Friday, October 29, 2010

On My Dance, Take I

Come into
my witch’s cauldron
big, black pot
with iron, clawed legs
and a wide base, for rooting down down
down into a fiery pit.

Brewing, stewing, steaming and rising,
swirling, twirling, bubbling and oozing.

Step into
my curandera’s cocina
where leaping frogs, slithering lizards
and reptiles
with pitch-forked tongues
rest dreamily as one wandering eye
marks the time
of fluttering butterflies
and creeping beetles,
an Earthly, potent magic
assaults the senses.

Pungent, putrid, and foul-smelling,
Fetid, fragrant and divine,
aromas
of the sacred and the profane.

Ride with me
on my bruja’s highway
with its twisting turns and angular perceptions
a fluidity of space
as flying forms
evolve in the night
and as we
blast on through
to the other side.

Walk with me
on my shaman’s land
holding my hand, stroking my cheek
and whispering words
of an uncommon language,
of places too celestial to tell
of a world too godly for thought
and of an existence deeply rooted and tied
to all that is

painful, joyful and complete
sad, excruciating and extreme

whole.

('cuz it's just #$%^&*( HOT/Rad/insert your adjective here!!!!!!

A backlit silhouette
milky curves,
softening angles
she lends a hand

up

a powerful force
this thing called desire
its roots
root
rooting her
down down down through the earth's crust
exploring the exotic terrain
in wet jungles of possibility
he lurks lurks
lurks like a prowling cat in the grass
in the knee high, high grass

spinning, twirling, a kaleidoscope of shape, form and light
she rises she reaches up up up
                                                                                         (photosynthesizing in the light)
he extends, he reaches down down down
they grab hold
a cosmic collision
of fire and water
air and wood
earth and sky
body and spirit
male and female
radiating, penetrating
piercing
shifting plates
upthrusting rock
shooting out shooting out shooting
pow!

a black hole
and another universe is born.

Thursday, October 28, 2010

It IS Personal, take II

For too long now, I have hidden my gifts. 
I have withheld them, and tucked them away.
I have refrained from offering them.
I've been afraid.

Deeply fearful of that which I ultimately want
which, like everyone else, is simple and basic -
I want love and attention -
my irrational and immature fears of being rejected and denied
have merely been
self-sabotage
for I have suffered greatly as a result of my own withholding.

When I do not offer my gifts
which is the deepest act of LOVE that I can commit
then I hurt myself.  And, quite usually, I do not
receive the love and attention that I so crave, and need.
WE ALL NEED TOUCH & AFFECTION - it is a basic human necessity, ya'll!

So, although I may have gifts that are unique to me, I am not special in
any other way.  I am human, just like you.  I hurt and I bleed.
I seek and I desire.  I love and I cry.  I am here and I am gone.
I am present and I am missing.

Now, when I feel the sharp sting of the insecurities of others, the bite is less acute.
I'm learning how to keep offering, even when I'm told "No" and "but."
I'm giving myself permission to keep showing up in light of the laughter haughtily
flung in my haphazard direction.  I'm rooting deeper into my own soul-consciousness
so that I am no longer blown around like a reed in the wind.  In light of the judgment
flung at me and regardless of the contractions that are taking place as a result of my
own expansion, I keep TRYING ON LOVE.

And though it's scary, new terrain - it's liberating.
For it's the other half of my freedom
(that I have already spent a lifetime seeking).

It's here, n-o-w.
Balanced and full.
Still and powerful.
Ripe and destroyed.

In and out,
out and in,
over and over again.

Nothing more,
nothing less.
Just
this.

It IS Personal

Yesterday's writing was all about "the Gift."
My gift.
Your gift.
Our gift.
What we were brought into this world to do.
Why we're here.
You know...

I waxed poetically and, yet, I neglected to share with you
what I feel are the God(dess)-given gifts that I was born with.
I'm getting to it...

First, I want to offer extreme gratitude to the now-faceless acquaintance who
spoke my gifts to me while at Jenn Shultz's bday soiree back in September.
If you recall, I have spent the past year simply working on my
listening.
(Amazingly, I was bestowed the gift of listening in on a telephone conference with the executive producer of the next big thing in the human potential and transformative thought movement.)

I think it was Nirvair, actually.  While at Jenn's Golden Hill pad, I mentioned to him that I had recently been contemplating, both alone and with others, an idea that he espouses, which is: much like the estimated time in which our planet will revolve around our sun, he believes that our souls make 8 million trips in this "lifetime." 
(Yeowsas!  That's a lot of karma!)


Recently, I've spent some time testing my big toe in the waters of one specific body of work that shares the yoga/power/alchemy of Kundalini.  What I resonated most with was the thought of "soul-consciousness." The author writes about the transformative period that we now found ourselves within as also being about shifting from God-consciousness to soul-consciousness - from thinking that enlightenment is found outside of the body and not here on planet Earth to embodying God here, now, in the everyday of our sacred and profane lives.  I am/you are/we are God.  Yes, this I feel. 

So, then Nirvair mentions the fact that as embodiments of God we are each granted a gift, as in that which we were born to do.  He looked right at me, and spoke two words as examples.  "Such as gifts for connection and expression, Cara," he said with a twinkle in his vibrant eye and a smile on his white bearded face.  "Oh, right," I thought.  "Duh."

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

More on the Gift

"Your essence is hidden in dust,
to reveal its splendor you need to burn in the fire of love."  --Rumi

In becoming a map maker, I simultaneously learned that the treasure I was seeking,
the pirate's booty that was hidden long ago,
the hunter's bounty that was lost,
the adventurer's path that was veered off,
the philosopher's stone that was stolen,
and the sage's tablet that was turned to dust,
has always been inside of me.

For I am the jewel in the lotus.
(And, so are you.)

How liberating to find what I have always been seeking.
And, how ironic that, all along, what I had been searching for was simply within ~
it is within.
Thus, the maps are no longer about a destination, per se,
for we are always and ever there, here, now.
Nothing more, nothing less.
This is it.
(Can you learn to smile and enjoy it?)
This
is
it.

Rather, the maps are about integrating the daily steps that feed our souls and lift our spirits
into our lives, in these moments now.
Not tomorrow.  Not when we die.  Not for another time, off in some near, distant future.
N-o-w.

In order to create our individual as well as collective maps, we must have an ability to listen to our hearts.  What does yours say?  What do you desire?  To want, need, crave and desire is human ~ it is part of what makes us who we are.  There is no shame and no guilt in this.  Only the instinctual call to listen, deeply.  And then, to respond.

Our responses are what make up part of our maps.
However, the first step, listening, is the hardest.
It takes time
and it takes hard work.
Listening does not come easy.
We listen with our whole bodies and senses, not just with our ears and an ability to hear.
We listen without our monkey minds running on auto-pilot.
We listen with a depth of presence that sees out of the back of our heads, hears from the bottom of our soles, feels with every single hair on our bodies and knows with an expansiveness that is ancient and non-sensical.
We listen
and we listen
and we listen
and when we've learned to listen
long enough
deep enough
and patiently enough
the universe responds
markers and signposts begin to guide our way
and the answers make themselves apparent and evident.
Force is unneccesary
and the Power is clear.


I like to believe that I've learned to listen
and I feel that, in my listening,
my Gifts
(Yes, my ego is so big that I believe I have two!)
the God and Goddess-given gifts that I was born with
that I was brought into this world
to share
with you and you and you and you
made themselves evidently clear.

Now, armed with this knowledge,
with a language that is unique to my Be-ing,
I feel less confused
less lost and searching
and more grounded, centered and confident.
Knowing my gift
is a gift,
in and of itself.

What is your gift?!
And, if you don't know (which is perfectly okay!),
what are you doing to learn to listen for it?!





