Author: ClemTheGreat

The band had three shows last weekend, ending in Olympia, Washington. On Sunday, I drove the gear back to San Francisco with a friend who flew into Portland. We dropped the van at 9PM, I caught a cab to SFO, and landed in Albany at 9:30AM Monday morning. Another cab ride to a little outpost of a Budget Rent-A-Car in a Sears lobby, another 45-minute drive, and I arrived to a workshop my mentor was giving in a 100-year old house filled with plants and stones and artwork from the Far East.

While I was sitting in this small group of women, tired but happy, I remembered A Wrinkle in Time, the book I loved as a child, and how much I loved the trio of the three witches: Mrs Who, Mrs Whatsit, Mrs Which. I loved that book. The misfit outsider narrator. The magic of uncovering secret knowledge. The idea of traveling through space and time. Saving all reality from darkness through the power of love. I loved that group of women. Continue reading “A Lonely Gong Bath and A Wrinkle in Time”

This birthday, there were four cakes.

The first was served Saturday before the actual date, in Tucson, with a friend who had the marvelous vegan delight specially made from lemons in his yard.

The second was the next day, in Southern California: a three-layer lemon perfection made by my sister, who understands the value of pudding as filling.

The third was on my actual birthday: a slice of magic sponge following a delicious paella at a sweet Spanish restaurant next to the cable car tracks.

The next day, on stage, the girls in the band presented me with a dense, princess-style berry-laden cake that I sampled at 4:30 in the morning when I finally got home. Continue reading “The Eternal Bliss of Birthday Cake”

Yesterday was another gorgeous San Francisco day. It was chilly, but I imagine my Midwestern friends would think it warm for January. The sky was blue, with little white clouds like lace catching the sunlight and adding dimension. The bay was reflecting the blue and the water was still and sparkly. I took a walk downtown and when I was coming back over the hill, the green of the palm trees gave me that old familiar tropical feeling and I filled with the gratitude for the beauty of all the vacations I have ever taken.

I stopped by Cafe Trieste and had a cappuccino, gazed at the photos on the wall of the poets and artists and went back in time for a while. Back in time to that first idealized past, when I was in high school and I dreamed of being On the Road, dreamed of living the life of an itinerant artist. Dreamed of uniting with my peers in common desire for a more perfect world. I sipped the coffee and lived in that old romanticism for a little while. Continue reading “The Fear of Fainting Goats”

This is not the way that I want to see the world. In fear of the political system, in hatred for the people who don’t see things as I do, in shame that I have never been able to make any great positive change in society, in grief that I can never find a way to help. I guess I have no idea how the world works.

But I know how I work. I know when I am compassionate and loving and open and fearless then my life fills with joy. I see clouds outside the window of the plane and I am forever connected to the eons of humans who were never able to see the clouds. I am connected to a majesty and magnificence in the moment. My eyes fill with the deep red light on the top of the cloud bank. I see for all those who never saw, and for those who have yet to see. Continue reading “Yet Another Plea Of Love”

I’m in Upstate New York this week, and the ground is wet, the sky silky and grey. Last night it rained, and we headed into a restaurant dodging the spouts of rainwater coming off the old buildings. Today, the morning is still and cold. I love how heavy the sky is here, like a blanket, muffling sound. Little brown birds are going crazy in the bare branches of the yard, and their movement flies incongruent with the stillness everywhere else. A fat red cardinal perches in a tall tree, reminding my rods and cones of their purpose. At 12:30, there will be a window of no rain, and I’ll walk into the little town, sneak glances into windows, maybe sit and have a cup of coffee and then head back to this cozy little house for a peaceful day of tea and kitties and my dear friend.

This Saturday at 2AM, we’ll board a bus to Washington, heading to the march there. Months ago, when it was announced, I knew I would attend. I grew up seeing images of the great civil rights marches of the 1960s, and saw how their power changed the world. When I see the footage of Martin Luther King speaking, I have always imagined that if I had been living at that time, I would have been there. How would I feel now if I had had the chance to participate in that moment of hope and hadn’t been there? When the Women’s March was announced, I imagined seeing it unfold on television, in San Francisco, and could feel how I would regret not being there. So I made plans to come out. Continue reading “To Washington, With Love”

My first weekend back from the holiday was cold and rainy and the weather was a great excuse to hole up, blankets and pug and books and magazines and tea, so much tea. My favorite kind of weekend. I set off on a two-day journey through ideas and stories, listening to podcasts, reading and writing. Making sure the pug had a good nest on the couch, his warm little body reminding me how long ago, folks used to warm a brick in the fireplace, wrap it in a blanket and put it at the foot of the bed on cold nights. I guess you could say I lived a one-dog night, all weekend.

What a luxury, to spend this time in a flight of thought through time and space. I’ve always loved reading so much. Falling into other people’s stories on a rainy afternoon is a lovely dream. I love the still bell of the quiet room, the sound of the dripping San Francisco day outside the window, the snoring pug a rumbling soundtrack. A cocoon of warmth and peace. I closed my eyes several times and wished this feeling into the world. Continue reading “Majority of One”

I saw the documentary about Mavis Staples last night, Sunday night of the Thanksgiving weekend. You can’t help but be struck by her joyful energy. How amazing she is, finding her calling so early in life. How amazing to have been born into a family who nurtured her gift. How amazing to have been part of a moment in history when her words were used to inspire a movement, to help change society. How amazing to walk through the world in love with it. How amazing the power of music to unify.

There was a line in the movie that I was very moved by. Her father, Pops Staples, says:

Gospel ain’t nothing but the truth and we’re telling the truth in our songs. That’s what I’m so proud of. For the last two years we’ve been singing message songs. The Staple Singers thing is to sing love, peace and freedom. And we feel that when we sing the truth, it doesn’t make any difference what kind of beat it has and all, it’s still gospel. Continue reading “Lessons in Gospel”

They band around me,
First birthday cake,
First daughter,
First grandchild,
First niece.
Matching stripes,
pastel and white,
faces bright with occasion
as children we are.
Aunts and uncles
ringed by biology,
resemblance caught
in a snapshot of smiles. Continue reading “Election Eve”