3v6Esm5_8_DEON4SbwaxPE/s320/photo+3.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the atrocious path of denial shows its ugly face</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaCSWw58S_9yvRLSANxW2mrieSUJ_1UDt0-fEKorJT0mhSU45QXZH2bC7a0n3lCV7aiy7ekENQg5hZKHYNJ9mff3oNiTC2fZnD-6rt6u5yPDQr2_FkT_RIXYjeynXgJV7V1y5VxFGBvNs/s1600/photo+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaCSWw58S_9yvRLSANxW2mrieSUJ_1UDt0-fEKorJT0mhSU45QXZH2bC7a0n3lCV7aiy7ekENQg5hZKHYNJ9mff3oNiTC2fZnD-6rt6u5yPDQr2_FkT_RIXYjeynXgJV7V1y5VxFGBvNs/s320/photo+4.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the black soil of unreason and hypocrisy</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHdHp5jl_mdNlo4nIsKqPoJahSd2U7AAf7y1f5dCyOv5A1POg-ohqNT_QR_xxjdIDgUxkj2bUEWSFn3sogzbVG0RkOcBBu9OClwEkk5ekZIKOJJkzDp1CErOoZ5m3g_WASMX_6YGCzgMo/s1600/photo+5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHdHp5jl_mdNlo4nIsKqPoJahSd2U7AAf7y1f5dCyOv5A1POg-ohqNT_QR_xxjdIDgUxkj2bUEWSFn3sogzbVG0RkOcBBu9OClwEkk5ekZIKOJJkzDp1CErOoZ5m3g_WASMX_6YGCzgMo/s320/photo+5.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">workers' barracks of the neo-fascist petro-state</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDFV_qJ-BWdMtO7GphzCjJix1p72U_9CrxchXWlRB3rFhmiyYMjOOPdbSAMehSTi4wqgJULEMZnK_y5rzG7sx6kUOYhTvAB7hhKvmsgc0NQGR8v340R8BnpVqiZ37gnt_QMyqKL-KEHZc/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDFV_qJ-BWdMtO7GphzCjJix1p72U_9CrxchXWlRB3rFhmiyYMjOOPdbSAMehSTi4wqgJULEMZnK_y5rzG7sx6kUOYhTvAB7hhKvmsgc0NQGR8v340R8BnpVqiZ37gnt_QMyqKL-KEHZc/s320/photo+1.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">we the people seek freedom and independence anew</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCHKXK4UNtEeG9PFaUinP5BLNnuOrx-17obiha8ZhO5zBYpRvUAAUvXQe8GcbA54cfEo2Gr4UHbrC1EPIBxkbdIPgasWVckMOJCXkpw6odAnU2LvkRQ4C8qZGJzucLXB7Az6dN0PVKr8Q/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCHKXK4UNtEeG9PFaUinP5BLNnuOrx-17obiha8ZhO5zBYpRvUAAUvXQe8GcbA54cfEo2Gr4UHbrC1EPIBxkbdIPgasWVckMOJCXkpw6odAnU2LvkRQ4C8qZGJzucLXB7Az6dN0PVKr8Q/s320/photo+2.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">shame on the greedy and lifeless work of ignorance </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWc5wvH_llOID7DrP_750abQPLdM26wtWnV4F8cOiD__tH9zPYWD1itKpgugnbLQxMlqqQs7gPMXQJlfU6TVx0i-aFW01Tu2biPhVuizsg0xdnYt1D67IzLenoPrqxROqrQP4PqtUZRu0/s1600/photo+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="204" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWc5wvH_llOID7DrP_750abQPLdM26wtWnV4F8cOiD__tH9zPYWD1itKpgugnbLQxMlqqQs7gPMXQJlfU6TVx0i-aFW01Tu2biPhVuizsg0xdnYt1D67IzLenoPrqxROqrQP4PqtUZRu0/s320/photo+3.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">shame on Canada from the neo-colonial Anglo-dominated west</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkd15StoUql6QXUF9vBfdWNMd6oV5so1r6dHTZrrE1cEHt9WbMFkgVQEl4rj1p9MR7CmS8qUmozCT2jLtalalNU4PsFHA26zG4mPmFNoAw7ITgXECV9ug9DXbYAraUW55zl5DitY6M6Eg/s1600/photo+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkd15StoUql6QXUF9vBfdWNMd6oV5so1r6dHTZrrE1cEHt9WbMFkgVQEl4rj1p9MR7CmS8qUmozCT2jLtalalNU4PsFHA26zG4mPmFNoAw7ITgXECV9ug9DXbYAraUW55zl5DitY6M6Eg/s320/photo+4.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the road to hell and the largest dam in the world</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbME8WOTDlh56QDlDUkOAmAeliNPEKbuwTS9Jxl1-jHL-pAqo_McezVy_rwIuq4zpnLZHH0RPzNaJb_9Y4wu40MpkiNXgtq7PGMit-01jamYbxRlAhamer8NzwXU1DbYi-c9x9SeS8jDU/s1600/photo+5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbME8WOTDlh56QDlDUkOAmAeliNPEKbuwTS9Jxl1-jHL-pAqo_McezVy_rwIuq4zpnLZHH0RPzNaJb_9Y4wu40MpkiNXgtq7PGMit-01jamYbxRlAhamer8NzwXU1DbYi-c9x9SeS8jDU/s320/photo+5.