Thursday, February 28, 2013


PLEASE START WITH CHAPTER ONE, published on February 16th, 2013. This is a rough draft of a fictional tale.

Decades flowed into centuries and millennium. Time lost its relevance. My bottled up grief exploded into anger and rage. I thoughtlessly spilled a lot of blood because I had cut myself off from emotion during captivity. I wandered from community to community and appointed myself judge and jury. Changelings feared the name Alpha. My decisions were swift and deadly.

After on particularly harsh verdict upon a Changeling, a child innocently inquired, “Why is it is so easy for you to hurt others?” I was stunned by her insolence. It felt like I had been hit by lightening. Causing pain was effortless for me. I began to question my motives. Was I wrong all these years? I knew in my heart that the answer was yes. I’d just ignored the feelings of guilt. Once I accepted that I was emulating Tanis, I had to atone for my sins. Thus, my quest for spirituality commenced. I met with many wise people and studied myriad religions. I did not convert to one specific theology. Instead, I sought similarities because that is where I found truth. It took many years to learn how to guide with compassion. I had to remember what my biological family taught about healing. It is much more difficult to seek tranquility rather than destruction.

My children’s Royal Guard moved in opposition of my efforts. They led an army of humans to conquer land and resources for the Hexen. They served City-States that expanded into Regional Governances and Nations. The Hexen endowed themselves with the elevated status of royalty amongst Changelings, who they referred to as Wesen. The Royals maintained power through the guise of puppet sovereigns, the Seven Houses or Crown Heads who were purportedly appointed by a deity to lead. The human-crown wearers endowed themselves with the illusion of Manifest Destiny. Monarchs tended to annihilate each other but the Hexen controlled the military and resources, which were required regardless of who wore the coronet.

A vicious cycle of violence engrained itself into Wesen culture. Hexen ruthlessly demanded total submission from the Changelings. Hexen were also merciless with each other. Weakness was not tolerated. Questioning and hesitation to follow orders resulted in a violent penalty or death. My children became known as the Grimm. They were used to force Changeling and human compliance. Grimm Fairy Tales were written to scare human children into obedience. Hybrids were bred to serve as assassins for political gain and to keep the Grimm submissive. The presence of a Hybrid always raises my hackles.

The Hexen Empire dominated a continent that became known as Europe. As Alpha, I trained Changelings and human warriors to keep the Hexen from expanding their reach. We successfully held the Wesen at bay. I finally felt at ease and began traveling to locate other Changeling clans. I traversed every continent and was thrilled that our species thrived. I was happy to discover that some human communities lived in harmony with Changelings. However, I did not anticipate that the Hexen would spread their malevolence through colonization. By the time I realized my gaffe, it was too late to reverse their infestation.

© 2013 Ima B. Musing

Tuesday, February 26, 2013


PLEASE START WITH CHAPTER ONE, published on February 16th, 2013. This is a rough draft of a fictional fable.

Tanis’ sorcery was only diminished when she was in physical pain. During the birth of each child, I was required to provide extra protection from her myriad enemies. The labor with the newest baby was especially difficult. Tanis began to bleed excessively before the child crowned. The blood poured out of her womb as the baby began to emerge. Her spirit was struggling between staying in her body and leaving. Without thinking I grabbed Tanis’ partially detached soul and the evil energy shattered as her body died. A shard of her wicked essence plunged into the baby and wrapped around the child’s innocent soul. Unwittingly, I had created the first Hexenbiest and was severely punished for the death of the mistress.

Enyo, Tanis’ child survived birth and was raised within the malevolent confines of the coven. She was even worse than her mother and grew into a cruel authoritative tyrant. All her children were Hexenbiests. The vileness of Tanis’ soul augmented their negative magic and each bore a dark birthmark on the underside of their tongue. I remained a slave and Enyo’s son, Ares, raped me. For the first time, my child lived. Agrimadios was torn from my arms as an infant and taught total allegiance to the Hexen-tribe. Ares and his brothers continued to sire my children.

Enyo was disappointed that her grandchild was an average youngster with the exception of few illnesses and healing quickly from injuries. As he entered adolescence, Agrimadios became uncontrollable. He would not or could not listen to the demands of his elders. I was finally permitted to spend time with my eldest child. I was to teach him how to be in command of his emotions and transformations. For his own safety, I taught him the Fledging process.

