Emergence of the Natural Shaman (Bienvenidos, Alberto!)

photo by my friend Wendy Ritchey of ArtisticallyStiched.com 

I look up to see a gigantic foam structure towering over me. It’s the bust of a female gymnast obtained by my husband C. back when the Olympics came to Altanta and marriage was still something I vaguely thought I’d do when I “grew up” and completed middle school. The gymnast is flanked by weathered Blue Meanies and a Yellow Submarine crafted for a Turner Broadcasting tribute to the Beatles. Since then, these sculptures have been carted back and forth many times to and from Atlanta’s Lake Claire Community Land Trust where they’ve graced the stage at the Peace and Love Fest and other musical gatherings. It was at one of these that C. first introduced me to Candler Park and Little 5 Points, areas that have since become my homes within the city. My other more constant homes are a loft built within the same warehouse where the gymnast balances in the rafters and a wooden house my husband built right across the railroad tracks where trains pass like an industrial river through the night.

C. has been active with Atlanta’s arts underground for almost two decades. However, his recognition as a key element of this scene occurred less frequently within Atlanta than within its far rural outskirts, where the warehouse sits at a crossroads pivotal to the South’s defeat in the Civil War. When he first moved his scenery business here, he was an anomaly with long dreaded hair, tie-dyed shirts and a utility kilt. Now, locals ask him to run for mayor. He’s become a regular part of the landscape around here, like one of the hearty wild flowers that spring up beside the tracks. One of his strengths is to mine the cultural underground for seeds and then plant them in unsuspecting places and people. Communities form around my husband. They gather at the shop, as they have today, for batches of smoked vegetables and chicken. They create artwork and seek inspiration that will help them through bouts of depression, poverty and general transition. They express a spectrum of excitement, disappointment and gratitude. The latest community is stronger than any I’ve encountered to date. They have united over steel—or, more specifically, the way steel can be made to sing.

My daughter beside our "industrial river"

In my mind’s eye, I envision cultural underground communities functioning as webs rather than isolated singularities. A leader emerges who trains, both directly and indirectly, individuals to become potential leaders of their own collectives, which all remain linked in some way to the parent community. The leaders are not at the top of a hierarchy in the traditional sense. Rather, they function like spiders, resting calmly at the center of the web, gracefully weaving and re-weaving connections as needed. If my husband is one of these weavers, then Alberto Roman lives at the center of the web from which C. takes his greatest inspiration. I finally met Alberto for the first time last Tuesday. As seems to so often be the case with me, I was darting out the door. Then I changed my plans. My daughter had an apocalyptic meltdown. My son soiled his diaper. Alberto offered to go, but I insisted he stay and bear witness to the storm of which I am the eye.

According to his Facebook profile, Alberto is a Costa Rica born former substance abuse counselor, probation officer and hospital resource specialist who has also spent decades exploring humanity’s connection to the Divine via his involvement in sacred ceremonies which utilize his experience as an instrumentalist and natural healer. Alberto’s degrees in psychology and philosophy relate to his spiritual work. However, Alberto tells me that his greatest moment of inspiration struck when he was around 9 years old walking to the end of his driveway. He became filled with a pervasive sense of joy that he felt compelled to share. At this point in my blogging journey, I would like to share some of Aberto’s spirit with you. Light a candle & some incense. Prepare a pot of your favorite tea. Then listen to the interview linked below. Motivational speaker and parenting expert Bob Lancer does a fantastic job of helping Alberto articulate his vision for an emerging culture of the natural shaman. CLICK HERE TO LISTEN!

Trial and Tribulation: My Take on the Anthony Case

Nancy Grace's propensity for sensational news makes me question her mental stability. As a result, I followed very little of her coverage (and other media coverage) of Casey Anthony's landmark trial. Instead, I checked the highlights after the verdict had been made, and it seems to me that much of America has been swept into a media frenzy and is jumping to major conclusions. Personally, I am caught between A) wishing all discussion of this issue will simply dissipate and B) feeling inspired to provide people with a new perspective on the tragedy. The second tendancy has prevailed, so read on for my personal opinion of the case:

To my understanding, Casey Anthony allowed her daughter Caylee to die in a pool because she wasn't watching her. When Casy found her child, she freaked out, dumped the body in the woods beside her house, made up the story about how Caylee had been kidnapped and then pretty much tried to fake her daughter's kidnapping and murder by going so far as to look up details about creating specific injuries in a frenzy following her daughter's death. She even attempted to place duct tape on her daughter body and then ripped it off in what must have been a moment of clarity, grief and disgust. Casey is most definitely ill. However,a group of jurors deemed that she is not the "party mom" who murdered her child to have more "party time," as much of America has framed her to be, and I believe those jurors are probably correct.

