Give me 15 minutes and Ill write a song

Blankets for the middle child
Throw one back I'm in denial
Call me names a black bear's prey
I carry medicine all the way
Blankets for the baby's death
Small pox cherub on my back
Heard him cry to ancient laughs
Seems if history's killed the path
Seems if history paints me black

Raining how the thunder rolls
Who's to blame - I'm sorry
Dancing without tears held back
In her shawl she's mourning
Dried out grasses swish the past
Can't you hear them laughing?
Holding palms up to the sky
Lines still drawing stories

Trail of Tears drip single file
Throw one back it's been awhile
Forgive the pain of buffalo
Bodies left dead in the snow
And I'll be damned if you think he
Could collapse the tallest tree
Horse stand here by baby's grave
There young ones were the give-away
His heart was the give-away
Memories hardened in the clay
His heart was the give-away
Memories hardened in the clay

Blankets for her bleeding back
Help her stand by corn stalk shafts
I heard a young boy sing a song
Father's words came flowing on
Eyes burnt out he threw one back
Drives off in a cadillac

Raining how the thunder rolls
Who's to blame - I'm sorry
Dancing without tears held back
In her shawl she's mourning
Dried out grasses swish the past
Can't you hear them laughing?
Holding palms up to the sky
Lines still drawing stories...

Vintage Clothing, in Flag again

I stumbled upon a vintage clothing store in Flagstaff on a day that was dragging me down. A really cool lady from Minnesota owned the shop and I killed the entire afternoon trying on clothing. Great prices, much fun. Felt much better. Especially in this vintage 1970's dress :)

A Boy Just Needs A Mama

Sedona, AZ December 2nd 2009

I watched “The Blind Side” at the movie theater tonight. Just down the road. The film is about a young, black man in high school named Big Mike. Tall and enormous, the character is based off of a true story about Michael Oher, who became a 2009 champion college football player with incredible prospects for an NFL position. Big Mike is from the projects of Memphis, Tennessee, where he was taken at age 7 from his mother, who was a lifelong crack addict with numerous illegitimate children in foster care or out on the streets. Mike, having nowhere to live, was taken in by a white, all-American, go-getter family after being enrolled at a private prep school. The family introduces him to football, embraces him, and eventually legally adopts him as kin. The story evokes emotion by witnessing the transformation that occurs when one receives support, encouragement, and invested interest from family or those who show unconditional love. At the end of the film, they show the real Michael Oher and his family, bringing the story to a close that moves it into a place of greater reality.

The story reminded me of the young Navajo man named Chris, whom I met on the res in Kayenta Arizona. He has a demon by his side. I could feel that shadow nearby. Rolland’s niece had a baby. At three months, Rolland found this child in her home, alone, swimming in his own urine and feces, starving to death, crying, while the mother lay drinking in the next room, flirting with a gang of men. When Rolland declared he was going to take the baby from her, she responded, happy to relinquish responsibility, “You want him? Here, have him.” Taken to the hospital, doctors said he would not have survived the night. This baby is Chris, now 23 years old, who grew up feeling unwanted, ashamed, angry and sad. He became a troublesome kid, drinking excessively, rebelling authority, and became heavily involved in drugs. He moved to Las Vegas, Nevada after high school, worked as a bouncer, and attended culinary school. Now he has moved to Grand Junction, Colorado and works in a diner. He no longer uses drugs and drinks more moderately. As he arrived for an unexpected, one day, Thanksgiving visit, Rolland, staring at the television, lights up when Chris walks in. Chris told me he was a really bad kid and was kicked out of the house at age 16, where he crashed at various friends houses for the next two years. He has not been home to see his family in over a year. The night he arrived, I sat with him by the fire. I was messing around on guitar. I did not care whether he liked me or not. I was busy with guitar. But he came over to me, and I was very kind with him. He began to open up and tell me his feelings. I listened and watched the fire. He showed me respect and a wounded spirit.

