Irmalee Louise Jones Walker

 

 

I first met my grandma before I was old enough to start forming memories. She and my auntie Janice flew out to Hilo, Hawai'i when I was just about two weeks old. She loved telling me the story again and again about how during their stay, at dinner the entertainment host asked for the oldest person in the room to come up to the stage. Then when he asked for the youngest, Janice stood and lifted me up and said, "Here she is!"

Looking back, I think the reason my grandma loved telling me that story so much is because that was the moment that Irmalee Louise Jones Walker - already a devoted wife and mother of four, a retired career woman and former mayor, a true friend and dear sister, a community servant and all around beautiful class act of a lade - that was the moment she became what she always made me to feel, was the proudest role of her life - a grandma! You see, from the moment she flew across an ocean 30 years ago to welcome her first grandchild to the world, to her move to Bishop after my cousin Ali was born, to her final trip to Hawai'i for my sister's doctoral graduation - she devoted the later part of her life to making sure us granddaughters knew just how much we were loved.

She and my grandpa came to Kona every spring during my childhood for us to spend Spring Break with them. They taught us how to swim, how to play cribbage, gin, hearts, poker... "Ante and you won't be so rich," my grandpa would always say.

My sister and I were fortunate enough to also spend summers in California with our grandparents, first in Bellflower, then later in Bishop. It was in Bishop that at the age of 14 my grandma took me for my first driving lesson. "Just don't tell your grandpa," she said. "This is against the law."

My grandmother taught us how to cook, how to sew, how to play the piano. I distinctly remember the day she sat us down at the dining room table and spent an hour showing us which utensils went where and the proper way to pass the serving plates.

More significantly though, she and my grandpa taught us the importance of an education, the importance of independently following your dreams, and most of all, the importance of family. When I look around at my sister and cousin, my dad and my aunties, not only have we all graduated from college, traveled the world, and went off to do whatever called each of us, but through it all we have remained a unit. We laugh together, cry together, get in incredible arguments and debates like only a Walker knows how - yet still, always a family. And for that I am eternally grateful to both my grandmother and grandfather.

Today, we honor Irmalee Louise Jones Walker and the legacy she left behind. Where ever you are, grandma, you should be very proud. I know I am.

(from Memorial Service April 11, 2015)

rise in peace

in the aftermath of friday's tragedy in isla vista, as a ucsb alumni and former resident of the small town, i've been overcome with a lack of words to attach to this tremendously sad happening. as a true believer in signs, however, i knew exactly what i wanted to say when i heard of maya angelou's passing on the radio this morning. the poet and activist was and is my inspiration to write and to commit to peace. in honor of her, of the fallen ucsb students, and of those who fall victim to hate, i share one of maya angelou's most famed poems, and ask that in peace, we all rise.

Still I Rise

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

- Maya Angelou
April 4, 1928 - May 28, 2014

so buddha walks into a bar...

sweet title. and what a great concept, applying Buddhist teachings to modern, everyday life. and what a clever cover! i've been reading this book for over a week now and i only just now noticed Buddha sitting among the top shelf bottles. yup, exactly why i need this practice. really seeing what is in front of me, becoming more mindful, more aware of my present surroundings, that is what i am working towards. it is what we should all be working towards, allowing us to open our hearts and become in tune with our natural goodness. in turn we will be able to lead more full and truly happy lives.

first goal: mediate. 

just 10 minutes a day. 

mind focused completely on the breath. 

air. 

water. 

waves. 

surfing...

no, breath!

when ones mind slips from the present, 

a slope slippery as the moss beneath

a waterfall,

"just say 'thinking'" 

and return 

to the breath. 

acknowledge your thoughts,  

they are neither good nor bad,  

then just return 

to the inhale. 

exhale. 

inhale. 

exhale...breathe.

--

i'll keep you posted. xo

letting go

Last week I met with my mentors, Sojourner and Ann. It was the first time the three of us hung out all together. We sat with tea and talked. The conversation shifted naturally like a branch in an easy wind, from art to current events to common friends. Then as random as the breeze, we began talking about the things we clutter. I learned Sojourner, like myself, held on to many things, namely old letters and books upon books of writings and journals. Things, that in a fire, would be the first thing you would rescue. We spoke about the inability to let these sentimental items go, yet also the necessity in doing just that once they are lost.

