amber waves of grain

In 1974, the year I was born, the world saw a food crisis of epoch proportions instituting the first ever World Food Conference sponsored by the UN. Thirty-four years later at least thirty-seven nations are now in a major food crisis. Some nations are hitting the panic button as they stop exporting rice and wheat and other staples while the UN and the World Bank wave their hands warning the bans only make the problem worse. Everyone looks for a scapegoat, someone or something to blame. China and India are eating better, one article stated. Free trade-- that's the problem! Bio-fuel, the cause of food prices soaring. Western capitalism is to blame. American agriculture is the culprit, another article read. Meanwhile, the peoples of Mauritania and Indonesia and Haiti and Cameroon are starving. The UN has called a meeting in Bern to address an immediate plan of action as well as the cause. The World Bank has doubled its lending to Africa (where a majority of the nations in crisis are) for agriculture to $800 million, both aiding Africa's problem while possibly creating even more problems down the road (debt debt debt on top of more debt).

A couple of months ago I went to Texas French Bread company to eat a lovely lunch of half a pimento cheese sandwich and a mocha walnut cookie. There was a sign at the register warning patrons that prices were rising due to wheat prices rising. And now, I learn that this staple, this grainy goodness, this symbol of wealth and health, prosperity and fertility, is poison to my body. As wheat is in high demand, its prices soar and there is a world shortage, I can't have my cake and eat it too. My daily bread? Potatoes, rice flour, quinoa.

I do feel a bit Marie Antoinette-ish as I enjoy my rice flour chocolate chip cookie and my corn tortilla breakfast taco. hundreds of millions of the world's poor are starving. I read several articles today to get the big picture of what is going on, and one person had the audacity to say that we ignore the problem and let it take care of itself. Let the poor die so we don't have to feed them down the road. Natural Evolution, he called it. Survival of the fittest, right? The wonderful shock and awe of the Beatitudes would say differently. It's the meek that inherit the earth. As a careless, irresponsible consumer who lives in a wealthy, capitalist, wasteful nation I must ask what I can do, what I can change as I leave my thumbprint not only on my country but on the planet as my decisions and patterns cause a waterfall effect on the global economy.

The World Food Programme

http://wfp.org/

The ONE Campaign

http://www.one.org/

World Vision

http://www.wvi.org/

Mercy Corps

http://www.mercycorps.org/

i heart aaron smith

i keep a voice mail from a 2 year old boy named aaron. he now lives in india with his parents and sisters. i love that voicemail. just days before they flew to india, i got to spend one last evening with them; and aaron (his mom dialed and left a message as well) called me hours before just express the sentiments of his uncluttered emotions. in the message i hear his innocent, sweet voice unabashedly reaching from deep within that tiny heart of his just to say, "i love you, miss micah." i don't think i can ever erase that message. he saw a picture of me in december and remembered me, but i don't know if he will next time i see him.

three simple words that incorporate so much action, so much emotion, so much energy, so much. he had no hang-ups, no boundaries, no fear. aaron just said it. he wasn't told by his folks, "no, aaron, you're not old enough to understand love. we don't say those words to our babysitters and caretakers. we only say them to friends and family, people we've known for 10 years or more."

i had a disenchanting weekend, really lonely, discouraging, hard. i tried though. spent time with 2 old friends. called another. delighted by a central american breakfast of black beans, potatoes, eggs and fried plantains (i heart plantains!). swam (or at least walked in the pool). and still it was difficult. and so, i remembered aaron's message. no strings, no hassle, no buts, no holding back. just a pure and sweet and simple, i love you.

the great american disconnect

So last night I watched and was thoroughly disturbed by the movie Lars and the Real Girl. Basic plot-- single 27 year old male lives alone in his brother's garage apartment. Hermit. Very lonely. Afraid to be touched. Not good in conversing with girls. Okay, really bad. And so he forms a delusional girlfriend (anatomically correct doll) and creates her to be his perfect woman. She was raised by nuns, served as a missionary, and was traveling the world. The whole town works with Lars supporting him through his delusion. Finally, his made up girlfriend is no longer needed when he begins to connect with a very sweet and very patient real girl.

What was disturbing is how isolated he was partly by his own design but also because of a scarred past. And also by the design we Americans choose to live. I don't like it! I hate that we are so pulled away from community in this culture. We have our own cars, we drive ourselves alone to our workplace, some of us are alone all day in our offices and cubicles, many go home to empty houses. We surrendered our front porches for back ones, and so many do not even know their neighbors' names. When I lived in Denton, Texas I lived alone for 6 months; during those six months I could go three weeks without meaningful conversations and even worse, three weeks without being touched. Now days, I can still go days without a hug or a brush, and there are a few days I can go without seeing anyone other than my boss and my doctor. Some of this by my own fault, some by cultural choices.

We are not made for this!!! We were designed for connection. We were designed for touch. We were designed for community. We were designed for holy kisses. There is scientific proof for these statements (for another blog) . Men and women. We need 10-12 meaningful touches a day.

so, my challenge today-- go hug someone. Today I am hugging my nieces and sister for lunch. If you have someone to hug, don't take it for granted. Please. I found this Australian short on You Tube called Meaningful Touches. So sweet and sad, sweet and sad... like dark chocolate.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U2BdTO0wSMQ

the profound dichotomy of contentment and longing

“Contentment is a pearl of great price, and whoever procures it at the expense of ten thousand desires makes a wise and a happy purchase”

John Balguy

“It seems to me we can never give up longing and wishing while we are thoroughly alive. There are certain things we feel to be beautiful and good, and we must hunger after them.”