The next day Chris came with me to Monument Valley. I felt his need for healing and he was asking for it. People just need love and guidance. To feel good about themselves. To forgive. And choose to part from the demons they have created and allowed to win their minds. I babied Chris, reminded him of how far he has come. He said he doesn’t like coming home because they all tell stories about all the bad things he did. I told him that he has been away and is different now. As he agreed, I continued, that they cannot keep you in a box if you don’t put yourself in it. Don’t worry about them. Sometimes you have to be the bigger man and not to take them so seriously. Then by being so mature about it, they will see how you have changed. Tell them it hurts your feelings. Communicate. He is afraid to relate to his Dad, Rolland, because Chris thinks he is going to say the wrong thing and create conflict. Without the need to rebel, Chris is just like a young damaged child, feeling abandoned and afraid. I explained how much Rolland loves him. It was if he never heard it before. I told him how Lita said, “Oh, Chris has always been Rolland’s favorite. He raised him since he was a baby.” Chris was surprised to hear this. I mustered all the motivation I had in my bones and told Chris about all the unlimited possibilities that he has. He can make anything happen with the clarity of true passion and inspiration behind him. I suggested he begin thinking of ways to help other troubled Navajo kids, empathizing through the personal struggles he overcame. I urged him to have a heart to heart with Rolland and Lita, and not to be afraid to share his true feelings. I helped him begin to express what he felt, which I transposed for him. He is sorry for causing so much heart-ache growing up, and that he really cares about them. Wants to make them proud of him. We sat for a long time up on the canyon, holding ourselves up on the steep slope. I taught him how Mother Nature is always caring for us, that we can give all ourselves to her. We arose, walked and talked some more about family issues and life path inspiration. I pointed out a big black bird above flying with an alkl white bird about the same size. They flew together vey close for quite some time and then parted ways. The black one flew West, the white one - East.

The Back and White birds high above, flying together.

Then I felt the wind needing a new direction and said to him, “Hey!! Lets cook dinner for Rolland, Lita and the family! We can invite everybody!” I could feel him begin to feel some creativity, gratitude and the desire to share his gifts with his loved ones. It was a plan. He stuck right by me all afternoon. On the way home, he showed me a beautiful necklace that Rolland had just given him. I gently made him put it on, and he seemed honored. Just before he left that night, I gave him two big hugs and told him he is doing so good. To keep doing good. He held me like a young boy needing his mama. So I treated him that way and he has begun to heal. I handed him a rock from Monument Valley, closed his hand around it. I said, “Don’t forget what we talked about up there, ok?” Rolland watched. He felt loved. Rolland and I sat alone in silence. He with the tv, me with the fire. He reflected aloud that he forgot to ask Chris to call him when he got in. Later, into the night Chris texted me that he made it safe in case I was wondering. And he wished me well on my travels. Just like a small child, I felt him looking up to me. So I texted back and asked him if he might call Rolland and tell him he is safe. The next morning, Rolland announces with pride that Chris called and got home safe. I smiled and prayed with every fiber of myself that their relationship would mature and become beautiful.

So I sit and think about all the children who feel rejected and uncared for. I think about all the grown men and women still aching like a young boy and girl. I think about the power that one person with inspiration has, and like a fire keeper, can light a match that moves between the hearts of the people. One carrier alights the next until the creativity builds and the box of suppression that not only one man, but the entire Dine Nation feel as a rigid, projected memory of defeat. Chris changed my life. He brought tears to my eyes. He made me realize that I may have changed his life too. I remember how easy it was to love him, share with him, teach him, empower him, guide him. I don’t understand why we don’t all bring some of our fire to the Dine Nation and let them teach us about heart. I think about all the men and women of the world who have forgotten how to find inspiration. I leave the reservation, and I leave the weight, crushing my dreams, behind. But as I emerge, with the greatest sincerity, I will be back, and next time with a bonfire along with me.

Kayenta, AZ Navajo Reservation

November 24th – 26th 2009
Monument Valley



Kayenta is one of the three largest Navajo towns in North West Arizona. James Nez is affiliated with Prescott College, and I was invited to stay on the reservation with his Mom, Lita, and Step-father, Rolland. The night I arrived, we sat by the fire. Cedar wood crackling, interrupting our words. Lita is Mexican, Navajo and Hopi, but grew up in Denver area, in the projects. She has owned businesses, worked for the school district, and is currently getting her masters in business online. An educated woman with diabetes. Rolland is a retired rodeo man. Good-looking older man with rarely a word to share. Speaks Navajo fluently, but is not interested in many of the ways. He likes his fire, his wife, his tv, strawberry shortcake, and his memories of childhood and rodeo. Before Rita, the longest relationship he was in lasted eight years before he became restless like a good cowboy man. But Independent Rita is always on the move. Working all day, and studying late night, she iss busy while Rolland has to stay at his place, which is a Bed and Breakfast. One thing to the next, lets her man do what he wants. And I think growing older, Rolland can hardly keep up with her. Thus, the roaming ceases, and the cowboy sits pining for his lady just how it should be. And I assert, with conviction, this is how 17 years of marriage has been sustained.