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">outside the Syncrude Tailings Dam</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL1bbKxkZWlnMWJirxxlU8x06ZrFzfxmRsfQIDJMxwUubj7m2GnidaCxzBsvsYvdZHJgFWafO3Wnp7Z-MFsTO0NIav89bdmcIERhF0J7e0NfpyNlZSKQikLqwwqhvJ2Kc1Rxwxfu_HnU0/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL1bbKxkZWlnMWJirxxlU8x06ZrFzfxmRsfQIDJMxwUubj7m2GnidaCxzBsvsYvdZHJgFWafO3Wnp7Z-MFsTO0NIav89bdmcIERhF0J7e0NfpyNlZSKQikLqwwqhvJ2Kc1Rxwxfu_HnU0/s320/photo+1.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">an unsavoury welcome from the largest single source producer in Canada </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_dMnystGkpbY7cdyi1Rs8Rzx7YTUi6ZRWH8yaZF0nw7MTF5-IiuO-YlkqUjKcUVGXGQqHV3XoT77Y64AMzTyH_PWfRFzEAA93tDuiWJ5kTAYpFE4LU9kdEGWi-lVmMGBmotG4GGaMPc0/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_dMnystGkpbY7cdyi1Rs8Rzx7YTUi6ZRWH8yaZF0nw7MTF5-IiuO-YlkqUjKcUVGXGQqHV3XoT77Y64AMzTyH_PWfRFzEAA93tDuiWJ5kTAYpFE4LU9kdEGWi-lVmMGBmotG4GGaMPc0/s320/photo+2.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">return to creation, to the beginning, to the drum </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9gl7K20fTUi_99VmFWSK13q2i_tGGdAgagBSQi51ukTdO3d0PcztXjrO8yDfzT5rkWu3RbGMmxFdgGNJRFZa-PHXSU3shXoWVvsG7todkjs5Jqh_QHESEjmfZd6KS-tJ-hkGhGNeLSSM/s1600/photo+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9gl7K20fTUi_99VmFWSK13q2i_tGGdAgagBSQi51ukTdO3d0PcztXjrO8yDfzT5rkWu3RbGMmxFdgGNJRFZa-PHXSU3shXoWVvsG7todkjs5Jqh_QHESEjmfZd6KS-tJ-hkGhGNeLSSM/s320/photo+3.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">inadvertent signs remind us always to continue our work</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJD52qD0LlYBpVcFY8Oz0AqbVDPagArrL21sB52Wc8msHF_7MDBHJmpAZLlH-kYNk-jHOO5kUdkw6KQvDupTjTTcp3Cz0_nclrqXJHpxqZbZ9CttJ2Gcp1-hyDkFDXtViS9c3KHlCgpQg/s1600/photo+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJD52qD0LlYBpVcFY8Oz0AqbVDPagArrL21sB52Wc8msHF_7MDBHJmpAZLlH-kYNk-jHOO5kUdkw6KQvDupTjTTcp3Cz0_nclrqXJHpxqZbZ9CttJ2Gcp1-hyDkFDXtViS9c3KHlCgpQg/s320/photo+4.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">back in Calgary the sacred is locked behind urbanity</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5IBE9kQgN2iCroca7182xmqzgEl5eygWVFeHRnxllbtPQNoeCXeAm3WQ5aMgkvRwE4qApH-5aYS6n7JSu9LcL1-WBZ1a-QOz7YUEBGIrtC2BlJzXorazSEYeof6JGccoMs8jhySoFszg/s1600/photo+5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5IBE9kQgN2iCroca7182xmqzgEl5eygWVFeHRnxllbtPQNoeCXeAm3WQ5aMgkvRwE4qApH-5aYS6n7JSu9LcL1-WBZ1a-QOz7YUEBGIrtC2BlJzXorazSEYeof6JGccoMs8jhySoFszg/s320/photo+5.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">and the fortune of a local neighbourhood walk</td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzZv_hZQYcSHTzvybQjMJDHD99qxxeoqq7NhRRYmqEmkcygdv3-n1d0QxmgvBdJNrT4HjbxdyjYpvHBLKzrrg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<span style="font-style: italic;">______________</span></div>
<br />
inspired by the experience of living through a flood, while during a week of taking refuge in the residences of close friends, I committed my mind to an expression to creatively express the emotional flood known only by its victims. while the floods of southern alberta were nowhere near as devastating with such human costs as those concurrently in India, still there is a communal trauma, a proven post-traumatic stress that visits all victims of flooding. this is the result of immature development on a 100-year floodplain, where commercial zeal trumps human life, and we become aware of being entirely objectified as city-dwellers within an intensively privatized, economic existence. our lives are bought and sold, and Mother Earth reminds us that whether we like it or not, we always return to her.<br />
