Mother Turtle

Has anyone ever swallowed something sharp, like a fish bone or a piece of shell? I have swallowed many fish bones growing up with a father who loved fishing, and who I joined on many many occasions. It was kind of our father-daughter activity. It's one of my favorite memories with Dad. Anyhow, getting one of those sharp bones stuck in your throat can be scary, but nothing like what I experienced yesterday at a local restaurant. I was eating some pretty dang yummy scallops and I am guessing there was a shell that I didn't see in the dark lighting. When I swallowed I knew I was in trouble, as it felt like a knife going across my throat and I knew I couldn't swallow without lodging it in further and creating a very bad situation for myself. So, I remembered my aunt choking on a fish bone, during a holiday gathering. She came frantically into the kitchen where I was, and she was looking around with incredible urgency. She saw a loaf of bread and tore it open with fervor! Pieces flew onto the counter and floor. She grabbed some and swallowed a mouthful. I could see the relief in her face and, eventually she told me she was choking. I didn't realize it because she was so intentional and focused. I think this memory may have saved me from a most unfortunate experience. Barely able to speak, I calmly asked Eleanor for the bread and ate a large piece. It forced the sharp edge out of my throat and I felt it scraping it's way down through my esophagus. It was painful and quite scary. I'm o.k. today, but my throat was raw for many hrs. I'm grateful that I did not panic and that I ordered that second round of bread!!! I'm sure a medical professional would not suggest our putting anything else in our mouths when we are choking, and honestly I probably would not have if i had not had that experience with my aunt. In this case, it helped. Be careful out there. And no matter what, stay calm! Mother Turtle

It was so much fun! I dug my feet in the mud and laughed and cried in gratitude, and in sadness for what is happening to our oceans and our waters. We have been in a drought here. It was a much needed downpour. It brought tears of joy to my eyes.

"With no set form, pull the bow. Release the arrow with no intent. Each shot reveals your character, it shows who you are, what you can do. Each shot must be sincere, use it to foster mind power, bring ki into your tanden, and polish your inner heart.” Kyudo Archery Master Awa Kenzo

Photo & Video: Kyle Bissell

It's been 6 long weeks since my nephews’ beautiful spirit left this physical plane. I think about him every day. It's also been 6 long weeks since I prepared a good meal for myself. I just haven’t felt like it so, I have eaten “quick” foods. Fruit, toast, lots of popcorn, some take out but not much at all. Even that felt tiresome, being that I live on the top of a hill in the middle of nowhere. It takes at least 25 minutes to get anywhere around here. Long story short, I have not been nourished. Last week a friend made me some collards and stir fry rice (thanks Seal). When I took that first bite of collards, my body literally reacted and I found myself vocalizing its yumminess with, “Mmmm” after “Mmmm” after “Mmmm.” It was then that I realized that I hadn’t had any greens in weeks. My body rejoiced and I knew I had to start cooking again. It makes me happy to be in the kitchen, but maybe that was the problem. How could I be happy, after what happened to Matt?  

It has taken me over a week, but today, finally, I prepared and am now eating, what my body thinks is the most delicious soup ever made! lol! It’s full of kale and collards, lentils, oyster AND shiitake mushrooms, onions, carrots, celery, basil, tumeric, cumin, smoked sea salt, Thai red pepper, Italian sausage, and nearly a cup of the freshest purple garlic. Oh, and since it had a spicy kick to it, I finished it with a dollop of plain yogurt and even more red pepper. This soup is off the charts good. I am satisfied and feeling nourished after eating 2 bowls of this deliciousness. Thankfully, I was smart enough to make enough to last me several days. Yay! Deep breath.

Yes, it’s been a long 6 weeks. We have had Matt and his twin sister Morgans’ birthday, as well as (my sisters’) their mothers’ birthday, and I had a birthday too. It honestly was the worst ever for me (I woke up crying and had a rough morning). Even my own mother forgot it was my day. She never has in 53 years. Mattman is gone, and there are no more birthdays here for him. I wish I had spent more time with him. Who knew his life would be so short. Time is a funny thing and a great teacher. Some say Matt is forever young. I say, Matt is free.   

