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To Crazy Wisdom Community Journal’s Readers and Advertisers –
In the spirit of responding in a practical way to what is happening, we have postponed the publishing of our Spring/Summer Issue (May thru August 2020 – Issue #75) due to all the reverberations and fallout from the Covid-19 Pandemic. Our editorial content is all set to go, but so many of our advertisers are closed for business currently, and they’ve asked to postpone their advertisements. Additionally, so many of our 235 local/regional distribution spots are closed that we wouldn’t be able to distribute most of our 11,000-copy print run.
Features from our Winter 2020 Issue
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At Peaceful Minds Counseling Services and Care2Cure Physical Therapy in Dexter, Michigan, we have come together to conduct a research study focused on helping individuals with PTSD improve trauma processing and healing. Through this collaboration, we are exploring the effects of using Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing therapy (EMDR) in a mental health setting followed immediately with Dry Needling in a physical therapy setting.
It has long been proven that one’s mental and spiritual wellness have a huge impact on one’s bodily health. With 22 years of training in multiple traditional disciplines such as neuroscience and kinesiology as well as holistic disciplines such as yoga and aromatherapy, Stephanie Olson treats the whole person. From start to finish, in all aspects of her treatments she expresses loving empathy. Given time, a wildflower will break down a stone wall. Slowly, gently, and lovingly, the wall will turn into fertile soil. Stephanie Olson is such a flower.
Soon after arriving in Bainbridge (between Dayton and Columbus), I had my first revelation–The Arc wasn’t a guesthouse or retreat facility per se: it was a conservation non-profit dedicated to preserving and restoring the wildscapes of the Appalachian region within southern Ohio, West Virginia, and eastern Kentucky.
Time can seem to come to a standstill when we are waiting. During my grade school days, I would stare at the clock above the classroom door silently pleading for the bell toll to release me. Sometimes, I would avert my eyes, hoping that more time would pass between my longing glances. I’d spot birds outside the window, and my jealousy grew as I sat in a hard plastic chair and ached to stretch my limbs. When I’d look back at the clock face, I was often disheartened to see how little time had passed since my last glance. I wondered whether the clock was growing too tired to make it all the way around the dial, or perhaps whether it had fallen asleep to the lull of my teacher’s voice.
Art has always been vulnerable to public concerns, stemming from its ability to raise complicated feelings. Music is especially targeted because it’s everywhere. A 2021 Harris Poll found that among American adults under 30, 72% reported listening to music by choice and among those, 77% reported choosing music listening as a daily activity.
We were blessed that Mom felt safe enough to share her experiences in the months and hours leading up to her transition from this world. Hers was the fourth close family death in four years. I felt that sharing the sacredness of these journeys—the before, during, and after—could help others refine their anxieties about passing and what it means to be alive. So, let us explore endings, beginnings, and continuations of soul connectivity.
I don’t have health insurance, but I bet I receive better health care than many people who do. Friends and family often understandably express concern about my lack of insurance, but I marvel at how often they then proceed to share with me the troubling experiences they have with the healthcare system: waiting months to get an appointment with their primary care doctor, not being allowed to share all their health concerns during a doctor’s appointment, and the most troubling of all, life threatening circumstances that result from overlooked diagnoses. Though well-meaning, these loved ones don’t seem to understand the relationship health insurance has to the health care—or lack there of—they are receiving.
Matthew Keating discovered tango at twenty-one and fell hard. At once both sultry and stern, playful and serious, tango evokes a powerful theatrical expression. He recalled riding his bike home from work when he first encountered a milonga (a place or event at which the tango is danced) He heard the music drifting around a corner. “Like the scent of Grandma’s pies cooling in a window, I was drawn.
Posts from our Blog
I was driving past Domino’s Farm recently and wondered whether bison moo like cows. Big Bull (current leader of the Dominos herd) popped into my mind, grinned and went “mooooo!” Then he laughed his fuzzy butt off!
