RED HAT SOCIETY POEM
Warning
When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn't go and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in slippers in the rain
And pick the flowers in other people's gardens
And learn to spit.
I will wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week,
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes,
And set a good example for the children,
And I will have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practise a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.
- Jenny Joseph (1961) as edited by me, MorganaSage, aged61

The Girls in our hotel room/office

My Girls guarding my privacy while I'm in the Hot Tub.

Hot tub therapy.

In the Pink after hot tub treatment.

Excerpt from the poem, Monster, by Robin Morgan, 1971

I want a women’s revolution like a lover.
I lust for it, I want so much this freedom,
this end to struggle and fear and lies we all exhale,
that I could die just with the passionate uttering of that desire…

Oh mother, I am tired and sick
“How do you stop from going crazy?”
No way, sister, no way.
May we go mad together, my sisters.
May our labor agony in bringing forth this revolution be the death of all pain.
May we comprehend that we cannot be stopped.
May I learn how to survive until my part is finished.
May I realize that I am a monster.
I am a monster.
I am a monster.
And I am proud.

FROM DREAM JOURNAL
Doomsday Dream
A view from the Death Valley Desert
January 2002

An unseen naked few
are left to track the end of daylight…
as Venus flys across the face
of a dark and bloody sunset...

a Few to share scarce pieces of found light…
to witness fallen darkness
and accept the cold without stars…

a Few to share the arrival of lasting darkness,
the final episode of night…
becalmed in an enclave of freedom…

a Few to share the journey
into the totality of darkness…
the pending cold without stars…

a Few to share the loss of foreboding visions…
and carry the memories of life
to the other side of nightmare…

a Few to keep a whelming faith onward
to a sentient dawn…
to ride a nascent flame
beyond the cold without stars

THE AIDS CONSPIRACY, published 1987,
in an underground newspaper in ‘the’ Village, NYC

AIDS is iatrogenic.
The human organism’s immune system has been seriously compromised, and rendered ineffective in some cases, by the medical profession’s concerted efforts with generations of antibiotics, primarily penicillin, which has become known to mutate the body’s natural response to infection, which then becomes resistant, progressively.

Can it therefore be said that if one is a chronic consumer of medical treatment, then is it likely that one is susceptible to encountering a fatal virus?

We are a dying race. Folks are racing to die. The emergency rooms of Amerika are filled to overflowing with hurt and sick people. We are dropping like flies in a hard freeze, from cancer, pneumonia, murder, stress.
Would Big Brother want us to notice the death throes of a terminal environment? Would doomsday announcements cause panic and expedite genocide?

Triangulations are possible to support a theory that there exists a conspiracy to camouflage the catastrophic consequences of a necrotic society, and to control the masses with medication, government funding, and methodical moral fascism.
The Church and State are in collusion to assign responsibility to the individuals who recreate, procreate, and aspirate toxic atmospheres; to alienate us from each other in our intimate relationships; to keep us divided, under suspicion, and subdued.

The practice of modern medicine has become a death cult religion to govern and control the culture of Life, Freedom, and Health, for profit.
The Church Fathers of the Dark Ages murdered the real healers at the stake, and proceeded to design a renaissance to co-opt and redefine ancient sciences in patriarchal ritual terms of war. We can see how modern medicine has lowered the death rate, and raised the birth rate, so can it also be held responsible for the Population Bomb exploding our chances of survival? And can the HIV/AIDS pandemic be seen as the medical profession’s ‘final solution’ to the TOO MANY LEMMINGS Syndrome?

Y2K EPISTLE FROM HUMBOLDT NATION
TO THIS SEVENTH GENERATION

I FEEL INSPIRED to share some native understanding on the subject of Prayer.
Creative and effective Prayer for divine intervention seems to work best when envisioning nurturance and healing. These prayers seem always to be answered.

The Lakota Sundance did not work to avoid genocide, I think because to envision suffering tends to perpetuate it, and because to offer pain as a bribe to any god is inhumane and undignified. The Sundance was discontinued in the 18 th Century, and it was only revived some 30 years ago, for the edification of New Age, pale-faced tourists.

