New blog : Natural Healing Tinea Versicolor

New blog : Natural Healing Tinea Versicolor

hey friends! i’ve started a new blog today & made my first post.

~ http://naturalhealingtineaversicolor.wordpress.com/ ~

for three years now i’ve had a little rash (composed of a fungus ~ tinea versicolor~ which exists on all of our skins, but which can get out of control on some skins & be annoying and sometimes unsightly or itchy!). there’s not a lot of clear data on the internet for how to use natural / home remedies to remedy or prevent it (and conclusive research is that it’s impossible to prevent! what?! i’m going to try to see if i can disprove that one!).

a lot of sites will say, “you can use this or that (insert natural remedy),” but don’t give real data on if it works or how to use it. so i’m creating a blog where i experiment with what works for me & this information will be shared to benefit other people. perhaps you have tinea versicolor pop up on your skin in the summertime or know someone who does – what has worked for you?

i hope you’ll come over & visit my blog or share it with a friend who would do well to connect with it/me. it’s a very common skin infection; you may be surprised! thanks! ❤ wren

writing space; living in place

i write when i am on the move. when i ride my bike. when i used to have an iphone (that hadn’t been “rained out”), i’d write on the go, anywhere i was. i remember once leaving a friend’s house on my bike & on my way back into town, i stopped in a cemetery to breathe, to take life in & slow down and as i sat beneath a tree overlooking the graves the sharp contrast between the living & the dying prompting me toward life a small bird came and perched on my head. as this was years ago now, i can’t remember what type of bird it was; a simple cemetery sitter, maybe a common nuthatch.

bike tour resting at an ecovillage; tons of fodder for writing there!

bike tour resting at an ecovillage; tons of fodder for writing there!

i write on the go on the move and when i am still & when i am confused. i write inspiredly & i write to make sense of things. i write to prod & i write when my thoughts & emotions are like a vast savannah laid out before me, everything plain to see.

i write to bring my own bird into flight. to free myself from my self-imposed cages.

fly into the light

fly into the light

i write to be my own desert oasis.

oasis at joshua tree

oasis at joshua tree

thanks, daily post.

the way i treasure my body: a tribute

For our final assignment, tell the tale of your most-prized possession. If you’re up for a twist, go long — experiment with longform and push yourself to write more than usual.

Lately, I’ve been indulging in these daily prompts. As I reflected on this one, I immediately thought, “My most prized possession? I don’t think I have one!” Then, after a moment’s thinking outside of the box, I knew what my most prized possession is: my body.


my body

tending a garden using my body

tending a garden using my body

when i was a young girl i used my body to climb trees. i was like a little monkey then, scrambling and scuffling amid branches, up and down trunks. sometimes i’d stay in trees for hours pretending i was a mother monkey. one christmas i got a set of “babies” that fit in a snug fanny-pack carrying case. i was SO excited to receive those triplets because what i most wanted to do with them was scuttle up that tree & pretend we were all sitting up there. and then i was so content just to sit up there pretending with my children. thinking back on it now, that was the peak of my satisfaction then, climbing a tree as a mother monkey, babies in tow.

some things have changed since those days. though these things remain: i still love to climb trees, i still have no children of my own, and i still love to use my body in all manner of ways. when i think of my most prized possession, in fact, it is my body which comes to the fore. recently my partner and i moved to the appalachians where we have been experimenting living on an old homestead. we’ve planted potatoes (sweet & not), herbs for tea & medicine & kitchen, carrots, tomatoes, arugula & flowers. we’ve worked on the old shack we’ve been staying in- putting boards, rat wire & steel wool up to keep mice out. we’ve looked into running a pipe from the stream to our shack, which is off the grid, to have easier access at doing dishes, getting water for cooking, drinking & bathing. we’ve met the neighbors & put down some roots. we’ve traveled to the nearby mountain during a festival and sold some hats we got in Peru. all in all, we’ve been settling in and wondering if this could be a place that we eventually build a house & put further homesteading dreams on the ground.

