Across The Waves

Anarchists are opposed to violence; everyone knows that. The main plank of anarchism is the removal of violence from human relations. It is life based on freedom of the individual, without the intervention of the gendarme. For this reason we are the enemies of capitalism which depends on the protection of the gendarme to oblige workers to allow themselves to be exploited–or even to remain idle and go hungry when it is not in the interest of the bosses to exploit them. We are therefore enemies of the State which is the coercive violent organization of society.

–Errico Malatesta

Started writing this entry back on the 5th of June… It has built up a bit of steam since then. I have gotten side tracked on various issues; doing layout for a poetry book, painting on a house of incredible scary heights, watching the weather go from screwy to worse, and realizing you can’t always do it all. (though I try… and try)
Saturday: A Contemplation On Iran & The Shift:

Watching Twitter today, and the various media outlets, I have come to the conclusion that what we are seeing is the tip of the iceberg; the world may indeed be moving into the phase it was 41 years ago with the Paris Uprising, Chicago, the Martin Luther King Riots… Mexico City etc… I saw it pointed out that there is conflict right across from the Indus/Himalaya complex to the Mediterranean… and if that wasn’t enough North Korea and parts of Central & South America (and of course Africa) are blowing as well at this point. I am talking about the possibility of World Revolution at this point; for our children this may be the summer that they will remember and point to as “Everything Changed That Summer”… I am not wishing violence, indeed the counter to that, but so many factors are coming into play at this point. The economic shifts, the glaring in-equalities and the abandonment of any semblance of egalitarian balance amongst various populations, the sheer desperation of the greater number of the oppressed everywhere. There must be balance; and there will be in the end, unfortunately we may be moving into a very uncomfortable time of change and all the attending mayhem of the patterns of redress and sorting out.
It is amazing watching the news via Youtube and services (we don’t have a TV as much as a video monitor) and seeing the sheer bravery of the young of Tehran.
Sunday: The Neighborhood Tribes – Avian

I have been out walking most mornings from around 6:00 – 8:00am… the earlier the better for checking out the various creatures about their business and play. The Crows have been busy teaching their young ones how to fly. It is a flock event; everyone gets into the act, calling out encouragement, guarding the perimeter (I was roundly told off a couple of times walking under the trees they were all in…) I noticed a territorial element I hadn’t noticed before: The Crows occupy certain neighborhoods, the Jays others, though they will raid each others holdings on occasion. The Starlings raid everywhere, and without regard. The Robins are in familial groups, and tend not to flock during mid-summer, but in spring and fall.
We are working quite a bit in the yard, and setting up for the heat of late summer. This includes setting up for chickens & a barbecue area so we can cook outside in the worse of the heat. It has been raining and cool most days of late, but the summer does hit strongly in July and into early fall with August.
We bid farewell to Marley, Austyn’s family pup. He developed lymphoma, and the vet came by from what I understood today to ease his exit from this life. He was a very, very sweet dog.
One of the world’s greatest musicians past this week: Ali Akbar Khan. I first heard his music some 44 years ago. I never lost my appreciation of his great art. We will feature some of it hopefully this week on Turfing.
We are featuring the music of Karen Dalton, perhaps the best folk singer you have never heard of, although she was very influential on the works of Robert Dylan and others… We also are featuring the tales of The Selkie, heading up to the shores of Scotland, Ireland, the Hebrides and further to Iceland. We have some Anarchy quotes, and the brilliant poetry of Kalidasa, Indian Poet and Playwright…
Have a Happy Solstice! Remember the dance of life and how it flows through us all!
Bright Blessings,


On The Menu:

The Links

The Anarchy Quotes

Karen Dalton – It Hurts Me Too

The Seal’s Skin – Icelandic Folktale

The Great Selkie of Sule Skerrie

Sean & The Selkie

The Poetry of Kalidasa

Kalidasa Bio

Karen Dalton “Blues Jumped The Rabbit”


The Links:

Karen Dalton… the best singer you have never heard of….