It became clear that he was neither a Changeling nor Hexenbiest. He was extraordinary Blank. Though he could not physically convert, he could take on many of the characteristics of any Changeling. His senses were more developed than a human, he was strong, fast, and intelligent. Enyo was delighted. All my offspring were brainwashed to protect their full-blooded Hexen relatives and serve as paid mercenaries. The insidious nature of enslavement forced Agrimadios, his siblings and half-siblings to incestuously copulate and raise an army of warriors which became known as the Royal Guard. I became despondent.

After many years, the League managed to breach the security of my prison. They paid a guard to leave my cell door slightly ajar and I escaped. I transformed into a bird and flew as my own progeny tried to kill me. My heart was breaking because my offspring would forever be attached to the Hexen. I could not change their fate. I located a group of Changelings who remembered the story of Pha-al though they somehow inverted the name to Al-pha. We stayed far away from the Hexen and my manipulated children. I cried bitter tears and regretted my yearning to become a parent.

© 2013 Ima B. Musing

Sunday, February 24, 2013


PLEASE START WITH CHAPTER ONE, published on February 16th, 2013. This is a fictional story.

Mortality was my enemy. I tearfully watched as the souls of people that I cared about leave their body. The spirit would sometimes appear as a small orb or shifting mass of tiny lights. As the soul drifted away from the body I discovered that I could grasp it without harm. I would sometimes feel a slight shock or warmth but it wasn’t a negative experience. Sadly, I could not return my dearly departed’s essence to their mortal coil. I would release the soul and it would drift away. Their life was too brief.

None of my children lived beyond a few breaths of air. I tried mating with several types of Changelings, Blanks, Hybrids, and humans. To no avail, I just buried my progeny and it hurt my heart. I raised abandoned children to reduce my loneliness. It was enjoyable to watch them grow but inevitably they would die. I still desired for a baby of my own blood and body. Many eons passed, days seemed much like each other.

With a heart tired of mourning, I began to wander the beautiful land between the Adriatic and Aegean Seas. I altered my physical facade to blend in with the local people. At the foot of Mount Parnassos in Greece, I found a sanctuary inland from the Iteas Bay. Delphi was the center of the world. Women who practiced positive sorcery were elevated to the position of High Priestess referred to as the Oracle named Pythia. The Oracle would enter a sacred space in the temple, breath holy fumes, fall into a trance, and predict the future for pilgrims who paid money to learn of their fate. Leaders and ordinary citizens held utter confidence in Pythia's opinion. No vital decision was determined without conferring with the celebrant.

I became a devotee and spent many years at the temple serving the Oracle who was the emissary of Apollo, the god of light, harmony and order. He was preceded by Gaia/Ge and Themis but usurped their maternal power when he slew an enormous python snake-dragon. The sanctuary was established to honor his battle as the fumes of the dead beast supplied the visions to the Oracle. The Amphictyonic League existed to administer the sacred sanctuary and designate the magical female officiates and other employees chosen from among the local residents.

The temple’s hierarchy considered certain snakes to be powerful. I would transform into a bird of prey to capture these reptiles alive. Venemous krait, cobra or another elapids were highly prized. I was praised when I presented these vipers to the shrine and sometimes awarded a session with the cryptic Seer. Unfortunately, one of the League’s servants saw me convert into a bird and sought to curry favor by informing the local coven mistress.

The coven learned and exploited my vulnerabilities. I was eventually captured, moved outside of the League’s reach, and enslaved by coven mistress Tanis. She desperately wanted to become the Oracle and abuse the role to rule the world. The members of the League refused to appoint her to the position of sage. Tanis was a skilled negative witch who governed her followers with brutality. She would place destructive hexes upon anyone who displeased her with the exception of the League. She was certain that I could teach her to be a Changeling so that she could coerce the League to select her. She had me beaten, tortured, and there was no escape. I wished for death to liberate me from the agony of incarceration.

© 2013 Ima B. Musing

Friday, February 22, 2013


PLEASE START WITH CHAPTER ONE, published on February 16th, 2013. Rough draft of a fictional narrative.

