Shannon Murray: Journal

...Minnesota
...elation
...love
...sublime wonder
...heartbreak
...disbelief

Sometimes it is easier to forget. Sometimes I forget to speak out when I am in the moment- great moments, moments of defeat, smiling moments, sorrowful moments, moments in general, so I'd like to take some time today sitting in the Kansas City Public Library to give the full report- or as much as I can give before my time runs out...

I spent a wonderful weekend in Grand Marais enjoying the oceanic feel of Lake Superior and experiencing the deep energy radiating from some of the oldest exposed rock on the planet (at least that is what they tell the tourists).

I spent the hours before leaving on that journey at the local laundromat washing clothes and crying at the news from LA that police broke into a long-standing squatted community garden and forcibly evicted the folks who were defending it and protesting its destruction. They bull-dozed parts of the two city blocks the garden encompasses, throwing plants that sustain 350 poor families into the trash to make way for some warehouse for - Walmart maybe- who knows? Read and rage for yourself

http://la.indymedia.org/

http://www.indymedia.org/en/2006/06/840859.shtml

Yes, rage and frustration and fear and a desire to understand why.

And hope... because people are still there fighting to save the farm.

Check out their website
http://www.southcentralfarmers.com/

I can't write lately. So much has happened. It is like there are no words. I feel like a teenager with huge feet and crazy long arms stumbling around in my consciousness.

And amidst the tangle of lost gardens, lost children, lost me... I've found this lovely space in Bemidji, in myself that feels more like home than anytime I can remember. Love is a funny thing inspiring you like that. Makes you all dizzy and smiles and that big knot of fear in the bottom of your stomach and that feeling of immortality and that feeling of imminent flight and that feeling of eternity and that feeling of hopefulness. We can plant gardens where warehouses used to be

with our hands
our hearts
our hunger
our fear
our hope
our sorrow
our dreams
our rage
our dispair
with our love

Grant me my statehood.

AHHHHH! THey just put up the schedules for FOlk Fest. I am playing on the Bur Oak State at 4pm on Friday. Annalise and Heather are at the same stage at 2:30pm. Come out and support the Bemidji ladies!!!

Here's the link http://www.winnipegfolkfestival.ca/files/2006_sched/friday.pdf

I will be heading out of town by bus on Monday to support a friend of mine who has recently lost custody of her children. I wanted to create a space where the voices of women like her could be heard. Below is a statement she sent me by Sandra McCord (which is a pseudonym for a group of women dealing with these issues and offering support to eachother)

-------------------------------

Men are using the courts to legally steal children from their loving mothers. Children who have spent their whole lives with their mothers. These mothers were most often the primary caregivers pre-divorce. Most, but not all, of these men were mentally and/or physically abusive to the women and the children during the relationship. Yet the courts believe their lies and give custody of these children to the abuser.

Post-divorce these men begin to use the children as pawns to hurt the mothers. They fabricate stories and exaggerate the truth about things the mother has done, in order to make the women look bad in court. If they don't win the first battle, they try; and try again, until they win. All this is done under the guise of what is in the 'best interest of the child'.

Mothers are held to a much higher standard when it comes to a custody battle than fathers are. Take a sip of a drink; take a Tylenol for pain, dare to date, and you risk losing your kids. The same is certainly not true of father's.

While these non-custodial moms (NCM) are sometimes awarded visitation after their children are legally stolen, the courts often fail to enforce the visitation order. Some women end up not seeing their children for years. The children are told lies by their father. "Your mother gave you to me", "your mother didn't love you", "your mother didn't want you anymore", etc. These children grow up with huge scars on their heart, which take years to heal if they ever do.

There is a social stigma that comes with being an NCM. Someone learns that you don't have custody of your children, and the first assumption often is: "What did she do to lose her children?" People wonder, "did she bandon them?" "Did she do drugs", "did she drink", "did she abuse her children?" "She must be a horrible person." The majority of people think that women are automatically awarded custody, unless they are rotten mothers.