I spoke to them about my vision of what is going on with the Earth and the spiritual transformation and community initiatives that I hope to have a hand in during my life so that an abundant life with clean water and healthy food will be here for the generations to come. They agreed with all I had to say and we began a great respect for each other. The following day I went to lunch with Rolland, Lita, her sister, and mother. Darling, sweet, petite, and was born on the mesa nearby. After, we went to the flea market filled with beads, tools, fruits and vegetables, fry bread, kneel-down bread, and puppies for sale. I bought two pomegranates, traditional stir sticks, deer antlers made into beads, sea urchin spines (as beads but also grounded up and applied to open wounds of infection. Relieves pain and heals the sore), and some fresh cedar needles used for offering. I bought the cedar from a medicine man and woman. I was introduced. Their names are James, Anna, and their daughter is Bernice. They travel to local homes of Dine families who need treatment and healing. The use herbs and traditional ceremony. Anna explained to me what each of the plants was used for. Unfortunately, she did not know the plant names in English. Remedies for joint pain, allergies, and acne. The list goes on. I received their number in case I wanted a healing.

Rolland turns on the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade. I spent the holiday with Rolland and their neighbors. They were welcoming, and I was grateful to be included. I counted all by blessings. During the afternoon, I took on for Monument Valley. Rolland gives tours out there and knows all the ancient stories. I was a little disappointed he did not make the effort to take me. But he likes his tv best. Monument Valley is a gorgeous, powerful place. I did not find it so much a place of vortecies, but more of presence, motivation, and wisdom. My experience there fell into the context of my sharing with Rolland’s son, Chris. And it was an important place of transformation, particularly for Chris, who used to come there with Rolland and his tours as a kid. The photos I post, I will let speak for themselves. I feel that the site is not properly acknowledged anymore. I found the wisdom deep in the rock, hibernating.

I do not feel to write much about this aspect of the journey. I experienced the Dine people of this area to be caught in the the lethargy of de-motivation, lack of economic opportunity, little knowledge about health, with jealousy floating in air, and suffocation from governmental control and personal unconsciousness. Within a two and a half day period, I felt the cloud of hopelessness loom over me. Spiritually dehydrated. My life path, so clear and joyful, became a fearful, impossible feat, without anywhere to turn for possibilities to manifest. I was astonished and disheartened by the power of disempowerment and depression that weighed heavy over the ancestral land and its people. The predominating lesson was about the practical projects that must be created for the youth to bring up the happiness, the inspiration, the ingenuity, and creative opportunities that do not involve drugs or alcohol. As Chris and I drove back to Kayenta, he pointed at a large monument and mentioned how they used to have big parties there since alcohol is contraband on Navajo land. I kindly felt to decline when he said he would take me out there. He said, “Yeah, you probably don’t want to see all the cans of beer trashed over there.” Broke my heart to hear about such disrespect for the ancestral Dinetah. This is why the wisdom deep in the rock is hibernating.

Enjoy the magnificence.


The Elephant

The Three Sisters

FLASHBACK!!! Back to Taos, NM...