Be nourished everyone. 
With Love,  

Marsia

My nephew Matthew was brutally beaten, and killed. We're all so sad, yet are lifted by memories and funny anecdotes, like what my oldest nephew reflected to us at Matts' memorial service. He talked about how every time he looked at one of the 2 large images of Matt, he could hear him saying, "What are you all so sad about?" Really, Mattman is not gone. He’s still here, just not physically. He lived joyfully. He was loved by many and that showed in the incredible turn out for his memorial service. Some say 300, 400, 500. I lean more toward the 5-600, as the church’s capacity was 700, with every pew comfortably full. Matthew was a great kid, and had recently fallen in love for the first time. He had a new job that he loved as well, and was working toward his big dreams of being a music producer. This is why we cry. For this beautiful life, that was so abruptly extinguished. I know that he is still here with us, as are all of the ancestors. They want us to get together and end the hatred and violence that has killed so many. Enough. What’s it going to take to stop this madness? 

It is possible to live happy and meaningful lives. We must hold ourselves accountable. No problem, nor solution, exists outside of ourselves. We must look within, into the darkness that we carry, and not be afraid to confront it, shine a light on it, befriend it, and heal what needs healing so that we can co-create that peaceful world we all hope for. Peace is not a spectator sport! Let's do the work of healing our stories, then come together as one, in solidarity for a better world.  

Matthew Tyler Murrell 
July 27, 1990 - July 5, 2016 

Yes, I mourn my nephews death, it was a heinous crime. I expect the days will get better, and I am most grateful for Mattmans' short 25 year life. He was so special. We miss you Matthew. May your Spirit Fly Free! Forever Love, Aunt M.

Today is a good day. I am grateful. The end.

Written by Marsia Shuron Harris  
Performed by Aye   
Produced by David Tortolano and Aye  
Recorded by David Tortolano/Cosmo Recording

This song is one of my personal favorites. I wrote it on a rainy day in a loft overlooking the Boston Commons circa 1991. I always enjoy playing this song and can still feel the rain misting on my face, as I remember laying in bed, directly beneath an open skylight during a Fall rainstorm. The pitta patter of the rain is in the rhythm. It all felt so buoyantly surreal and completely bizarre. My muse was wildly amused and danced her dance with me for 48hrs or so. She took me on an incredible journey that was such an unusual though great, adventure. The song was recorded in 2000 by David Tortolano and performed by the duo AYE (Mother Turtle and Adrienne Z. ). Laura Wood does a great job on percussion, and the child's voice at the beginning was one of those magical gifts that happened by accident... not! How odd, this thing called art can be, and, I am ever so grateful for it! Listen to "Picture."

It is a most powerful act to bring our focus into awakening our consciousness. In doing this it becomes apparent that we not only are the actors in this great play called life, but we are also the authors and architects. Much of what we construct in our realities stems from the stories that we tell ourselves. What we think and feel really does matter, and plays a huge role in what we experience. Now this is wonderful news if we are focused on what we want, opposed to what we don't want. However, for those stories that cause us inner unrest and continue to hold our attention, we unconsciously feed into our own pain and suffering. Becoming conscious of the stories that we tell ourselves and how they affect us, is essential to our  happiness and well being.  

Today is a good day to shift an old worn out belief. It's not so much about changing the story as it is about shifting our relationship to the story and the way we are seeing. If I tell myself the story that fat girls are not attractive and I live my life believing this (which I did for many years), then what I am essentially telling myself is that I am not good enough. As a Black American woman, this message of not being enough is centuries old. Heck, as a woman period, I know this story well, as it too has been passed down for centuries by way of patriarchal rule. This and many other stories deserve our attention and healing.  

How do we shift our stories, stop the tapes from running in our heads, and heal our old wounds? You may be surprised at my suggestion. It is quite simple yet most effective. We can waste a lot of time "trying." Just decide. Nothing happens until their is a decision made. With the decision comes momentum and purpose. With purpose comes direction and strength. Once we decide that we want to take back our power, we do. It's time to stop believing the lies. Stop. Correct yourself every time you hear those old moldy stories come up. Create a new script. Look from another perspective. Project your desires, not your worries. Shifting perspective gives a new view, and helps to lighten the load we have been carrying for far too long. In becoming lighter, we are better able to fly! When we shift our vision, we shift our experience. This is how I believe we can heal our deepest hurts, and embody the strength, power and beauty that we have always been. 