Shortly after I was born, my mother died from poisoning caused by the exposure to crude oil and whatever chemicals were ground up for her to consume. Teng-se was a Shaman and my father, Foulan-sa, was the hunter-gatherer Blank that she loved. My mother’s family raised me but I spent time with my father’s clan. I was blessed with vital health as a child; I didn’t become ill and healed very quickly from injuries. My wounds only needed to be cleaned and they mended with no scars.

My petite muscular human form is less than five feet in height with short hair all over my body. Pubescent hormones revealed my fate, Blank or Changeling? Happily, I took to the sky. I developed control over the Eagle-Changeling transformation very quickly. However, it didn’t end there. The surging hormones triggered my DNA so that I could transform at will into any Changeling-species. More surprisingly, I retained enough of my human sensibilities to be aware and retain what I did as an animal Changeling. My name is Pha-al.

I quickly mastered the shifting and would play with whatever breed I wished. Because the community held my family in esteem, I was accepted as an oddity. Much to my kin’s chagrin, I would fly out of the valley to explore the upper plains. It was much like ours except for the dead zones. The earth would be stripped of vegetation and turned into biting black rock. Our valley continued to be shaken by minor earthquakes. All but one of the streams dried up and the spring water became undrinkable before it stopped flowing. We made regular offerings to the moon and sun to ask for rain. Our survival depended upon it.

Smoke rose high into the sky and ash fell down upon us more frequently. I decided to venture into the distant mountains. On one of my aerial trips I discovered that mountains could spit fire. Their heaving lava caused the dead zones. The streams of reddish-orange fire-rock were moving closer and closer to our valley. Soon, it would flow into our home. I flew home and shared what I learned. Some of the tribe listened and others thought that I was silly. I had gathered biting black rocks, as proof, but many members of our tribe were skeptical. I did not have the physical strength to carry an adult out of the valley to view the volcano.

The few who believed me worked to construct long rope ladders from vines and tree bark fiber. After several moons of labor, I grabbed an end of the rope and flew it to the top of the shortest section of the north side of the cliff and secured the ladder to a strong tree. My cousin bravely climbed the shaky structure to the top and helped me to latch the ladder more securely. A small contingent of the tribe ventured up the ladder. We walked to view where the black rock had crept onto the upper plains. After much discussion, we returned and let our kinfolk know that it was time to leave our valley home.

More ladders were quickly erected. One by one daring members of the tribe climbed the rope with a child or provisions attached to their back. Several became scared and had to be coaxed to the top and a few died in their attempt to escape. We could not climb at night or on rainy days. The strongest members hauled up supplies because we didn’t know what was in the greater world. We only knew that we had to escape pending doom.

The first ascenders moved away from the volcano as the tribe began their journey out of the valley and upper plains. Two turns of the moon passed and the most cynical members of the tribe remained at the bottom of the cliff, including some members of my family. The earth shook more and ash rained down almost every day. Finally, a chunk of the mountain blew off, rushed down its slope, though the plains, and into the valley. As our valley filled, I watched helplessly as my father and others were swept away by the debris. The rush of air was intense and I had to fly away. There was nothing that I could do. The roar of the pyroclastic flow still haunts my dreams.

We mourned our losses. Our tribe was no longer one unit. We split into Changelings-genus groups and compatible sub-species traveled together. We moved off into every direction and felt sorrow for parting. I joined a group of diverse species. I would fly ahead and scout the lay of the land. We slowly traversed mountain ranges, valleys, rivers, and dry lands. Our valley home no longer existed.

We encountered all types of beasts and other homids, including humans. Precious few human cultures accepted us so we did not dare to live openly. Changelings quickly adapted to hide our uniqueness from non-Changelings. Some Changelings found ways to manipulate the humans into believing that they were Gods. I did not approve of this practice and would force the group to end their self-appointed divinity. Unfortunately, the deities and their stories continued long after the Changelings left the area.

I learned how to adjust my manifestation to blend in with our evolution into human as we became taller, stouter, and less hairy. I could even appear as a male, when needed. I only became tired when I had to frequently switch back and forth between animal and human forms. It takes a lot of calories to alter my appearance and I would need to eat. Millenniums passed and I became a nomad, moving from one Changeling community to another or spending time in splendid isolation as a hermit.


FYI: Grimm fan page at!/groups/337819579639347/

Evolving in fiction
© 2013 Ima B. Musing

Wednesday, February 20, 2013


PLEASE START WITH CHAPTER ONE, published on February 16th, 2013. This is a fictional story, rough draft.