There are no words to describe the pain a mother goes through when she is separated from her children. The bottom line is, when a mother is fit and loving and has been the primary care giver of a child since birth; the separation is devastating beyond description. Women often feel very alone when they've lost their children to their fathers thru the courts. They don't think there are any other mothers out there that don't have their kids, yet did nothing wrong.

These NCM's have often never worked outside the home. They suddenly find themselves ordered to pay child support to someone who is earning 10-20 times what they make, 20-50f their NET income. This makes it next to impossible for them to keep a roof over their heads, let alone provide clothing and food for their children when they have visitation. They don't qualify for assistance, because child support counts as a part of their income, not the father's. They pay taxes on this child support, and don't have the benefit of the tax deduction, in most cases.

Some of these men think they are doing what is best for their children in their warped sense of reality. Some do it just to have control. Some do it just to punish the woman that dared to leave the marriage.

Awareness needs to be raised about the plight of NCM's and their children everywhere. Shared parenting laws need to be repealed. GAL's, psychiatrists, lawyers, judges, cps workers, and all who come in contact with a mother and/or child should be held accountable for their rulings. Changing laws is the only thing that will help.

Hey wonderful folks. I'll be taking a tour on Greyhound for a week at the end of this month. This a bit last minute, but I am really excited. I'll be going through Minneapolis, Kansas City, Norman, Wichita, and Lawrence. Get ahold of me if you'd like to pick me up all smelly and smiling at the bus station, and or help set up a show in any of these wonderful cities.

Holy Shit!

So I just got a little letter saying I am accepted to play in the Young Performer's Program at the Winnipeg Folk Festival. They uped the age limit and this old lady is in! I am soooo excited and I can't wait to see all the smiling Bemidji faces. I'll be playing sometime on Friday the 7th and I promise I'll let you know more when I know it.

AHHHHHH!!!

The best part about it all is my mom. She is so wonderful! Yesterday she called and left a GLOWING message saying she had the results for the folk festival young performers program, and I got all excited. So here I was thinking I'd gotten in, and I called her back, but then she said she hadn't even opened the letter and I did the five yr old "MAAAAAAAAWWWMMMMMM!" to which she replied with an oh I just know you're going to get in, and that is why I am so excited for you. And I did:)

You have gotta love her.

And then after calling pretty much everyone I know and screaming and jumping and fist hip hip horraying, I got some chocolatey, minty goodness soy delicious and strawberries and celebrated with some old and new friends, talked politics, got eaten by mosquitoes, and watched the kitties chase moths from fridge to counter with death defying leaps. What a wonderful day!

So I know in the scheme of things this isn't all that important, but I am pretty thrilled about it and seem to need to get it out of my system. So... this evening I played an open mic in Buffalo and after breaking three strings on two different guitars I got to end my set playing my new garden song on Ani Difranco's new guitar. The short version of how this all came to be is that the guy hosting the open mic used to teach her guitar or something and is breaking the guitar in for her. Anyway, holy shit huh?!

In important news... check out http://www.indybay.org/ for a story on Oaklanders taking over the Military Recruitment center and vandalizing it in full view of the media and the coppers with no arrests. Yeah power to the people!!! Organize and take action in your town.

So I got a little more excitement last night than I ever ever wanted. Driving from Oswego to Rochester a deer ran out in front of me, and between my brakes and some nascar driving I hope it will be alright. It ran away before I had even really registered what had just happened. I sat shaking by the side of the road cursing cars and higways and my dependence on them for a good ten minutes before heading to the nearest gas station to tape up my left front blinker. Bike tour here I come!

We rolled into Rochester about a half hour later to friendly smiles and chamomile tea. And then the coffee mug on the counter exploded into a million tiny pieces. I am not sure what all of this means, but I am feeling kind of marked.

I love it here, but all my thoughts are of home and the beautiful people I am missing. Bemidji has never seemed so far away. I can't wait to drive into town and eat a harmonay coop lunch on the sidewalk with my mom and hug all of you a million times. Five months is far too long to be away so much. I'll be home a decent part of the summer to frolic and enjoy the lake and the cool weather evenings around fires and folk festival and so much more. I hope to see you all very soon!

