Decaf Lavender Oat Latte: Marigolds in Our collarbones

 While leafing through a local art publication the other day, I read the most beautiful poem. I was lusting over a decaf lavender oat latte when the words slipped into me unexpectedly. A beautiful composition of words that danced between the beams of my soul, making light and love. Sarah Rodriguez's poem resonated within me on my long drive back from Denver. She wrote:

"We plant marigolds in our collarbones and call every moon a bonfire." 

Words that ushered in my mantra of gratitude. For every day, every moment. The wise Einstein said, 

"There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is though everything is a miracle."

Why not look at every moon as a bonfire, as a celebration of the night sky and of distant planets and galaxies?

"We plant marigolds in our collarbones" struck a familiar curiosity as if I knew exactly what the author meant by these words. Yet this exotic curiosity begged for an explanation of my truth within these words. Where had I seen marigolds planted in collarbones? 

The other night I was skimming through some old pictures of India and I came across a portrait that my sister had taken of me one beautiful morning in Varanasi, India. Varanasi is the only place that I've visited in my life where spirituality was so palpable it was carried in the soot filled air. You could feel it on your cheeks and in your scratchy throat. Around my neck in the portrait, hanging from my collarbone, fucking marigolds. 

The marigold is thought to be the herb of the sun. Some say it symbolizes both passion and creativity. The garland adorns temples, and gods, and brides, and me. My sister had greeted me at the airport with a garland made of marigold heads. This moment only to be recalled because of the beautiful words a poem that I leafed across while drinking a decaf lavender oat latte.

The Second Hand

the hand spins passing the other every 60  
      street corner illuminated by blinking neon light
how did I arrive
    to this place at this time
                        fists clenched deep in pockets of protection
    anchored yesterday to today
spin
            dizzy i grab at where hair gathered once
   recalling an image that i portrayed 
hand spins
                                                     Release

An Alien

An Alien written by April Netschke

She hoists her body upon the high balance beam. For her walk in life is a feat of true balance. On one side mother culture promotes the climb to the top of the corporate ladder. She promotes accumulation of inanimate objects and stability in the form of 401ks and accounts filled with numbers followed by many zeros. Social interactions lack depth and meaning with the autonomic question "how are you" and the even more autonomic response of "good." Mother culture condemns the questioning of our origins and the meaning of our existence and instead feeds us fabricated salvation in the form of steeples and repentance. The false bribe of an escape from our inevitable mortality even though at night we lie awake questioning what we are being fed and it's accuracy. Our spirits yearn for the touch of the untainted outdoors but instead our feet are covered with a sock that was made by a sweat shop child in a third world country, in the hide of a dead animal that knew nothing but a life of pain, and our steps are upon the fabrication of linoleum concrete asphalt and carpet. Our minds crave the silence needed for growth within, yet we are inundated with the beeps of emails, texts, and phone calls. At night we go home and press the on switch to a screen that allows us to stupefy and distract ourselves from a real existence while we watch others perform a fake existence. We navigate around in our drivers seats isolated and alone. Not by the power and strength from the movement of our own bodies but instead by the roar of an engine that requires fuel that furthers the murder of our earth. We justify the abuse with the notion that humans are the climax of the earth and that anything and everything is at our disposal. 

On the other side of that absurdly high balance beam is where her heart resides. For in her mind her arms sprout into wings made of feathers and she remains completely untethered. Mother Nature has stolen her breathe with the luster of the millions of stars that blankets the pitch back night sky. She takes note of the music and dance the aspen leaves perform in the warm summer breeze. She lays her body down gently onto the cushion of the vibrant moss and feels Mother Nature's warm embrace as the sunlight filters through the forest's canopy. Her toes sink into the sand on the beach and she ponders the life of a single water drop, from its frozen glacial state to the airborne mist that spouts from the humpback's blowhole. Her existence when she is surrounded by the loving embrace of Mother Nature makes complete sense. Her internal dialogue is kind and she feels as if she is enough. 

Her body physically resides in mother culture and its fabrication yet her heart is found deep within Mother Nature's truth. For this reason she feels as if she is an alien that walks among those that don't understand her. So she continues to carefully place one foot in front of the other as she teeters on the balance beam between two very different worlds.

Vegan Coconut Leek Bisque

Here is a healthy vegan bisque that will have you coming back to this recipe time and time again. Also, this soup will help you utilize the whole leek plant instead of just the tender base....so you have the opportunity to be more environmentally savvy. 