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<iframe seamless="" src="http://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=1476264884/size=medium/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/t=2/transparent=true/" style="border: 0; height: 120px; width: 100%;"><a href="http://menachem.bandcamp.com/album/evocations-district-columbia">Evocations: district.Columbia by Mister E. Menachem</a></iframe>
The wise ones say that we can never know where we are going if we do not know where we are from. We are from our Mother Earth, and it is back to her where we will go. As ever her children, throughout our lives, we consume from her sources of life, the milk of water, and if we are unaware and ignore the offering of sacred space that recognizes her movement and presence, then we are inevitably reminded that we are ever at her mercy. where I live, the city of Calgary, one of the most significant commercial centres of the global big oil industry was particularly impacted by flooding this summer solstice. if we can hear them, Ma Earth sends us very direct, timely and pertinent messages, namely in this case a message to the tune of, "slow down!" as there was flooding soon before in Fort McMurray, home of the dreaded Tar Sands, and as i write this, flooding in the Petro-State capital of Canada, Toronto. Ma Earth is quite articulate this summer.<br />
<i><br /></i>
This five poem chapbook, Understanding our MEANING, is the second complementary work from the district.Colombia collection. Beginning with a foray into the philosophic Taoist way of compassion that enunciates our living with the giving strength and deep humbling of fluid harmony in improvised music, the poems then take a broad step into the humanities of reason and the struggle for justice in the age of outrageous cultural consumption and environmental ignorance.<br />
<br />
We Understand our MEANING when we know our place in the struggle for human freedom against the institutions that would likely allow human life to be bought and sold as the despicable days of slavery, masked by the post-colonial economic privatizations and revealed by the resurgence of decolonization among the First Peoples of Turtle Island. Finally, Morning Dew, the last poem, is revisited through an experimental narrative sounding in the album, <a href="http://menachem.bandcamp.com/">Evocations:district.Colombia</a>, where an experience as a temporary climate change refugee embodies the contemporary significance of the common struggle to be human on planet Earth today.<br />
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<a href="http://www.scribd.com/doc/152628753/Understanding-Our-MEANING" style="text-decoration: underline;" title="View Understanding Our MEANING on Scribd">Understanding Our MEANING</a></div>
<iframe class="scribd_iframe_embed" data-aspect-ratio="undefined" data-auto-height="false" frameborder="0" height="600" id="doc_61597" scrolling="no" src="http://www.scribd.com/embeds/152628753/content?start_page=1&view_mode=scroll&show_recommendations=true" width="100%"></iframe>Rusty Kjarvikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03071547323352880050noreply@blogger.com0