Thanks to Mr. Webster… Serpents A Short Meditation on Ophidian Botany

Fighting For Their And Our Lives…

The Military Looks To The Book…

Once The Seat Of Kings…

Thanks To Tom In Tacoma: “The Sacred Plants Of The Maya”


The Anarchy Quotes:

You can’t mine coal without machine guns. –Richard B. Mellon, Congressional testimony quoted in Time, June 14, 1937
A democracy cannot be both ignorant and free. –Thomas Jefferson
The great are great only because we are on our knees. Let us rise! –Max Stirner, The Ego and His Own
The liberty of man consists solely in this: that he obeys natural laws because he has himself recognized them as such, and not because they have been externally imposed upon him by any extrinsic will whatever, divine or human, collective or individual. –Mikhail Bakunin, God and the State
In a word, we reject all legislation, all authority, and all privileged, licensed, official, and legal influence, even though arising from universal suffrage, convinced that it can turn only to the advantage of a dominant minority of exploiters against the interests of the immense majority in subjection to them. –Mikhail Bakunin, God and the State

Karen Dalton – It Hurts Me Too

The Seal’s Skin – Icelandic Folktale

Once in the east of Mýrdalur a man went along the cliffs on the seashore early in the morning. He came to a mouth of a cave and heard the sound of merrymaking and dancing inside. Nearby he saw many seals’ skins. He took one of the skins, brought it home and locked it in a chest.
In the daytime he came again to the cave. There sat a young and pretty woman who was naked and cried desperately. She was the seal whose skin the man had taken. He let her dress herself, comforted her and brought her home with him. She has become attached to him, but did not get on with others. She often sat and looked at the sea.
Some time later the man married her. They lived in harmony and had children. The farmer kept the seal’s skin locked up in the chest and had the key with him wherever he went. Many years later he once went outdoors and left the key at home, under his pillow. Others say that the farmer went to celebrate Christmas with his men, but his wife was ill and could not go with them. While he changed his clothes, he left the key in a pocket of his everyday wear. When he came back home, the chest was open, and both the woman and the skin disappeared.
She had taken the key, looked into the chest out of curiosity and found the skin there. She could not resist the temptation, bade farewell to her children, put on the skin and plunged into the sea. And before she plunged into the sea, they say, she whispered:
Where have I to flee?

I’ve seven kids in the sea

And seven kids on dry land.
They say the man grieved much for that. Afterwards, when he went fishing, a seal often swam round his boat, and it seemed that tears ran from her eyes. Ever since that man always had good catch and was lucky.
When their children went to the shore for a walk, people often saw a seal that swam in the sea not far from them, both when they were on land and near water, and threw motley fish and nice sea shells to them. But their mother never came back.

The Great Selkie of Sule Skerrie
1.An earthly nourris sits and sings,

And aye, she sings, by lily wean!

Little ken I my bairn’s father,

Far less the land where he dwells in.
2.Then he arose at her bed-feet,

And a grumbly guest, I’m sure was he:

“Here am I, thy bairns father,

Although I be not comelie.”

3.”I am a man upon the land,

I am a Selkie in the sea;

And when I’m far and far frae land,

My dwelling is in Sule Skerrie.”
4.”It was na weel,” quo the maiden fair.

“It was na weel, indeed,” quo she,

“That the Great Selkie of Sule Skerrie

Suld hae come and aught a bairn to me.”
5.Now he has taen a purse of gold,

And he has pat it upon her knee,

Sayin, “Gie to me my little young son,

And tak thee up thy nourris-fee.”
6.Ane it shall come to pass on a simmer’s day,

When the sin shines het on evera stane,

That I will tak my wee young son,

And teach him for to swim the faem.
7.And thou shall marry a proud gunner,

And a proud gunner I’m sure he’ll be,

And the very first shot that ere he shoots,

He’ll shoot baith my young son and me.

Sean & The Selkie

by Grainne Rowland
The sun was just about to set. Three tired fishermen plodded along the narrow coast road to their homes. They were famished for their evening meals and looking forward to a bit of a rest.
Sean was the first around a bend in the road. He stopped so suddenly that the others bumped into him.
“Shhh!” Sean whispered. “Look!”
The three stared at the most beautiful woman they had ever seen. She sat on the rocks combing her long red hair.
“Who is she?” asked one. “I’ve never seen her before.”
Sean answered, “She’s got to be a selkie. Look, there’s her skin lying on the rock beside her.”
Patrick whispered, “You’re right. Since I was a young lad, people have told stories of the selkies, the seal people. But this is the first time I’ve ever seen one.”
Sean crept forward and made a quick grab; he stood up with what looked like a seal’s skin. He held it tightly with both hands.
The woman looked up with a sad expression on her face.
“Will you not give back my skin?” she asked sadly.
“No,” said Sean. “I am the only man in the village without a wife. I know selkies make the best wives. You will be my wife.”
“I will miss the sea if I come with you,” she said. “But as long as you keep my skin, I must stay with you.”
“You may come to the sea whenever you wish,” said Sean. “But I will keep your skin.”
Sean was married three days later, and his two friends were at the wedding. No one but the three knew that Sean’s wife was a selkie. As for Sean, he locked the selkie’s skin in a strong chest and kept the key on a chain around his neck.
Sean’s marriage was a good one. His fortunes improved as soon as he was married. He soon owned his own fishing fleet, and his two old fishing friends worked for him. His wife gave him three strong sons and two beautiful daughters. Sean was very happy.
Sean’s wife spent as much time as she could by the sea. She loved especially to sit by the sea on a night with a full moon. It was then she met her own people, the seal people, who came to console her on her fate among humans. Often, after they left, she would weep. How she missed her own people!
After many, many years, Sean decided that he was so rich that his family must move to a bigger, grander house. As they were all stepping into an elegant carriage to go to the new mansion, Sean’s wife went once more into the house to take a last look around. In one corner, she noticed something that looked like a small pile of rubbish.
Curious, she knelt down to see what it was; her heart began to beat faster. It was an old chest, rotting with age! Could it be? She quickly searched through it. There it was! Her skin! Her heart singing, she took it, ran out the door and raced down to the sea. As she reached the sea, she heard Sean chasing after her and shouting his love. But, before he could catch up, she threw on her skin. In front of his eyes, she changed back into her seal form and then swam far out to sea. She was never seen again.

