I have led an adventurous, stimulating life and the Creator has blessed me with many stories to tell. With increased skills from more schooling, I hope to use both visual and prosaic means to share any wisdom I've gleaned and be a catalyst for new ideas and thinking in my audience.
In my writing and photography I wish to bring forth joy and sorrow, laughter, and even, pain. It is my belief that most people seek comfort and security too eagerly. I believe the mainstream media dulls our wits and desensitizes us, and can retard our ability to reason and meditate. Life is a blessing and without pain and sorrow we cannot sympathize with others, learn, grow, or even feel completely alive. Without a little danger and challenge we can stagnate. Without hardship we cannot develop a grateful heart.
My ultimate goal is to write and take pictures skillfully enough to afford myself the freedom of international travel and control over my own time and destiny. Because Rome wasn't built in a day, I know the next step may be to purchase a guest house or cafe within four or five years to increase the time and energy I have available for writing and photography.
In those days the hottest spot in the Wild West was Kaiser's Cafe, with big name reggae stars weekly, in season. On this evening it so happened the place ram (was packed full, translated). You old-timers will remember the road then was narrow, winding, treacherous. Thirty mph worked well enough. Just past the Lighthouse, a funny thing happened, my pupils began to dilate. As I approached Kaiser's, a bright lemon yellow pickup parked out front swerved into my "lane" from the left. No, really, I wasn't seeing colors.
I cut right but as fate would have it, two dreadlocks on motorcycles were just topping the rise then. Clash! Well, injuries were minor, thank Jah, but there was some damage to both bikes. Maybe some of you know Massive, dat a Paul from Archway. He was in the lead and took more damage.
An angry mob of Yardies and Tourists soon formed out front of Kaiser's with exclamations that I was drunk and forgot to drive on the left. Apparently my "mad rass" could have killed de youth, dem, who were barely suffering from road rash. The lemon yellow pickup was long gone, and in my condition I was silent anyway, listening, observing, weighing my options, and calculating the costs (always the mercenary). But when calls for Babylon (cops, translated) to be brought forth came forward, I sprang into action and calmly but firmly exclaimed, "Chah nuh mon! Jus tek up de bikes dem, nuh. One a dem can fit inna de back and we a carry it go dung Wes. We a come back fi de udda one, an a marnin we a go Sav fi de parts. Me a let off simtim fe oono troubles, seen?"
As the two Rastas and I sat up through the night way out West, we were joined by others and we reasoned til morning, eating soursop and passing the collie cup. During the night, Massive dubbed me "Marble," due, he said, to I "handled myself cool and deadly, slick and smooth even though my 'eyes were bright.'"
"Well," I replied, ""me nuh easy me hard, like marble." Not a conceit, just the kind of thing you try to say often dunga Yard.
Within a week, somehow, and to this day, I was known by this pet name abroad and "at home" wherever I went in Jamaica.
Life is usually full of twists and turns and unseen surprises around each bend in the road, especially for the restless soul. Some embrace the unexpected, even seek it out. Though helicopter skiing and bungee jumping are the more common ways adrenelin junkies get their fix now, those born in the Sixties sought other means than extreme sports to experience the uncommon, highly stimulating, alternative lifestyles popular then. India, Mexico, Thailand, and Jamaica, to name a few, were hotspots for those restless souls and Seekers.
After leaving home I soon entered one of Yogi Bhajan's ashrams. 3HO, Healthy, Happy, Holy Organization, we called ourselves. You may have seen us about the world somewhere; dressed all in white, a steel bangle bracelet around our wrists in a time when our turbans didn't offend anyone or make them want to hurt us. We taught yoga, made yogurt, and celebrated events like Summer Solstice.
Does anyone remember the movie, "Siddartha" about the life of the man who became Budda? He was the son of an Indian holy man of the upper caste. I liken my life a little to his. During my most intense periods of Seeking, I have tried austerity, meditation, self-discipline, wandering, hedonistic pleasures and excesses, and intense philosophical and spiritual study, Eastern, Western, and Humanist, to find the ever-elusive Truth.
Though I've never been a butcher I have baked and made candles. I did a stint in the Air Force, lived in Jamaica with a business there, lived in consort with a veteran reggae artist in San Francisco, spent some time and energy in Vegas and Miami, worked with a successful televangelist's ministry, did the urban yuppie scene, and I am now in a Mountain Woman Country Girl phase in a small town in Colorado.
For those of you who are interested and like my writing style, visit regularly because this site will continue to grow as I add more short stories about adventures, joys, and sorrows throughout my travels and studies in the real world. I have more questions than answers about Life and Truth, but let's take the ride together and see if we can figure some of it out.
This site is one woman's perceptions of the world she lives in, so feel free to disagree and tell me so in a civilized manner.
I get to understand over the last several years that I am far from being the only one with this blood disorder. Through the internet I am now aware that tens of thousands if not millions, of people worldwide have a special affinity for Jamaican culture.
This is not technically a site devoted to Jamaica, and much of its content will be on other subjects, but it's all about the writing and the only gain I hope to receive from this site is feedback on my style of expression.
Having said aaaallllll that . . . on with the Stories!
1977