Thursday November 12th 2009 Taos Pueblo

Completely Magical.
Sat at Loka’s Café, working on my blog. Felt tense, sadness. I tried to shake off my uneasy feelings by taking the walking path around the park behind Kit Carson. Came across a cemetery of great Taos leaders. I stopped in my tracks. A sign read of the fear that swept the people when New Mexico was being annexed by the United States. They were afraid that their land would be taken. Not only the natives, who held agreements only with Mexico, I realized also the Mexicans of that area must also have been fearful to become part of the U.S. as well, with lower status, potential social marginalization and economic oppression. It was beginning to make sense why I felt fear and division between natives, whites, and the Spanish.
After driving by again and again, drawn in, I finally stopped at a gem shop down the road. Spent over an hour in there. I decided that when I visit the Taos Pueblo, I would give a gift to someone and it would help dissipate division felt by the people and the land. Finally found that one piece with the perfect qualities. It was the only one of its kind, no marked price. It helped to dissipate all the intense energy in the environment and myself. On my way to Patti Tronolone’s house for dinner, I stopped at Our Lady of Guadalupe Church. A famous site, yet unassuming, sitting amongst the adobe homes and opened shops. I entered. The new stone in hand. Silent. Heavy air with sacredness. Only one there – empty. Large stain glass windows, catching the light of the setting sun. A place to honor Mother Mary, the Black and White Madonna. I stood before the front of the church, then back of the church. I sat at pew and meditated. The last few rays illuminating the spot I sat. Then prayed over the stone. The White people are of the mind, of consciousness. Too much ego. Taos Pueblo – of Earth, some sadness. Latin Americans – heart, some closedness. Bring all back into balance. Share gifts with other groups. Cleansing. Silence. Neutralizing. Must give stone to someone at Pueblo tomorrow. Called to the lake. Worked with it. Want to go even though prohibited. I refer to the sacred Blue Lake. I didn’t know anything about it. All I knew is that I felt it, I am drawn, and it is not opened to outsiders. I made my way to Patti’s home. Delicious, homemade dinner. Great sharing. So tired. Long day. 45 minutes to the Leahy’s house. Drag myself to bed.

Thursday morning, talked to mom. Old karma for me at Pueblo. Would probably gift to young man rather than elder. She felt I would go to lake. The Taos people are the only Pueblo tribe that has not been dislocated from their land. The sacred Taos Mountain with Blue Lake, Deer Lake, Turtle Lake, Eagle’s Nest were taken from them by the American government until about 1972. Many Taos leaders fought their whole lives to return these places to their people. They have been living by many of the old ways still. They pilgrimage on horse or by foot to do ceremony on the mountain. They speak Tiwa, which they have safeguarded by refusing to create a written language out of it. The Pueblo is dwindling in size year after year, as the youth choose to explore cities other towns of greater economic and occupational opportunity, social diversity, and a time of independence. So as I arrived, I registered, was greeted warmly, and was left to wander around and look around the res on a self-guided tour. I thought how am I ever going to find the person I need to meet?? I didn’t feel like walking around and seeing. I wanted to feel and to connect with the land and the people. I felt the impulse to remove my shoes because I would call this sacred ground. At least to me and how I felt walking it. It felt gentler there. More heart than non-Indian territory. As I walk without my shoes, somehow everyone becomes interested. Who is this girl? Soon I approached by a man who asked, “Hey, didn’t I see you at Loka’s café yesterday?” I was impressed he remembered. He said he is an artist and to come check out his gallery a couple pueblos down. Then he pointed to a man selling jewelry at a table. He pointed, that guy wants to know why you aren’t wearing any shoes. So I went over. He asked me questions and I gave him short, simple answers. Then he invited me to sit down by him and he wanted to know more. So I talked about the land. I had tears held back. We talked about healing. His name is Raphael, is 42 years old, divorced and cheated on, and has two boys just a few years younger than me. He is full Taos of the Red Willow Clan and grew up with all the ceremonial ways. Is a drummer and sings traditional songs as well. He lived in NYC for seven years, but has returned to his homeland. He wants to take his boys to NY with him after the younger one graduates high school, so that they can explore life some more off the res. So we had a heart to heart. He understood where I was coming from. He wanted to see the stone I was carrying, so I handed it over. I said it was for him and told him how I brought it to give to someone here and he must be the one. He was very pleased. I mentioned how I was drawn to the Blue Lake, he asked how I knew about it, and asked me poignant questions. He asked what I was doing after this and he offered to show me around the tribal areas. Many people say the Taos are very protective about their ways and sharing them. I did not find this to be true during my visit. Raphael said he also had something to give me. I smiled. After he packed up and I sat by the river for some time, we went over to his family pueblo, where I met his mother and sister. His mother was sewing and invited me to sit down. They were pretty opened. He grabbed a couple things and dragged me back out to my car. He told me where to drive and we circled the sacred Taos Mountain. He explained that he could not take me to the Blue Lake because it is up on the Taos Mountain and there are no roads to get there. Only by horse and foot. But he showed me Eagle’s Nest Lake. We pulled the car over and he pointed out where Blue Lake was on the Mountain. Raphael put on a CD of old ceremonial, prayer songs they still sing today. The recording was of his Great-Uncle and his Grandfather singing in 1952. Beautiful. We drove on and he told me about the traditional races. About why they don’t celebrate Halloween. And, he described his experiences on the East coast, being invited to powwows held only by white people. He did not have a problem with that and it surprised me. In fact, it made me a little uneasy. I am conscientious about ceremonies being conducted properly. Perhaps I am a bit of an old traditionalist. He grew up with the old ways and told me many things. I will not discuss them here because he told me to keep it private. Raphael invited me to come back during their ceremonial times this winter. The deer dance and the turtle dance. I would love to. He gifted me a Kachina with two bears carved and mounted on cedar. He said it would keep me safe. I was also gifted the CD of his elders singing the old prayers. So grateful. We stopped by the river and we did a small ceremony. He brought his sage. We smudged with my Condor feather. I offered tobacco by the river. We finished our drive around the mountain; he played his drum and sang ceremonial songs all the way back. I have been blessed. He wants to be in touch, and called me on Thanksgiving. I felt at home at the Taos Pueblo. I’ll be back.