A mother who deliberately harms her children is easily villified. Villifying her can also become fodder for commercialized news & entertainment because people are thinking, "I may not be a great person, but at least I'm not THAT bad. That woman is TERRIBLE." However, if you consider the idea that Caylee did tragically die in a pool while unattended, then this humanizes Casey just a little too much, and makes her seem just a little too relatable to all the moms whose kids have unknowingly slipped out the back door. After wrapping that thought around your mind, think about the familial and social factors that may make a woman actually believe it's better to fake a kidnapping & murder (as Casey did) than to simply report her child's horribly accidental death. The conversation gets very complex, quite sticky, gravely important and not nearly so suitable for info-tainment. The media points to Casey's infamous "party pictures" as evidence that Casey was seeking a party lifestyle. I think they may be just as easily held as evidence that she'd cracked after finding her deceased child and was filling her mind with as much fluff as she could to keep from going more insane with grief. All told, the case really makes for a pretty deep sociological/psychological​ study, but I regret it is just going to go down in history as a sensationalized event.

At a minimum, I think all parents have at least 3 things to learn as a result of this incident:
1. Do not be a person so filled with fear that you turn your life into a nightmare.
2. Pay attention to your children's whereabouts.
3. If you have an above ground pool, remove the ladder after use so that wandering 2-year-olds can't fall in.

That's my stance. Air your thoughts and move on.

Full Circle: Talkin' Hula Hoops and Life with John Adams

 Above: John's hoops and his cat Duncan

The day before Twilight 2011, my husband C. and I arrived in Athens around midnight with our two youngest children in tow.  Tornadoes had just swept through our corner of Northwest Georgia, and 24 hours ago we’d all been crouched, along with our dog and 70-something-year-old godfather, in our root cellar.  When we crawled out into life without power and internet, we packed our Airstream camper and took to the road.  We had already planned to go to Gwinnett County for my stepson’s birthday, but, instead of turning back after our time at Chuck E. Cheese, we just kept going North on I-85.  Having graduated from UGA in 2004, I had Athens in mind as a destination.  However, I neither knew about the upcoming races nor stayed to enjoy them.  Instead the highlight of my Athens adventure happened behind a Baxter Street strip mall where my husband found a tiny slice of spring paradise and set up a temporary campsite for me and our children while he used the coin laundry facility next door.  I filled my time by interviewing my old friend John Adams, a former Russell Hall co-ed turned hula-hoop maker, and discovered four little nuggets of wisdom. 

1.  Evolution happens.

John says, “When you’re a little kid, you get a plastic hula hoop that is really no good.”  He continues to imply that, in and of itself, this isn’t a major problem because little kids do seem to have a lot of fun with plastic hula hoops.  However, allowing this child’s toy to completely shape your perception is an issue.  In reality, there is a whole sub-culture of hula-hoop girls out there who devote a lot of time and attention to the art of hoop dancing and take pride in showing off the results at concerts and creative festivals nationwide.  John is inspired by watching these lovely women perform.  At the same time, he recognizes that taking such a dualistic, child’s toy vs. serious hoop dancer, approach is limiting.  Free-spirited, fun, flexible, durable and individual are some adjectives that describe both John’s hoops and the sort of personally evolving folks for whom they’re made.   

2. Struggle is over-rated.

John looks at me then smiles slyly.  “You don’t have to exert effort to hula hoop well,” he says.  His meaning is that quality hula hoops tend to keep themselves in motion without people going overboard to keep them spinning.  I think this is a good metaphor for how people choose to live. If you construct a life plan that is rigid and unoriginal, you may have a difficult time keeping it in motion.  However, if you create a life plan that is designed to be personally sustainable, then it takes little added effort to keep it going and reap the rewards. In keeping with this philosophy, John seems open to embracing new ways of living until he finds the one that fits best. 

3. Create your own reality.

 John reveals that his hula hoops are constructed mainly from irrigation PVC pipe and carefully applied alternating colors of electrical tape.  He adds that the internet has been instrumental in helping him make hoops effectively and spread the news about his products.  One may say the accessibility of materials and information comes from a willingness to create new uses for existing things and to openly accept the wisdom that others voluntarily share—two more great practices for balanced living.

4. Be natural.

When I think of John, I remember the guy I met while signing our buddy Nora’s petition to have permanent ash trays installed outside Russell Hall.  He was tough—always kind of angry but still interested in the world and the lives of the people with whom his life intersected, a young man at the center of both teenage drama and early spiritual awakening.  Ten years later, interviewing John about making hula hoops feels strangely natural. Perhaps this is because the motivation behind the work seems so honest and clear.  In addition to citing his girlfriend Christen as inspiration, he simply states, “I saw a beautiful thing in the world and wanted people to know about it, to have it.”  If the inspiration behind all great ideas were so natural and direct, people would probably have a lot more peace. 

To order a customized hoop from John just in time for summer concert season, e-mail jadams3@jsu.edu.