"The Lover is ever drunk with Love.
He is mad,
she is free.
He sings with delight,
she dances with ecstasy.
Caught by our own thoughts,
we worry about everything.
But once we get drunk on that Love
whatever will be, will be."  --Rumi

On Our Gift

I know it sounds like ballyhoo, but what were you put on this Earth to do?
Why are you here?
What is your purpose?

These three, basic questions have been boggling the human brain since the beginning of time.
Religion and dogma, morality and ethics, systems and civilizations have all sprung up as a result.
We hunger to know why
"Why am I here?
What was I born to do?"

Our collective thirst can not be quenched. 
We aim and we strive to fulfill, achieve and to embody all that we are taught and all that we are told.
Yet, we are usually left feeling unfulfilled and empty.
Typically, our grasping and our wanting only leads to more...
grasping and wanting,
more striving and aiming
in an externally-focused direction where what we think we seek is found outside of ourselves.

Where some pie in the sky awaits for us, on the by and by.
(Yes, I'm quoting Utah Phillips here.)

Perhaps, it does. 
(Who knows?!?!)

Nonetheless, do you really want to spend all of your time, n-o-w, here on this planet Earth,
waiting for a long and sustained death so that your perfect heaven can be reached? 
Paradise and a glistening Garden of Eden lay all around us,
n-o-w,
simply waiting for us to direct our grateful gazes inward. 

The dark and dank soil of our souls awaits
a piercing prick,
the fertilized seeds
of love, compassion, equality and justice
await an all-encompassing container.
You.
N-o-w.
In this moment.
This is all there is.
You
Ready and willing
to dive into the ever-unfolding, pitch-black stillness
of your soulspirit where a ripe and fertile center mirrors the expansive cosmos above.

Relax your eyes by softening your gaze (by doing so, you will also relax the muscles in your face).
Take a nice, deep breath in through your nose.
Experience the sound and feeling of the air molecules moving in through your nasal passage, down
the back of your throat, into your lungs and belly and then back out.
Do this again, and again.
Hear the sound of the air as you breathe, in and out, in and out.
Feel a warmth begin to spread out from your center.

This is it.
This is all there is.
You
and this moment now.
With your breath, look around you.
See the faces of others.  Witness the lines, patterns and shadows of the space you are in.
Feel this, Be-ing here now.
There is no need to judge it.
It just simply is.
It just simply is.
N-o-w
How will you enjoy it?

Friday, October 22, 2010

Fire Breather

(preface:
The below is a reading from a Ta'rot card.  Rather than steeped in an air of smoke and mirrors, these cards are designed to be used as a means with which to investigate symbolism in one's day-to-day life.  We do this because, if we so choose, metaphor can add multi-dimensionality and depth to our sometimes seemingly chaotic and/or "on auto-pilot" lives.  One is free to pick and choose what resonates within the reading, or to "toss out" what does not.)

The Queen of Wands, or Fire Breather

The sister is the Queen of Wands and she IS fire.
Along time ago, she took it from the Lightning and brought it back to the tribe.
Some feared it.  Some got burned.  And, some saw the magic.
The Queen embodied it.

She saw her fears and crawled into them like a snake.
She then slithered into the future.  She sparked villages into nations.
Now, she sparks nations into new consciousness of the Cosmic Tribe.
She dances the Hindu deity Kali's dance of creation and destruction
and reminds us that all creations destroy the equilibrium preceding them.
Our first reaction is to fear her.

What we fear as destruction is merely the attachment to one aspect of the creative process.
Life consumes life
and burns as energy.
Likewise, our creative expression requires the transformation - of objects or ideas -
one form destroyed to create another form.
We often fear the transformative power of fire and snakes.
And, yet, this gift is one of intense personal and global power.
We have used it to transform the globe and we will use it to transform the universe.

She dances the Kali dance on a striped snake.  It is the symbol of the awakening
that happens in the body when the snake uncoils and climbs up the spine to transform
experience into pure Spirit.  A coiled red snake behind her, timeless and ancient in appearance,
reminds us that even the powerful Queen herself is fuel for the bigger transformation in
consciousness that will make all beings on the planet one cosmic tribe.
Out of her yoni, a snake of eyes spirals toward infinity, watching us wake up from our
long sleep.

The Queen of Wands dances with snakes spiraling around and in her.
The spiral is the unending vortex of creation and destruction that expands into infinity and
contracts into nothingness, over and over, backward and forward.
Human culture expands as nature contracts.
We have harnessed the fire of the Gods and Goddesses and all around us
possibility crackles
then vanishes into puffs of smoke.

The Queen of Wands dances on a field of flowers with burning centers.
What will we do with her power?

How do you play the role of creator and destroyer?

The Queen is that person WITHIN YOU igniting new projects and burning holes in
worn-out belief systems.
POWER~!
How do you feel it?
FIRE~!
WHERE DO YOU BURN to make YOUR mark?
What are you evolving into?

The Queen of Wands is a spiritual revolutionary.
Keep her gift of FIRE alive in YOUR SOUL.
Blaze new trails!
BURN YOUR FEARS AS FUEL!!!!!

Blast off into the future.
YOU create by destroying the past.
NOW is the moment!
GET MOVING!!!

The trick in playing with fire is to not get burned.
Do this by consuming the POWER before it consumes you.

Sunday, October 17, 2010

The Impervious Clown



(or, on the Knight of Wands from Stevee Postman's Cosmic Ta'rot)


"She creates with a fiery uninhibited magic.  

She comes on strong because she has a burning desire to express the vitality she so deeply feels.  Creativity races through her like poetry, music & love course through our blood.  

Thrilling & contagious energy engulfs her in madcapped charm.  

She invites us to co-create w/ her.

Sexuality is her highest expression & a potent metaphor for the creative urge.  
She is the fiery passion sparking new ideas & new relationships.  
Like sexuality, she fuses two into one; many influences into many forms.  


The Knight spits fire, showing us she has brought the dragon of fear and desire back inside where she can use their power to mold and shape, rather than destroy, the world around her.
By working with her fears and desires she has liberated herself.
She designs herself in accord with internal impulses borrowed freely from those around her.
She has overcome the need to conform to others and prefers constructing her own fantasies.  
She is willing to take others' limitations into consideration for she needs people to be her witness
and aims to inspire them.  But, she knows that some people can't or won't be liberated 
no matter what she does, 
so she moves on.


The balance between the totally free and the socially responsible keeps her vital with other people
without offending her muse."  


I am the Impervious Clown.


"Do you feel the links between creativity and sexuality?
One flows from the other and both begin in the core of the body.
Build them both and express them extravagantly.


N-o-w is the time to start a new art project or love affair.
Draw a protective fire circle around yourself and go wild within it!
Then, go outside and express you newfound power in a way that at least some people
can understand.


Don't confuse inner freedom with external responsibilities.
Both are essential to the creative process.
Dazzle the world with your passion and, in so doing,
help others achieve liberation."


YESSSsssssssssssss!!!!!!!!!!!!! 
  

Saturday, October 16, 2010

What I Want For My Birthday ~ Pretty Please...

I want us to discover
our own unique, internal rhythm
I want us to listen to our hearts
and move from this place
of deep compassion and love
I want our collective fulfillment
in this moment
n-o-w
as it sits perfectly unfolding
and as we stand, erect and completely fallible.

I want us to integrate our bodies and our minds, once again
truly, One EarthBody.
I want us to hear the subtle flapping of wings overhead,
the faint stirring of the pulse in our blood
and the delicate vulnerability of life crashing, over and over again.

I want us to respond from our human-animal instincts
surrendering to the jewel in the lotus,
sensing with a multi-dimensionality
of up and down, four cardinal directions,
sight, sound, scent, taste, touch and experience.

I want us to remember our SoulSpirits
parched and withered
it is now time to refuel at a collective fountain.

I want us to come together
to celebrate and honor
what makes us same-same
Homo sapiens sapiens
as well as what distinguishes us from one another.