George Eliot

"True contentment is a thing as active as agriculture. It is the power of getting out of any situation all that there is in it. It is arduous and it is rare."
G. K. Chesterton

"The continuance of your longing is the continuance of your prayer."

St. Augustine

first poetry rejection under the belt

well, it doesn't look like any of us from writer's group made it into the finalists category of the prairie home companion bed of roses love sonnet contest. we did it though. i submitted. my poem was too obscure and sentimental, i think. ah, well. it's my first rejection! yeah.

still dreaming of a bed of roses.

beauty revisited

"The human soul needs actual beauty more than bread."

D.H. Lawrence

i've decided that the rest of april will be enchanting. no matter what may come, this month will be a month of seeking beauty and being enchanted by little things. i'm going to two doctors today. i'm going to look for enchantment. my hips are killing me, limiting me, taking away mobility and movement. i'm going to find a way to be stationary and enchanted.

this morning's thunderstorms delighted me as they pulled me out of bed crying, Get up! we are greening your trees! come look and see! today i decided to send in my first submission ever to a poetry contest. woah. prarie home companion is having a bed of roses love sonnet contest; the prize is a sleep number bed and 3 dozen roses. i've been sleeping on the same mattress for 22 years. i love roses. winning would be beyond enchanting. so, i'll just be enchanted by the idea of a bed of roses and the fact that i actually wrote a sonnet and submitted it.

yesterday on my pursuit of beauty i googled (who would have thought that "google" would become a verb?) dogwoods, and found a stunning, enchanting photograph taken by a conservationist and nature photographer. i took a photography class in '94 at cedar valley college; my prof hated nature photography. i, on the otherhand, will always be a fan. it takes an amazing eye to capture images in a way that amaze, take us beyond reality, enchant us.

http://www.paulzaretsky.com/

beautiful things

seven straight days of physical pain, and i am desperate for relief. so today i sought beauty. when i lived in amsterdam i became so overwhelmed by the power of pain, by the sorrow and suffering, i shut the door to experiencing pain. life was easier that way. so the woman who wept in my lap when her two children were taken from her-- i didn't feel it. i will never forget it. i had a friend alex who i tried desperately to keep from a drug addicted boyfriend; i didn't feel anything when months later i saw her still with him. i will never forget it. but in shutting out pain, i shut another door. i spent a week in the breathtaking beauty of the black forrest. i didn't feel it. spent a month in the english countryside taking long walks down wooded paths. i didn't feel it.

today i found the music of my second favorite film score composer, zbigniew preisner. he composed the music to two of my favorite films (kieslowski's rouge and bleu). faulkner once said, "Given the choice between the experience of pain and nothing, I would choose pain". camus on beauty, "Beauty is unbearable, drives us to despair, offering us for a minute the glimpse of an eternity that we should like to stretch out over the whole of time". janis joplin sang the blues. it's said that her mom once asked her why she screamed when she had such a pretty voice. it's because she had "soul", wanted "you to feel what i feel". "You know why we’re stuck with the myth that only black people have soul? Because white people don’t let themselves feel things. Man, you and any housewife have all sorts of pain and joy. You’d have soul if you’d give in to it.”

preisner's work is a thing of bitter beauty. listen and weep. it's that good. it's got soul. i've been listening to it this afternoon and i am transported by the beauty, by the music, and the pain seems.... trifle. it's like being in rivendell.

http://www.preisner.com/

"When despair for the world grows in me, and I wake in the night at the least sound in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be -- I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds. I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought or grief. I come into the presence of still water. And I feel above me the day-blind stars waiting with their light. For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free." Wendell Berry

"Joy, sorrow, tears, lamentations, laughter, to all these music gives voice, but in such a way that we are transported from the world of unrest to the world of peace, and see reality in a new way, as if we were sitting by a mountain lake and contemplating hills and woods and clouds in the tranquil and fathomless water." Albert Schweitzer

1996 lake tahoe, view from heavenly by micah holcombe

writing life

everyday has been hard to write through. today is gonna be really bad. last night i wrote through intense pain. i had to take the day off yesterday to cope with the pain. stayed up half the night with it. got up at 1am to take a bath because of it. i rolled out of bed this morning 10 minutes before work because of it.

because i'm really bad with boundaries and saying no, and because of my people pleasing tendency, my desire to make everyone happy both out of selfishness (to make myself look good) and a desire to serve, i had a relapse.

i came to work to find a huge mistake i take the blame for. pride was wounded. all will be well. but i made a mistake.

i allowed by nosey nature to get the best of me this morning. and i wounded my pride. i made a mistake.

confusion is king today. i have no clue today. i don't know anything today. boycott beijing? elections in zimbabwe? darfur? nafta? tibet? housing crisis? failing economy? go to school? move to new york, mexico, costa rica, africa, amsterdam, england, vancouver? stay? am i good enough for publishing? am i ever going to be good enough? will i ever write for money? encouragement? hope? love? what's wrong with me?

so, i plod and write. i got to have lunch with my writer's group and the luci shaw (http://www.lucishaw.com/) yesterday. i'll write about that next week after this week of poetry is over. revision is key in writing i learned. and some reason i feel extra insecure about my writing. but i'll keep writing.

really, i just want to kiss and be kissed. hold and be held. love and be loved. be without pain. have energy. be strong again. and write.