Stopped in place because… the pain now takes a solo through the days. Everything is in movement, but me; I stay inert, quiet, nothing hurts inert, no grinding my bones on my bones.
If I just breathe quietly and watch the sunlight bouncing off my crystal shiny things, that hang in my window to entertain me… rainbowing along my walls like prism rockets, invading my ceiling with reds and oranges yellows and blues Painless Purple!.
Then so am I, as I go mesmerized , by streamers blowing in gusts of wind, rocking boughs of the trees, shimmying their leaves in the background. I might almost be approaching meditation.. while the world is so busy around me. Footsteps taking someone somewhere to do something, I do nothing, but glaze my eyes on beauty, breathe softly, avoid movement. I, the static statue that dreams of running in the woods, skipping down the jungle paths, a graceful leaping gazelle, with not a care in the world…
And no pain.
I’ve been working on trying to say something (after all I am a poet) for the last 3 weeks..to find the words for these extraordinary times.. My muse seems, besides practicing distancing, has now locked herself in quarantine, in some place unknown to me.
I was remembering when we used to hug… We hugged our kids and each other and neighbors and our friends.. I find myself now practicing an Arab greeting of putting my hand over my heart as I stand 6 feet away telling them, with this gesture, how much they mean to me.. but don’t come any closer.
And what is happening in New York, for me so far away, reminds me of something else that happened in New York, that fateful 2001 day.… but instead of an instant day of horror, 2020 is doing it another way… in a loop. a slow motion crescendo of death and lives destroyed, spread all over the state and doctors crying in the corridors and where are the masks, the ventilators ? Oh my god….is this really happening? This year we see New York imploding on itself with bodies piling up in refrigerator trucks and.. Oh my god….. is this really happening?
In 2020 a new word must be invented..something that impacts more than surreal, because that word, SURREAL, is now flying out of people’s mouths in tatters , being used and overused by everyone . I open my eyes and still whisper it to myself…”surreal “… but it doesn’t say, what I want it to say.
I sleep at night worrying about who has the ventilators , what do we do when all those courageous healthcare workers just sit down and cry in their hands all together because the enormity of their task is….. TOO Enormous!
For the next 4 days we can’t drive a car, and although all I now hear are birds and wind, where before trucks using their j-brakes were negotiating my hill, so loudly they would wake me up in the middle of the night, I find this end of the world feeling, both beautiful, peaceful and frightening.
There must be another word…..besides surreal.. to describe the Easter of 2020… with The Ramadan of Our Pandemia approaching…
Spring gave birth to scenes of sickness, death and tears, As I wasn’t alive in 1918, I don’t remember anything like this or those years but in 2020 with my eyes wide open, a hole in my heart, my face iced in tears I pray we learn to value life and those who give- up themselves to save it, while we make our small sacrifice of staying at home, to do our part for the human race.
En Español
La Pandemia de 2020
He estado tratando de decir algo (después de todo, soy poeta)
durante las últimas 3 semanas … para encontrar las palabras para estos tiempos extraordinarios …
Parece que mi musa, además de practicar el distanciamiento, se ha encerrado en cuarentena,
En algún lugar desconocido para mí.
Estaba recordando cuando solíamos abrazarnos …
Nos abrazamos a nuestros hijos, a los demás, a los vecinos y a nuestros amigos.
Ahora me encuentro practicando un saludo árabe de poner mi mano sobre mi corazón.
mientras estoy a 6 pies de distancia diciéndoles, con este gesto, cuánto significan para mí,
pero no te acerques más.
Y lo que está pasando en Nueva York, para mí tan lejos,
me recuerda algo más que sucedió en Nueva York,
ese fatídico día de 2001 …
pero en lugar de un día instantáneo de horror, 2020 lo está haciendo de otra manera …
en un bucle una cámara lenta de crescendo de muerte y vidas destruidas, esparcidas por todo el estado
y doctores llorando en los pasillos y dónde están las máscaras, los ventiladores?
Dios mío … ¿está sucediendo esto realmente?
Este año vemos a Nueva York implosionándose
con cuerpos amontonados en camiones frigoríficos y ..
Dios mío … ¿está sucediendo esto realmente?