Ingredients:
2 bunches of organic leeks
2 large organic sweet potatoes 
1/2 lb organic baby carrots 
1 box of organic vegetable broth
Organic Coconut oil
Organic Coconut milk
Organic fresh thyme (preferably from your garden or kitchen window sill)

Wash and Chop 2 large sweet potatoes in equal sizes

Chop leeks into 1/2 inch slices making sure to keep separate the tender light green/white base from the fibrous dark green tops. (Often these dark tops get disposed of because people find them to be too fibrous.... But today you will utilize the crap out of them)

Soak leek slices in a bowl of water as you separate the rings with your fingers(a lot of dirt tends to hide in between the layers.... Yes even us vegans don't care for the surprise crunch of dirt)

Place washed dark leeks tops, chopped sweet potatoes, carrots, and a box of vegetable stock in a large pot and boil covered on high until sweet potatoes and carrots are easily broken with the end of a wooden spoon.

Put the light green/white ringlets into a roasting pan that has a lid and place a few tsps of coconut oil and some torn thyme on top. Place in oven at 450 degrees for 20 minutes or until the leeks are tender.

When vegetables are done boiling on the stove top, purre until smooth in a food processor. Add a can of coconut milk when bisque has reached desired consistency.

Serve this incredible leek bisque with roasted leeks on top for added texture and flavor. Garnish with some extra fresh thyme.

Alley Way

I like taking a walk down the alley way
Much preferred from the street view
For you see peoples' real
Not the façade that they put on for their neighbors
Your steps down the alley way reveal
Daddy's handy weekend work of assembled tree houses made out of scraps
Gardens that people have poured blood and sweat into - not for aesthetic purposes but to simply grow real food
Chicken coops where hens squawk and eggs are collected daily
And rusty Ford pickups that carried their fathers' farms - simply are too much nostalgia to part with
Greenhouses that stand up to the snow and foster growth despite the cold
Chopped wood piles that fuel the fire
For my walk down the alley way instead of the street reveals that beauty lies in purpose

Love from Afar

A beautiful passage of wisdom that exemplifies the powerful beauty of love that is carried out from a distance.

"From where I am," the sun said, "I can see the Soul of the World. It communicates with my soul, and together we cause the plants to grow and the sheep to seek out shade. From where I am- and I'm a long way from earth- I learned how to love. I know that if I came even a little bit closer to the earth, everything there would die, and the Soul of the World would no longer exist. So we contemplate each other, and we want each other, and I give it life and warmth, and it gives me my reason for living." -Paulo Coelho (The Alchemist)

Thanks to be Had

 

 

 

           This morning I find myself watching the snow fall from the window in the warmth of my home. The sound of my kids rivalrous bickering has to be broken up every once in a while and the fragrance of the pies that we made last night still lingers in the air. My feet are warm from the wool socks that I pulled on and the coffee is strong and warm. I can't help but be brought back to a moment that lasted but 15 seconds on an auto rickshaw in Jodpur, India last December. My sister and I were in the back of the rickshaw that is inherently permeated with the smells of gasoline, exhaust, the smoke from burning trash, with an occasional whiff of curry that sweeps in as we pass a market. Our little tuk-tuk comes to an abrupt stop because of traffic and a little brown eyed toddler emerges in the midst of the exhaust stricken insanity with an outstretched hand. A torn t-shirt hangs off his starving structure and I notice he is shoeless. As his eyes look up at me for compassion I can't help but take notice that he is sick. His nose is running. All I could think in that moment was “where is his mom.” Many children in India are orphaned because their parents have died from AIDS. Many of these children are HIV positive as well. As I began to reach in my purse to grab some candy and toys that I had been carting around India to give to the street children, the tuk-tuk began to take off. I began to weep. I will never forget that little boy, for all I wanted to do was to sweep him up in my arms like I do my own children when they are sick. Give him a warm bath, feed his growling belly, and tuck him into a warm bed. He has nothing. He was born on the streets and will eventually die on the streets. He doesn't have a right to an education, health care, a home, or even food. The country that he lives in is overwhelmed by population expansion, pollution, and poverty. There isn't a soup kitchen, homeless shelter, or orphanage that is going to save him. He can't apply for food stamps, Medicaid, or section 8 housing. I didn’t understand desperation or hopelessness until that point in my life…. I thought I did. Just by the ownership of a United States birth certificate we are entitled to so much. We did nothing for it. It was simply sheer luck to be born in the land of the free. I am so incredibly thankful for every shred of prosperity that I have in my life, both earned and by luck. Happy Thanksgiving! Love, April