The alteration was gradual, so plodding slow that it was accepted as normal. Interbreeding with kin amplified the genetic mutation, cause unknown. It started with sporadic growth of fur, scales, or feathers for a short while and then the person would return to their normal human appearance. Eventually, members of the community would completely transform into another animal and leap off into the jungle or take flight. They would return later and have very vague memories but sometimes they never came home. These members of the tribe became known as Changelings.

Once in a while a Changeling would be killed because a non-transformed tribe member didn’t recognize the animal as kith or kin. Conversely, the animal-Changeling would sometimes harm or kill humans due to having the mind of a beast. Children remained human until the hormones trigger the Changeling tendencies as they entered puberty. The maturation process can be quite volatile. Due to the complexities involved with conversion, Changeling children go through a process called Fledging to learn to take command their emotions, the proverbial gaining of wings. Once they are fledged, they gained access the full range of their abilities. They can retain some human sensibilities when partially altered as compared to a complete transformation into the animal form. Otherwise, their skills are limited by emotional upheaval.

Changelings gravitated to the same kind. Monkeys with monkeys, lizards with lizards, spiders with spiders, and their progeny would be just like their parents. If they mated with a regular human, the surviving kids were considered to be Blank. Blanks possessed about half of the heightened senses of the Changeling but could not modify their appearance. When Changelings of different breeds mixed genetically, most of their children were stillborn or died soon after birth. If the child did live, it would be a Hybrid. The Hybrids were dangerous because they felt no allegiance to either Changeling-species and were prone to violence. It became forbidden for Changelings to mate outside their sub-species.

A direct descendent of the famous Tlsa-se was the young and talented Teng-se. She had grown up amongst her intellectual family and leaders of the Eagle Changeling clan. She had the privilege of being the bearer of Moon’s Shine for sacred ceremonies and healing sessions. Teng-se was rebellious and developed an illicit romance. She already had several children but this relationship was different. Her desire for Foulan-sa, a Blank, was strong. Her heart quivered every time she saw him. They had intertwined their bodies on myriad occasions and she could feel that she was pregnant. She hoped the news would make him happy. However, right now she had to gather some Moon’s Shine for her father to use on a patient. She took the sacred Moon Holder and walked across the valley to the Pool of the Moon. The small deep puddle contained a horrid smelling substance. It was black as night and shimmered like the light from a full moon upon the water. The ooze was thick and would burn with noxious smoke when placed in fire. A tiny speck of the black substance would shimmer like a rainbow when touched to the surface water. It was powerful magic.

Teng-se brought along her two eldest children. They were still learning how to properly collect Moon’s Shine. As they approached the pool, the children laid offerings and she smiled as they sung the thank you for the medicine mantra off-key. Teng-se knelt to scoop the black light into the Moon Holder basket. A funny monkey distracted the children who giggled and bumped into her. Teng-se fell headfirst into darkness. As she struggled, the thick oily mess only drew her in deeper. The children managed to grasp her foot and drag her from the deadly pit of tar. Her bones would not mingle that day with the animals that had already sunk to the bottom of the petrol pond.

Teng-se gasped and gulped down some of the noxious tar. She could barely breath, her senses were muted and she was frightened. Forgetting the Moon Holder, the children slowly led her back home. All the other patients were dismissed. Her father and Healer kin spent hours scraping off the gooey mess as she suffered. Curative rocks called sunlight were crushed and used to scrub away the remaining tar. A special tincture of the finely ground therapeutic stone was brewed with herbs. She consumed the bitter tasting potion to dissolve the tar in her stomach. The ongoing treatment was revolting and she struggled to endure each day. The child growing inside her was forever altered.

© 2013 Ima B. Musing

Monday, February 18, 2013


PLEASE START WITH CHAPTER ONE, published on February 16th, 2013. This is a fictional tale.

It was no Garden of Eden. Though the upper plains and valley were blessed with sufficient assets, survival was a minute-by-minute struggle. Every day you had to obtain food, water, and safe shelter. You were always aware of threats. The Pioneer Clan absorbed the homids who survived the expedition. The mixed genetics evolved into a distinctive culture and copulation was our legacy. We had to make certain that the next generation learned enough to survive and reproduce. There was little time for entertainment except on a rare evening when we would gather around the fire to share stories. We passed along the story of our journey via oral tradition from generation to generation.