The Ghost Dance that swept the Nations during the 19th Century, however, had great effect in regards to the prophecies saying that the Elders would return invincible, and in the 20th Century, the Rainbow Tribe was born from the dreams of a Ute homelander Medicine Man, to provide harbor for those Elders in the Hearts of Amerika’s Woodstock Generation, which explains, I think, the intense personal and political identification with Sovereign Native Spirit that so obviously makes It’s Self manifest in our counter-culture, these days.

Seems to me to be the logical development of the Great Purification Prophecy promising that the Spirit of the Land will rise from it, and be cleansed and healed.

So…it’s up to US. We are the last Seventh Generation. Our descendents are not guaranteed to make it that far into the future, whole.
It’s up to US to rise up, and quantum leap into the Spiral Dance of World Consciousness, and actually accomplish successful revolution NOW!

This Great Millennium Prayer for World Peace is programmed in the fabric of our DNA, the Helix of Life as we know it.
I think that Jesus will feel right at HOME this time around, as Our Original Elder Hipi Hero, dontcha know. Changing our attitudes is the easiest way to change our paradigm, thereby saving Ourselves, and whatever is left of Our Ancient Redwood Cathedral Forests.

By me…Morgana Sage, Woodstock Rainbow Elder’s Council’90
Queen of Hipi Road at Blackdog Junction, Tecopa Station’05

In Defense of the Feminist Movement:

We did not mean to denigrate the value of women's labor in the family, the home, or the World. Nor did we intend that our daughters would also be surrendered to the blood sacrifice of war, against our will and better judgement.

We must take our rightful place as the movers, and the shakers, and the rockers of the cradles of a humane society in which each individual can live in dignity, security, and pleasure.

We must delete "war" from all vocabularies in order to disempower the military heirarchy for breaking the Commandment against murder, and it is Imperative that we irradicate racism, where ever it exists, and by any means necessary.

The last two verses of the last chapter of the last book of the Old Testament, Malachi 4;5-6 reads..." I will send you the prophet Elijah before that great and dreadful day of the Lord comes. He will turn the hearts of the fathers to their children, and the hearts of the children to their fathers; or else...I will strike the Land with a curse."

This 'bottom line' prophecy could be translated to modern terms as warning to delete war or else face total destruction unto extinction, and that we'd best start acting like we are willing to live without resorting to death cults.

Y2K Designer Virus

All of us here who have refused
the mark of the beast,
are already on the march
into a thousand years of Peace.

We saints are motivated by
our ancestor's martyred spirits,
and we are an irresistable force.

Hipis unite! We've always been right!
Successful insurrection in sight!
Incite insights...
and program this command:
delete "war" from all vocabularies
and demand:
an immediate moratorium
on ALL commercial harvest
of our Ancient Redwood Cathedral Forests.

Silence, they say, is the voice of complicity.
But silence is impossible.
Silence screams.
Silence is a message,
just as doing nothing is an act.
Let who you are ring out & resonate
in every word & every deed.
Yes, become who you are.
There's no sidestepping your own being
or your own responsibility.
What you do is who you are.
You are your own comeuppance.
You become your own message.
You are the message.

In the Spirit of Crazy Horse, Leonard Peltier

Sappho's Reply,
thru and by, Rita Mae Brown, circa. early'70s

My Voice rings down thru thousands of years
to coil around Your Bodies and give You Strength...
You, who have wept in direct Sunlight...
You, who have hungered for invisible things...
You, who have marched to the Cadence of My Legacy:
AN ARMY OF LOVERS SHALL NOT FAIL

Our Terran Goddess Gaia, Mother of Nature, is a Horticulturalist.

Gardener’s Hand, by Daughter Morgana, 2007

Mother Nature is my Goddess,
and I’ve seen her Gardener’s Hand
in a Vision of a Titan Woman’s ForeArm,
up to the rolled flannel sleeves above Her Elbow,
reaching down thru the cloudcover to poke a seed
into the Soil, with Her index-fingered Fist,
just like the Hand that touches Adam’s Finger
in the Sistine Chapel, only…
this Celestine Vision was of the Divine Feminine Ilk,
from One of the Seven Sister’s Realm/Sphere in the 10th Dimension.

Whaddya wanna bet???
Makes me WONDER…what if, in the Beginning,
The Word was ‘Music’, instead of ‘God’. Hmmm?

Forty years ago, I saw a painting on a friend's wall, that has haunted me ever since, as a definitive concept of primal reality. I hope this photo-shopped rendering of a floating egg, speaks the same simple and profound message, even though the depth and texture and soul of the artist is missing.