When Dave Sharp, bassist, bandleader, A2 Jazz Fest founder and artistic director at Ann Arbor’s Blue LLama Jazz Club, first thought of putting on a jazz festival, he was just trying to solve a problem: the jazz music program at the Ann Arbor Music Center (AAMC), was really starting to grow in popularity. With teachers like Dave and his colleagues, Detroit-based drummer, Gayelynn McKinney, and Ann Arbor-based saxophonist, Paul Vornhagen added to an already all-star popular music slate that included Theo Katzman (former Vulfpek frontman), Ann Arbor’s only Rock Band School—now with Jazz - was bursting at the seams.
Harambe was a 17-year-old 450-pound male gorilla at the Cincinnati Zoo. On May 28, 2016, a three-year-old boy climbed under a fence and fell into the gorilla enclosure’s moat. Overwhelmed and distressed by the uproar from panicking humans, Harambe tried to move the boy to a more protected part of the enclosure. Because of Harambe’s size and strength and the potential for accidental harm, he was shot and killed by zoo officials. The incident was caught on camera and became a major viral meme and cultural phenomenon. It also sparked intense international debate over zookeeping, animal rights, and parental responsibility in public spaces.
As my great Aunt Wanda braided wildflower stems together, her hazel eyes sparkled and a mysterious, yet playful, grin danced across her lips. She told me stories of wood fairies, who were shy and hidden just out of our sight, yet deeply inquisitive and always listening. She described them as gentle yet volatile, delicate yet strong. They were connected to the woods and nurtured plants and forest creatures. Their protective nature also came with quick tempers; they would play tricks on those who were greedy or destructive.
“Omaha Beach was one of the five main landing areas during the Allied invasion of German-occupied France on June 6, 1944 (D-Day). It was the most heavily defended and deadliest of all landing sites, with roughly 2,400 U.S. casualties out of 34,000 troops. Today, it is a place for reflection with memorials and the nearby American Cemetery.”
When I was in my mid-20s, I had a brush with cancer. The diagnosis led to a series of tests and seemingly endless appointments with various specialists. I sat in waiting rooms, awaited results, scheduled further appointments. My art at the time reflected my feelings of being poked, prodded, and reduced to a numbered specimen. I’d never before faced surgery, and the night before the procedure, I laid awake, contemplating my mortality.
Recently I went to the PTO Thrift Shop on South Industrial in Ann Arbor, and parked way in the back next to the railroad tracks. Returning to my car, I spotted a feral, long-haired orange cat perched on a piece of discarded concrete. We were only eight feet apart, but there was so much brush and junk between us that she felt safe enough to stay where she was.
The first person who called me “Mom,” was born over half a century before me.
His name was Raymond. Deemed unable to make his own decisions, he became an adult ward of the state after his parents and close relatives passed. Unlike a child who learns whom to call mother, Ray asked my permission. When I paused, he explained with choppy speech and teary eyes that he missed his mom and knew it was pretend.
Then came the day when I got home from work and found just a few shreds of mangled stems and leaves. One of the groundskeepers had managed to find the only healthy green plant in sight on that early spring day, and he decided it must be a weed. (Even though it was inside my patio fence at the base of a trellis for the vines to climb on!)
One type of activity I’ve been thinking a lot about lately is something I’ve decided to start calling “Rituals of Care”—those activities we do that include a certain care component—that is some aspect of the labor that feeds into something greater than what it does, in a practical, applied sense, for you.
Over our lives, when we are shut out from things we want—getting into a school program, scheduling a date with a lovely person, not getting the job in your chosen field—we can tend to dampen our heart’s desire and diminish our joy in the world. We then tend to think of the world as a place to be tolerated. When we follow our open loving heart, we touch into that reservoir of delight and joy which we all have, and then we fully inhabit our precious life. When I get stuck on a project or something I want to do, I often think of this delightful energy we all have, and I reminisce about when I was small, and in my innocence, would not take no for an answer.