The traditional healers, the shaman, would gather flora, fauna, roots, and bark during specific conditions to mend the hurts of the members of the tribe. Their knowledge was passed from parent to child and Tlsa-se was a risk taker. She learned from her predecessors the essentials and then experimented with new cures. She found many new ways to heal though occasionally she would harm or kill a patient with the treatment. The valley was a natural pharmacy, almost all the curative plants they needed were present as well as sunlight and moonlight. She taught her offspring the way of the shaman and made certain that they respected the power of comprehension. Medicine could be used as a weapon, too.

After the monsoons ended and the well-worn trail dried, the tribe would move out of the valley. The clans would thrive in the growth of the plains until the heat drove them back to the valley. Each tribe had returned into their summer home and was enjoying the bounty while hot sunshine burned the plains. They traded, mated, and shared information. Quarrels would occur but since everyone was related, blood rarely dampened the ground. It was Tlsa-se’s busiest time of the year because other family-tribes would seek her to treat their ailments.

Tlsa-se was busy making a poultice for a woman who had an infected wound on her arm. Suddenly, the ground shook and the sky began to fall. Members of the tribe ran to each other for comfort. Trees toppled over and Tlsa-se feared that the world was ending. She prayed to the sun, earth and moon to protect her kith and kin. A horrible roar filled the peaceful valley and dust rose into the air making them choke and gasp for air. When the shaking finally ended and the dust settled, a group gathered near her. They didn’t know where else to go. She and her kin tended injuries and provided comfort. It was too late for the dead. A young male covered with dust and holding his broken arm, limped to her home. Tears rolled down his dirty face while describing his personal tragedy. He had been hunting a snake with his two sisters near the south wall when the earthquake began. The cliff face gave way and crushed his siblings. The pathway was no more. The whole tribe was stranded in the valley.

The story of the rumbling earth was verbally passed down from generation to generation. Tlsa-se was elevated to a hero who stopped the rocks from crushing everyone. Many iterations of her children continued the healing and counseling of the thriving tribe. The fertile valley offered enough to survive. Occasionally, the torrential rains would flood the lowest end but the tribe would move to higher ground until it drained away. The earth would still shake, sky would darken, and the volcanoes would scatter dust but they survived. Even though two of the streams dried up, they had enough water to endure as they incrementally became human.

© 2013 Ima B. Musing

Saturday, February 16, 2013


This is a rough draft of a fictional origination story of a sci-fi/fantasy/cop-drama show, Grimm on NBC. I have not watched every episode due to the sporadic airing of the program. The episodes are available online but I am vexed with a slow Internet connection. I enjoy the show’s story line though it is degraded by gratuitous violence. A chapter of this brief novella will be posted every other day.

This is my first attempt at creative fictional writing, merely a preliminary plotline sketch so please be kind…


In the way back long–ago, there was a community of bipedal homids. They traversed the land mostly by walking on two feet instead of leaping from tree to tree. They belonged to the same species that developed into Homo sapiens or modern day humans. Family-clan groups were the core of their community. They resided in a thickly forested jungle area laced with expanding patches of savannah plains. The clans seasonally migrated with other animals to obtain food, water, and shelter. Encounters between clans were rarely neutral. Positive would involve trade, sharing of information, and genetic material. Negative could result in theft, physical harm or death.

Life was a struggle. Almost half the offspring died before puberty. Adults frequently expired due to accident, illness, conflict, or were killed by other animals. Living until the old age of twenty was a rarity. The seasons would cycle from too much rain, abundance, extended dryness, and then return to the deluge of monsoon. The rhythm of existence was harsh but despite the challenges, the population gradually grew. Disputes between clans and animals increased as the land’s resources were stretched to feed more mouths.

The homid’s territory was large, but one range of high hills was off limits to all clans. Occasionally, the mountains beyond the hills would belch black smoke and glow orange at night. Bitter evil ash would occasionally fall from the sky when the wind would blow from the north. However, scarcity forced one clan to break taboo and forge a path through the hills. A few years later, some members of the pioneering clan returned with a tale of profuse resources. The pressures of overpopulation had amplified during their absence. The pioneers convinced several desperately hungry clans to join them in the unexploited territory.