The thought provoking topic was followed, just days later, by the loss of my iPhone. This also meant the loss of priceless pictures of my birthday camping trip, a disco dance party, and all the fun and memories in between. Then I realized, this was yet another reminder from the universe that I needed to learn to let go. I was reminded that all things change, shift, and eventually go away; on eternities time table, lasting as long as a snowflake in the sun...

Snowflake in the Sun
Undying love no doubt expires
like food and life itself.
Starry eyes go dim, the heart retires
to forever’s failing health.

Money grows then falls from trees
to an ever increasing cluster
of limp and dying leaves
whose green have lost their luster.

For there is no certainty
in life, we must concede.
Everlasting impermanence is all we can foresee.

--

Remembering and accepting the ultimate impermanence of all things makes it easier to let go. Whether an iPhone or old letters, an old love or insecurities of a new love, once we realize letting go is something we must all learn to do, there is freedom in the release...

Untitled
Can holding on ever be
greater than letting go?
I fear my grip is slipping,
yet I have no fear.
Freedom is found in the release.
Free as the bird in flight,
dusting the space ever so slightly
above the sea,
completely confident in its direction.
How can one be so certain of a route
they cannot see?
Maybe I could fly blindly into forever
if there were no such thing as time.
Who says timing 
is everything?
 
Timing did not create 
the moon rises and sunsets.
WE created time to make sense
of that simple, senseless beauty.
Where is time?
When is it time?
What is time?!
Nothing but a barrier to be broken.
Let go of the tortures of the tic tocs
and feel yourself float towards infinity,
nearing the Heron’s horizon.

Holding on only works
once you let go.  
You will not say goodbye,
you will open the door
to the inevitable unknown.
Not “in time”
time = now.

--

So whatever you may be holding on to, just know that it is ok to let go. 

xo 

art without limits...

...it is almost a redundant statement. The inherent meaning of art holds that there are no limits to creativity. Still, our modern society seems to have forgotten that notion. We have put a higher importance on subjects like math and science which, without pushing the boundaries of the imagination, would never have made the advancements they did. It is a relief then, that there are groups like Art Without Limits that remind us when it comes to art, limitations should not--and do not--exist.

No where was this more evident then at Ayni Gallery in Santa Barbara this past Saturday night, when Art Without Limits hosted its first annual "Coming Out" event for their emerging artists. Musicians, photographers, painters, poets and writers took the stage to share their craft with an ever appreciative audience. I too, swallowed my nerves and read two original poems. I owe this feat in great part to my two amazing mentors: Sojourner Kincaid-Rolle (poet/writer) and Ann Dusenberry (actress). Together they help me both hone my skills as a creative writer, as well as practice the art of sharing my work in front of an audience.

Following are the two poems I wrote and shared, as well as photos from the event (taken by another emerging artist: photographer and dear friend of mine Shannon Jordan). It was truly an inspiring evening. Thank you to everyone who came out in support of art.

xoxo...lika


My Wolf and His Dog
His shaggy hair, bleach white as the Pennsylvania snow; fine as hot beach sand.
it blows everywhere; getting all tied up in sailor’s knots.
It is a strong mane, framing gentle, weathered eyes that have seen too much,
and yet not enough.

Her hair, it goes everywhere. Pure white flecks of Tala’s soul left anywhere she touches.
And anywhere is everywhere my wolf goes.
She follows, as I will.
Loyal beings we are; wolves in a pack.

“Follow me across the sea,” he says.
Tala leaps aboard, as I dive in to swim alongside the giant sea vessel.
Ramblin’ Rose carries my wolf and his dog,
up and down the ebb and flow of the ferocious blue.
Is it safe to climb in?
Where I am, the water feels cool and I float with ease.
Like the sea, I am liquefied.
Do I belong on the boat?
I belong with the travelers, with my wolf and his dog.

I am a traveler and I am his wolf.
I will listen.
I will protect.
I will follow.

“Follow me to the farm,” he says.
I say, live off the land and I will live with you.
Let the dog run the rich acreage, and we wolves will howl at the moon;
we’ll watch the sun come up over the ridge and set among the waves.

