Why do you persist on dancing on my toes?
Are your toes not good enough for your feet? What is it about my position that makes you desire to step exactly where I already am? Are my dance moves not good enough for you? Even though I am keeping good cadence My flow is lovely and my twists n turns unique My energy is clean and flows from a source of goodness We freely express the will to align in harmony and grace for the purpose of wellness. Except you're standing on my toes You're telling me what to do You're not even here You don't stand on my ground Drive my highway Read our signs breathe our air and drink our water Absent Ye ARE! Speak much Ye DO! Postulate much Ye DO! Seeking ground for yourself that is not yet yours your feet reach out seeking to lay down firmly onto my already dancing feet. I bid you back off dear dancer so that you may see what it's like to dance on your own without aid of guidance or assistance to see how the moves are done without toes on top of your own. By taking your own toes off of mine. Fly free pretty dancer and find your wings.
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I confess that the little slights are still very much hurting me. I don’t so much as want to know why as to how to fix it and stop letting these things hurt me to begin with. It must be some root inside this machine that keeps getting re-wounded each time a physical slight is perceived. Almost like a default setting.
In most situations there is a root of love, but oftentimes envy can be detected when being given the wrong unsolicited advice. It’s the “well meaning” vibration that actually feels to be thrown… as if spitefully saying “that thing that makes you beautiful, stop doing that and do this instead.” I am often (way too often, so stop doing it please) told I am beautiful. This ALWAYS bothers me. It never doesn’t bother me. So when told how beautiful I am, what do you do with your hair? Being so flattered and complimented, I do tell. Then I’m told how to do it another way. Nevermind you don’t have my septic system. Nevermind you don’t have my complex water issues. As a result of A+B+C=Not telling you shit no mo cuz you can’t handle the truth. You can’t handle I am how I am and how I am is how I is and how I will continue to be because it’s me living in this shell. Experiencing this life and doing these things I do daily. Daily. So nevermind how beautiful you think you know cuz you don’t. You don’t know anything about my life. You can literally spend four years on the internet getting to know someone and at the end of the day believe this worked on me. It’s a strange walk my fellow travelers. Strange walk indeed. Stop telling my avatar it’s beautiful. She doesn’t like it. She doesn’t believe you. It makes you look fake. I’ve finally gotten to an age where it’s occurring to me that my opinions on certain matters might be relevant to the future conversation. Bear with me as I express an idea so old it’s older than time itself. That is the for all time women have actually been minimized and like a big bright yellow highlighter, history oh so eloquently highlighted the inequity this year when we were shorted an hour of celebration time. Instead of honoring our women on a busy Monday when all would be expected, nay demanded to be at “their station” regardless of the date on the calendar. Yet this year on a Sunday, when we were allowed a moment of leisure on a day of leisure, we were shorted one hour of leisure.
- How would you have spent your hour had you been given the chance and the dollars? Ah, there are the dollars once again. The inequity vibrates so hard and so strong that future women will feel the ache of the loss of that one hour. For she will be as tired. She will be as weary. She will still find that her labours are at times in vain to serve a master she cannot ever really see. But she can feel it. - So girls, we felt the inequity for one less hour this year. Once the scales have been tipped… and fear not fellas, the tipping point has passed. The line in the sand is 23 goddam years long. Your mockery of our movement of when we all in one collective voice cried #me and you mocked us. You did. I wasn’t listening for it, but it was there. As it still is today. - So, we’re not coming for your stupid little hours. You can keep your dumb old hour. Instead, we'll take a Millennia of millennia for the Matriarchy to stand in all it’s Glory. - The Millenials will be coming for the hour though. Might want to get out of their way. Might even pick up a mop or something. They are going to need a hand. At some point in life each of us is faced with the impossible situation. The situation where everything is wrong. Nothing is right. And you have no choices but to do the wrong thing. That’s pretty much life on earth, every day. Though once in awhile those wrong choices have awful consequences. Or maybe all the consequences are awful. That in moving to the right and moving to the left, going up or going down, reflecting or dodging all cause a bad outcome. That life and the present situation gives us no choices as to selecting the good option because it simply isn’t available.