last night, however, many of our dreams finally came crumbling to the ground – maybe they were even aflame and burning down! you see, my partner’s parent’s best friends recently lost one of their tribe to the hantavirus, a virus carried by deer mice (also known as field mice). this has made us cautious from the start about the horrible end-game possibilities of living with mice. and there are deer mice all over our shack; pooping in corners, on our food bins & counters and scurrying about as the dawn breaks or shortly after we retire for bed. it’s all too much! we’ve been putting so much effort into living in this place (and mouse-proofing it!) and really hoped it could be a place we could settle our dreams in, but health is more important.

our current shack sure is cute & we love it, but the problems with the mice have proved to be too much.

our current shack sure is cute & we love it, but the problems with the mice have proved to be too much.

in the end, my body is more important. because this is the vehicle that gets me through life. my breathing is my primary contact with this earth. respiration in and out of my lungs, taking in the earth, letting it feed me down to my cells, and exhaling back into the greater whole. where would i be without my body? i cannot allow molds, funguses, air-borne viruses or any other silent, lurking, invisible slow “killers” to find a home in my primary home, my body!

it feels sad to choose to leave this place. i am grieving today as i tie up loose threads around the property & carry things to again be wisely placed into our car. and while i am feeling this sadness & grief in my body, i am also breathing in my body, and feeling thankful for this opportunity, for the chance to experiment in this way on this beautiful appalachian homestead with its cool sweet mountain fresh spring water, drinkable straight from the source; for its wild delightful mountain air; for its trees & people. for it really is a lovely place. but, in the final count, i need my body, my sacred temple which allows me to interface so freely & jubilantly with the world outside of myself.

for you see, i would be a much different person if i didn’t have my body. being active has always been a part of my life. from taking 6 weeks to ride my bike up the west coast from LA to BC, Canada (you can read more about that awesome journey here: ourdailyride.wordpress.com); playing D1 college soccer; taking innumerable bike rides all over Indiana, Maine, Missouri, California, & Oregon; being a massage therapist for a time; being an outdoor guide & climbing mountains, rock climbing, hiking for days; trekking with my beloved recently in Peru… i use my body for so many things in my life. and i have been with it through sicknesses and challenges and anemia & weak adrenals. when this happens, i feed it what it needs; take proper medications, and i always eat so well.

i have gone through high school in my body, when it looked different than it does now. i have learned to cut the hair of my own body (and shaved my head twice!). i’ve made love with my body, and pushed myself to run faster with my body; two activities which leave me feeling relieved, but in drastically different ways. i have taken pictures of my nude body and posed my body for group shots, for fancy events, family photos, outings with friends & art projects. i’ve felt water in oceans, bathtubs, showers, rivers, cenotes, streams, ponds & puddles caress and careen my body. i’ve grown food via my body & eaten tons of it! i’ve put clothes on my body, gone without clothes & i’ve rubbed mud all over my body,

see! happily rubbing mud all over my awesome body

see! happily rubbing mud all over my awesome body

 

i’ve done so many things with/via my body! my body is my primary focal point as i live. through body-based therapies i’ve learned to listen to my body to find out where emotions are speaking from, and through doing this, i’ve gotten more in touch with my body & emotions. i’ve learned how to use my body to help free my mind. and i love using my body to pleasure myself and others of my choosing. this vehicle through which i travel this globe is my most important possession. i choose to possess and carry it with as much wisdom as i have in any given moment. and if i see that i’ve been making choices that are unwise for my body, i will change those things so that i can live in greater alignment with health and well-being. because my body is an awesome gift & i want to use it the best way i possibly can for many more years to come!!!

in the garden of freely written weeds

thanks for the inspiration, daily post 🙂

“Today is a free writing day. Write at least four-hundred words, and once you start typing, don’t stop. No self-editing, no trash-talking, and no second guessing: just go. Bonus points if you tackle an idea you’ve been playing with but think is too silly to post about.”

good thing i started this this morning in my usual pre-writing warm-up of writing whatever the fuck wants to come out!