*If you are interested in my work of "Healing The Stories We Tell Ourselves" and want to join me for an experience, please visit  HealingTheStories.com

I'm in writing mode today. Music is flowing and I wanted a quick something to eat. I was not willing to distract myself from my musings long enough to make a meal so, tearing through the frig I discovered the bok choy. Yummy healthy goodness that it is. I was happy to save it from molecular breakdown as I had forgotten it was there. That happens a lot these days. The forgetting. Funny how memory is. Maybe we forget because honestly, after living a half century or more, simply, some things just are not as important as they may have once been. My spirit wants to focus on clearing away, letting go and really living. You know what I mean? I digress... Add these fixin's or toppings of your choice. I will add cucumbers next time and a little lemon. Try your own and share the goodness! To our health! Mother Turtle

Written by Marsia Shuron Harris 
Performed by Aye  
Produced by David Tortolano and Aye 
Recorded by David Tortolano/Cosmo Recording

My first day in Key West (late Fall 1992) – I was walking on the beach and approaching a woman who was standing in the doorway of a telephone booth (remember those?). She suddenly began to yell at me, warning me that I could not use the phone – imagine Bill Murray in “What About Bob?” lol! I assured her that I had no need for the phone. She calmed down and explained to me that she was awaiting a VERY important phone call from a producer in Hollywood. She had landed a part in a major motion picture, or so she said. I congratulated her and went on my way noticing the bags, clothes and luggage that surrounded her. The encounter was short. 

Fast forward a couple years… 
I was writing a song on our dock off a beautiful piece of paradise that we had rented. The beauty of the bay was inspirational (MM10) and much music was played and written there. Right off the dock were schools and schools of Red Snapper (yum!) and Nurse sharks too, not so yum! The drop off the bank was deep (40ft or so) It felt incredibly dark and mysterious. The home came with a “squatter,” a cat who was maybe the nastiest one I’ve ever met. He tormented my beautiful kitty. The grounds were dry and rocky with very little shade, which supported a healthy snake population! I don’t know exactly what kind they were but I saw both red and black snakes. That’s another story, back to Betty: 

There on the dock I began writing a song about what I thought to be a fictional character named Betty. After several months, I finished the song. “Aye” debuted it at the Schooner Wharf Bar. At the end of the set, someone came up to me and said “Hey, that’s a great song about Betty.” The way he spoke suggested that he knew her. I asked, “You know Betty?” He replied, “Of course, she’s sitting right over there!” I looked up and was shocked to see, the 50 something year old woman that I had met 2 yrs earlier my first day on the beach! It turns out that her name was Betty and she was a poet and Ivy league graduate, homeless, and living out of her car on Key West. It turns out that the song was about her but not, but yes, it is her! Weird huh? 

Feeling a little confused, I walked over to the bar where she was sitting and shared with her my surprise and that I did not intend to write the song about her. I explained that “Betty” was fictitious! She smiled and gently relieved my curious, though fearful mind, by simply saying, “It’s a good song.” Phew! There was an odd humor to it all and we both knew it, but for me, something magical happened that day on the beach. A song was conceived and in a small way, Betty’s story told. I have since sang that song a million times and to my amazement, I have met more than one “Betty” in my travels! She’s someone we all know. You’ve seen her haven’t you? Her costume makes her somewhat invisible but if you look closer, you will see her, and if you look even closer, you will find brilliance there. 

Check out the song on the Music page

A friend and I were canoeing down the Chattahoochie river, when after going down a crazy waterfall, we were sucked into a hydraulic. For those who don’t know (as neither of us knew at the time), a strong hydraulic current is one of the most dangerous things we could encounter on a river. It is powerful and difficult, if not impossible, to navigate out of without help. Getting into the water was not an option for us, it wouldn’t be for you either… the hydraulic sucks down any and everything in its wake. Attempting to “swim for it” would have ended in tragedy. We looked around to see what we could do. The boat was wedged tight between the rocks and it was not budging. There was a downed tree in the water and it’s far away branches seemed to reach out to us but we could not reach them. Fortunately, we were white water canoeing with a group of fellow high school students, and my friend and I were eventually rescued by our more experienced, though definitely worried, guide. We trusted him and listened to his every word. He did not fail us, but instead pulled us to safety. 

Remembering this story, I am asking the question today, when sucked into life’s hydraulic’s, how does one save herself? My only answer at this time is, she doesn’t. She needs help. A hydraulic is relentless, sucking and sucking until it has you pinned and unmoving. As a metaphor, I can see how this has played out in my life. And, I have been saved time and time again. My life (boat) is blessed, and I am thankful. So, keep your eyes open out there, and beware of life’s hydraulics! They may take you down, but there is help for you. Reach out, trust, and listen.

