Tea in the Desert

I listened to Sting's "Tea in the Sahara" many times before looking into the story behind the song. It is a tragic and heartbreaking story. The song is haunting and beautiful and sets the stage for a telling of the old Berber tale. That tale is one of seeking and longing and broken promises.

For those who don't know the tale ...

Three sisters dream of taking tea together in the Sahara, but they are too poor. They must find a way to earn enough money to make that trip. So they seek their fortunes in a village that borders the great desert. The men of the village are ugly and pay them very little for their labors. The sisters fear they will never make enough money to have their tea in the Sahara. One day, a tall and handsome prince arrives in the village and tells stories of the desert and his home. The sisters are entranced by both the prince and his tales. He asks them to dance for him and he pays them in silver. He makes love to them and makes promises to them. But in the morning he leaves. The sisters live for many months with the longing and hope of seeing the prince again and of going into the Sahara to have tea. Eventually they can take this longing no more and trade their silver for a tea set and a caravan trip into the desert. One night the three sisters leave the caravan and set out by the light of the moon to have their tea on the sand dunes. They search for the highest dune so they might view the entire desert with a hope of finding the prince. With each sand dune there seems to be another one in the distance that is higher and will give them a more sweeping view. They walk through the night and into the blazing sun of the following day. Finally, atop a high sand dune, they decide to rest awhile and then have their tea. They sleep. Many days later another caravan comes upon the three sisters. They are still laying where they had fallen asleep. Their tea glasses are full ... of sand.

This got me thinking about what it is we seek -- what it is we desire with a longing so fierce that we would walk through the noonday heat of the desert. And about unkept promises.

Do we seek a "higher sand dune"? Sand dunes are constantly shifting you know. The highest one today may be the lowest tomorrow. And in the event of a wind storm you will be buried by the very sand you desire so much.

Do we desire a "tall handsome prince"? Someone who pleases the eye and will say things we want to hear? "Tall handsome princes" rarely act like the noble characters of fairy tales. You may find yourself crossing a desert to find someone who is no more than a mirage ... and waiting for the fulfillment of a promise that won't be kept.

The purpose of this post is not to tell you what I seek or for what I long. It is rather to ask you to think about these things yourself and to ask yourself if what you seek and long for is worth it.

The desert can be beautiful, especially by moonlight, but it is also a harsh and unforgiving place. We can't avoid the desert, but would you choose to walk across it looking for something with no lasting value or for something that doesn't really exist? Make the journey worth the struggle and adversity. And during that journey, don't lose sight of the beauty. Stop and have your tea under the moon.

If you would like to read the lyrics to "Tea in the Sahara" go here.

The Dollhouse

I was going to use the following as my Sleeping with Bread Monday post, but seeing as this is no longer Monday it will just have to serve as my whining on Wednesday post. Not that it will be ALL whining mind you ... but mostly so.

I live in a dollhouse. This could almost be a picture of my living room ... but minus the plastic people. Oh, and my rugs aren't bunched up like those in the picture. And my color scheme is better. There are also no children. OK, so this really doesn't look anything like my living room.

My home is a very tiny place though and I have no end of aggravation trying to figure out where to put things. I live on a "something in something out" basis. In this age of stuff-more stuff-and where is all this stuff coming from, this is not a bad policy no matter what size your home. When I'm feeling particularly space deprived, I try to think of this as a spiritual exercise. Something to build character. Learning to live contentedly with the space I have. This usually lasts for a good 15 minutes or so before I revert to whining.

So as not to be accused of being a total whiner, I will now say something positive. Dollhouses, by their nature, are cute. Very cute. My home definitely has the cute factor. Wood floors, built in bookcase, breakfast nook. I also have a yard with a garden area that could be cute if I would but tend to it. And I happen to think that my husband, who lives in the cute dollhouse with me, is cute. So you see, what I lack in space is more than compensated for in an abundance of cuteness.

I'll probably always have my whiny moments when it comes to space, but I'll take a loving husband and a cute dollhouse of a home over space any day.

The Scriptwriter

Cock crows, 6 a.m.
Tell me please, what I am.
Am I angry?
Am I sad?
Tell me please, I might be glad!

An open book I seem to be,
Blank pages ... yeah that's me.
Today I lie?
Today deceive?
Write my script ... what you believe.

What I am? WHAT I AM??
You don't know what I am.
You can't see,
Too close to me,
You only guess.
Just let me be.

Could it be that I am you?
Project on me the things you do?
Remove the sound,
Remove the screen,
And you might find I've never been.

What I am? WHAT I AM??
Don't tell me what I am.
You can't see,
Too close to me,
You only guess.
Just let me be.

Copyright 1996 Terri B.

Who's Counting?

Well, I am for one. And so are over one hundred other ladies on the Diet Naked Team over at Amazing Shrinking Mom. Mel, aka the Amazing Shrinking Mom, has put together an online accountability group for those trying to lose weight. The naked part?? Oh, well that just refers to the vulnerable position of revealing to the world our weight, how much we lose (or gain) each week, and ... what the drivers license says we weigh. Snicker.