I want you to be the magnanimous you
no guilt, no shame, no hiding
no thinking there's something more
just Be-ing
and reflecting
Me.

Friday, October 15, 2010

(Ummm... i fibbed.) THIS IS WHAT I WANT [for my up and coming birthday]

(pretty please)

I want for you
as I want for myself

I want us to discover
our own unique, internal rhythm
I want us to listen to our hearts
and move from this place
of deep compassion and love
I want our collective fulfillment
in this moment
n-o-w
as it sits perfectly unfolding
and as we stand, erect and completely fallible.

I want us to integrate our bodies and our minds, once again
truly, One EarthBody.
I want us to hear the subtle flapping of wings overhead,
the faint stirring of the pulse in our blood
and the delicate vulnerability of life crashing, over and over again.

I want us to respond from our human-animal instincts
surrendering to the jewel in the lotus,
sensing with a multi-dimensionality
of up and down, four cardinal directions,
sight, sound, scent, taste, touch and experience.

I want us to remember our SoulSpirits
parched and withered
it is now time to refuel at a collective fountain.

I want us to come together
to celebrate and honor
what makes us same-same
Homo sapiens sapiens
as well as what distinguishes us from one another.

I want you to be the magnanimous you
no guilt, no shame, no hiding
no thinking there's something more
just Be-ing
and reflecting
Me.

Thursday, October 14, 2010

The Language of My Transformation

I want for you
as I want for myself

I want us to discover
our own unique, internal rhythm
I want us to listen to our hearts
and move from this place
of deep compassion and love
I want our collective fulfillment
in this moment
n-o-w
as it sits perfectly unfolding
and as I stand, erect and completely fallible.

I want us to integrate our bodies and our minds, once again
truly, One EarthBody.
I want us to hear the subtle flapping of wings overhead,
the faint stirring of the pulse in our blood
and the delicate vulnerability of life crashing, over and over again.

I want us to respond from our human-animal instincts
surrendering to the jewel in the lotus,
sensing with a multi-dimensionality
of up and down, four cardinal directions,
sight, sound, scent, touch and experience.

I want us to remember our SoulSpirits
parched and withered
it is now time to refuel at a collective fountain.

I want us to come together
to celebrate and honor
what makes us same-same
Homo sapiens sapiens
and what distinguishes us from one another.

I want you to be the magnanimous you
no guilt, no shame, no hiding
no thinking there's something more
just Be-ing
and reflecting
Me.

I Am/We Are Sooo Not Special (Or, On Name Calling and Finger Pointing)

If you haven't noticed, I've been dropping names in these here blog postings like f-bombs.
I don't do this to highlight others as somehow special, or different.
In fact, I try not to intentionally do anything that will leave you feeling left out, or "bad."
('Cuz I abhor feeling this way, myself.)
Rather, I tell my tale, I share my stories and I illuminate myself, as well as others, because
we are/I AM
YOU
(there is no separation between).

More than anything, I want you to know that I understand, and I feel
your pain, sadness, glory and madness,
your highs and your lows,
your love, rejection, hurting, and desperation,
your joy, light, dark and misery.
I feel it all.  Because I am all of it, too.

So, more than anything, I want you to know
that the community I refer to  and
the space in which my transformation has taken place
is yours as well.
In cities, and in towns, all across the world
people gather
to do what I/we have been doing for over forty years now
here in San Diego.
We come together, to heal and to revel,
to rejoice and to support.
To be human.

Thus, the Johns, the Careys, the Sams and the Staceys,
they are all there waiting for you
to either join them or to create your own
dance sessions, conversational circles,
camping trips and beloved communities.

N-o-w is the time.
What are you waiting for?


Click here for some fast links to (EarthBody based) communities in your neck o' the woods

A re-posting...

For you, Lisa Marie ~

'cuz without YOU this poem would not have 

come into Be-ing...

 

"It Is What It Is"

bow slices across
these silent, still waters
the radiating pulse of a newly discovered, internal rhythm
plays out

swoosh swoosh

"it is what it is," some distant, wise voice beckons

rock falls
overhead
in the burning the magnanimous mass is reduced
molten magma leaves an illuminated trail
tracing its ephemeral path across my heart
with persistence, the rubble will fall
onto this earth
and into these liquid, primal waters
where right wrist twists, and a symmetrical oar
dives
into a black expansiveness

swoosh swoosh

the void below
reflects and mirrors
what floats above

swoosh swoosh

a deep reverie illuminates my soul
"it is what it is," the singer sings, too

swoosh swoosh

gone is the longing, departed is the seeking
the resistance has withdrawn
now
all that remains is the bow
silently cutting its swath across
these still, San Diego waters
now
all that remains is pure surrender
and raw vulnerability
"it is what it is"

swoosh swoosh

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

Completing the Circle...

Exploring Deida's ideas in dance and movement has been a fairly new phenomenon in my life, as well.
I don't buy into all of his words or all of his maps, per se.  And, as he would point out himself, "it's all just crap, anyhow."  Still, I find some resonance with what I'm hearing, reading and experiencing.

Deida further describes the masculine essence as growing through challenge.  Whereas, he would say, the feminine essence grows through praise.  YES!!!  This I feel.

Here's the slight difference between my work and Deida's, however.  I am not interested in perpetuating gender stereotypes, polar differences or, even, the "battle of the sexes."  We all have both the masculine and the feminine essences within us, even though we resonate more with one.  I firmly believe that now is the time when we must harness both of these essential energies in order to sustain ourselves in this century that is to come.

Thus, as I have been sinking back into my divine feminine - the soft surrender and the willing responsiveness - the masculine in me has also appreciated being challenged.  Only a few weeks ago, someone challenged me on one of my biggest weaknesses - food.  Yes, you read it correctly - I struggle to create everyday plates of fresh produce and healthy meals in the comfort of my own kitchen.  Every inch an American woman, I can eat 'till my belly is close to bursting but I lack creativity and confidence when it comes to the culinary arts.  

Rather than hem and haw for why I couldn't step up to the plate, I listened to the advice I was offered, mentally chewed on it for a bit and then tried to hit a few balls.  My famously raw salad was born not too long after this.  (Though, I have to admit that it eerily resembles Ery's own concoction.  Doh.)  Here's the recipe: 
(please consider purchasing most of your ingredients from local farmers at your local farmer's market)

My Farmously Raw Salad
A head of Kale (purple, flowering Kale is ideal, though not necessary)
A bag of Arugala (if this is too spicy, you can choose any other greens you'd like - such as Chard, a spring mix, etc) 
Throw greens into a bowl and tear into bite-size pieces
Toss on a dab of oil (I have been using Truffle Oil, of late) and massage it into your greens.  The oil will help your stomach to break down the raw leaves.
Throw in handfuls of sunflower seeds, raisins, cranberries and/or dried coconut shavings
Top with fresh passion fruit or pomegranate

For more "umph:" You can also add fresh avocado and a sprinkled cheese on top.

This delight has been serving as a helpful and healthy meal for me, of late.  And, I gotta tell ya, my body is now sucking up water like a camel at an oasis.  YESSSsssssssssss!!!

FYI: There's also a fresh, berry cornbread sitting on the counter and a lavender, mint and basil infused tea in the fridge. 

Wanna come over to eat sometime?  ; )

As my friend Christine Stevens taught me, "The quickest way to enlightenment is to feed others."

On Commitment

It was only last year, when I committed to my path and to what Paolo Coelho would describe as one's "personal legend."  My experiences, over the course of this past year, have brought so much expansion into my life.  I am deeply and extremely grateful for the luck, privilege, fortune and opportunity of Be-ing alive, n-o-w. 

Thank you.

However, I must confess that it was not until this past summer when blatant signs and immediate markers started popping up in my everyday life on a regular basis.  What I am referring to here is all of the 'synchronicity' that I have been writing about of late.  It has now come to be that I no longer believe in "coincidences" - things happen for a reason, of this I no longer have any doubt.