Good, she slipped in past the gates. The guards were enamored by her shiny plaits, not even realizing what slips under their gaze. Superficial sally subterfuges willy wonky heart spirals. Tombstone groomstone hello moonstone. Sapphire giraffe fire hello backfire . hello goodbye rye stye eye fly. Hello good morn jello mold uncle horn. Jello mold uncle horn reborn true form hello goodbye 4 3 8 stye one time fly by fire fly fire fly uncle jump yellow trunk hay bale dry spell uncle wren hi then queen lace dread face xylophone instigate yellow jacket I elate relate uncle hay bale dale frail ol mail female red grail holy snail junk pail sex fire 4 trie quail egg remake 7 8 2 1 sally subterfuge has won.

okay okay okay, so the idea i want to write about is actually spoken of in this daily prompt in the words, “the rational mind doesn’t nourish you.”

when i say, slipping past the guards/gates, that is exactly what i’m talking about! i see the gates/guards as…

the rational mind …

the rational mind as a kind of trap, a filter that inhibits us from reaching full heights/depths/potentials of thought/imagination … we’re going places kid and the rational mind can only take you so far.

one time i lived with a famous writer & that’s what she told me … you get to a certain point in the creative process where the mind doesn’t help you at all. at this point, you just have to be washing the dishes or going for a walk in the woods or lighting the peace pipe for ceremony and then

WHAM!

that’s when the “good idea” “better” “best” idea comes forth… the mind can only take you so far … and then there is mystery that moves through us.

 

And isn’t that what all good writers try to do (of course good is a subjective in my own head)? to try to write the spark of life into their words? (you can quote me on that one, dear wordpressers.)

 

From time to time i have written stuff that i look back on and think, wow, that’s actually got merit … maybe i should harvest a bit from that piece. the piece could’ve been hidden for years in the antiquated folders of my computer.. such a post a came upon the other day.

 

i think i wrote it while i was housesitting on a mountain in southern california, in a home where i could see the city of LA from the mountains in the evenings. it sure made me think… here’s an unedited, spur-of-the-moment piece from then 🙂 :

 

You are the artist

We give you space and trinkets and wine

You are the artist, after all,

And you might need it to take the edge off

From all of your midnight wandering up lake ave at night

To reach the mountains and see the city

An indeterminable call that wells up

And froths forth from your mouth

So we’ll take the froth, collect it in little jars

Bottle it and sell it, maybe even around the world

And we’ll feed you wine, you might need I to take the edge off

Tear the edge off the world, to reach center

 

 

 

 

When the world says you are a writer

Write for us and share oh please share as if your life depends on it and so does ours

And so does ours

My gender pronoun of choice is us

What do you adore

 

I cannot live without you garden

 

Oh my god I am sick with your words mary you cut right to the point and present your poems as is you are some dark cryptic grave the shell that breaks open to reveal the lifeseed sprouting

In each of us!

If I can tell you anything tonight through my words

It is that the creative spark is in each of us

Did you hear me

It is not relegated to any one other than you tied up in your very same flesh

You amid the mud and pinnings of culture and ways we do this around here

If I could give you just one glimpse of the nature within

One waft for your glorious sniffer of the scent of freedom

If I could cast a little light on your trail right night

Your trail which is your very own which is your vewy own

How can I say again what cannot be said

Only felt

A  felt sence so I bring attention to it now

I call from the top of the mountains are you listening

Bring your self forth

Bring your self forth

the Great Forgetting & Remembering

Once upon a time, the earth was a part of everything on it. Connection with the earth was acknowledged in song & dance, in ceremony & creed. The earth was known as The Great Mother From Whom All Things Flow Forth. Before building homes or starting new businesses, humans would have intense rituals embracing their need to have the protection & support of Mother Earth- for without her blessing, nothing would flourish.

Mother Earth had many songs in these times. There were songs for harvesting. Songs for planting. Songs for sadness & grief. Songs for love. Songs of patience & songs of courting. There were songs for birth & songs of death. And Mother Earth was included in all of these songs. There was always weeping & laughter in the land, but everyone knew they were held by Mother Earth and so, whether stupefied with sadness or howling with joy, they each found comfort in her strong embrace.

Young men, Old women, new babies, and everyone in between honored Mother Earth. It wasn’t anyone’s job to speak for her, to mention her or to honor her; Each and every member of the land, from birth until death, spoke with adoration and humility in her heart about The Great Mother From Whom All Things Flow Forth. For it was truly apparent that everything came from her hand and went back to her body. This was The Great Cycle and everyone knew themselves as inextricably a part of it.