After a serious illness called going to college, going to college some more, and not knowing when to stop going to college, I emerged with three degrees and twenty five additional pounds. Throw into this mix one management job, one career change, and the acquisition of a teenage stepdaughter and you can see that I didn't really have time to notice I was gaining weight. Four major research papers due this week? Eat some chocolate. Business lunch? Have a drink. Teenager got herself in trouble? Have a cookie ... and a drink.

At first a youthful metabolism seemed to keep things in check. An extra five pounds was nothing a freshly washed pair of jeans couldn't fix. But no longer being in my 20s ... OK ... no longer being in my 30s I've found that I must create a metabolism each day. This means lots of movement. Lots. Did I say lots?

During those long years of degree seeking and career chasing, I FELT active. I went to bed each night FEELING like I had just run a marathon. Doesn't that count? Evidently eyeball activity doesn't burn enough calories to fend off weight gain and keyboarding is not considered a sport. Such is life.

Ah yes, life. Mine was missing something important. Activity. Not perceived activity or stress, but REAL activity. I used to walk and cycle long distances. I used to be able to bench press something heavier than a soup can. I was an active person. Well, I want that part of my life back.

I'm reclaiming that active life and smaller person. I've re-discovered my love of walking and cycling. The soup can has been traded in for some real weights and I'm able to drop some serious push-ups. I feel better. I sleep better. And the weight is almost off. Am I counting? You betcha!

Lavender Meditation

I am a newborn purple untouched by the blackness of my elders. I am sometimes cool but never frigid, and never far from the warmth of the rising or setting sun. I belong to the Painted Desert and am surrounded by blushing pastel cousins -- but I am distinct among them. Of the earth, I rise and bloom and draw dew to my petals until they glitter like amethysts. My perfume is that of lilac, rose and ... yes ... lavender. True calm emanates from within and I am used as a healing tonic. A mountain in the distance is not more lavender than I. I hum hues of Debussy and wear the color of a Van Gogh iris. I'm the shimmer on the surface of a shaded lake and I would make Monet smile.

Copyright 2001 Terri B.

This was a little piece I wrote for a creative writing class in 2001. The task was to "become a color" and write a piece from the perspective of that color. I found it rather difficult to get started, but once started it just poured out. In fact, this piece is the reason I keep a small recorder with me most of the time. I had been dwelling on this assignment for most of a week, and while driving (of course) a phrase suddenly began running through my head. Without paper or pen in the car to write it down I ended up reciting the line out loud all the way home!

I encourage all you writers out there to try this exercise and see what you can do with it.

"Cell Phones Ringing in the Pockets of the Dead" - Willie Nile

What a strange image this line conjures up. I recently purchased the new Willie Nile CD and took it with me on a road trip up the coast. As I drove along enjoying the music, I suddenly focused in on the lyrics to hear dear Willie singing about cell phones ringing in the pockets of dead people. Hmmm.... How charming.

Of course I was driving, so I couldn't read the song lyrics without becoming a major road hazard. I really don't relish the thought of causing a major SigAlert. When I got to my destination, I reached for the CD case to peruse the lyrics of this most intriguing and disturbing song. But, alas ... in my fervor to keep the clutter down on this trip, I had pulled my CDs out of their cases and inserted the whole mess into a tidy CD notebook -- without the inserts that include lyrics and liner notes. I was just going to have to wait until I got home later in the week. In the meantime, the phrase "cell phones ringing in the pockets of the dead" just wouldn't leave me alone.

As I've mentioned in a previous post, I don't carry a cell phone. This was just one more reason not to carry one of these insidious devices. "YOU MEAN THAT THING'S GONNA RING EVEN WHEN I'M DEAD???"

If you know me, you know that I try hard not to be immediately and always available. I spend most of my days being immediately and always available. Sometimes I just need to be unavailable. After all, how else will I be able to concentrate on writing rants about cell phones if I have to keep answering a phone? I've got voicemail; I've got email; I check them repeatedly throughout most days. This is connected enough.

Then there is a little thing I find so very important. It's called "giving someone my full attention." When I'm having lunch or coffee with someone, I like to be fully present to that person. They deserve it. When I'm driving, I like to be fully present to others on the road. They deserve it. I think you can see where I'm headed with this. I'm all for multi-tasking when necessary, but do we really need to multi-task our relationships?

Well, enough ranting about why I don't carry a cell phone. Back to Willie's song. When I got home, I pulled the lyrics out and read them. I read them again. I finally went online to see what Willie himself had to say about his song. I was stunned. I'd been singing the refrain at the top of my lungs every time I'd listened to it. I'd had bizarre Bradbury-esque images float into my head. The song even got me thinking about my own personal rant, which you've just read. Willie was writing a commentary, but not about cell phones. He had something much more important on his mind when he wrote this song. He wrote this song for the victims of terrorism. Like many of us, he is saddened that people can't get along ... yet he understands how tough this seemingly simple act of getting along with each other really is. In Willie's words, "... [if] we'd try to help each other in all the different countries, it would still be tough. It would still be tough. But man makes it so hard."

To read what Willie Nile had to say about the writing of this song, see his interview at http://www.puremusic.com/63willie4.html.