So, mainly, I have just been trying to listen.  Back in July, what I heard - at least five times over - was the same repeated name for the transformational seminar that I tried to attend this past weekend.  In lieu of judging the message, and instead of making up reasons for why I could not explore the message further, I have been surrendering to its call.  Thus, along with listening, I have been actively expanding upon my ability to respond.  "What nugget of truth awaits me in this experience?" is the question that I use for laying down my defenses and offering up a blank slate, ready and willing to absorb the magic in the moment.     


I take back what I wrote a few posts ago when I, mistakenly, referred to the seminar manager as a "moron."  (Ouch.  Honestly, I try to not point fingers and name call.  I guess my ego was a little bruised...)  He was right.  I did not plan well enough ahead as I have not been taking good enough care of myself.  For years now I have known that my body suffers from dehydration and that I am especially vulnerable to debilitating migraines (they're my main malaise) on the first, full day of my cycle.  And, though I used to think that it was because I was salt-deficient, now I know it's because I do not get enough greens in my everyday diet.  The minerals and nutrients in green plant life would help my body to absorb and maintain the moisture I need to keep my phBalance at healthy levels.

Nonetheless, I have been denying myself what I need - for years now.

10/13: On Animal Symbolism

Brother Crow has been gracing my path lately.
Alerting me with his maniacal guffaws, he ambles around on two, stick legs.
Ebony wings glisten and reflect in a fall sun as the faint ripple of his gentle body,
tumbling and diving in Pacific breezes, serenades my eardrums.

Oh, sweet brother - what message have you for me?

CROW speaks of  integrity and doing unto others as we would like them to do to us.   Crow teaches us to know ourselves beyond the limitations of one-dimensional thinking and laws.  It is about bringing magic into our lives.   This animal teaches to appreciate the many dimensions both of reality and ourselves, and to learn to trust our intuition and personal integrity.  There is magic wherever crows are.  They give us the message that there is magic alive in our world and this magic is ours to use and create a new world for ourselves with.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

On the Divine Feminine

Perhaps, with all my writing and postulating about the Divine Masculine, it seems that I somehow have forgotten the natural counterbalance?  You know, us women?  It's not that I am intentionally neglecting us, ladies.  It's that, I see a pattern and a trend here.  Also, I didn't mean to imply that my brothers on the dance floor aren't my lovers.  For these relationships are one in the same (brother/lover), they are not diametrically opposed.  However, there are only so many of them to go around.  Yet, there are many of us, my sexy, smart and spiritual sistahs.  Given the dominant paradigm, I am just trying to even out the playing field is all.

Nonetheless, I have been a little blocked in my thinking when it comes to us.
"I don't know, how do us women need to evolve?" I'd whine to Sam.  There was no pause on his part.  No need to think it through.  "You need to soften," he said.  "American women have become so hard.  I was out the other night and there were these women, dressed to the nines, trying so hard to look sexy, yet they were angular with stoic faces that didn't let any expression out.  There was no vulnerability, just a rock hard façade." 

Oh, right.
And, this is what my brothers have been teaching me, on our dance floors, over the course of these past few years.

In current collective consciousness, this story is being played out.  It has the whole world fascinated because it is basically enacting this parable.  You know, it's the one about the triangular love relationship of Jen, Brad and Angie?  It's a timeless tale of where we find ourselves n-o-w:
America's rugged yet brilliant favorite son has been snared by a worldly and conniving temptress who embodies all of the Earthly human archetypes (both on screen and off) and the nation's beloved girl next door has been left empty handed but is still the reigning queen of feminine beauty with her long, angular legs and manicured hair. 

Yes, us American women have become as de-masculated as our American counterparts.  We have had our soft curves, flowing grace and gentle nurturance ripped right out of us.  In our attempts at becoming "equal," we have mimicked our men - in dress, in look, in behavior.  We have rushed right up to the finish line beside them.  Sometimes, knocking them out of place with a swift bump of our diminishing hips.  Yet, we get there and we recognize that we're all alone.  Our brothers are peculiarly absent and it hurts.

On Feedback (Oh, how I love thee!)

So, what compels one to send blither-less blather into the internet ether with the push of a button and the ramble of a finger? 
BEats the hell outta me.

Immediate gratification?
Perhaps.  
(Or, is it certainly?) 
Fantastical illusions of living one's own reality soap series?
(My shit certainly beats the likes out of any"Jersey Shore."  Oh wait.  My mum is a Jersey girl...)
Celebrity culture?
Sure, we call all point our fingers and judge.  But, what's the point?
It just is.  Ya know?
It just is.




Yet, there are those few moments in time when someone shares, "Cara, I found your blog - your writing is touching me," and I think "Yes!  This IS it."  
(I can't help it.  I was born this way.  Ask my sister.  I'd wander around the Bay Area and lament, "But the people don't talk to each other [on BART].  They just sit there, with their noses stuffed in books."  And she'd come back with, "Cara, after working all day, and then returning home to family life, most people want peace and comfort.  They don't want to be bothered by the ridiculous antics of strange others.")
Now, I'd say in response, "But we need each other.  We're tired and we're bored and we're sick and we're dying because we're too busy tending to other people's work.  We are exhausted from pretending that we are do-ing something.  So much so that, unfortunately, life's biggest lesson could be sitting there on the chair directly across from us but we're too preoccupied with our own boredom to pay attention!  And, that's the saddest part of all."
Friday's coach said "Intimacy = in to me, see."  And, it works.  We become intimate by exposing our ugly, dark and shameful parts along with the all of the good stuff that we present to the world.  
AND, here's another way to view intimacy: in to me, I see.  
Here's my trick: Every person, place and thing my eyes fall upon is a MIRROR.  "What beautiful lesson does this gift have to impart to me today?" is how I try to view the world.  Sometimes, I fail miserably because I am tired, hungry, cold, hurting, et al.  Hell, I'M HUMAN!  Most of the time, though, I simply try to view life through this lens.  
Try it.
You might like it.




So, here's some AmaZing feedback that Gaialove posted to this here blog recently.  I LOVE how she brought the topic of sacred sexuality and, more specifically, the divine masculine back around to FOOD and FOOD SAFETY.  
Right.
The is WHY I, personally, NEED others in my life.  I can get off on my tangents but then someone rad like Gaialove, or my girl Franny, always brings it back to today's pressing global humanity concerns: Food and Sustainability. 




Gaialove said...
Cara,
Everything you wrote is so descriptive; and descriptive of you- the mountain lion, the chi gong stance, the full moon setting in the west, the tantra, the intrigue, the listening. I see it and feel it and I love it!

It is so interesting about the Divine Feminine and Masculine. I have been paying special attention to the Divine Masculine within and he is so cool. He is so reliably here for me, as long as I maintain my dialogue and knowing that I can count on him. For now, he provides and protects (so much so that it leaves little room for other physical males to come in). My Divine Feminine is nurtured by him and she is well, becoming more patient, better able to nurture and more balanced. My inner dialogue today was about invoking the inner child- she has had a rough ride since the divorce and has been dampened by the loss and hiding under the covers for some time.

I want to add something about the Masculine, especially pertaining to the realm of food and nutrients. Books from the 363 section of the library (environmental health and science) discuss studies of different species, esp. in terms of reproduction.  In light of the "food" atrocities, problems with gmo's and pesticides, etc. problems show up in the male species first.  Hence, sperm counts and sexual ambiguity can result. These issues are not well researched and the conversations only happen intimately around our kitchen tables - not within a larger cultural discussion.  It's like the subtlety of food sensitivities, or allergens- so many people are used to fatigue, attention deficit, grouchiness, or depression that they don't simply link the way they feel to what they eat.
Likewise, people are increasingly used to difficulty conceiving so they don't connect it to environmental poisons or media-based brainwashing.   I think the expression of the Divine Masculine and his ability to be the shore that lies with the river's flow, or to provide, or to protect, or to be erect, is also the masculine that absorbs nutrients, that cleanses his system, that physically exerts his strength to stay fit, that demands and tolerates only real food, and strives to make sure that his WHOLE family, has the same opportunities to be fed and nourished physically, emotionally, mentally and spiritually.

