Surge of Hope

dear healers and annealers,

please forgive this ValeMail's plain appearance!

it was my recent intention to book myself and the ghost-lights a gig at long last. my goal was to have a show at the end of april. alas, the venue i contacted has not responded to my inquiries, and at this point i'm assuming it's not going to happen as i had initially planned.

nevertheless, that leaves me more mental energy to focus on another upcoming event: on tuesday, april 18th, i will be getting ulnar nerve release surgery in my right arm. last june i was diagnosed with ulnar nerve entrapment in both arms, but the right is worse because i am right-handed and use that hand more. the chances are good that the functioning of my arm and hand will improve, but as with any surgery, there are no guarantees. the surgery is a relatively simple one and i am in the hands of a good surgeon and doctor. i'm feeling (guardedly) optimistic and pretty good about getting it done. it's been more than three and a half years of dealing with pain in my hands/arms and not being able to do things i used to be able to do. i've had oodles of occupational therapy and physical therapy, and tried other methods as well. OT and PT helped a bit, but nothing made a real difference in the functional level of my life.

any thoughts/vibes/prayers for everything to go smoothly and with a glowing healing and recovery would be much appreciated.

it would be pretty amazing to be able to write, type, and play the harp again without pain. i'm looking forward to write you again with news of a performance. thanks for being patient with me and for your continued support of my creative doings. it means a lot lot lot.



post script

here's a poem i wrote as a note to self to not spend so much time on online social media. it hasn't been published so i'd appreciate if you don't share it publicly online (because then the publishing cat will be out of the bag). happy national poetry month!


Tear yourself away from it,
Tear yourself away from the
flash feed, bulk dispenser;
mindless animal,
a baby bird's open beak
bombarded with gummy worms.
new tastes,
flavors described by
colors instead of growing things,
horizon of satiety
just beyond the window of vision.
Head jumble. Finger fumble. Belly ache. Shit storm.

Duck and cover. Crawl away. Get up and scramble. Run. Do not look back. Remember Orpheus. Remember Lot's wife. Do not let your weak-willed eyes be your downfall. Don't turn your head. Don't turn your head. Don't stop and think about turning your head, about what technicolor spectacle you might be missing.

Think of what you've neglected. Think of it. Think of it all. Think. Remember. Re-remember.

The quiet.
The lichen and moss.
The clothes on your floor.
The food in your fridge.
The thoughts in your head that only sprout in silence.
The silk strands of light between you and everything.
The dreams that scare you that need actions to be taken on their behalf. The blood in your bones. The rush in your lungs. The bite in your bark. The stars