When I enlisted in the Air force our chief exam was called the ASVAB. I scored well on the ASVAB as I listened to the sage advice and wisdom those who prepared me for this test bestowed upon me. They told me, never leave an answer blank. Always put any answer and if nothing else, get the job done. Even if it was wrong, you had a shot at being right if you did something as opposed to doing nothing. The second thing they taught me was when I just didn’t know an answer select “C”. I don’t remember the why, I just remember the “C”. The last thing they told me before I took the test was that if all the answers were wrong, I was in position to select the least worst answer. The one that would cause the least damage in the arena of the wrong answer that the least worst is the correct answer on the test. At times we’re presented with the impossible scenario. Recently I had to face the impossible. In a cottage, on a remote island, during a crippling snowstorm with the power out. I won’t go into the details of what happened, but let’s just say that it involved other people. Other people misbehaved and hijacked what would have been and what started out as a fun adventure. It was hijacked so badly that my husband and I retreated to our room for the rest of the day. It was the least worst thing we could do. I don’t normally retreat from a fight. I do not typically back down. For me to back down in a fight, I know that the odds are forever in my favor and the other party is simply out of hand. As a trained security specialist in the Air force I have combat training that pales to what civilian forces receive. And she… was a weak old civilian. Who didn’t deserve me breaking my foot off up her ass. She didn’t deserve a beat down from a young airman. She did not. I did not train to kick my elder’s ass. I did not train to subdue your mom at breakfast. That’s not what I trained for. Not even a little bit. Once during my training my STI was riding me particularly hard about my fellow airmen. I was a squad leader for our barracks and wore a yellow rope to signify this elevated position. However, in the barracks I was assigned I was expected to report back to my STI all the shenanigans my fellow airmen were engaging in. they actively expected me to snitch on my newly aquired friends. It solidly went against the unity I was expecting to find in the usaf. Solid. So I removed my rope, placed it on her desk and said “that’s not what I came here to do.” And I retreated. If the fight is not the fight you signed up for…. Retreat. Don’t retreat from the fight you are assigned. Do not retreat from that which you know you are called. There you should be making advances. They do not have to be loud, grand or sweeping advances. I advance like water. Slow, strong, steady, constant. When I am faced with the impossible scenario, I simply make an adjustment but I do not advance in a traditional manner. I may go back, go around or simply disengage. At times I retreat loudly announcing my retreat. Other times, I simply step back silently saying nothing. But when I retreat, it doesn’t mean I quit on you entirely. I just quit the situation. I quit the no win scenario that isn’t serving anyone by my continued participation. The thing to realized is, when I retreat, I take my energy with me when I go. I have phenomenal creator energy that allows me to flourish wherever I put my focus and energy. And I’ve been a witness to seeing a thing I created crumble when I pull my energy away. I see the effect I have on a place and the after affect I also have after I retreated. Realize that the impossible situation is a test of energy. Will you continue to lend your energy to chaos? Or will you retreat to create calm? The choice is very often ours and ours alone to make. It is still very much the age of "Prohibition". Prohibition hasn't ended simply because you have a card, or a dispensary, or a "legal" supply of cannabis. That isn't an argument. There are no sides. It's simply truth. The United States was perhaps united once, long ago for about five minutes. When it comes to legislating cannabis the United States of America are anything but "united". How Can I Say "thank you"?We still can't talk about what we do. We can't talk about who we are. We can't tell people what we can do for them. We can suggest it. We can "dress the part". We can even smell really good in public and try to look as high as we possibly can. But we aren't free enough to say what it is that we do. Not really. And in the spirit of being vague and obtuse, we also can have difficulty obtaining medicine. Medicine in a prohibition state is a lot of work. Work we don't talk about. We simply do it. We aren't alone though. We are surrounded. It's a bit like being a deep well. It's a bit dark, kinda damp and occasionally we hear distant voices and lights shine down. Hope comes floating from wherever it comes from. It's like a bright light when those who know of our plight have compassion and are moved to toss into our well. Often it feels like your a circle of light above our heads and we have hope that we aren't forgotten. We are not forgottenAs Michigan legalized and Illinois poises itself to open doors in two days, Wisconsin feels cold. The bottom of a cold, dark, damp well is a foreboding place to be. As we move forward into 2020, the hope we all had was that somehow someway someone would finally do the big math and just give us our flowers. That didn't happen. We need to ask ourselves, how much more are we willing to allow this to go on? Are we willing to keep denying cancer patients medicine that we know heals? Are we willing to keep denying end of life care in prohibition states? Are we willing to just keep walking up to the well and contributing to the black market? Look, I'd love nothing more than to never have to access the black market. I've no shame in adding to it. I will gladly walk up to anyone's well of prohibition and toss in whatever they need. To those who generously added us to their "to do" list this year and included us in your life plan, we humbly say "thank you". We appreciated those who worked with us to get those in need the meds they needed. We are merely links in the chain that is us all. We didn't hear "no" often this year. And the words "I am not in a position to help" is always good enough for me. We can't all contribute in the same ways, but we must in some way all contribute. To continue to support one another in the age of Prohibition 2020's.