The END is sooo NEAR that....

...invading and occupying, and colonizing Mars is a foolish ambition because I don't believe Mankind has time enough left, to escape self-destruction by immigrating to the hostile Void, off-planet, with a large enough gene pool to insure the continuence of even His own species.
The most we could accomplish might be to make a deposit of clonable DNA in an impermiable security box, with instructions for whomever finds the artifact eons after Our Demise, to re-constitute Our Remains for archaic exhibit. I would hope that the Chinese People's Government thinks of this idea first, so that the most successful race of Humans, and Panda Bears, and Whales, could represent the rest of us to Posterity, if there ever is any.

ta-ta...Sage2007

Memorial Day Truisms 2007

Patriotism is a false religion, of no value to any but the fascist State, which requires blood sacrifice as worship, in it's deathcult of war against it's Citizens and Neighbors.
America's Christian Values are Faith, Hope, and Charity, and Liberty thrives only under the Commandment to Love Our Neighbors, as We Love Ourselves.
As long as there are wars, Our World's Children will die on the alters of Old Men's vainglorious devils.

Just got Kurt Vonnegut's 2005 book, 'Man Without a Country', and George Carlin's,
'An Orgy of George', so I've been a little off the wall with attitude lately, huh hee hee haw!!!
Here's a funny one from George:
"Sometimes I look out the airplane window at a large city at night and wonder how many people are fucking. Somehow, this seems like an appropriate use of a good verb." Here's another...
"I think we've outgrown the word 'gripe'. When everybody has automatic weapons, a word like 'gripe' is sort of irrelevant."

Just goes to show ya how important wordsmithing is to changing language to change attitudes to change Our World to a New Paradigm. Viva la Revolucion!!!
luv and peas, Sage

During my 20’s, I was a wife and mother who became a women’s libber, and started wearing cotton instead of polyester. I got kicked in the teeth a lot, by the idiomatic status quo, for blurting truisms and exposing faux pa’s.

All during my 30’s and 40’s, I heard younger people, mostly impotent men and frightened women, accusing me of being behind the times, living in the past, stuck in the Sixties, chasing a lost cause.

Now I’m knocking at 60’s door, and I say, AH HA!
Who is so ignorant now, as to label me naïve and passé for believing in my own successful revolutions, when I see the motion rising, and it is irresistible, even NOW.

From: The Greening of America, by Charles Reich, 1970

"There is a revolution coming. It will not be like revolutions
of the past. It will originate with the individual and with culture,
and it will change the political structure only as its final act. It
will not require violence to succeed, and it cannot be successfully
resisted by violence. It is now spreading with amazing rapidity, and
already our laws, institutions, and social structure are changing in
consequence. It promises a higher reason, a more humane community,
and a new, liberated individual. Its ultimate creation will be a new
and enduring wholeness and beauty—a renewed relationship of man to
himself, to other men, to women, to society, to nature, and to the
land.
This is the revolution of the new generation. Their protest and
rebellion, their culture, music, ways of thought and liberated
lifestyle are not a passing fad or just a form of dissent and
refusal, nor are they in any sense irrational. The whole emerging
pattern, from ideals to campus demonstrations to beads and bell-
bottoms to the Woodstock Festival, makes sense and is part of a
consistent philosophy. This revolution is both necessary and
inevitable, and in time it will include not only youth, but all
people in America."

“Shamanism does not consist of knowing how many bat wings to put into the stew.
Shamanism consists of being yourself perfectly, because there is a permission and initiation for others in that. If you can be yourself perfectly in front of them, you create the space for them to be themselves perfectly also..”…Michael Harner, 197

"Here's to the crazy ones, the misfits, the rebels, the troublemakers, the round pegs in the square holes... the ones who see things differently -- they're not fond of rules... You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them, but the only thing you can't do is ignore them because they change things... they push the human race forward, and while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius, because the ones who are crazy enough to think that they can change the world, are the ones who do."
By - Steve Jobs

My Hipi Herstory

I didn’t know I was a hipi until my store-bought smelling BlackWomen co-workers at the nursing home discovered that I didn’t shave my legs or pits, accused me of being one, and not understanding my feminist reasoning, beat me up for being queer. My fault, I guess, for never having told them that I was sleeping with THEIR men.

