Midwest

It’s a place of ice and steel, and the Midwest is in me even if I am not in the Midwest. Carl Sandburg dramatized what I experience in the thick of middle America with his 1918 work, Cornhuskers.

Lay me on an anvil, O God
Beat me and hammer me into a crowbar
Let me pry loose old walls
Let me lift and loosen old foundationsLay me on an anvil, O God
Beat me and hammer me into a steel spike
Drive me into the girders that hold a skyscraper togetherTake red-hot rivets and fasten me into the central girders
Let me be the great nail holding a skyscraper through the blue nights into
White stars

The aesthetic of tools grounding skyscrapers is what I love about the Midwest. It’s rootedness and wings, foundations and visions, bears and eagles. I attempt to find the tension of those contrasts and put them down on paper, hoping that once in a while I drive a nail that will hold a story together and help me embody stories that bend and shovel, reach and soar.

Currently working on a essays reaching back to the days of early railroading and rustic living.

My 103rd #yogainspirationals Yoga’s Symphony of Movement: the soulful urge to let love fall OM YOGA MAGAZINE

When you engage with yoga, you are fastened into a deep and wide health corps, one steered by the way of breath and meditation, shaped by the forces of Hatha and time.

Neither you nor I can remain in a yoga session or meditation session without breath and patience, but when we attend to our guru – the breath – we are renewed, inspired, and transformed.
When led by a good yoga teacher, we’ll find words of encouragement and encounter something that we will not hear in other places. This “something” is embedded deep in yoga’s reforming curriculum where we find asana a positive but not necessarily easy pursuit.

Yoga’s teaching of ethics contains many ingredients. One not often talked of, but present like the yeast in bread – a small ingredient that raises the dough – is love. Love is the dynamic force of yoga’s recipe for change, the ingredient which creates healing for mind, body, and spirit. One key aspect of this ingredient proclaims to us that we are worthy of self-care while simultaneously teaching us what it is and how to apply it in our lives.

In savasana, yogis dip into a deep pool of love as they sink into the mat and their full body weight rests heavy and still. That’s when we remind ourselves to replace thoughts of self-recrimination and judgment with thoughts of praise and even love for ourselves and others. Recently, as the class was released into a state of savasana, the teacher said, “Let love fall upon your spine.”

Think about the powerful impact of this idea; the kind of thing yogis regularly hear during the marvelous privilege of practicing yoga, during which we absorb yoga’s ministry of spirit and its medicine for body and mind.… read more...

Another Kind of Boundary: the Hallways of Menomonie High School

Drumming, an Uncivilizing Reverberation

At 17, when Colt 4 broke up, I immediately joined a second band. We were disorganized and unpopular, but our singer had a teenage superpower – access to his grandmother’s remote cabin in the woods – and after high school basketball games, classmates drove into the country and trudged through the snowy woods to the cabin with party plans.

They grabbed beers from cases half-buried in the snow and stepped inside a small cabin. As the freezing cabin warmed and ice melted from boots and beers, our crappy band played loud while classmates danced in stocking hats and sweaters.

Pounding drums, I heated up and removed layers down to my T-shirt. Steam rose from my sweaty back, but I kept an eye on my Buckhorn Beer, perched on top of the wood-burning stove; I watched golden liquid thaw and bubble up from the brown bottle and then drip down the side of the glowing, red, hot stove. The loud hiiiisssssss of steaming beer meant the party was on.

And when the cabin started rocking on its pine log foundations, I worried that we’d tip it over and slide downhill like a wayward toboggan into the river. I imagined the headline on Saturday morning’s Eau Claire Leader-Telegram front page “20 Menomonie High School Seniors Drown in the Red Cedar River.”

At 17, I was a living volcano and existed to smash cymbals and snare. The loud retorts distracted me from self-recrimination and unhappiness. Everything was a drum, including my brothers, and I hit all of it with force.… read more...

Tavelpictalogue May 17 – Sept 23

Going: Arizona, New Mexico, Kansas, Missouri, Iowa, Wisconsin, Michigan. Returning: Wisconsin, Illinois, Kentucky, Tennessee, Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, Arkansas, Texas, NM, and AZ.