After reading my last post, I realize how reactive I have been. Truth is, I am tired. Tired of the bigotry, the arguments, the division, the inflicted pain. I’m tired of cruelty, ignorance and closed mindedness. Tired of self righteous critics, liars and thieves. Tired of judgment, ridicule and hate. Tired of the desecration of what is sacred on this earth, and the abuse perpetuated in the name of God.
Why is it so hard to
L O V E?
It’s time for us to hold ourselves accountable.
It’s time to take personal responsibility for everything that we think, say and do.
Finger pointed at self.
Eyes in the mirror.
Compassion.
Bravery and understanding.
Shifting and Evolving.
Visioning.
It’s time to put to rest what is antiquated and unjust, what is broken and unsustainable, that which no longer serves life or the living.
It’s time to wake up, come together, and STOP BEING AFRAID. 

I have been drawn to Sycamore trees lately. There are many here in Massachusetts, but oddly, I have not found any on this mountain where I live. Just 20 minutes away, there is a 300 year old Sycamore – so beautiful – so majestic. I am in awe of it every time I pass by, yet something in my core/gut tells me there is more I need to know. When I was driving to MD last weekend, my path was lined with Sycamores. I saw them everywhere, especially passed the Mason Dixon Line. I began to think of my ancestors and lives lived long ago. These trees had a story to tell, and even though I had no idea what, my bones knew of some experience I (my ancestors), had with them. When I returned home, I googled “Sycamore trees and Slavery” and to my astonishment, I discovered what my bones already knew. There are many stories of lynchings from Sycamore trees. Too many to read about. But I did find this one story that struck me, about a 17yr old girl who in the face of death, was fearless. I know, I know – no one wants to hear or talk about this stuff, it seems many would rather sweep it under the rug and forget it ever happened! Doing so however, erases the lives of so many beautiful people who lost so much, fought so hard, suffered, and persevered against all odds. They are America’s unknown sheroes and heroes. So today, I honor the brief life of Amy Spain. A young nanny living in South Carolina in the mid 1800’s. Here’s her story: http://node801.blogspot.com/2009/05/hanging-of-amy-spain.html

I have a green thumb. My father, a master gardener and Landscape contractor, taught me this love for nurturing our green allies. I am so connected to my plants that I use them to gauge my own well being. If my plants are dropping leaves, yellowed, spotty or anything other than a healthy green, then it’s a cue for me to inquire about how I am. They act as metaphor for my life. This year, I planted a small raised bed vegetable garden. Getting started late in the season and having limited space, I kept it simple and planted mostly kale, some lettuce, lots of basil and one cucumber plant. A few weeks ago, after some neglect, I went in to clean up this sweet little plot of earth and profess my love for this garden. She was very happy to see me. I felt her gratitude instantly. I told her how beautiful she was growing and that I was sorry for being away for so long and promised I would be more attentive. And, I have been. Last week I marveled at how much she was thriving! A couple days passed. I looked out the window and couldn’t believe my eyes. I went out to get a closer look and was horrified to find that the caterpillars had devoured not one but all of my Kale plants! My heart broke and for days I couldn’t even look at the garden as I blamed myself for not taking better care, and questioned the significance it might have in my life? My energy began to deflate as the stories I told myself suggested that something was wrong. It was true that I had not been taking the best care of myself, and I needed to get back on track, which I am happy to say I am more focused upon. Even though I needed to make changes, I had been feeling pretty good, alive, and hopeful. This didn’t make much sense to me. Yes I know, caterpillars are voracious eaters and that’s just the way it is, but this is “my” garden and in my garden, my plants talk to me! Maybe I was missing something? Maybe things are not that great, and I’ve been convincing myself otherwise as not to face it? No, I couldn’t even entertain that “story.” I feel good. Life is rich and I have been truly inspired as of late. There must be something else. Then today as I cleared away the last of the devoured leaves, got a slight sting from the Nettles that are now growing profusely, I realized that I just fed and supercharged the next generation of Butterflies! Yes, I prefer this story of feeding beauty and can see the significance with my work of “Healing The Stories We Tell Ourselves.” Releasing the weight of our heavy stories frees us up and allows us to fly. In this case, I feel much like the caterpillar soon to be the butterfly and I look forward to taking flight and spreading my new colorful wings. P.S. I noticed new kale leaves are growing.