Monday, October 11, 2010

(re-posting)s

A Gift

If anyone asks you
how the perfect satisfaction
of all our sexual wanting will look,
lift your face and say,
like this.
When someone mentions the gracefulness of the night sky,
climb up on the roof and dance and say,
like this.
If anyone wants to know what "spirit" is,
or what "god's fragrance" means,
lean your head toward her or him
keep your face there close,
like this.
When someone quotes the old poetic image
about clouds gradually uncovering the moon,
slowly lossen knot by knot
the strings of your robe,
like this.
If anyone wonders how Jesus raised the dead
don't try to explain "the miracle"
kiss me on the lips,
like this. Like this.
When someone asks what it means to "die for love,"
point here.
It someone asks how tall I am, frown and
measure with your fingers the space between
the creases on your forehead.
The soul sometimes leaves the body,
then returns.
When someone doesn't believe,
walk back into my house.
Like this.
When lovers moan
they're telling our story.
Like this.
I am a sky where spirits live,
stare into this deepening blue,
while the breeze says a secret.
Like this.
When someone asks what there is to do,
light the candle in her hand.
Like this.
How did Joseph's scent come to Jacob?
Huuuuu.
How did Jacob's sight return?
Huuuuu.
A little wind cleans the eyes.
Huuuuu.
And when Shams comes back from Tabriz,
he'll put just his head around the edge of the door
to surprise us,
like this.

Mevlana Jelauddin Rumi was a prolific Sufi poet
who spun around the earth over 800 years ago.
"Your essence is hidden in dust.
To reveal its splendor
you need to burn in the fire of love."

Good Luck, Bad Luck, Who Knows?

Please know that I jest when I use strong words, such as cussing or making negative/deragatory comments.  For my ex taught me a great analogy regarding life's experiences that I now hold up as a mirror for all of my life.

Here it is, for you to use at your discretion:

Two strong, masculine and male friends were chopping wood in the forest.  They were of Mayan descent and lived millennium ago.   Mucking about and goofing off, as men are known to do, one man accidentally chopped off two of his friend's fingers.  At the sight of the bloody mistake, the victim flew into a rage and ran after his best friend threatening him bodily harm.  Through the forest their body's snaked when the pursued, running haphazardly and fearfully, fell into a brilliantly camouflaged, booby trap.  He was now trapped, nine feet below the earth, with no way out.  He begged for his friend's forgiveness and help.  But his friend was too angry to relent and left him there for fate to do what it will.

On his way back to the village, an invading army cut a violent swath across the forest and rounded up all healthy and able-bodied adults.  He was swept up into the terrifying caravan and was marched before a sea of strange faces.  He was to be sacrificed in the name of another person's God.  On the altar he was laid and, when the ax was raised to come pummeling down upon his vulnerable neck, he struck his wounded hand out in protest and defense.  The presiding official took one look at his imperfect, fallible human body and deemed him unfit for their perfect God.  Immediately, he was released and set free.  Where upon he ran back to retrieve his best friend from the hole in the Earth.  He helped his best friend out of the muddy pit and relayed the events that had just transgressed.  The men could not believe their luck or the turn of fate.  If he hadn't of chopped off his finger... if he hadn't of angrily pursued his best friend...if his able-bodied best friend never had fallen in the hole...

Indeed.

Good luck.
Bad luck.
Who knows?

10/10/10: On Death and the Number 13

"Transformation and endings are what are indicated when the death card is turned."


While at Friday's workshop, our coach spoke of "completing" the past so that we can move on with the present.  She recommended getting to the bottom of "what happened" in order to recognize it - as a mistake made by others' that was simply misinterpreted by a child's brain, for example - as one simple way of closing the circle.  However, when one was born fighting in order to survive, this step of acknowledging the moment "when" the story inside of one's head began isn't so easy.  Yes, folks, this is where that psycho-analytical drivel regarding our inner child comes in.  (Damn.  I am so textbook.)
I hadn't realized that I had been carrying little Cara around for so long.  I didn't know that she was the "it" in my head.  She's been my ridiculous ego all along.

So, for the first time ever in my life, I bawled my eyes out and cried for her this morning.  There was no one here to witness me, or my transformation.  There was no one here to pat me on my back and tell me "Good job."  Rather, It was just me, crying for me - for the sweet, lost, little girl who only ever wanted her father to protect her and her mother to nurture her.  Who only ever wanted to be taught freedom by her brother and love by her sister.  This wasn't my experience, though.  The fear, pain, sadness, anger and anxiety, were all too rife for the gentle comfort of love and for the soft support of compassion.  So, out of the womb I came swinging - but this went against my very nature.  I've always deeply sought love.  A love that feels good - from the tips of my toes to the top of my head and from the deep pits of my soul to the light airiness of my spirit - true and right.

So, now, I say, "It's okay, Carita.  You can go now.  I love you.  You are loved - you live in it and bask in it its glow daily.  You are supported by a vibrant community.  By your sisters who hold you up and kiss you - Devi, Shakti, Natalie, Corrine, Blaize, Karen, Jenn, Carey, Mindy, Hanna, Heather, Paige, Elyssa, Franny, Holly, Britta and so many more.  And by your brothers who swing you around and play with you - Samuel, John, Ery, Stephen, Patrick, Mel, Mishi, John, Johnny, Jason, Gyan, Barry, Nick, Leslie, and so many more.  You are safe in their arms.  You are safe both with them and without them.  They've taught and shown you how and so, now, you can let go.  It is no longer dangerous.  In fact, it is now more dangerous for you to stay and remain.  You must let go so that this human being can continue to grow and thrive.  You must move on so that the woman in me can bloom. 
Thank you for protecting me and taking care of me.  Thank you for loving me when I couldn't love myself.  Thank you for heeding love's patient call through it all.  But, it is time.  It is time to die a quiet death.  I won't miss you but I'll always love you - softly, gently, tenderly.  Just as you've always deserved.  I'll always hold you safe in my arms.  Fly away little birdie.  Go, be free."

 
(By the way, I'm getting a full refund on that damn "transformational seminar."  Boo yah!  ; ) )




More on the Portal of 10/10/10

Really, does numerology mean anything?  Can simple numbers have great significance?  And yet, how often do you look at the clock and see your birth numbers illuminated?  How many of us place bets on state lotteries in hopes of finally becoming that millionaire?  Numbers do mean something.  To mathematicians, they are the patterns that makeup life as we know it.  Sacred geometry and repeating shape, lines and form.  In and out, in and out.  1, 2, 1, 2.  Information is exactly this: repetitive sequences.

So, yesterday, we saw the same number repeated three times 10-10-10, and there was talk of a portal opening up.  It could be thought by some that this doorway represents a shift of consciousness that the Age of Aquarius has been destined to bring with it.  As for me, I got booted out of the world's leading transformational thought program only to be openly embraced and lovingly supported by the community that has been teaching me about transformation over the course of these past four years.  Gratefully, it was with them, rather than with a room full of strangers, whom I shared one of my truths with.

With full presence of bodies, minds and spirits, they listened.  They received me and my sharing.  They honored my words and my Be-ing.  We all inhaled together and then breathed out on one, long, "Ommmmmm."  Devi held up her hands, counted to three, and we all had a final clap in unison.  The spell was broken.  Time to move on, out into the world to face whatever was to come next - stronger, and that much more fulfilled for the moments that came before.

While cleaning up our collective space, I wandered over to our altar to pull a Ta'rot card.  I flipped over a brilliantly designed card and there sat #13 - Death.  I chuckled out loud, and asked Devi, who was packing up the box beside me, to take a look.  We enjoyed the intimate moment together.

