Rewiring the System


29 Turning 12/8 Time


I meet two men entering my apartment building as I drag myself across the threshold.  I soaked and moved slowly in the water for almost two hours. One of the men entering the building just after me plays the big string base currently at the Oakland Museum of Art in the recent past with Dave Brubeck on the Blue Rondo A La Turk. “Blue Rondo à la Turk” is a JAZZ STANDARD composition by Dave Brubeck. It appeared on the album Time Out in 1959. It is written in 12/8 and 9/8 time.

Brubeck heard the unusual “1-2 1-2 1-2 1-2-3” rhythm being performed by Turkish musicians on the street. Belly Dancing had reached the East Coast and BeBa Ha Be Ba Be be Ba Ha BeeBe Ba, toe tapping by male tapped toes as these same lusting men watch sequenced curves swaying and hips exercise all those secret bits to 21/8.  I remember the white tiled railroad type room wafting with exotic spices. I watched the smiles and sways and patterned my feet to start from a plié, then during the ascending phase of the step, as my knee moved so that it appeared only my beg-angled begin bumped raqs sharqi. Every part of the body is involved in the dance; the most featured body part usually is the hips. Belly dance takes many different forms depending on country and region, both in costume and dance style, and new styles have evolved in the West as its popularity has spread globally. Although contemporary forms of the dance have generally been performed by women for men. This is the Goddess of fertility preforming for Hubal, the Moon God. With her famous pink Iranian Pearls flying, the French author Colette, engaged in “oriental” dancing, sometimes passing off her own interpretations as authentic

Upon asking the musicians where they got the rhythm from, one of them replied “This rhythm is to us, what the blues is to you”. Hence the title “Blue Rondo à la Turk”.

The piece is sometimes incorrectly assumed to be based on the Mozart composition “Rondo alla Turca“. In 2003 during an interview, Dave Brubeck commented that “I should’ve just called it ‘Blue Rondo’, because the title just seemed to confuse people”.

Today I danced yet again striving to focus on my dwindling energy by collecting the prions in my gut when swaying to the Rondo that I might fill the conversations about my hobbling condition with beauty.

My pain in constant. I find out today from a physical therapist that last week when I could barely pull myself out of bed was in fact the high point of my documentaries by the medical profession as the worst. I need to relax and do nothing and rest but I have to find out what is going on.I am driven by the rhythm of my heart to feel my life.  This radiation has no finding. I am finding out bits and pieces from the second ring around the regular doctors. I met with the Queen bee’s office manager today. She was present at the meeting with the Queen bee at our Monday meeting when the Queen had her arms akimbo protecting her gut as she looked tired of me my case and my desire for not especially exotic information.  Lift my spirit with truth. I cannot know more about breast cancer than the director.

It was the gentle man in the cancer center who first suggested that I talk to the directors today. I seemed to feel and think it would do more damage than good, but he insisted that I, at the very least, loge my experience with the overseers.  What a waste of time and energy. I spent two hours waiting and talking and listening and being looked at in the most impersonal way.  At the end after finally speaking to the doctors nurse, I walked to the door with the office manager and mentioned that the Queen doctor told me to soak in peroxide wash then keep neosporin on the wound and a bandade,  the nurse said the opposite,  no creams and no covering.

I am not getting good medical care for my infections and my overall high pain level which has not proper medication because of a terrible radiation staff and I have no information about what is going on inside my body. I am so sad! I feel betrayed by the very doctors sworn to give good well thought out dialogue and medicine.  And feel I made a  terrible choice to be glamoured by the sparkles in the city and leave the wonderful bee hive that found my cancer before it spred. I never should have gone to a center that just fixes what is broke with no information about the causes and effects.

I cannot walk down the street without tears rolling down my cheek at the slightest thought, emotion. or contact.. UCSF has broken my heart. I feel the cracks and the venous distribution of yet another hurt with no helping hand.

