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The other day someone asked me what I thought about, and I didn't know how to answer. If you think about it, that's a kind of a rough question: What do you think about? Well, I thought about what I think about *grin*, kind of stream-of -consciousness, and here's what I came up with:
I think about winning the Lottery, of course! I think about Montana and wish that I was still living there. I think about how it would be to live in an isolated cabin with beautiful views and no people for miles around. I think about the buffalo slaughter issues up in Yellowstone and the wolves, and our country's treatment of Native Americans.
I think about New Orleans and drifting blues on sultry nights. I think about walking along the Corniche el Nil in Egypt, buying hot peanuts and wearing jasmine lei's and smelling the smells and watching the people. I think about the organizations trying to "christianize" the Roma (Gypsies)that are resulting in strife and family and tribe break-ups. I think about Princess Di. I think about Elton John and the song "Nikita." I think about Jamaica and bright clothes and bright food and vivid scents. I think about Leonard Peltier and Anna Mae Aquash and Mary Crow Dog.
I think about the Goddess in her various forms. I think about the full moon. I think about the dark of the moon. I think about what color I want to paint my next dragon incense burner that's sitting here waiting for my attention, and my next ice fairy. I think about getting wrinkles on my forehead. I think about following the road into the horizon. I think about a bright red-and-blue gypsy caravan wagon, with baskets of fuschias and gardenias swinging from the front porch, bags of potatoes and strings of onions on the back.
I think about how disgusted I am with all these people are who are interested in nothing but Clinton's bedroom (or oval office, as the case may be) activities and who thrive on putrid media circuses such as O.J. Simpson's case and gobble up while spewing voracious sympathy every word they can find about poor little Jon Benet Ramsey. I think about my ex husband and what a jerk he is (hey, I'm human, right?). I think about whether blue or purple is my favorite color.
I think about how disgusting I find people like my dad.... all the bigoted, hypocritical, judgemental, white supremist, self-righteous jerks, full of the hatred they sow and who use their clever tongues to put people down, to say cruel, hateful things, to hurt people with no regard for their feelings. I often wonder if these kind of people even *have* feelings of their own. I often wonder if they even know -- much less care -- about the damage they are inflicting on their victims, or if they know and just laugh and feel superior because they have been able to hurt someone.
I think about if I'm bringing my daughter up right and if I should have let her get that second set of earring holes pierced this young, and if we're going to be sorry we cut her hair. I think about my cat, my beautiful brown boy Brandy, and cry. I think about Alaska and glaciers and caribou and eagles. I think about the Yellowstone fires. I think of standing on the bow of the cruise ship with the misty foam from the wake on my face while the sun peaks over the rugged vista of Baja California.
I think of Stevie Wonder and Lionel Richie and "We Are the World". I think of wandering in the souq (bazaar) in downtown Riyadh, hearing the muezzin call the faithful to prayer, smell the shwarma (gyros), taste the tang of fresh-squeezed orange juice, feeling the graceful drape of the black abayya about me, raising my head to breathe better in the stifling summer heat. I think of the hawks, supremely regal on a white-clad forearm.
I think of kneeling on the slushy driveway to measure the cat tracks in the snow -- bobcat as it turned out. I think of crawling through a snow-filled ditch to get a shot of a "No Hunting" sign. I think of four little black girls, dead in a bombed church when I was a little girl myself. I think of smirking white faces, smug with satisfaction. I think of hatred.
I think of the lurching sway of the camel as it rises to its feet, the ponderous movement as he walks. I think of sweat and sand and the pyramids and the shrill cries of the vendors, the shock of a cold Coke on a parched throat, the pulsing of my skin under the noonday sun, the sheen of sweat, my forehead creased by the hat I wear.
And I think some more about what I'd do if I did win the Lottery *grin*
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