En 2020 se debe inventar una nueva palabra … algo que impacta más que surrealista,
porque esa palabra, SURREAL, ahora está volando de la boca de la gente hecha jirones,
siendo usado y usado en exceso por todos.
Abro los ojos y todavía me lo susurro … “surrealista” …
pero no dice lo que quiero que diga.
Duermo por la noche preocupándome por quién tiene los ventiladores, qué hacemos cuando todos esos valientes trabajadores de la salud simplemente se sientan y lloran en sus manos.
porque la enormidad de su tarea es … ¡DEMASIADO enorme!
Durante los próximos 4 días no podremos conducir un automóvil, y aunque ahora todo lo que escucho son pájaros y viento,
donde antes los camiones que usaban sus frenos j negociaban mi colina,
tan fuerte que me despertarían en medio de la noche
Encuentro este sentimiento del fin del mundo, hermoso, pacífico y aterrador.
Debe haber otra palabra … además de surrealista … para describir la Pascua de 2020 …
con el Ramadán de Nuestra Pandemia acercándose …
La primavera dio a luz escenas de enfermedad, muerte y lágrimas,
Como no estaba vivo en 1918, no recuerdo nada de esto o de esos años.
pero en 2020 con los ojos bien abiertos, un agujero en mi corazón, mi cara helada en lágrimas
Ruego que aprendamos a valorar la vida y a aquellos que se rinden para salvarla,
mientras hacemos nuestro pequeño sacrificio de quedarnos en casa, para hacer nuestra parte por la raza humana.
I hope you are well and safe and helping to contain this Corona Virus by staying in your homes and being creative. When Nat and I were asked to do this project, by our good friend, DB Bailey (in Second Life) Architect David Denton, in the real world, we loved it at first sight. We were aware of the homeless problem, especially in California, and were taken by this innovative design that truly is a Win/Win for the community and people in desperate need of low cost housing.
The project model was built by DB Bailey, above on our sim, at LINC Island, and we filmed it there. Thank you all who gave up a Saturday morning to be part of our film, and bring some life to the neighborhood. I have made this video public on my Channel, so many people can see this unique idea. I just ask, on YouTube, that your comments be respectful and serious, as people from the Los Angeles, building and planning commissions, will be reviewing it. At this very moment, in mid pandemic, it is not on the top of everyone’s minds, but, after the quarantine is over, people will still be needing housing desperately. Maybe even more than before.
Let Nat and I know what you think….and enjoy! Likes and Comments always welcome:)
Nat has a great post in German too. You can read ithere
A lazy, warm and slightly sensual day unfolding with barely a breeze, Blinking light in tropical greens, shadows on the branches twist and tease. Floating high above the canopy, puffs of cotton pretending to be clouds, The robin’s song, echoing in robin throats ,“ Choose me! No, choose me!” As the age-old battle of finding a mate unfolds, in every strata of every tree.
Nest building, egg sitting, stuffing beaks with ripe bananas, flitting, flying and feeding, Cicadas starting up their motors, blaring sirens of insect-looped insanity. It’s hot outside; it’s dry but now and then a grey cloud stealthily drifts by, Pretending it might bring rain, but not before those hungry little beaks have learned to fly, Not until the summer months, have nurtured fledglings in their first flight, up to the sky.
This is what it’s all about, for the outdoor dwellers who fly high over my land. They pair up, they create new lives and care for them, each throwing in a hand. Do they not feel pride or regret when their little offspring leave them, for new trees then? I imagine they sit, on branches, observing the empty nests, nodding in agreement; “Ah yes, we have been lucky…It’s been a very good dry season!”
*Please click HERE to hear its song. Many times they will begin to sing before daylight
We were blessed; we had an angel years ago, fall from the sky, nearby. We took him in, and found a special place for him, Marveled how we were chosen to house him in his time on earth. How quickly he invented his role, making himself irreplaceable..so we never tried, And we laughed and had the most gorgeous plants, and the coffee was always perfect And he was always with us…doing his supernatural things… He was our historian, our confidant our witness to all the changes and bright craziness That distinguished our household from all the rest, And he never got angry and never judged; his demeanor always smiling, Ready to fill your wish…. Like a genie, like an angel who decided to descend and serve humanity….. just because. That sounds too good to be true, but those who met him, will testify….. When they saw him; they knew.