Let’s follow the waves!
Tala leaps and rolls in the sand, mimicking our motions in the sea’s curl.
As we paddle in, the moon rises.
She howls at it too.

--

For she is your wolf, and you are mine.
The day you found me I became your loyal moon howler too.

So wherever you go, or whenever I do, wolves wandering as we must—
in hunt of adventure, of knowledge, of self—
We will know to seek the moon.
I will howl,
so will you, my wolf,
and Tala dog too.


The Rhythm of Time
How to wait without waiting?
It is an art as fanciful as dance and music.
I find the tic tocs of the soul’s clock placating.

Sit under a mighty oak that’s shading
time’s melody; among the fallen leaves’ fine ruin
is how some wait without waiting.

The slow pulse of seconds is infuriating.
Still, the rhythmic beat will move you through it:
the tic tocs of the soul’s clock are placating.

The leaves sing a tune, as swaying
branches dance under the sky at its bluest.
How one longs to wait without waiting.

Sunrays fall and quickly time is fading
into shadows whose sound is fluid,
helping the tic tocs of the soul’s clock be placating.

Soon the jingles of the stars are cascading
and the sound of time finds its true fit.
How to wait without waiting?
Let the tic tocs of the souls clock be placating.

unfinished business...

the way you hold my hand,
it makes me wonder,
do you see me?
do you feel the pulse beneath
my callused knuckles?
can you see the blue veins
of my roots flowing
as my great grandmother did
east across the pacific
and as my father did too,
generations later,
and with so much less to lose.
and because of those journeys
here i am.

now your hands glide
smoothly across mine,
through each finger
with such detail.
yet your eyes float east.
filled with a glaze.
maybe you cannot see
where i am from;
how deep my story runs.
so you cannot possibly see
how far i will go.

--

i don't remember when i started that poem, or where it was going...but i just found it and don't want it to get lost to my endless clutter. it definitely is worth revisiting and massaging into something greater. stay tuned to watch as this poem evolves...

some other notes i had from that day lost to my memory:

Rumi - harder place to start
"follow the golden thread"
"art for art's sake vs. the second level/deeper meaning"
William Stafford: "Down in My Heart"(years in prison for peacefully objecting to WWII)
take on a mentor, even though they are dead. she took william stafford on as her mentor, and from beyond the grave, he took her on too.
Most famous "Traveling in the Dark"

--

oh yes! all those notes were from my first talk with sojourner! my mentor telling me about her mentor.

a writer's work really is never done...

xo...lika

with both hands over my heart...

...I solemnly swear to stick to my resolution this year and write on. In an attempt to stay on track with this goal, I WILL post at least one blog a month, fingers crossed for more!

Ok, so this may have been last years unfulfilled resolution...but I shall simply stand back up and try again--with much greater effort this time. I can't think of a more important time for me to do this than now. 2012 proved to be a very significant year for growing my creative writing. I owe this in large part to my work with mentor's found through the non-profit Art Without Limits. A huge MAHALO goes out to these brilliant mentors of mine, Sojourner Kincaid-Rolle and Ann Dusenberry. They continue to shed a phenomenal light on my craft and my life. In keeping with that momentum, 2013 will bring even more growth and changes on that front, so stay tuned...

A big part of my journey with creative writing and poetry has been to start sharing my work in front of an audience. Last year I began reading my poetry on a stage for the first time in my life. What a nerve wracking thrill! I thought though, how much greater the impact of one's art when it is shared with others--the transference of inspiration can continue to flow!

This Saturday I will be participating in an emerging artist showcase in which different aspiring artists from Art Without Limits will share their work. I will read two original poems: The Rhythm of Time and My Wolf and His Dog.

Come support local artists and check out the show! It will be on Saturday, January 26 at Ayni Gallery (216 State St, right next to Union Ale) from 5-8pm. Please RSVP here:
http://www.awolsb.org/upcoming-events/coming-out-party-2013/rsvp-for-coming-party-2013/

Whatever your resolutions are for this new year, I stand alongside you with a renewed sense of motivation. Get inspired, and stay there.

xo...lika