The Navajo Mountain of the West: Mount Humphreys or Doko'oosliid

Monday, November 23rd 2009




Emotions running high the past couple days. Body aching to find a opening for saddness to escape. Deep pain, letting go, moving on. I am delicate. Acceptance. And strong. Patience. A time of water, cleansing, healing the emotional body, the mountain that teaches of these things.

Doko'ooslid traslates as "was adorned with abalone shell." The Same Holy People replanted the Western Mountain in the Forth World the same as the North, East and South Mountain except that they dressed and decoreated this mountain with abalone shell to create understanding of our social unity and life (lina). Doko'ooslid was tied to the earth with a sunbeam by the Holy People. These are the holy people told to live in the mountain.

Doko'ooslid sustains the highest peak in Arizona at approximately 12,000 feet. This time of year with the ice and snow, few people climb, and even fewer attempt reaching the peak. I left Flagstaff for the sacred mountain at 10:30am and was unable to begin my walk until nearly 1pm. My directions were unclear, finding myself out by Sunset Crater, returned to downtown Flagstaff and took off toward the Crand Canyon. The entrace to Mount Humphreys is called Snow Bowl. The turn off was much closer than I thought and I sped of miles down the road. My mishaps stopped me near a small, odd shaped church. A couple sat inside holding each other, gazing out the rear, glass wall into the vast landscape.


Down the road. A red jeep, broken down, roadside, the hood propped up. Car trouble. Pulling over to ask where to find Snow Bowl, the guys pointed me back from which I came. They were two Frenchmen, having rented a jeep in Las Vegas, were now flustered with electrical problems. Or so they thought. I said I had jumper cables. They were doubtful, but we gave it a try...Viola! Fix em up. I spit off a little French for my own pleasure. They spoke English well. So alas, I pull into the parking lot of the Western Mountain! Empty ski lifts sloped down the mountain; not quite enough snow for the season to begin. There has also been controversy surrounding the artificial production of snow. The water being used is coming from recycled city water - i.e. sewer sludge. Many locals, particularly natives, are concerned with the detriment of environmental pollution.

Emotion still tender, but by the time I was swallowed by the mountain, I was more integrated. Packed up my sacred objects, Florida water, down jacket, hat, gloves, trail mix, what little water I had left, and the water offering I had collected the previous day from Eldon Springs - a brother mountain. Sidenote: When I went to Eldon Springs, I sat by a Ponderosa Pine to meditate. As I closed my eyes, healing my heart, the emotions, bees began to emerge. There were about 6 or 7 that crawled all over me, buzzing in my face, crawling over the bottle of water I collected. I asked them not to harm me, but to help me integrate and heal. Fifiteen minutes later they continued to work. I was ready to go, so I asked them to please leave and I thanked them for their assistance. Immediately they left, and two reamined on the water bottle as I carried it to the car. Then just one bee. Then none. I felt better.