My daughters husband told me on the phone yesterday that my daughter feels that I do not appreciate her and that is why she wants to be paid for every hour by my side.  My daughter tells me she does not get along with me and that is the reason to abandon me when I am sick with breast cancer and radiation. I have no one who offeres kindness.  I say the spiritual world demands that I be the gracious person I wish to attract. I feel that my only chance is to say that I have been through some valley of difficulties where a few probably nice people do nothing to help me or what that ACLU calls evil.

Next time I would like to be asked and not told. Evil has so many gradations of particles and the stirred dust obliterates the light that is the way I have been harmed. It is dangerous. I got a good surgery and all the after support is troubling.  I want other woman to stand on my courage as I have stood on those who have gone through this every day all the days of the years since Environmental Cancer is the way doctors talk about certain cancers … Environmental means the life style choices people male. I create the environment for the shadow dancers who are in this soap story.  The doctors scare me.  I have to think how I will survive and  step into the swans way ahead. I  choose the from the duality: the path over the bridge or the path through town and around the church, remarkably introspective and passive, the mais englaise…

In Search of Lost Time orRemembrance of Things Past (À la recherche du temps perdu) is a semi-autobiographical novel in seven volumes by Marcel Proust. His most prominent work, it is popularly known for its length and the notion of involuntary memory, the most famous example being the “episode of the madeleine“. The sight, smell or crunch sound of the cookie recalled a torrent of thoughts.

The novel, Remembrance of Things Past, but the designated title is a deeply heart felt tear from a real opened heart, In Search of Lost Time. The complete story contains nearly 1.5 million words and is one of the longest novels. It is resting in the sweet softness of human velvet woven by the threads of experience.

The novel as we know it began to take shape in 1909 and work continued for the remainder of Proust’s life, broken off only by his final illness and death in the autumn of 1922. The structure was established early on and the novel is complete as a work of art and a literary cosmos but Proust kept adding new material through his final years while editing one time after another for print; the final three volumes contain oversights and fragmentary or unpolished passages which existed in draft at the death of the author; the publication of these parts was overseen by his brother Robert.

I have a chance to wind my way around this story and include it in my massive undertaking.  I look forward to taking time to sit and spill out the stories with all the detailes and all the tastes and smiles and the claws of those whose fingers have grown callous by self estimation of grandeur. Save me from the doctors at UCSF!

I have shock from the discovery of the cancer just three months ago. Traumatic stress should get comfort from the healing trades but I am not having anyone be kind since the terrible radiation monster going postal.

I am so tired that I just am going to try to put all this in a side corner and allow the television mystery wash over my brain and rinse my troubles away.  I know that I am going to get a wonderful sweetness since I have been through almost inhuman struggles these last three months. I want to walk into my new adventure with my heart ready for all that is as beautiful as mu Butterfly winged conveyance to forever… Ever and Ever.

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4 Responses to '29 Turning 12/8 Time'

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  1. what do you need


    • i love your pictures on your blog.


      • thanks. Can I help you, Ilsa? Do you want me to comment or chat or just drop by as I read your blog…

  2. Lee Weingrad said,

    I’ll tell you what I think, but you won’t like it:

    –two of the 4 kinds of suffering that are unique to humans are: not getting what you want and getting what you don’t want. In the absence of the kindness of a daughter or mother, you have to be your own daughter or mother and disown, drop, the sense of “deserve” that permeates your story and its implied meaning, its color, that you’ve been wronged by the cancer, by the hospital, by your daughter, by the doctors. As Clint Eastwood said in “Unforgiven,” “deserve has nothing to do with it.”

    You have to meet that sadness, that sense of not getting what you deserve, directly and abandon it’s storyline. When you can do that you become your own best friend and you’ll find that you are able to extend that heart to others too. At that point your disappointment of others may dissolve slightly and in that gap they may actually be able to extend themselves to you similarly. As long as you have the chip on your shoulder, people will avoid you.

    You are lucky to be alive and that is the basis for being able to be open to yourself.


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