Traversing the trail proved to be perilous. Food and water were not always available, rockslides were common, and predators would attack the vulnerable trekkers. Many people died during the journey deeper into the mountains. A rockslide in a narrow gorge crushed and injured many of the travelers. There was no turning back because immovable boulders blocked their return path. The only way was forward and clan members wearily marched northward.

Entering a beautiful terra firma rewarded their arduous journey. The high plain was at a greater elevation but not high enough to frost during the cool months. How could this land be considered taboo? Like other animals, the homids moved with the season seeking a safe area to procure nutrition, water, shelter, and raise their young. They journeyed in their family-groups throughout the new region. They grew accustomed to the rumble of minor earthquakes and infrequent eruptions of the neighboring volcanoes. The groups would annually converge in a deep valley located on the eastern edge of the plain to wait out the driest part of the seasonal cycle.

The valley was a large gorge formed by violent earthquake long before the homids arrived. The walls were steep on all sides except for one entrance on its south wall. The passageway was treacherous; the slender footpath sometimes claimed the life of one or more band members when they moved up or down its terrain. The dangerous journey was worth the blood. The valley was lush with food and few predators while the plain above baked in the dry sun. The clan was mostly vegetarian and would occasionally eat small insects, fish, or other animals to supplement their diet. Several small streams fell from the cliff walls and coalesced into a traversable river in the valley. A spring-fed stream dribbled out from the west wall and drained into a small lake in the lowest level of the valley before it trickled through a winding gap to the sea. The cleft was too constricted for even a child to pass. The homids would migrate out of the valley after the monsoon season refreshed the food sources in the expansive plain above the valley. Thus, our story begins.

© 2013 Ima B. Musing

Thursday, February 14, 2013

TEN YEAR 20/20

Wrote a letter to my ten year old self. No specific order but I wish that someone had told me. Hopefully, I would have listened and followed the advise. Another exercise inspired by 20% Theatre Company.

Dear Ten Year Old Ima,
Never doubt yourself
Write down stories from Grandparents. Record their voices on tape and film
Learn about ancestors; catalogue names, dates and all information possible
Enroll in Grandpa's tribe
Don’t get dragged into the negative elements of fundamentalist faith, focus on animism
Make a lot of friends and be a good friend
Never hide your intelligence, be proud to be a geek
Get mental health counseling from licensed art therapist NOW
Put money into retirement and college accounts NOW
Use a lunch bag, not a metal lunch box
Clean the aquarium with soapy water, not the garden hose
Don’t play a musical instrument, join choir instead
Enjoy being eccentric, don’t ever attempt to conform
Convince the popular kids to like you but don’t join their nasty clique
Befriend adults in the area who have connections to Ivy League or Oxford Colleges
Convince them to sponsor your college application and help secure loans and grants
Never be silent or hold your tongue, though don’t be cruel or mean to others
Procure GED as soon as possible and get out of town
Travel the world for a few years and become fluent in several languages
Attend a prestigious college, earn a Master of Fine Arts, and join a sorority
Obtain a PHD in cultural anthropology, become a pracademic
Stay physically active, don't gain weight
Date a lot of men, sleep with few
Adopt kids, with or without a spouse
Advocate for yourself, you deserve the best
Reside on every continent
Earn living as an artist after retiring from teaching and research
Divorce toxic biological family
Don’t regret anything that you say or do, apologize and move on
Jump over fear & shame and run towards happiness
Know that you are worthy of love, health, and wealth

Best Wishes,
Middle-Aged Ima

Thrive, don’t just survive.
© 2013 Ima B. Musing

Tuesday, February 12, 2013


Attended a workshop conducted by 20% Theatre Company. It was an interesting mix of movement and thought. Expressive movement was an excellent starting point though I am not accustomed to being an interpretive dancer. Perhaps it would have been easier to waltz around with total strangers. We did not strip off our clothes but the seminar did provide vulnerability exploration.

These are some of the questions that they posed and my responses below, though I only shared a segment of the answer with class participants.
* When I look in the mirror I see…
Existentially – an ugly bag of mostly water intertwined with a complicated soul connected to the Infinite Soul.
Negative: fat, menopausal female, middle-aged, white haired, becoming wrinkly, rarely wears makeup or fixes hair, short, dowdy, bad teeth, brittle fingernails, clothes out of style, et cetera…
Positive: alive, bright sapphire eyes
Reality: The good, bad, ugly and beautiful are garbled together. My visage of self-sufficiency barely covers my internal turmoil.