The Poetry of Kalidasa:

Seasonal Cycle – Summer

“Oh, dear, this utterly sweltering season of the highly rampant sun is drawing nigh, and it will always be good enough to go on taking daytime baths, as the lakes and rivers will still be with plenteous waters, and at the end of the day, nightfall will be pleasant with fascinating moon, and in such nights Love-god can somehow be almost mollified…[who tortured us in the previous vernal season… but now without His sweltering us, we can happily enjoy the nights devouring cool soft drinks and dancing and merrymaking in outfields…]
“Oh, beloved one, somewhere the moon shoved the blackish columns of night aside, somewhere else the palace-chambers with water [showering, sprinkling and splashing] machines are highly exciting, and else where the matrices of gems, [like coolant pearls and moon-stone, etc.,] are there, and even the pure sandalwood is liquefied [besides other coolant scents,] thus this season gets an adoration from all the people…
“The beloved ones will enjoy the summer’s clear late nights while they are atop the rooftops of buildings that are delightful and fragranced well, while they savour the passion intensifiers like strong drinks and while the ladylove’s face suspires the bouquets of those drinks together with melodious instrumental and vocal music…
“The women are ameliorating the heat of their lovers with their chicly silken coolant fineries gliding onto their rotund fundaments, for they are knotted loosely, and on those silks glissading are their golden cinctures with their dangling tassels that are unfastened on and off, and with their buxom bosoms that are bedaubed with sandal-paste and semi-covered with pearly strings and golden lavalieres, and with their locks of hair that are sliding onto their faces, which locks are fragrant with bath-time emulsions, which are just applied before their oil bath…
“Brightly coloured with the reddish foot-paint that is akin to the colour of lac’s reddish resin, adorned with anklets that are festooned with jingling bells, whose tintinnabulations on their stepping after stepping mimic the clucks of swans, with such feet those women with bumpy behinds are rendering the hearts of people impassioned, in these days of pre-summer…
“These days the bosoms of womenfolk are bedaubed with scents and sandal-paste, and they are given out to snowily and whitely pearly pendants that are sported on those bosoms, and even their hiplines are with the dangling golden griddle-strings, with such a lovely ostentation whose heart is it, that does not fill with raptures…
“The seams of limbs of ladies of age are conquered by the often emerging sweat, thus those peaky bosomed lustful ladies are presently banding their bosoms with softish fineries, casting aside their roughish apparels …
“The rustles of air comprising the aroma of watered sandal-paste, blown off by the fans with peacocks’ plumage, and the rustle of strings of pearls when the roundish bosoms of loves are hugged, together with the subtle melody of string instruments, and subtly sung intonations of singers, now appear to awaken Love-god, Manmatha, who is as though asleep after his manoeuvres in the last spring season…
“On leisurely seeing the faces of the maids that are comfortably sleeping well on the tops of whitish edifices, the moon of these nights is highly ecstasized, for he is unpossessed with any such flawless face, as his own face is flawed with rabbit-like, deer-like foibles, and when the night dwindles, he doubtlessly goes into state of pallidity, as though ashamed to show his face to the flawless sun…
“The intolerable westerly wind of the summer is up-heaving the clouds of dust, even the earth is ablaze, set by the blazing sun, and the itinerants whose hearts are already put to blaze by the blazing called the detachment from their ladyloves, and now it has become impossible for them even to look at the blazing earth, to tread further…
“The reigning sun’s torridity rendered the animals parched, and with unquenchable thirst highly shrivelled are their tongues, throats and lips, and on seeing kneaded blackish mascara like mirages on the sky in another forest, that are cloudlike in their shine, those animals are rushing there, presuming them to be water…
“The women of charm are with smiles and slanted looks, and now they are on par with the twilights that are ornamented with a beautiful ornament called moon, and they are now decorating themselves confusedly and they are inciting the incorporeal Love-god in the hearts of itinerants…
“Extremely seared by the rays of sun, and even by the already seared dust on the pathway, with its slithery motion and downcast hood, repeatedly suspiring when being scalded thus awfully, that serpent is sinking down under the pave of peacock’s plumage, distrait of the fact that a peacock is an enemy of serpents, thus distrait is the relative danger from a born enemy or from the searing summer…
“Thwarted are the valorousness and venturesomeness of that king of animals, the lion, for the thirst is abnormal, thereby gaping his mouth much lengthily, and suspiring repeatedly with a lengthened and dangling tongue, and repeatedly whisking his frontal hair of the mane, that lion is not pawing the elephants, though they are at his nearby, and though they both of them are born rivals, thus the scalding summer cooled off their mutual contempt…