Don't go to work or school if you are able- don't buy anything and do what you can to support immigrant rights.

Love,
Shannon

Hey everybody- I just put up a live recording of a brand brand new song. I hope you enjoy it.

love and springtime

I am in New Haven, CT this morning. I have two traveling buddies now, Munc who I met via relief work in New Orleans and Evan Greer who I met through and who is also a part of a wonderful group of people (Riot Folk) who I so often write about.

I've been pretty much traveling solo since September so this is a nice change of pace for me... to look in my rear view mirror and see a face poking up through all the blankets and cds and guitars and to look to my right and see a mess of limbs scrunched up in the front seat. It is a beautiful thing. I wish sometimes I had a camera...

Since yesterday I have been completely confused and turned upside-down and inside out. I woke up in Queens yesterday morning bleeding, and trying my hardest to remember what the moon looked like (it's been raining and foggy for four days straight here) and where all this unaccounted for time had gone. And after some careful calculations I learned that I was just bleeding a week and a half early. These sorts of things never happen to me, so after a two hour subway ride to Brooklyn to pick up Clarence and all our shit, Munc and more new friends Fluffy and Daniel crammed into the car and drove in stop go traffic all the way to New Haven. Somehow I managed to make it through by the grace of bad 80s music and some Beethoven on the radio.

The show was wonderful, but I was in that other universe-kind-of-place where I go when the blood is rushing out of me. Rivers and oceans. Things like this. It was beautiful.

So the city of Milwaukee has some interesting history. I'd like to know more about it. As of now all I know is that I had an eerie drive in and out last evening to play for an open mic.

I went through three guitars- breaking every string in sight, and got to witness the performance of a miniature Tom Waits-esque leprechaun during the evening as well.

Seriously though- if anyone knows about Milwaukee- rise and fall of industry (I presume it is one of those Buffalo, Detroit... kind of towns). There were lots of cops and houses falling in and a whole mess of fear in the air.

So the mechanic folks replaced a sparkplug and that seemed to help the engine out, but didn't completely fix the problems. From what I understand one of the cylinders is bad, but not broke. Which means... I might make it the whole tour and be fine if I drive slower and check the oil every day- it's not comforting, but it could be worse news I guess. I am just going to go for it and hope for the best. We'll call it the Exploding Car Tour, or the Fundraising for a New Transportation Device Tour, or the Poverty is Entertaining Tour. I don't know if god and goddesses and spirits and such care much to operate on cars, but prayers of safe travels would be most welcome.

I posted just a few of my moments from NOLA in this journal over the past month, and most were about painful situations. I wanted to balance that out, so I just added some pictures a friend sent me, and they are all of happy goodness. More to come...

Today my new friend Evan was busying rhymes (sketchy bad ones) and said something like... "I don't know where these come from they just come." and I said "If I knew where they came from, I'd send them home."

Today was a good day. I organized and did some booking with Evan... we are going to be doing like 16 shows together in the northeast.

I just wanted to write and say thank you to all the amazing people who have been helping me out with this tour. I am still a little stressed out, but it is oh sooooo much more manageable. Thanks Ash, Eric, Maka, Ryan, Mark, Brandon, and Evan, and anyone I forgot because it is late and I am sick (don't worry mom I am starting to feel better).

That's all for now.

I cried all morning yesterday. I spent all of the night before listening to someone else cry, after learning she had asked all over a community of 500 "activists" for help and none was offered. That was hard to understand. Things have been hard lately. There are so many things wrong in this city, in this country, within myself... and it is so easy to forget that your actions have any impact when placed against this huge sorrow. Common Ground is a great idea, but the practice of solidarity- the practice of community doesn't really manifest as we hope- as I'd hoped it would have. Patriarchy is powerful- power and money are powerful.

I wish I could understand why the rich college folk and the rest of us volunteers get all the food we can eat and more to throw away- clean toilets and dry places to sleep, toilets to flush after every little piss, water to run while taking ten minutes to brush teeth, but the Women's Center is understaffed and dirty. The food we distribute to the community is no where near the quality we are being fed. I have so many questions... like where is my journal to put all these questions onto something concrete.