* When you look at me (Ima), you think…
Negative: weirdo, repulsed by the -isms, all the repellent items mentioned in previous question
Positive: eccentric, creative, storyteller, silly, makes me laugh
Reality: It all depends upon the depth of the relationship. First glances are usually wrong.

* When I am intimate with I feel…
Intimacy is both physical and emotional. I need the emotional connection before I can engage in the physical action otherwise sex is just another form of exercise.
Negative: vulnerable, cold feet, fear of rejection, shame, afraid the nightmares will return
Positive: protected, warm, loved, wanted, needed, desired, sexy, and voluptuous
Reality: I want to be loved for my flaws. I haven’t been physically intimate with a beau for a very, very, very long while. I have to overcome my accumulated fears and shame for real intimacy. I have to trust the man and myself; neither of us will be perfect. Perfection is an illusion.

* I feel most naked when…
I reveal myself, which is what I do when I blog
Repeatedly rejected by biological family
Ill with physical or mental health (anxiety, depression)
During doctor and dental office visits
Driving in hazardous conditions (icy, snow, cold)
I feel lonely and no one calls or returns my messages
Around pessimistic or glamorous people
I make mistakes, fear getting fired from job
Being financially poor
I am harmfully impacted by situations outside of my control
Nude, the first time a lover sees me naked
Facing fear and shame

How would you respond to these questions??? Feel free to write your answers in the comment area (no swearing, offensive or obscene language, though). Thank you in advance for sharing.

Totally Nude, Totally Naked
I’m ready for you!
(The Wallets song, RIP Steve Kramer)
© 2013 Ima B. Musing

Saturday, February 9, 2013


The only way to heal is to clean out the wound, otherwise it festers and becomes infected. Native American Indian Nations (referred to as First Nation Indigenous Aboriginal Tribes in Canada) have been deeply injured by systematic cultural genocide. Establishment of a Truth and Reconciliation Commission of the United States of America will be a profoundly intense effort because the wound is deep and intricate.

Native American Indians are Refugees; the United Nations would consider us to be Internally Displaced Persons. It doesn’t matter if you live on or off the Reservation, the terrible legacy of the American Holocaust continues. It was technically illegal to be a Native American until 1978. There was a palpable fear and hatred of outsiders and the “Feds.” Children were sent off to Boarding Schools to be “Americanized” until the 1980s. The list of atrocities is extensive and continues today with negative socio-economic indicators in Indian Country. Abject poverty, drug abuse, violence, physical and sexual abuse, hopelessness, and pain. Very few tribes (less than 5%) operate casinos and a lot of the profit is paid to non-Native casino management companies.

I am Dakota. My maternal grandfather was so terrified that his children or grandchildren could be taken away and placed in an Indian Boarding School that he destroyed all the enrollment paperwork. I remember visiting family on the Reservation. However, I was young and didn’t memorize names. I had to be snuck on because I am a “Red Velvet Cake,” caucasian on the outside and pink/red on the inside. I didn’t talk about my trip because my family could have been harmed. My beloved grandfather died when I was in middle school. I am a lost bird.

The tragic 150th Anniversary of the Dakota War and hanging of 38+2 in Mankato stirred my soul. I am related to Baptiste Campbell and his brother John Campbell. Baptiste was hung with the 38 and John was hung the following year. My dreams became filled with people crying but I didn’t understand the language. I began reading, researching, and talking to people about Native American Indian issues. It is terrific that there are many institutions dedicated to honoring the culture, language and arts.

I read about pain and healing. I tried to locate a Native American Holocaust or Genocide Museum. There are archives and a small museum but I could not find an institution dedicated to acknowledging of the cruelty committed against the First Nation Tribes. I thought that this might be my purpose. But the tear-filled dreams continued. I did more research and discovered the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada. That night my dreams changed. The tears turned to sighs. I’m still not sure what it means but I must be on the right track.

I am compelled to bring forth this cause. I don’t plan to be involved in the actual establishment of the USA’s Commission. It will be a long and complicated process but worth the effort. The Canadian Commission provides an excellent model. I hope that we will follow the same path of healing in the United States of America soon.