In a painless dream he left us at dawn that last Sunday. He said he needed to change into a butterfly and if not today, the next.. Even with all of us holding his hand, he escaped through our fingers His glorious new wings iridescent in the sunlight, his face in peace, a job well done. He ascended from our earthly home, floating up back from where he came… His glorious mission complete, his train stopped at the station He left so many mortals feeling empty, but so grateful, Marveling at his beautiful exit…..with heads in our hands, tears on our faces, Because he was an angel, and now he was gone…and the magic disappeared from our lives.
This day, we lived last Sunday, was a day I feared for years… When you see that train approaching… You know that some day it will arrive. Every train that brings death, runs away with itself Certain as destiny it moves forward swiftly carrying its load But we are clumsy at the station, because what it brings us Is almost too much to bear. That’s why we gather close and hold hands, whisper words, comfort and console. We see it coming and we hope it may stop along its way, give us more time Because it carries the soul of someone we love and we are not ready…. It’s unstoppable, like loss, like nights into days, like sickness and old age But death, even for the divine, will always arrive… On time.
Karima Hoisan
January 18, 2020
Costa Rica
*En Español….
Gino
Fuimos bendecidos; Tuvimos un ángel hace años, cayerse del cielo, cerca. Lo acogimos y encontramos un lugar especial para él. Maravilladas, de cómo fuimos elegidos para alojarlo en su tiempo en la tierra. Qué rápido inventó su papel, haciéndose irremplazable … así que nunca lo intentamos, Y nos reímos y teníamos las plantas más hermosas, y el café siempre era perfecto. Y él siempre estuvo con nosotros … haciendo sus cosas sobrenaturales … Fue nuestro historiador, nuestro confidente, nuestro testigo de todos los cambios y la locura brillante. Eso distinguió a nuestra casa de todos los demás, Y nunca se enojó y nunca juzgó; su comportamiento siempre sonriendo Listo para cumplir un deseo … Como un genio, como un ángel que decidió descender y servir a la humanidad … solo porque sí. Eso suena demasiado bueno para ser verdad, pero quienes lo conocieron testificarán … Cuando lo vieron; Ellos sabían.
En un sueño indoloro, nos dejó al amanecer del último domingo. Dijo que necesitaba convertirse en una mariposa y si no hoy, la próxima … Incluso con todos nosotros sosteniendo su mano, escapó entre nuestros dedos. Sus nuevas y gloriosas alas iridiscentes a la luz del sol, su rostro en paz, un trabajo bien hecho. Él ascendió desde nuestro hogar terrenal, flotando de regreso de donde vino … Su gloriosa misión completada, su tren se detuvo en la estación Dejó a tantos mortales sintiéndose vacíos, pero tan agradecidos, Maravillándose de su hermosa salida … con cabezas en nuestras manos, lágrimas en nuestros rostros, Porque él era un ángel, y ahora se había ido … y la magia desapareció de nuestras vidas.
Este día, vivimos el domingo pasado, fue un día que temí durante años … Cuando veas que el tren se acerca … Sabes que algún día llegará. Cada tren que trae la muerte, huye consigo mismo Cierto como destino, avanza rápidamente llevando su carga Pero somos torpes en la estación, porque lo que nos trae Es casi demasiado para soportar. Por eso nos juntamos y tomamos de la mano, susurramos palabras, consuelo y consola. Lo vemos venir y esperamos que se detenga en su camino, denos más tiempo Porque lleva el alma de alguien que amamos y no estamos listos … Es imparable, como pérdida, como noches en días, como enfermedad y vejez. Pero la muerte, incluso para lo divino, siempre llegará … Justo a tiempo.
If only love can kill a demon; only love can cure a demon, all those lashing tails and tongues snapping at your heels. If you run, they’ll chase you….. If you stand your ground, they’ll eat you, but if you love them, you can stop them in their tracks. Extract their fangs! Clip their claws! Close their eyes! Pin their jaws! And hug them tight, without hurting them at all! They’re wounded…. Hug them like a tango Hug them with a whisper in their ear! Hug them like you’ve loved them all your life! Hug them with commitment and No Fear!