When Hanukah is alive inside you, you begin to understand the miracle. I am not Jewish. I do not practice Judaism. I however have a deep respect, reverence and awe of the “chosen People”. There is no doubt to me that they are in fact chosen. For what remains to be seen, their story isn’t over. Sometimes I wish, from time to time that I had been chosen. But I wasn’t. And I’m still not entirely certain what they have been chosen for. Whatever it is, I hope it’s really good. It would be cool to see the end story and how it paid. I digress. In that thought, it’s important to note that this time of year Hanukkah is very much alive. It is an energy, a current where your bowl is filled and vessels are extended. It doesn’t even matter IF you believe this truth. It simply is a truth. It’s a reality for many this time of year. When the cupboard tends to lend to sparceness, fulfillment is granted from the heavenlies. I cannot explain this scientifically. I cannot explain this rationally. And therein lies the miracle. The miracle in your resources, that took 8 dollars and allowed it to the do the work of 80. We saw this amplification in every area of our resources this year. Every place we put our heart and our value was increased to stretch beyond what was materially capable. What should have been impossible wasn’t. We truly were stretched beyond what we could do and yet we still did it! That’s Hanukkah. Hanukkah is the crumbs from the table. The increase isn’t just for those who practice Judaism and are the chosen ones. The increase is a cyclical constant that the Maccabees took note of so that we in turn could remember to look. Remember to see. Remember to remember that increase is coming. Increase comes. Increase is here. So take a look around. See what wasn’t enough that somehow just made it. For eight crazy nights we are so increased. Now I see. Thank you for your patience with my faith. I’m a work in progress and seeing the miracles. That miracle is you. Happy Hanukkah my beloved. Editors note: as usual, while blogging I did extensive research to make sure my flow was correct. The article I was tempted to swipe a menorah graphic from use the word “Maccabeans”. There are no “Maccabeans”. The only “Maccabeans” that exist are in someone’s article online about Hanukah. That’s it. I’m sad to see a reporter for and Israel segment not know what a Maccabee is. Please, if you do your research on Hanukah, please select more than pretty graphics. As usual, my advice to my readers is “Question everything. Test for yourself.”
"Getting fired from a bakery was the best thing that ever happened to my baking career"When I first got fired from the bakery I was really hurt. I was in the midst of my training and was on a fantastic upswing in my baking career. I was expressing an artistic vein I discovered within myself and was exploring to the maximum. I was in the peak of my training. I had talent, it was apparent and I couldn’t fathom why the bakery I worked for couldn’t see my gift. It was the best thing that could have happened in my baking career. I’m glad they fired me. I don’t even feel bad that I was hurt by what they did to me. I’m proud of what I did next, how I handled myself and where it brought me. Getting fired from corporate baking forced me to get real about my craft. It forced me to trust myself. It also lifted the restrictions on what I could and could not create with my own time. It also increased my wage. Significantly. I am no longer a production line baker worth a paltry $11 an hour. I’m not saying I make more money than I did before, I don’t. But what I traded in a corporate paycheck I earned in creative freedom. My quality of life has not changed. I still live the same comfortable life I’ve always lived. I also still get to bake cookies, cakes, brownies and other fine treats but this time, nobody gets to come along and criticize my work. Truly. I do not even allow customers to be critics. It has improved my relationships with my customers and my friends. Now, I don’t have to answer to anyone but myself. When a mistake is made, it’s mine. There is no buck to pass. And if a thing is not good, made to order or you are not satisfied, I failed. I won’t be giving money back unless we agree that is what is best. I won’t be making another until you tell me that is what is needed to make things right. It’s relationships before dollars, people before products. It has also improved my health. Choosing the ingredients, picking the quality, health and even safety of my ingredients gives me greater control over my own diet. When I worked in corporate bakery I ballooned to over 240 lbs. I was gorgeous! But I was so unhealthy. Now, we collect the eggs from our own farm and bake those into all our fine goods. We also reduced the sugar in our biscuit (cookie) and topped the biscuit with sugar art. The bonus… you can crack off the sugar art and skip the sugar and just eat the delicious biscuit. This time around, my weight has stabilized. I’ve been watching myself much more carefully in my own bakery and I am not sneaking any unauthorized samples this go around. My bakery, my customers, my problems, my opportunities. One of the craziest reasons I was fired from the grocery store bakery had to do with opportunities. With any good baker, there is bound to be crossover. Bakers are often followed around like the dead. I still have customers from when I baked in Elkton, MD. A good baker is on the level of hair stylist. With that, I had people come see me at work that knew me from the ministry. I also had people call me outside of the bakery for work that the bakery did not do. I did this. I continued baking as opportunities came and never said “no” to a job. Even if I had never done it before and didn’t know how. I operated under the guise of “it’s all training” and “you have to do everything you’ll be called to do for the first time at least once.” I never had to fake it. I just had to show up and do what I was really good at. You can’t do that if you say “no”. The corporate world has a real problem with individuality and creativity. Standing out from the herd, not complying with the norm, bucking the system and going against the grain are not endearing qualities when “dronism” is what is expected, nay demanded of the public workforce. Ultimately I stood out. I did not conform. I went solidly against the grain by not complying and I completely bucked the system by advertising my skillset while corporately employed. And once I was injured on the job my individualism stuck out like a sore thumb and soon my “secret” was discovered. That is not to say that every other baker employed by the company was also doing the same thing I was. The difference was, I stuck out. And once that happened and they began to nitpick, scrutinize and blame until I grew a bright red target on my back. The target wouldn’t stay on my back. I would pin it solidly to the front of my new district manager’s face which would seal my fate within the store. I gained much working there. It truly was a time of great learning. I simply did not allow myself to be someone’s punching bag or toy. I left with my integrity intact and my customer base solid. I could always take my skills forward into the future, into the now and use them in beautiful ways. The beautiful part is, there is no bullying here. There is no formal dress code other than to be clean and sanitary. We get to listen to music, watch movies and do a lot of laughing while baking here. And we can whistle. Whistling is the sign of a contented soul. I whistle a lot.