“Verily dried up are their throats, but somehow some cool water remaining in their trunks is brought to those dry throats with the prehensility of their trunks, but too scanty is that water for those mega-vores, further muchly scorched by sun’s scorching rays and overpowered by heightened thirst, even those water-seeking tuskers are unafraid of those nearby lions, as negligible is the physical danger than the natural danger…
“The scorching sunrays that are akin to the tongues of blazed up Ritual-fire, by them the bodies as well as the souls of peacocks are wilted, thus they wedge their faces in the pack of their plumage for certain coolness, and though they mark the serpents that are milling about under the very same plumage through the plumes and feathers, they peck not those serpents to death, as their priority is to cool off their faces and heads…
“The slime in the ponds is dried up but in some areas Bhadramusta grass is available, and while the herd of wild boars is digging up that grass with their long and broad snouts for a piggish slumber, the sunrays have highly sweltered their backs, but that herd dug the dry swamp more and more, as though to enter the interior of earth, to get a mucky, miry, muddy slumber…
“With the unbearable prickly heat of sunrays highly seared is a frog, and jumping up from a pond with mud and muddy water, it jumped to sit under the shade of a parasol, called the hood of a snake… neither thirstier frog is aware that it is the shade of a snake’s hood, nor the thirstiest snake is aware that it is shading a thirsty frog…
“When each other elephant is highly huddling, belaboured is that lake by their elephantine limbs, and completely uprooted are the tall slender stems of lilies and lotuses of that lake, without any remnants of standing lotuses or lilies, thus trampled and agglutinated with mud, they are heaped up under the feet of elephants, and ill-fated are the fishes when trodden by elephants underfoot, and the Saarasa waterfowls are fleeing with fear of this rumpus…
“Akin to sunshine upcast is irradiance of the jewel on its hood, and wigwagging is its twinned tongue licking the air, and it is seared by its own venom, by fiery soil, and by the searing sun as well, and thus tottering thirstily, that hooded serpent is not draining the dregs of frogs, to the dregs…
“Frothily gaping and reeling are the two-pieced snouts, and jerkily extruding are the lightly re
ddened tongues, and staggering thirstily looking for water with upraised snouts, those herds of she-buffalos are extruding from the caves of mountain with such snouts and gaits, wherein they took shade from the scorching sun so far, but thirst drove them out of those cool caves…
“Extremely withered as though by wildfire and utterly shrivelled are the tender stalks of crops, and windswept by harsh winds they are uprooted and completely wilted and reduced to straw, and all over scorched are they in an overall manner as the water is evaporated, and if seen from highlands till the end of forest, this summer is foisting upon the onlookers a kind of disconcert, as the straw in the wind about the monsoon is unnoticeable…
“Perching on the trees with wilted leaves, flocks of birds are hyperventilating, the overtired troops of monkeys are going nigh of viny caves on the mountain, the water-craving herds of buffalos are rambling hither and thither, the straight flying Sharabha birds are nose-diving into wells and easily lifting up the water…
“The wildfire, that is simulative of a just blossomed bright and fierily ochreish safflower, is exceedingly speedy and further whipped up by the speed of the wind it is eagerly embracing the treetops, that are on the banks of lakes and rivers, with tongues of fire, onto which trees the apices of climber plants are eager to embrace, thus that wildfire has burnt down every quarter of land, in a trice…
“That wildfire, now intensified by the gusts, is blazing the valleys of mountains, and thus skittering across it entered the stands of bamboos, only to shatter them in a second with clattering rattles, then escalated by gusts it is overspreading the straw fields, then from their within, on smacking the perimeter of straw-field, it is broiling the herds of deer, tumultuously …
“That wildfire taking a rebirth in the copses of silk-cotton trees is extremely blazing, and from within the cavities of the trees it is erupting with the glint of golden yellow, and thus uprooting the wizened leaves on wizened branches along with their trees, and then hurled by gusts it is whirling everywhere in that woodland unto its edging…
“When fire scorched their bodies, their dichotomic thinking of mutual hostilities had to be discarded, and those elephants, buffalos and lions come together as friends, and when blighted by the fire, they are quickly exiting their habitual confines to enter the areas of rivers that have broad sandbanks…
“Oh, dear melodious singer, what if the summer is scorching… fragrant lotuses are overlaid on coolant waters, agreeably refreshing is the fragrance of Trumpet flowers, comfortable is the fresh water in bathing pools, pleasurable are those moonbeams, and with these pearly pendants and these jasmine garlands, let our simmering summer nights enjoyably slip by, while we abide on the tops of buildings right under the moonscape, savouring potations and amidst music and song…