They’ll be… Falling at your feet, Bowing down upon the ground Humbled, tamed and changed. Hear their voices, they’ll tell you, “I need help,” such a plaintive evil voice, “I need your help” “I can’t do it alone.” If you are who you say you are, it should be easy…. Easy to forgive their scales and barbed tails Easy to forget; they almost killed you, betrayed you, maligned your name. But, when you loved them anyway, They could no longer slay you..eat you alive, steam roll over you They could not scare the pale halo off of you, that’s floating round your head.
Only love can cure a demon Only the touch of an innocent can change dark alchemy into spun gold manes. Can you imagine being like them? Trapped in their malignancy depraved? Stroke them, give them hope, Whisper, “It will be all right..the sun will rise on the other side for you” Then….make them spin…spin in all benevolence! Spin them until they’re dizzy with being cherished and held dear! How they start to smooth..and soften those hard edges horns falling off as you spin them faster ‘n faster. Turn them into puffs and cream, turn them into rainbow dreams. Make them your puppy dog that follows you day and night. Make them mirror all the goodness they received. Make them believe..if only they believe that love is stronger than anything they can achieve! Only love can cure a demon. It’s the only way. Only love from an innocent heart can disarm the beast..and make him meek so they too can inherit the earth the afterlife all the worlds to come. Only love can kill a demon… true Only love can cure a demon… too! Don’t kill the demon; give it a second chance! Only love can cure a demon! Only love can cure a demon!
Love knows how to find its way back home. It never gets lost forever in the void. It sometimes strays a ways for days, but takes all the shortcuts on its return.
It can be so capricious, not even love knows what it wants It can run away to figure it out, but with time it always does It can be mortally wounded and yet it can get strong again It can cry and lose all hope, then fill with hope and run back. It can forgive and it can forget. It can forgive and forget. It always forgives and forgets…..and is love again
And it loves again… because it’s really love and love knows.
Love knows how to find its way back home. It never gets lost forever in the void. It sometimes strays a ways for days, but takes all the shortcuts on its return.
It was four years ago this month, Karima was sitting, reading in her garden
It was four years ago this month, Karima was sitting, reading in her garden, most likely a book of verse, when someone said to her,
“I am watching the Discovery Channel on my television and they are talking about a strange virtual world, they call it Second Life.”
Luckily she was reading on her laptop (smiles) so she put in the address he told her, and before she knew it, she was yelling from the garden to the house, “Oh what fun, I will make an avatar, and choose a name.
I am going to be “the girl-next-door model”
“What do you think of the name “Karima Hoisan”? “Ha ha I am learning how to fly.” “I just had a conversation with a parrot” “This looks pretty amazing… Come see!” I took the first photograph of myself, which would be the first of thousands, and not knowing how to use my camera very well, was a straight noob shot from behind.
and then I fell off of Avatar Island and landed on what would be my home..forever
and then I fell off of Avatar Island and landed, on what would be my home…forever.
How many memories, tears, laughter, learning curves, creative flops and successes, loves, losses, dreams in windlight, frustrations, and moments of utter bliss, in these last four years?!! Family was born, and some were lost, friends were made, tested with time and they lasted..some left themselves along the way, and didn’t make it to today, while some disappeared into the night, like fog. If I had it to do all over again, I would in a heart beat.
Second Life changed my life in way, that four years later I am coming to understand, and to harvest and collect the creative fruits, daily, monthly, yearly.
Then one year ago this month, an idea that was born almost in the first few weeks of my Second Life journey, was realized in the publishing of my first poetry book in world, entitled, “Digital Rabbit Hole” My publisher BellaLuna Galaxy suggested, no actually she insisted, I start a blog too at the same time, to promote my book, announce my readings, or for whatever I might want to share with those who enjoyed my poetry. I could not imagine at the time, what I would ever say in a blog, and fought this idea, pretty insistently…until I lost. I was sort of like a SouthPark character walking away, mumbling to herself,
“Ok. Ok. I’ll keep a blog (grrr) Sheesh@!”