The conversation about homelessness is often that one that leaves me gobsmacked and speechless. Everyday I see keyboard warriors, safe and warm inside their cozy abodes make blanket statements about what it means to be homeless. Writers who have never experienced a cold night away from home, struggling to figure out where the next dollar and where the next meal will come from. Critics of homelessness who smugly besmirch those less fortunate than themselves with comments such as “people don’t appreciate what’s given to them”. All I have to say is, “karma is a bitch and I’m Neo ducking karma’s slap”.
I’ve been homeless. Houseless, abodeless and wandered from room to room until landing on my feet. My case wasn’t horrific or drastic. It was actually pretty smooth. It also didn’t last very long. That doesn’t mean that I didn’t suffer in some way from my experience. I was truly at peace with the suffering in the moment because I was alive. I endeavored to show appreciation for all that was done for me by very generous individuals who lifted me out of my plight. I was in a headspace to be so appreciative. Let me be clear, not all who are homeless are capable of the things the wealthy and entitled demand. If you’re warm, you’re wealthy. If you have a computer and access to the internet you are entitled. Your voice is not silent, you are being heard. And I heard you. Your callousness to the plight of the suffering is grossly indicative of what’s wrong with our society. To look at the suffering and to want to penalize them further for suffering within your line of vision is repugnant. To demand appreciation from those suffering the worst of fates is the height of haughtiness. From one formerly homeless person to the big bad wealthy entitled internet I say “shut up”. Shut up until you’ve walked five minutes in homeless shoes. Shut up and open your wallet until you find yourself without a place to call “home”. Shut up until you’ve had to worry about how you’ll stay warm, how you’ll stay fed and how you’ll afford anything. Shut up. It is no longer your turn to talk. We have listened to your gluttonous mouth far longer than was necessary for politeness sake. Your comments about not receiving appreciation for those least fortunate smacks of how arrogant you truly are. Are you this arrogant in your day to conversations with your cashier? Your server? Your mail carrier? Shut up. You sound like a terrible person. I hope I never meet you. It feels like a million things happened this week while I served my time. The coolest thing that happened were the orders that came in. While true I had primarily built the business exposure there, I had also explored other platforms and lovingly kept in touch with all my friends. Some people turn friends into customers, but I turn strangers into customers/friends and all the lines are completely shattered. An ad campaign I wrote and launched a year ago was still paying in sales. Someone who saw my ads locally last year called me this year in hope I'd still be doing that thing. I was! I have no regrets over my time served. I know I'm not the only one serving this time. It's visible if you look. I'm thankful for this time apart, away and in search of myself once more. I get lost in the shuffle of it all and I confess that while building the farm with Paul and Chris, I lost myself. I do not fault the powers that be, I only press that they change. Change their ways of administering "punitive" actions on the general populace that looks to you for leadership. If you are socially responsible for a platform that allows people to connect in every way possible and then suddenly you take that away, you're behaving like a god. And let me be clear. You are not my god. Nobody is allowed to exercise that kind of power of me. Nobody.
It looks like you’ve found me. Only those truly fucking off can find this. I’ve decided not to share links with you. I want you to find this page, but I don’t want to be so bold as to hand you the link. I know it’s madness to operate on such a goofy level. I know you pretty good though and I’m confident you’ll find me. But only when you’re fucking off. So you fucked off and found me.
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AuthorMarihemp is presently owner/baker/farmer at Cloverleaf Farms in Door County, Wisconsin. Archives
January 2023
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