Indian poet and dramatist, Kalidasa lived sometime between the reign of Agnimitra, the second Shunga king (c. 170 BC) who was the hero of one of his dramas, and the Aihole inscription of AD 634 which praises Kalidasa’s poetic skills. Most scholars now associate him with the reign of Candra Gupta II (reigned c. 380-c. 415).
Little is known about Kalidasa’s life. According to legend, the poet was known for his beauty which brought him to the attention of a princess who married him. However, as legend has it, Kalidasa had grown up without much education, and the princess was ashamed of his ignorance and coarseness. A devoted worshipper of the goddess Kali (his name means literally Kali’s slave), Kalidasa is said to have called upon his goddess for help and was rewarded with a sudden and extraordinary gift of wit. He is then said to have become the most brilliant of the “nine gems” at the court of the fabulous king Vikramaditya of Ujjain. Legend also has it that he was murdered by a courtesan in Sri Lanka during the reign of Kumaradasa.
Kalidasa’s first surviving play, Malavikagnimitra or Malavika and Agnimitra tells the story of King Agnimitra, a ruler who falls in love with the picture of an exiled servant girl named Malavika. When the queen discovers her husbands passion for this girl, she becomes infuriated and has Malavika imprisoned, but as fate would have it, Malavika is in fact a true-born princess, thus legitimizing the affair.
Kalidasa’s second play, generally considered his masterpiece, is the Shakuntala which tells the story of another king, Dushyanta, who falls in love with another girl of lowly birth, the lovely Shakuntala. This time, the couple is happily married and things seem to be going smoothly until Fate intervenes. When the king is called back to court by some pressing business, his new bride unintentionally offends a saint who puts a curse on her, erasing the young girl entirely from the king’s memory. Softening, however, the saint concedes that the king’s memory will return when Shakuntala returns to him the ring he gave her. This seems easy enough–that is, until the girl loses the ring while bathing. And to make matters worse, she soon discovers that she is pregnant with the king’s child. But true love is destined to win the day, and when a fisherman finds the ring, the king’s memory returns and all is well. Shakuntala is remarkable not only for it’s beautiful love poetry, but also for its abundant humor which marks the play from beginning to end.
The last of Kalidasa’s surviving plays, Vikramorvashe or Urvashi Conquered by Valor, is more mystical than the earlier plays. This time, the king (Pururavas) falls in love with a celestial nymph named Urvashi. After writing her mortal suitor a love letter on a birch leaf, Urvashi returns to the heavens to perform in a celestial play. However, she is so smitten that she misses her cue and pronounces her lover’s name during the performance. As a punishment for ruining the play, Urvashi is banished from heaven, but cursed to return the moment her human lover lays eyes on the child that she will bear him. After a series of mishaps, including Urvashi’s temporary transformation into a vine, the curse is eventually lifted, and the lovers are allowed to remain together on Earth. Vikramorvashe is filled poetic beauty and a fanciful humor that is reminiscent of Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
In addition to his plays, Kalidasa wrote two surviving epic poems Raghuvamsha (“Dynasty of Raghu”) and Kumarasambhava (“Birth of the War God”), as well as the lyric “Meghaduta” (“Cloud Messenger”). He is generally considered to be the greatest Indian writer of any epoch.
Karen Dalton “Blues Jumped The Rabbit”


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