Back to the mountain...I study the trail map. To my concern, it was unclear if the easy-hiking "Kachina Trail" is really on Mount Humphreys or simply nearby. What to do. I decided it was better to hike just a little ways on the "treaturous" Humphreys Peak Trail and make my offering on the proper mountain. With nearly an empty stomach, I begin the climb at 10,000 feet. Birds call, there is already snow on the ground from the getgo, but softened from the minimal rays illuminating portions of trail. Frequent stops. Cold air in my lungs. Gaspping for breath. I hike for 45mins. A guys from the area, but has been living in Chicago, emerged on the scene. We ended up walking the entire day together. Both Kenny and I were looking forward to the solo hike, but with the weather conditions, altitude, and test of enduarance, we banned together. He was not very spiritual, which changed the value of the journey. But I didn't question. Now I understand that is was more about social unity than anything else. Mountain teaches. Off we go, at a rapid pace, twisting around ridgeback after ridgeback. Higher and higher. He ledc the way. I thought about emotions. Women rely on men too much. But this walk reminded me that we must take responsibility for oursleves, process emotions alone, and then can be guided by the male. We must always digest our own experiences, but are meant to return to the stability of social solidarity. We stop only once. Expansive view!





My thighs burn, breath short but we carry on. Two hours later, a sign appearsmarking 11,400 feet. We break soon after, share a snack. I'm short on water. A crow swoops low again and again. Circling above. I signal back with delight. The guy was creeped out by the crow. I thought it was strange. We move on, talking with the few who are on their way down. Some went to the top others didn't attempt. They said it was really steep, icy, cold, windy, and nothing to hold on to. The altitude began to hit us and our legs wobbled, focused not to misstep. We felt weak, but I came with much optimism. We knew it was impossible to make it to the peak since we began so late in the day. I knew we would have done it otherwise, and quickly shook off out dissapointment. As late afternoon subdued the sun, it became cold. My toes numb. We surrendered a mile from the peak. He ate, and I offered tobacco, florida water, prayer, and the spring water that I brought. I offered Kenny some tobacco to add his own prayer if he wanted. The setting sun hit the rocks and mountains below. Illuminating everything with warmth and beauty. Took photos. A feeling came over me. Time to go...I knew that the last ten to fifteen minutes to the car would be in the dark night. Neither of us carried a flashlight. "Come on!" I led the way back down. The thickening ice, stones, sticks, and steepness prevented us from going to quickly, although I wasted no time. Kenny and I thanked each other for the company. He admited to having fear of getting stuck out there alone and dying, like he read in a classic novel, the author having escaped my memory. I found that interesting. I am not afraid of being alone in nature. I do not feel alone. I feel protected. So the sun setted fast, and it was a long way down. The ice became increasingy invisible. I indicated which steps were slick either by word or by falling. Both of us were slipping and catching oursleves gracefully, even if fully slammed down - ass to ice. I commented how falling on ice is like being tossed by ocean waves. You cannot resist the element of water. Go with it, you will not get hurt, but resist, and injury occurs. Same with emotions. Roll with it, they reslease. Resist, and they are stored away, toxifying the organs. Frozen water teaches the way flowing water does.
Thank God for my rakau giving me stability, strength, and way to poke at the ice. Darkness filled the forest as we enter the lower regions where the trees grow densely and light is blocked from the trail. The softened snow now frozen. I feel the pressure. Faster faster. We cannot negotiate this trial in the dark. Only one third of the moon tonight. Not quite enough. We are silent, our hearts beating faster, and I can almost hear our minds aloud so focused saying, "Here, here, ok, rock, slippery, here, here, faster, dark, here, here." We direct our feet. Only a few colors spark between trees as we finally emerge onto the open trail without snow, out of the forest. I was tired. But also glad we were the last ones up there and came back hidden behind the unknown veil of night. I led us back to our cars. I gave Kenny a hug. He was stiff. We waved, smiled, and took of on our warm cars. My fingers and toes thawing. So tired, my muscles stressed. Emotions settled, cleansed. I return to Tharon and Andrea's. Cook dinner. Watch Heroes. Bed. The night still with me, the mountain a unique, unexpected expedition. Happy.



Lady Moon, Venus, and a thread of light speeding by...

Soundtrack

Jolie Holland - Damn Shame
JJ - Intermezzo
Bon Iver - Blood Bank
Manu Chao - Dia Luna...Dia Pena
Bob Dylan - Girl from the North Country
Bonnie Prince Billy - I See a Darkness
Karen O and the Kids - Heads Up
Phoenix - Litzomania
The Shirelles - Mama Said
Bob Marley - The Lord Will Make a Way Somehow
Yungchen Lhamo - Lbasa

Trevor and Sara!! Play it again.