Later on that day, while picnicking at Swami's beach park in Encinitas, I found myself in conversation with an older man.  The talk wasn't all that enlivening; I was finding it difficult to be present to him and his desire to share with me.  Nonetheless, I stayed rooted like a tree in the ground.  And, there it was - without my prompting, he brought up synchronicity, Ta'rot and, then, the number 13 death card.  "Do you know what I'm talking about?" he asked.  My laughter, this time, was uproarious.  "Devi," again she was at my feet, engaging in conversation with another beloved friend.  "Do you hear this?"  

More on Synchronicity

One of my dance brothers is passionate about the words of radical provacateur, David Deida.  Deida writes and speaks about sacred sexuality - basically, he puts Tantra into layman's terms.  Over the course of the past few years, my experiences within our dance community has allowed for me to experience a sinking back in to what I can only describe as my 'true Self.'  And, I must admit that this true Self feels divinely feminine and that she seeks nothing more than love, love, love. 

What caught my attention about the maps that Deida provides is that this is exactly how he describes the divine feminine essence.  Since the art of loving is a motivating impetus of mine, I sought my brother out and we have since started teaching dance classes that attempt to embody some of these millennium-old, spirituality-for-the-everyday practices.  Suffice it to type, I have spent much time in conversation, of late, discussing the masculine divine essence - as to how it is expansive and piercing, supportive and encompassing, passionately purposeful and consciousness itself.  The analogy that I like best is how the divine masculine is like the river bank - it holds and contains the flow and, yet, it is simultaneously carved by the creative nature of the river itself (and guess who is the river, ladies?  Boo yah!)  Fucking beautiful.

So, with women friends, I've spent time talking about the men we love.  And, I've been witnessing some of my sisters reduce the glow of their brilliance so as not to trigger the insecurities of men who are not yet in their own power.  "He has to be right, and he has to lead the way.  Otherwise, it simply creates tension," my friend Stacey says.  "Where are the strong, virile men whose spines are supple as well as erect, whose hearts are vulnerable and whose hips are open?" we wondered.  (By the way, many of my dance brothers do embody these qualities.  You can meet them on our dance floors, any time.  But, damn, they're my brothers.. not my lovers.)

So, last month, when that ripe and pregnant Harvest moon rose above the spiritual retreat center where I found myself, 4,000 miles up a southern Californian desert, synchronicity again knocked at my door.  There I was, preparing food and chatting with Stacey in the kitchen about this exact subject, only to be introduced, less than an hour later, to a group of three people who had been hanging out and playing music for the night.  One of them was a barrel-chested man, of medium height with a burly, red beard.  He looked at me with soft, inquisitive eyes.  He was open, and strong.  Soon, we found ourselves parked in a meadow, bums growing cold on the desert floor, talking about "life."  (What else is there to do?) 

He was the wisest twenty-one year old that I have ever had the privilege of meeting.  Without my prompting, he spoke of the feminine divine - of loving this planet as well as his mother.  He spoke of having nearly been blown to bits while stationed in Iraq and how he had lost part of his hearing as a result.  He shared that he had been released from duty and came directly here on July 3rd.  He bent down, deep into a gorilla stance, and flayed his arms like a QiGong master.  He shared tales of could-have-been bar room brawls, but he and his military brothers always took the high road out.  He was the divine masculine embodied in the living flesh, right then and there.

So, do you want to know if I took advantage of the moment and had sex with him?

Here's the thing: Tantra isn't about the act of sexual intercourse.  It's about energy and how we wield it to experience more grace and ease in our lives now.  At the end of our conversation, I went back to the main practice room where a four-foot gong sits and I slept on the hardwood floor in the same room where another friend of Stacey's was suffering through symptoms of the flu.  I awoke as I usually do, at 6:30am, and wandered outside to experience magic - I spent an hour watching the Harvest moon set over a western horizon along with a pouncing mountain lion that was playing in an adjacent meadow.

On my way out of the retreat center and down the mountain for a Friday afternoon business meeting back in the city, I stopped by the horse corral to say goodbye to my new friend.  He was a different person - cold, detached and farther removed.  Then, I remembered - he had been drinking.  I don't discount the experience because of it.  I am simply grateful it was what it was...  

Sunday, October 10, 2010

On this 10/10/10

So, by the end of this past Friday night, after nine hours spent giving my diligent presence coupled with the first full day of my cycle, I was already beyond exhausted.  Nonetheless, I have a weekly commitment that I must tend to and, after spending all that time sitting on my ass, it felt so good to move my body!  By Saturday morning, however, I was hurting.  By the time I reached my destination for the day, I was besieged by a pounding migraine.  The vomiting came next.  All I wanted was a dark place to lay down and rest my eyes in but, apparently, the educational program I was enrolled in isn't set up to take care of human beings.  I was encouraged to push on through my pain, but I could not be present to my partner.  And, if you know me, then you know what a stickler I am about presence.  So, I went outside to rest in my car.  I awoke and regurgitated again.  "Screw it," I thought.  "My health is way more important than this."  So, I drove myself the forty-miles back up north, vomiting into a cup while I drove.  By 1pm, I was in bed.  I regurgitated once more before sleeping through the rest of the night.  I felt a bit more myself at my usual waking hour of 6:30am this morning.
After refueling my body with tea, yogurt, a bath and rest, I headed south once more to see if I could participate in the program that I had signed up for.  No such luck, as I was given the boot for simply being human.  "You should have planned ahead," some moron tried to preach to me this morning.  Yes, the world's leading transformational thought program kicked me out of it!  Jesus H. Christ - are you &^%$#@! kidding me?!?!
So, instead, I arrived into my weekly, regular community (aka dance church) an hour late.  And there, I was greeted with hugs, and kisses.  There, I was showered with adoration, respect and love.  There, these others, whom I have been having conversations in the dance with for years now, showed me just how much they value my Be-ing, my worth.  With them, I don't have to be anyone other than who I am.  With them I don't have to prove anything.  I am loved for simply being me.
And, at the end of our time together, I shared.  I shared with them that although I have never felt safe, supported or really, truly loved in this kind, caring and deeply compassionate way, I now do.  For it is with them that I have been learning, over the course of these past four years, what it means to be a sister and to have brothers.  Instead of a room full of strangers who, more than likely, I'd never see again, I expressed one of my truths with those who are nearest and dearest to me, and with whom I have helped to create, hold and maintain the transformational space that we all move in together, three times a week.   To each of them, I blew a kiss and said, "I love you."

Yes.  I do believe I have made it through the portal.

The Terror of Childhood

So, if I had to pick one or two isolated events that forever sealed in my little girl's head that I was not good enough to dare to live my dreams it would be these:
Gymnastics was my first love.  I spent five years gracefully tumbling and expressing my authentic self in a gymnasium, or an a grass straightaway.  I recall one practice when my mother came in to watch me.  On this day, my coach kept requesting that I do the same vault exercise, over and over again.  I became emotional and teary eyed in the process and I now believe that this must have been around the same time when I stopped showing up.  For a year, my mother would drop me off at practice and I would simply ditch it.  I would head up to the playground and spend the hour playing on Lincoln's logs.  Amazingly, the gym never called her to find out where I was. 
However, a few years earlier, it was quite traumatic when my mother left me outside of the local church for hours after my catechism class let out.  I remember sitting on the church steps and waiting and waiting and waiting.  Meanwhile, the sun set and the parking lot emptied.  And there I was - not even ten-years-old, alone and waiting.  Fortunately, I had learned how to make collect telephone calls.  So, I called home and my father assured me that she was on her way.
As for my dad, let's see... there was the time when I played the tattle-tale on my big brother and ran to dad to share that I had been called a "bitch."  It was the wrong day and time to mess with my father and after hearing my brother lie about the act, my father turned his repressed anger on me.  He took out a paint stirrer and beat me with it.  Something died in me on this day.  I remember swearing off him and his name in my diary that night. 
However, there was also the time when he caught me playing with a neighborhood friend in the local hills.  At the time, I was grounded so I should have been at home but I had made up some excuse so I could play outside.  I was eleven years old and wearing a pair of my friend's dangly earrings.  "What are you, a whore?" he snorted as he pulled an earring out of my ear and shuffled me home for another meeting with his black, leather strap.
Oh, childhood how I don't miss thee!

