Eating the detritus of the past will only inform the present

Everyday is a Journey, and the journey itself is home” Basho

So much has been happening since James and I decided to leave the north to seek a new home base. In process of traveling around, a few people have referred to us as hobo’s… and mentioned that they “just knew we wouldn’t stay up north for long.” I find the statement offensive for so many reasons. I was incredibly hurt by choices made by individuals in a community that made me understand that perhaps it wasn’t the best and safest place for my delicate heart and outspoken mind to be living. However, it was the place that james and I chose to build our lives. And now, we find ourselves spindrift in the world, again. Which is only fun and romantic if you have money to live in hotels abroad and/or a lust for open roads and stranger’s couches (which, at one time we both did, but now we are not so sure anymore). We love our homes that we have lived in. It just seems right now that the universe may very well be telling us to give up the ghost and give up our juicer.

A few days ago I had someone refer to me offhandedly as a “yuppie” after they referred to other people as “hippies.”  I’ve never had someone refer to “hippies” in my presence and not somehow involve me in that statement. Nevermind calling me a yuppie…

I am definitely a recovering hippie. I, am the furthest thing from a yuppie.  I am definitely an artist. Just in case you are wondering what to call us… because some may need labels, James and I have both decided that we currently prefer the term “bohemian wayfarer” to any other derogatory label bestowed by the sedentary townsfolk.

Everywhere we go, at least one person, if not many more, share with us the virtues of their community and give us at least three good reasons why we should live there. It is flattering, and confusing, but I am thankful to be appreciated.  We both know a new home will find us, we are just not sure where that is yet.

In the meantime,the last month has been a blessed and awesome opportunity to spend time with family and friends (from Smithers to Port Alberni) and get back to doing the artistic work we are meant for.

And boy oh boy have we been busy. Back in February during Northern bully hell week, my third chapbook (2010), “Strangler Fig” was gently reviewed in Broken Pencil magazine (thank you!). On the leap year, James finally released his album, Imagineering (already with awesome reviews in multiple places), and both of us spent our late February weekend performing… well kind of

James toured with friend and exceptional songwriter and storyteller David Newberry (who also just released his excellent sophomore album!). In the middle of the tour, Dave and I had planned a surprise birthday party for James. this is what it looked like as the surprise happened:

He thought he was in Nelson to play a show. (so much love to everyone who drove through an insane snowstorm to get there… especially our dear friends Kathryn and Jim who slid with me all the way down the highway from vancouver… yikes).

James and Dave carried on with their tour, and I spent the late weekend basking in the sun (and occasional sleet) at Trauma Farm on Saltspring Island in the enchanting, gracious company of Brian Brett and his wife Sharon, dear poetic friend CR Avery, the lovely festival organizers Chris & John-Michael and the possible detritus of some possible hundreds of famous and not so famous Canadian writers, artists and musicians.

The festival was an outstanding time. Here is an article featuring CR and I pre-fest. I was so thankful to be invited to have my voice heard alongside so many interesting boundry pushing authors.

The opportunity to relax at the farm was a true gift. More than anything, it was yet another small opportunity to connect to the larger poetic mycelium and remember that I am in no way alone in this neurotic, insane place. I often have believed I was born in the wrong time. It is always such a gift to connect with poetic or artistic elders who can share stories of making art in the 60’s and 70’s.  I find that so many young performance poets/spoken word artists believe they invented poetry in it’s current form and take offense when the elders say otherwise. For me, I feel more whole as an artist to be able to connect with what came before. It is a continuum of a long story.

Thank you so much to all the island folk who built a kickass festival, took such good care of the speakers and especially to Brian and Sharon for their hospitality. (including but not limited to the food, the conversation, the wine, the baby lambs and sweet Bella the border collie).

It only takes a small amount of time to reconnect and remember who you are.

And there is still so much to come! There are some awesome shows coming up, James and I both have summer festival invitations on the rise, some publishing invites and summer opportunities for rest and work.

one toe, and we are in the current. I love this place, and I am thankful for all your couches and floors… for now.

One response to “Eating the detritus of the past will only inform the present”

  1. Magpie-home will find you when it’s ready, I love reading your words and am glad to know that you are finding what makes you feel complete and purposeful. My dear bohemian wayfaring friends, you have so many more lives to touch, the universe does not want you to settle down for too long yet!