Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

my elder told me i left pieces of my soul in the houses i lived in- like a bird that had a nest blown out of a tree- i felt hallow- and empty each time- like some very important things had been lost- but i was never sure what it was- illusive in nature- the clothing and furniture would some how be returned by moving vans or trucks or plane tickets= but the broken plates and missing items that appeared in my minds eye- seemed to speak a hidden language i was unable to interpet. that nebulous part of me that would not allow destruction to engage in a dance of death with the soulful heart i had been gifted-that moment where you have to say- cross over this line in the sand and you are going down.
the paintings had hidden maps of places still undiscovered- places i had been- joined with the dreams i had had, colors dripping from a past -into a future- images laced on my legs like fish nets-
this woman i bought a house with in portland, 'wanted to come along' while stacey =the real estate agent- agreed to take me to see houses- i had just sold the farm and was working on the BA at portland state, this woman had had a falling out with my elder- and i thought it was 'silly' at the time- not really seeing what she meant- once- my elder said' she took my stew pot for camping' i thought to myself- 'that is no big deal'
we looked at many houses in portland- each one of them seemed sad and solitary- but hindsight being twenty twenty-i can see now how it was all a 'set up' that she intentionally showed me 'sad' houses so i would buy a house with her other friend' ROSE HIGH BEAR' so they could get me to use my equity to help be yet another scam for the woman that married a medicine man for power ...
when she was hired as a caretaker for the man- she claims she was married to him- but when his body was taken back to the rez- the grandmother that had been his wife for years was there and native people go quiet -they know better- the truth will be revealed= to be cont

am image

native people go quiet

That is what the father of the child with the rare disease ran into when he was trying to get information about The Navajo Long Walk. A wall of silence from the elders. They would not speak of evil times. If evil is the right word choice for things like holocausts and genocide.

Beautiful image thanks for writing.

Thank you still- trucking- oh howl the sound of wolf- peaceful dreams filter thru- peace

Following your saga with great interest and enjoyment. You have that Burroughs honesty I so admire. I shall follow on.

thank you so for your encouragement and support- i really treasure it-