On My Inauthenticity

Contrary to how I present myself, I have spent a lifetime as an insecure little girl who is too afraid to take anything but physical risks.  Irrespective of how my life looks - middle class, white girl who grew through primary and secondary schooling living in the same house with parents who are still married - I've never known security.  Although I like to pretend that I am strong and self-assured - which I'm pretty good at - this is far from the truth, for I've never known what it means to feel safe.  As a result, even as an adult, I have been merely recreating that which I have always known - chaos and anxiety.

During this now past weekend, I attempted to attend a leading educational workshop.  On Friday, I spent the entire day, seated in a chair while, for the most part, a highly paid coach lectured a group of 75+ of us on the language of transformation.  Part of the curriculum is to identify "the story" that I, as an individual, operate from.  My tale is quite universal.  I suffer from a case of "not good enough."  This subconscious messaging, however, is so onerous that I no longer hear the words.  Rather, I merely act from them - my inefficacy at following through, being timely and organized, to name a few, is a direct example of how my self-doubt stops me, time after time again.  Once one's story is identified, the next step is to recall "what happened," or when the incident took place that one started believing in said story.

For our coach, her woes of not being good enough began when she was five years old and her baby brother died.  In the light of an early morning, she had entered her parent's bedroom excited to greet them.  They were exhausted and grief-stricken and instead of rising out of bed to hug and hold their daughter, they remained immobilized by their pain.  For this little girl, all she experienced was the inability to make her parents happy even when she heard the words that her baby brother had died.  Over the course of the thirty-plus years that followed, she carried the past around with her wherever she went by believing that she wasn't good enough.

Oh, how neat and tidy it is to be able to trace such nefarious thinking back to primal beginnings.  If only my experience were so cut and dry!  This past weekend, I didn't get the chance to stand before that sea of strange faces and express my story.  Hell, I came out of the womb with both fists up and swinging.  I had to, for it was the only way to survive in a home where my passive father played the drunk and where my Dr. Jekyl and Mrs. Hyde mother took her rage out on her young children.  Hair pulling, face slapping, mouth washed with soap, beaten with a black, leather belt - the physical abuse wasn't a daily event, but it surely was the easiest to get over.  It was the emotional, verbal abuse that stuck around long after the bruises went away, the soap taste dissipated and the sting of the slap was gone.  "You good for nothing, lazy lout," would echo from the downstairs kitchen when some minor household infraction set off her anger.  "You bitch, you lying, little bitch," would steam out of her venomous mouth.

In elementary school, I dreaded coming home from school and not knowing what kind of mood I would find my mother in.  To fend off an early attack, I would play sick to win out on the side of compassion.  The first man in my life, my father, was too passive to protect us.  Instead, he drowned his sorrows in the bottom of a beer bottle while she emotionally abused him just as equally.  The second man in my life, my brother, merely mimicked her behavior.  When she was gone, he became mine and my sister's tormentor.  He was still physically abusive with me up until I was twenty years old.  Even as adults, with his 6'4" stature to my 5'2" frame, he could still render me helpless - even for something as nominal as my throwing a snowball at him.  I hated it.  Thus, to choose one moment when the thought "I am not good enough" was forever sealed in my little brain is simply not a choice I have.  I don't blame my parents for this, though.  The chaos is in our bloodline.  It stretches back through the sands of time.  Hell, it is as human as human gets.

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

"What do YOU do?"

"If I were really asked to define myself, I wouldn't start with race; I wouldn't start with blackness; I wouldn't start with gender; I wouldn't start with feminism. I would start with stripping down to what fundamentally informs my life, which is that I'm a seeker on the path. I think of feminism, and I think of anti-racist struggles as part of it. But where I stand spiritually is, steadfastly, on a path about love... Love is an action, never simply a feeling." --bell hooks



A decade ago, I was traveling through South Africa when a new friend shared with me how, in his native, Shona culture, strangers, new acquaintances and old buddies all greeted each other with the same, warm "How's your family?" He, too, found the American counterpart, of "What do YOU do?", difficult to connect with. To assume that a one-word reply, such as "I'm a shoe salesman" or "I'm a nanny," could ever sum up the whole of one human being's life is myopic, to say the least. Nonetheless, we keep asking because it's what we do. We want to know how we each choose to spend upwards of two-thousand hours of our time every year. Eight hours a day, forty hours a week for fifty-two weeks spent flushing someone else's waste, peering into someone else's body, teaching someone else's kids, investing someone else's money, singing someone else's song.
(Wow! That IS a lot of time.)

"What DO YOU do?"

So, we assign a value and, in some cases, a judgment to the responses we receive. With these, we create mental images of who this person is.
"Oh, he's just the caterer," my class'ist mind once chirped out after I realized that the handsome man I had just walked by - and shared a metaphorical earthquake with - was not a guest at the wedding but was, rather, working the wedding. Ironically, it took me that very moment to realize that I was not as open-minded as I had believed myself to be.

As for me, my usual response comes with a quick retort, "I live."
(What ELSE is there to do?)
Nonetheless, I thought I would point to another one of my heroes along this journey, that we nonchalantly refer to as 'life,' whose model I aspire toward. She heavily influenced the beginning of my graduate school career. She's black, bold and beautiful. She's bell hooks, celebrated author, as well as Gloria Watkins, distinguished professor, and she isn't afraid to tell it like it is. Yet, love is always her motivating impetus. Whether it is espousing upon feminist theory, ruminating on the role of post-modern art, discussing blackness within the "White Supremacist Capitalist Patriarchy", or writing children's books, she's an interdisciplinary artist after my own heart. An inspired intellectual, she believes in "education as the practice of freedom," just as Paolo Freire, the Brazilian sage, taught during the mid-twentieth century.

As for freedom... that delicate balance of discipline and improvisation, of work and play, of containment and creativity...
it's here.

Now.

"I entered the classroom with the conviction that it was crucial for me and every other student to be an active participant, not a passive consumer...education as the practice of freedom.... education that connects the will to know with the will to become. Learning is a place where paradise can be created." --bell hooks

Forward in Improvisation


Maniacal deities grasp
at the light
at the light
at the lightness
of be-ing.

Maniacal deities hold
moments as precious metals
dripping, oozing
waxing, waning
Into fluid
into fluid
into fluidity

Of sound
movement
time and context
Breathy vibrations
pulsating rhythms
rhythmic soul
                                     arrhythmic being

Giving thanks
giving honor
giving
giving
given




Gone.

Monday, October 4, 2010

On the Crest of The 3rd Wave

"All things come in sets of threes," or so the old adage says.  Good and bad luck are included in this superstition.  At the time of his crucifixion, some believe that Jesus Christ was 33.  The father, son and the holy spirit is a trinity of threes.  The Earth revolves around a sun, and the moon orbits the Earth.  There are three notes in a triad, the basic form of any musical chord.  Three is the only prime triangular number.  This coming age of n-o-w has been postulated to include the third stage of feminism, for waves also come in sets of threes.   