During my 30’s in the 1980s inner-city WestcottNation, of the SyracuseNY street-scene, I was the only single, straight woman with a steady job and housing, in a tight community of starving artists, poets, and musicians.
I fancied myself another George Sand, and maintained a Parisian-style Salon as a haven for my stable of menfolk, who fed my ego with regular massage-as-foreplay/therapy that kept me functional at the nursing home, and putty in their hands. But when 10 years of pot parties and keggers at my house, became alcoholic rescue and trauma recovery after crack parties I wouldn’t go to, and after I got fired and blackballed for union organizing, I closed up shop and escaped with my dog to the nearest Rainbow Gathering, to hang out with the garlic-breathed. I was already 40, so the sex-card didn’t play so well with the high holy male peerage, who could only get it on with emancipated teenie-boppers, but my younger brothers were more kind and feminist, so my broken ego was restored.
My only problem that summer was that the “older establishment” owned most of the transportation to the next gathering, and there was never enough “room on the bus” for me and my dog, so we were always left behind when the youngsters trolloped off to set up the next venue. It was a blessing, really, because I was drafted by my Vietnam Veteran Brothers to the clean-up crews, and they always gave, or found us a lift, no stings attached, but for True Love.

By early fall, my dog and I hitched a trucker who carried us to within spitting distance of the already frozen-out gathering at Granby Lake, so we hitched to Yuma to mend fences with my parents, but they were horrified that I’d gone native, so after a very uncomfortable Christmas season, during which my Rambling Rose got road-killed on the freeway, I limped home to the ‘Cuse, went to truck-driving school, hit the road again looking for a job, and made it all the way back to the west coast to visit my Grandmother, who emptied her savings account to buy me a 1970 v-dub transporter and another dog because she didn’t want me driving truck. And then she died, leaving me to live the life of an aesthetic for 8 years on Hipi Road.
Eventually, I found my way to Humboldt County, fell in love with the Redwoods and Julia Butterfly, and discovered that the Uzi’s in the woods were mostly just rumors. Spent three years looking for level parking and a job, but never found either. All the paid employment opportunities were reserved for the children of the yuppified growers, and the community’s elitists governed volunteer labor, so Emily and I ended up living at the curb next to the food bank, dodging speed freaks who wanted in from the rain. Social Services finally provided me with a psychiatrist and a lawyer who qualified me for a nut check, so that I could give away the no longer roadworthy Creampuff VW to the homeless for housing, and exit stage south with my dog in a $100 Cadillac, to retirement in Death Valley’s hot springs to recover from tick-induced lyme’s disease and unheated winters’ arthritis, add another dog to the family, have puppies together, and smoke compassionate herb.
Like Janis said at the end of Mercedes Benz….that’s it!!!!

Kirby's Coach, on the farm road between Mechlinburg and Odessa, New York...
I was playing pool with a Backpack Touring Woman named Janis, when she looked up from her bead on the 8ball, and looking right straight at me, said, "I dont suppose that Romance turns yer stomack(grin)?".
heh heh eheh heh ehe heh ...still makes me laugh, rememberin'. Specially, since she convinced me that she WAS Joplin, post mastectomy. Said she was living in a Collective Community outside DeKaulb Junction, N.Y., with a man named Crow. Come to think of it...she might be still there. Has anyone seen her lately?

And is there anyone left who remembers Onondaga Nite at the Landmark Theatre in Syracuse, the year Dennis Banks was harboured in the LongHouse? The message I heard delivered by the Nation's Cheif was
"There's a New Wind Rising...and it's the Women!"

How many of the 2000-plus people there in Harry's Landmark that night in the mid-eighties, are still around to remember? and keep passing the Words?
Hanta Yo, Sagebrush

Hipis Unite!
We’ve always been right!
Successful insurrection in sight!
We Saints of the Current Era,
are motivated by Our Ancestors’ Martyred Spirits,
and We are an irresistible Force,
whose Mission it is to Save the World.

Therefore, We Do Adopt
the following guidelines as basic Protocol
to Enhance Our Social Dynamics:

We will be humane and courteous with each other.
We will share honest passions, and not dump angst on each other.
We will not ejaculate false accusatory statements against each other.
We will not target each other with cheap shots.
We will not tread upon, or trip over each other’s various personalities.
We will open Our Hearts to each other,
and willingly make attitude adjustments, Together.