Now a year later, I look back so fondly, and see BellaLuna knew what I never could imagine, that a blog, takes on its own life, and through it, I have had so many incredible experiences, and inspirations, so many friends, who I connected with even more deeply by sharing my posts with them, and the whole year has been an amazing experience. I tried, sometimes less successfully than others, new things, new mediums for me and art forms. Stories were born, videos were made, and adventures were had. If I had it to do all over again, I would in a heart beat. I close with this video, the first ever made for me, by my friend Fidel, another Second Life jewel discovered when I wasn’t even looking for jewels. This was the promotional video for my official book launching on Galaxy Isle, and those who were there, will testify that we crashed the sim that day. Milestones and Memories of December! Thank you all for making my Second Life and this blog such a joyous experience for me.. Happy Holidays to you, and thank you for letting me show and share and learn to love you.
Thin Air
In this thin air of real life Only duty can call me to return For nothing is as glorious as a Sunset in windlight, Descending sphere we’ve come to love Hypnotizing glow and burn.
Oh Second Life you swallowed me Took me by surprise, Creative rapture! I am the willing victim Of your virtual possession, Digital rabbit hole… How you enthrall then capture.
I dream in your reflecting colors Of shifting shapes, I weep to see so much beauty on your shores, And in the souls of Some few special ones I find I burst into Emoting seeds and spores.
I stand in awe and let myself be moved. Love here knocks , it calls in many ways. My door is always open To your changing scenes, My heart expands with each Oxygen -rich day
I breathe you in, Thick.. so full of life, spontaneous laughter How thin the air above , all day the grey it makes me choke, I almost lost the will to live just could not see a why for it ‘Til I was rezzed upon your land Oh, changed forever after.
Karima Hoisan March 21,2008 Costa Rica
An excerpt from “Digital Rabbit Hole” copyright 2010 all rights reserved
Me dijiste: “Este momento..este momento exacto que estamos viviendo quiero guardarlo en una caja de oro… cada pensamiento, cada palabra suspirada cada paso, cada segundo, cada gemido.”
Te dije: “Yo soy tu poeta, y para ti, construyo esta cajita con solo mis humildes palabras y mis pobres estrofas con mi amor, tejo el techo con mosaicos de nuestra historia con estos meses de pasión, de lujuria y sequía y espera Con los dolores propios y los de todos que nos rodean Con lágrimas de risa y llantos de frustración Te voy a regalarte esta cajita para los recuerdos los momentos únicos que hemos vivido, y que seguimos viviendo Tu decides cuales son que tu quieres guardar, y yo estiro los lados cuando la caja se llena y yo estiro mi corazón para amarte más cada día.”
The Gold Box For E.
You told me: “This moment … this exact moment we are living… I want to store it, in a gold box … Every thought, every sighed word Every step, every second, every moan.”
I told you: “I am your poet, and for you, I build this little box With only my humble words and my poor stanzas. With my love, I weave the roof with mosaics of our history With these months of passion, lust and drought and waiting With our own pains and those of everyone around us With tears of laughter and tears of frustration I’m going to give you this little box for memories the unique moments that we have lived, and that we continue to live You decide which ones you want to save, and I will stretch the sides when the box is full and I will stretch my heart to love you more each day.”
If it’s true what they now say, That my memories float off into the invisible everything, Trailing behind me and the earth all mixed up connecting, All of us to each other and every moment to every other; My joy is to tap into those swirling trails and bring down my poetry.
It’s no surprise to me, that every word I write, has already been written; Been whispered in love, over and over in every language, in every way, Until my past might be your future, and yours, the beginning of a poem. I just sit, the stenographer of collective consciousness, copying it all to paper… And feeling humbled and blessed to have been given my waypoint of creativity.
We have only just begun to realize the meaning of, “Nothing new under the sun.” We shine bright then we fade, every thought in our lives still somewhere. Nothing lost and yet nothing new, we recycle each other, and form our own collages. You say you know what I mean and who knows? You might even be part of the dream, The one I had last night; I might have drifted into your memory stream and…. Boom! Connection!
Digital Rabbit Hole 