I have a deep, dark secret and I have been hiding it in the closet for years now.  I am a die-hard Angelina Jolie fan.  My interest in her was sparked back in 2003, when she graced the cover of Vanity Fair and spoke of how becoming a mother to her adoptive son shifted her priorities and changed her life.  Reading about her work with the UNCR, which she had only recently begun at the time, added infinitely to my appreciation of this wild-child, Hollywood actress turned thoughtful humanitarian.  Early on, I admired her work because I sensed that she too believed that leading an unorthodox life is tantamount for almost all artists.  Angie Jolie did not make mistakes or take any missteps in her young career or in her immature rushes to the altar.  Rather, she intuited that one's art is directly tied to one's ability at experiencing the vast, wide continuum of what it means to be human.  Duh.  

Obviously, the plot line has thickened considerably since and, like the rest of the world, my attention has also been distracted by the endless barrage of photos and headlines.  Angie Jolie is the only human being on Earth whose life, aside from my own, I'd love to lead.  Kill men who have it coming for a handsome penny on the silver screen?  Hell yes!  Attend the war crimes trial of real-life bad guys at the Hague in Copenhagen?  Count me in!  Create a rainbow tribe of adopted and biological children with a family man and fellow intelligent actor?  Um, yes, please.  Do your thing and don't give a damn what anyone else says?  I'll take it.

As preeminent scholar, Naomi Wolf, spells out, Jolie is leading the charge of today's third wave of feminism.  She embodies feminine as well as masculine archetypes - from the sinner and the saint to the killer and the father, from the goddess and the destructress to the Madonna and the sacred prostitute.  Jolie teaches us that by wielding these powerful energies and intelligently applying them across a wide swath of time and circumstances, we can truly have it all - the deep love that drives the creative feminine perfectly balanced with the passionate purpose of the divine masculine's innate need for freedom.       

Yes, indeed.

Sexy, SmART Art

A dime a dozen, sexy art can be found by perusing your local music store and browsing countless CD covers.  It is found at industry events where half-naked women are being painted live and in the flesh.  It is viewed in the sexually suggestive poses and scenes in paintings hanging on walls in cafes and galleries.  The winning odds of getting laid after a late-night, alcohol-laden show is prime impetus for driving a crowd out of the lonesome four-walls of their homes.  None of this is "bad" per se; it is simply a reality - with cold, hard cash as the goal, it makes sense to appeal to the basic, primal whims of our human-animal nature.  Yes, sex sells.  Yet, the ironic truth is that we all have it.  Anyone can turn a trick for money, for touch, or for, quite simply, attention.  Sex is sex.  It makes us all feel good, even if it is only momentarily.  Once I learned this, it no longer mattered how much external beauty I did, or did not, have.  After all, Hugh Grant chose to have sex with a prostitute, even though he was in a relationship with a gorgeous, successful woman.  The charade was finally over - a woman's worth was not discovered in the amount of outward attention she attracted from men.  When it comes to most sexy art today, however, what we usually don't get are the fanning flames of creative fire.

When it does hit us, we are directly inspired by the experience.  It stays with us long after the lights have gone off, the studio doors have closed, the CD player has gone silent, the film projector has stopped projecting and the night has turned into another day.  Sexy, smart art resonates close to hOMe - it is an energetic vibration that runs the length of our spines, from our root chakra all the way up to our crown chakra and back down again.  It can bring us to our knees and have us rejoicing in the bitter-sweetness that is life as we know it.  Sexy, smart art compels us to action - to dance, talk, share and investigate meaning, perhaps, or to make that first move, and take those baby steps.  Sexy, smart art encourages us to walk closer toward our dreams and dares us to tempt fate by reaching toward our destiny.  Sexy, smart art appeals not just to our primal, animal whims but to the everyday experience of what it means to be human - fully alive and present in this moment nowSexy, smart art makes us want to bite into that ripe fruit, taste to our heart's desire and savor each blessed moment.

Recently, a friend introduced me to the 2003 Hollywood film, Down with Love.  Directed by Peyton Reed, and starring Ewan McGregor and Renee Zellweger, it is a play on words with a surprise plot that foreshadows the third wave of feminism.  Modeled after the 60's sex comedies that starred Doris Day and Rock Hudson, the over-the-top set design, vibrant plaids and soft pastels of the costume design and, even, the seemingly-cheesy acting, initially had me questioning my friend's suggestion.  It did not take long, however, before the superficial appearance of fluff gave way to smart dialogue, well-placed timing and artistic genius.  I loved it so much that I had to watch it three times, in one week no less!  How pleasing it is to have one's limited perceptions both challenged and blown apart. 

And this, my friends, is what Sexy, Smart Art does - it rips us open and tears down the walls that we spend a lifetime building around ourselves, our heArts and our lives.  It has us take honest stock of where we find ourselves, in space and time - now.  It makes us want to wipe the slate clean, clear off the canvas, create the palette that we paint our lives with, and apply vivid brushstrokes of radiant blues, brilliant yellows, somber neutrals, asymmetrical patterns, complementary line, shape and form, and dark shadows.  Now, get painting!

Friday, October 1, 2010

On Fulfillment

"It was the pure language of the world.  It required no explanation, just as the universe needs none as it travels through endless time.  He had been told by his parents and grandparents that he must fall in love and really know a person before becoming committed.  But, maybe, people who felt that way had never learned the universal language.  Because, when you know that language, it's easy to understand that someone in the world awaits you, whether it is in the middle of the desert or in some great city.  And, when two such people encounter each other, and their eyes meet, the past and the future become unimportant.  There is only that moment, and the incredible certainty that everything under the sun has been written by one hand only.  It is the hand that evokes love and creates a twin soul for every person in the world.  Without such love, one's dreams would have no meaning."  --Coelho

Truly, it is the possibility of having a dream come true that makes life interesting.
 

On One's Personal Legend

"The boy didn't know what a person's "Personal Legend" was.  
"It is what you have always wanted to accomplish.  Everyone, when they are young, knows what their personal legend is.  At that point in their lives, everything is clear and and everything is possible.  They are not afraid to dream and to yearn for everything they would like to see happen to them in their lives.  But, as time passes, a mysterious force convinces them that it will be impossible for them to realize their Personal Legend."  
--Paolo Coelho


What do you dream?
And, what would you like to see happen to you in your lifetime?
My own personal legend has always been deeply rooted in my soul.  Like a comfortable refrain, it has been humming in my ear ever since I was a little girl.  I know its cadence well.  I hum its tune often.  It is mine - authentically, honestly and without reserve.  I was brought here to fulfill it - something - of that there has never been any doubt.  Though, as physically courageous and strong as I have always been, I have also been deathly afraid - of rejection and vulnerability, namely.  As a result, I have played the hermit.  I have kept my love and my gifts hidden and stashed away, secretly revealing them only to a select few or only in certain, given moments.  For far too long now, I have been pretending.

For most of my adult life, fear kept me trapped like a caged lion in the traveling circus.  Prowling back and forth, forth and back, I miserably accepted my fate.  I simply kept butting my mane up against the same door, expecting a different outcome.  I resigned myself to the fact that life and love weren't perfect and that this was it - a long-term relationship that did not fuel my fire and miserably awaking to a day-to-day of dis-passion, of work that paid the bills and activities that filled the time.  The deep longing to fulfill my destiny went unheeded.  I suffered, and by not honoring my truest Self I brought suffering upon others as well.  

Last summer, however, I finally realized that my remaining tight in a bud was much more painful than the risk it took to blossom.  Last summer, I committed myself to my personal legend.  Finally, the time had come to honor the visions I have always dreamed by taking small, yet active steps towards their manifesting.  Finally, the time had come for my unfolding.  More than anything, I recognized that - regardless of what the future was to bring - I'd rather attempt to revel in the life and love that I have always known is mine to manifest, then not try at all.  The time had come, and it was n-o-w.
What was the impetus and that push-button start, you ask?  Perhaps, it was the hard, ass-kicking that a mentor had refused to back down from even after working with my slow-self for three and a half years.  Perhaps, it was the completion of a major goal, such as earning my MFA.  Perhaps, it was simply the call of time and the magical number of 33.  They say Jesus was thirty-three. 
Who knows.