Interview in Poets and Artists!

I'm very honored that poet and critic Michael Parker's interview about my work appears in the September 2010 issue of the beautiful online magazine, Poets and Artists.

Parker chose my book as his Best Book of 2009!

The interview covers my book,"And Aeneas Stares Into Her Helmet" (Carolina Wren Press 2009), as well as upcoming film and music projects.

Read the interview in Poets and Artists. Scroll down to the interview on pages 24-30.

Monks as Trees, Trees as Monks

Cambodian monk Bun Saluth ordained (as if they were budding monks!) wide swaths of forest in northwest Cambodia. In doing so, he inspired local villagers to unite to protect the woodland and its animals, setting up patrols to ward off illegal logging. He was honored by the United Nations for his unique concept of preserving biodiversity.

Cornerstone of the program is livelihood diversification; various cottage industries have been cultivated, including mushroom cultivation and the collection of resin from the mouths of trees. Cutting the resin pools into the trees appears to give them black mouths, as if they were speaking!

Monk Saluth explains his philosophy: “The Buddha was born under a tree in the forest, he meditated under a tree in the forest, he achieved enlightenment under a tree in the forest and he died under a tree in the forest. You can say that the forest is the house of the Buddha. Since monks are considered sons of the Buddha, we have a responsibility to protect the house of the Buddha.”

Let's ordain! Let's see what's holy! Let's bless!

More on Bun Saluth

White Heel in Desert

Not mine, I promise! Stumbled upon in the red desert outside my father's home in Las Vegas, Nevada.

Costa Rican Hot Springs Sustainable Community

On my travels, I met Silvio Bonomelli, an Italian jungle man who is creating a self-sustaining thermal pool community in Costa Rica. Silvio transmits a truly inspiring vision of do-it-yourself sustainability.

There are 17 naturally occurring hot (very hot!) springs on the land, and it looks to be a paradise. Silvio is using biodynamic agriculture methods (“better than organic!” he told me), growing an incredible bounty of crops on this land: banana, chayote, avocado, coffee, and an odd assortment of shaped Christmas trees, a leftover from the previous owner. He has a good rapport with the local families, and is engaging local children in the project.

Silvio and his team are constructing this life as we speak, and Silvio welcomes people to come and see (and maybe lend an arm!)
See video of Silvio rolling through the jungle

Tar Sands Mining in Utah?

The project to mine the Athabascan Oil Sands in Canada is the most destructive project on earth, emitting 82% more greenhouse gasses than normal oil processes. (So says my Credo newsletter.) Photo to left is of Syncrude Corporation's tar sands mining in Mildred Lake, Alberta.

Utah has approved a permit to a Canadian company to conduct tar sands mining in areas where black bears, elk, and wild horses find their homes.

Please do call Utah’s Mining division to press them to deny the permit to the tar sands mining company: 801.538.5340.

It Is Announced in my Neighborhood: Johannes Mehserle Sentencing

It is a beautiful November night. Today I wore flip-flops all day, even in the night, in the hills, when I walked with the dogs on the hill paths. Tonight, at 7:45 p.m., the windows are open, and through them drifts in the sound of helicopters whirring. There are three helicopters, to be exact. They are looking—

When I came down from the hills and reached 580, three fire trucks, one by one, turned in front of me, and made their way silently down Park Boulevard. Then, they turned on their lights, so in front of me arose, as I drove, a yellow train of turning lights. My neighborhood.

Then, the helicopters, their motors audible from here, and those spinning blades. Out my window I see one moving a few streets over from here: red and white and blue. The white blade of its searchlight beaming down into the black city rotates as the machine makes a radius. As in the shape of a beautiful circle. They are looking—Hunting for something. Someone. Someone has run, someone has run from downtown, someone has done something, or not. Here in the western section behind the western edge of the lake, Lake Merritt. I walk down and around it almost every day. A white chain of lights around it. Choked, they have choked them into a space.
They started at 12th St. in the city center. They walked here. Across the street, my neighbor walks up his long red cement steps, carrying a pizza. It is normal for our area.

Normal, but different. It was announced. The one who killed the one who was on the ground. Hands bound behind him, the one on the ground. The one who took the gun from his hip and fired at the back in front of him. That one, the one on the ground, shot shot. Around him, people called out. The people did not rush the one who had shot the one on the ground who was tied up. The people took photos.

Then, the people fled. The people are somewhere, here, in Oakland, they have been cornered in my neighborhood. It was announced. Today. You know already that the one on the ground died. The one who had his arms bound. The one who was waiting for the verdict. It was announced today what happened in the court. To that one, the one on top, who pulled the gun, that shot. Who wouldn’t be angry? I was angry. Incredulous. That cop. Not quite a cop.

They have been cornered behind the lake. It was a gorgeous day in Oakland today, I wore flip-flops all day. I also fell in love with you, and meanwhile, in the court, the verdict was announced. The sentencing.

When I drove up in the hills, the orange sun of sunset struck low across the redwoods, turning the shredded bark burnt orange, as in the pastoral paintings of California from the 1920’s, the golden age of light, where fairies danced, but they were people.

The truth is that— They are searching. The whirring of the blades is loud, it is almost overhead. The dog’s ears are pressed flat back against her head, she is frightened. They only are getting louder, over here, the blades, we feel we might be in them, the mechanism. At some point the night will be over, but now it is high, and near. Fear. There is an impulse to want them to be found, just so that the whirring will stop and—

The sentencing. Today it was announced. The man. The one who fired the shot to kill the man on the ground. It was announced, the years. He will dwell in—

Two. Two for killing one man. And I thought, how little. Doesn’t it seem small?

If you kill five, you go for ten years? It almost seems a bargain. Someone is getting a bargain.

Whenever I take the BART train to the airport, we always stop at the stop where the man—where it happened. Fruitvale, the sign reads, in bold letters, and we pause at the platform, the platform where the man laid down, was shot, and never got up again. New Year’s. There it was, I think, and I look out of the door, and look onto the platform, and I can see it. They have cleaned up the blood from the platform. Someone, himself perhaps from Oakland, took a mop and cleaned the blood.

When he was shot and died, the people, who were celebrating the sparks of the new year, began, astonished, to yell out. They took their photos and then they scattered.

Two years. I was thinking five, or seven, or—Two. It seems so small. Doesn’t it?

Oct. 28 Reading Video

I read Oct. 28 at the Berkeley Unitarian Church. Thanks again to Mickey Huff for inviting me! Here's a video of the 20 minute reading.
See the video