Truth and Reconciliation Commission of the USA will be established to contribute to truth, healing and reconciliation between Native American Indian Nations and the United States of America.

Please join our Facebook page at:!/pages/Petition-to-establish-a-Truth-and-Reconciliation-Commission-of-the-USA/127454177426801

Healing Helps Everyone!
© 2013 Ima B. Musing

Friday, February 8, 2013


Truth and Reconciliation Commission of the USA will be established to contribute to truth, healing and reconciliation between Native American Indian Nations and the United States of America.

Please join our Facebook page, search for "Petition to establish a Truth and Reconciliation Commission of the USA"

Introduction: (Example)
There is an emerging and compelling desire to put the events of the past behind us so that we can work towards a stronger and healthier future. The truth telling and reconciliation process as part of an overall holistic and comprehensive response to the Indian Residential Boarding School legacy is a sincere indication and acknowledgement of the injustices and harms experienced by Native American Indian people and the need for continued healing. This is a profound commitment to establishing new relationships embedded in mutual recognition and respect that will forge a brighter future. The truth of our common experiences will help set our spirits free and pave the way to reconciliation. (adapted from the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada)

Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada, more information at their inspirational website:

Maine leads the way in the United States:

Healing Lodge Flag is available at:
Flag is copyrighted by the © Manataka American Indian Council. All rights reserved.

Personal Note:
I only wish to promote the establishment of the Commission. It will be a long, complicated, and difficult task. I hope that a nonprofit organization will take leadership of the effort.

Peace to All My Relations
© 2013 Ima B. Musing

Wednesday, February 6, 2013


Please read first part, posted on December 7th, 2012. Procured myriad tea samples at their fall Tea Tasting event and decided to write a quick review of each. To order visit

The teas are listed randomly:
African Fruit Bowl offers warm tones and a slight fruit flavor. The tea particulates are extremely small so use a fine mesh strainer or sludge will form at the bottom of the cup.

Genmaicha toasted rice add an interesting hue to the damp reedy green tea. RECOMMENDED

Grand Keemun is robust and flavorful but not forceful.

Peaches & Cream is a gentle white tea with virtually no peach flavor.

Russian Sweet is a subtle sugary lighter version of my favorite Russian Smoky.

Bliss is mildly twiggy with a faint menthol essence.

Lung Ching Dragonwell supplies a woodsy slightly grassy tea with a hint of bitterness.

Effeminate is pleasant, green, calming, and provides a dose of St. John’s Wort.

Black Currant smells wonderful but is blandly seasoned.

Yunnan is bitter, strong, and slightly smoky. However, it is wonderful with a dash of sugar and milk added to mellow the brew.

Part III is still being consumed…

I do love a cuppa!!
© 2013 Ima B. Musing

Sunday, February 3, 2013


Please remember that I greatly admire all the authors that I review. This is a critique of a specific novel, not a review of their whole life’s efforts. It takes a lot of gumption to get published.

The Cold Cold Ground by Adrain McKinty Four Worms
1980s Irish Civil War is the setting of a unique detective tale. The imperfect protagonist is complicated, poetic, and literate. Of course, the main characters are beautiful, but that was the only weakness. There is even a glossary for those unfamiliar with slang. I knew a lot of illegal Irish who resided in the Twin Cities area during the Troubles. They returned home after amnesty was offered. This book rings true to the stories they told me.

An Autumn War and The Price of Spring by Daniel Abraham Three Worms
Pondering epic related to conflict. Good psychological examination of characters but could of delved deeper into their psyche. Did not explain poses adequately. Epilogue was a bit bizarre and totally ignored the leading character of the first book.

Nine Lives by Dan Baum Three Worms
Compelling examination of nine real residents of New Orleans before and after Katrina blew apart their city. Interesting juxtaposition of their different socio-economic status’ and opinions. The focus jumped back and forth between profiles so it was excessively difficult to remember what had happened to each person. I wish them all well.

The Lady of Secrets by Susan Carroll Two Worms
Sappy romance novel. Only one surprising twist, otherwise painfully mundane.

My Last Empress by Da Chen Two Worms
Author spoiled the ending by giving away too much in the first chapter. Creepy main character did not add to the book.

Write every day.
© 2013 Ima B. Musing