I've been trying to speak out and make connections and empower people. I've been trying to take care of myself. I've been missing home. I've been missing clarence and the road. I've had so many questions.

Call for help.... If you have any training in working for/staffing/supporting women's shelters... there is such a need for that kind of work here.

Contemplative in New Orleans,
Shannon

Hello Friends!
Today I realized it had been weeks with no new news from me in this little space. I have been in New Orleans for two weeks and one day, and to try and communicate what I am feeling and what I am experiencing would be impossible.

I've been doing a whole lot of random acts of kindness- holding of crying folks and ninja breakfast making for the weary. A couple of days ago I went to whole foods and bought some chocolate, soy milk, avocados, licorice and other items to surprise people. It was like stepping into a different world- all those rich folks with their organic lettuce and sparkling water loaded safely in their SUVs... and so many people without access to clean water- or education- or healthy food. It made me sick, but excited all the same to be able to buy tofu to supplement a diet of white bread, white rice, canned veggies and store bought peanut butter. Life is such a complex thing and I felt so ashamed and proud all in the same moment.

I visited the lower ninth at dusk a few days ago and was profoundly disturbed- they are still finding bodies there- it seems like FEMA and whoever else did the search didn't really check all that thoroughly- they found three people the other day. It really makes me wonder what the response to this would be if this was in a white/rich part of town. It has been six months... The lower ninth is in ruins, so much more so than I would have expected- houses are ripped off foundations and ended up across the street from where they used to be- the sounds of crickets in tall tall sewage fed grasses mix with the sounds of a wind chime still attached to the porch of a ruined home with the sound of creaking doors. I cried. I stood in the middle of streets speechless. I cursed the developers circling like vultures in their shiny tinted window cars.

There is so much more to say, and I am sad to admit I haven't been keeping any sort of record of these events. I know I should. I should.

Sorry for this long silence. Time does not exist here like it does elsewhere. I hope you are all happy and well.

Love,
Shannon

I played at the Fargo Theater and then again at the Red Raven for the Fargo Women's Music Celebration. It was amazing- the energy from all those wonderful ladies was really inspiring. It was in this huge theater... with bright lights and lotssssss of really quiet people in the audience.

Right before I played I got sooooo scared and sweaty and shakey and then I felt like my friend Nina was right there back stage (realy she was in the audience) saying everything's alright and I love ya and here's a hug, and after the show she told me she was sending me good vibes- so she was there in a way I guess. It made me feel soooo much better. Crazy how the universe operates.

I played Jane - it felt good to go for it and be really out there and honest and in yr face and righteous- and then I played Solidarity Forever- with no amplification in this huge huge room- balcony and all and everybody sang- well lots that I heard but I couldn't really see folks too well. I picture them all smiling and swaying and Solidarity Forevering with me.

Wish you could have all been there too.

Love,
Shannon

I've been emailing with a friend I met at Common Ground, and he said he can't swim, and this memory just came flooding back to me- I think I repressed it for years, but anyway I thought I would share.

I couldn't swim until I was well into my teens- so I guess it is never too late to learn. All that is needed is motivation. One time at a sports camp I had to stay in the shallow end with all the 5 year olds- because I couldn't pass the swimming test. I was 12 or 13 or 14 at most, and you just know those little bastards were peeing in the pool. It was so humiliating that I learned to swim so as never to have to go through that again. FYI at that same camp some little shit took a shit and put a diving block over it, so when someone came up with a diving block covered in poo... well they closed the pool after that. I was happy to not have to go back there.

I offered to teach this friend to swim on Pontchartain with the alligators, like in the Be Good Tanyas' song, but I haven't heard back on that yet.

I hope wherever you are it is warm enough to swim- I went out to an open mic last night and the bank sign said it was -5 degrees F. I love Bemidji.

Just a quick note to let you all know it is official. I bought the ticket while I was in Chicago. I leave on the 27th of this month and will be at Common Ground until March 27th. Please contact me if you are interested in helping out with this trip, or in making a trip of your own.