There were the traders, the mothers, the wisdom carriers, the artisans, the troubadours, the homeless, the farmers, and many more facets of the society which played roles in its function and all of these thanked & honored Mother Earth. Not one, except maybe the farmers & the wisdom carriers, had a greater or more intimate esteem for Mother Earth, for each of them, from the day they were born until the day they died, drank from her streams, ate the bounty from her lap, felt her wind in their face, and climbed all over her body dancing, limping, crawling, singing, weeping, lauding. Each of them knew themselves inextricably a part of her Presence. And this is the way it always was.

This was the way it always was, until it was slowly this way no more. It’s hard to say when the shift happened, when the earth stopped being a part of everything on it. The deer and wind, streams and tree frogs, lightening and spiders certainly remained with the earth in it, but something started to happen to the minds of the humans. Slowly, over time & person by person to family by family to tribe by tribe, the humans started to count the things of the earth, which before they had seen as a gift to them, as their right. And they forgot to give thanks & honor Mother Earth. Slowly the men, because they were physically stronger & in fear of the women’s power & sexuality (which are often so closely intertwined), started to treat their wives & daughters, mothers & grandmothers as if it was their right to lord over them, as if the women were there to serve them. And they enforced this through violence, violation & punishment.

Slowly, slowly people started to forget that the earth was a part of them; that they were a part of the earth and that they were all equals. Tribes started to see themselves as inherently different; as if from a different place, as if different species. People no longer saw themselves as siblings of one human family, no matter the color of their skin. Instead, certain skin colors were prized over others & the dominating group would make the “others” subservient to them through laws, violation, violence and punishment. Slowly, slowly as the human mind forgot what the human body & heart had always known, humans no longer thought of one another as kin, but as enemies conquesting for resources.

What was once a gift to give thanks to Mother Earth for, like precious stones & jewels from the earth or conch shells, feathers, fine bone & wood pieces, became objects of a hoarding contest. Whoever can take the most of these things, becomes the most powerful and therefore has the ability to control the others. Slowly, slowly people forgot that it wasn’t always this way – the faint murmurings of the heart that not only was another way possible, but it was the way things used to be: a life of connection, abundance, togetherness, sharing & caring, gratitude and respect for one another & Mother Earth- this whisper of heart & body became nearly unbelievable. This murmur became something the dominating controllers scoffed at.

And so, though children born from the heart of the earth & from the stars came with these ancient secrets on their lips, the dominating controllers silenced & shamed them and kept telling the story of greed, one-upmanship, exploitation, and competition. They controlled the media sources where everyone got their information & told stories of fear & of war. Technology & machines took the place of human contact and while they sped up The Progress, thousands of species became extinct, waters & air became dangerously polluted, soil was poisoned & degraded, food started to be a specialized lab experiment and was no longer the thing of every backyard & wars over Mother Earth’s resources became commonplace. Children’s voices were not heard & a child was very fortunate if they were able to remember some of the whispers about being a Child of The Great Mother From Whom All Things Flow Forth. At night, masses of humans would feel great tremors of sadness from within & so alcohol, cigarettes, heroin, meth, abuse & violence were the strong distractors away from their feelings of sadness, which were really cries of remembrance from their heart, from their bones, which remembered that they were a part of Mother Earth.

For Mother Earth never stopped crying out to all that was a part of her, to everything that was on her, eating from her body & drinking from her veins the streams. She spoke through plants, through dreams, through children & to the human’s minds in the evenings as another sun set, as this was a time when the people, finished with their labor of the day, were particularly vulnerable for remembering as the veil was thin between the imagination & the heart.

And The Great Mother From Whom All Things Flow Forth has gotten through to many of her children, which is how I am writing this story at all. She has whispered to me through my blood & bones which are fueled by her body, by her vegetables & animal flesh, through her sporiforous mushrooms & her seaweed, and her water and berries– through all of these things which fuel my body, her body is able to speak to me through my cells. She reminds me that this is the way forward, in remembering what once was and still is, yet has been forgotten – in remembering this connection with our Mother Earth so much that one day I remember it into existing again.

 

a creative re-telling of our origin, kind-of inspired by daily post.

firewood haiku

firewood haiku

first heat: collecting
second: there’s heat in sawing
lastly, in winter