DIS-EASE

"It you've got HATERS, then you're doing something right,"
screamed a young man's t-shirt yesterday.  I smirked at the thought. 
"Alright." 

Obviously, I am a white woman born into privilege and luxury - how else can I explain the fortune of taking modeling classes as a girl?  And, I was also born into a home filled with chaos as the turbulence of repressed e-motion reared its head like an explosive volcano - where the molten lava would end up was a daily, anxiety-ridden guessing game.  What that meant for me, personally, was that I exited the womb with my fists up and swinging.  And, I had to be that way to survive - because I had big people around me who liked to hit, pull, slap, beat and hurt.  My temper was also trigger-like and, as a girl, I could be found flying off into fits of rage.  I am no stranger to violence - I have been attacked and I have attacked.  Although I prefer to live in harmony - as I know this vibration to be my Soul's truth - confrontation does not scare me, especially in a world so dangerously teetering out of balance. 

When the stalking energy coming back in my direction was too intense, I reached out for support and temperature checks within my community.  Only one person didn't return my call.  I bumped into him the other day.  "Why didn't you call me back?" I innocently inquired.   "I was asking for help."  He just stood there, and lied straight through his teeth, "I didn't get your voice mail."  With him was a girl friend who just blankly looked on, allowing for his untruth.  I noticed the yellow sallowness of the skin in his cheeks and how, since starting anti-depressants, he has lost a lot of muscle.  

So, I've spent the  past few weeks ruminating upon FEAR and it's role in my life.  As my soul sister S. says, "You don't want to eliminate it, Cara."  "You're right," I responded, "I'm just pruning it back."  Fear, like dis-ease, is a bag that we all carry.  My dis-ease is highly evident and I am willing to talk with you about it in person.  I am not ashamed of being human - I want to work with my ugliness and shadows because we all have them.  It is this "SHIT" that we churn into rich, nutritious fertilizer.  One of my powerful brothers has a destructive addiction to pornography.  He's open and honest about it and he even puts locks on his computer to protect his self.  Like me, he's not perfect - he's simply a spiritual being having a human experience. 

We all live in a time, now when there is no excuse to be merely perpetuating all of our dis-ease.  At 5:30 am this morning, I received a text from a "stranger" offering to Skype with me.  cuddly.squirter was the screen name and all I can think is how there are a multitude of opportunities for us to cuddle in real time with each other.  If you are trolling the internet looking to fill your basic, primal desires, then step forward and fulfill your needs - no one will do it for you.  Have courage - look for "Tantra" and/or "Polyamory" groups in your city.  Chances are you will find cuddling groups there.  Or, if you prefer to cuddle with other "Squirters" then, dear God, create your own group!  It's what Craigslist and Meetup are for. 

Whatever your kinky, little shadows are there are places for you with other human beings who will offer you what your Soul needs most - which is pure attention and simple affection.  You do not have to be alone, hiding behind a computer screen.  That's a choice - so, wake up!  And, you just may want to scratch the surface of your addictions a little deeper - it's not about eliminating our destructive behaviors altogether.  It's simply about looking at them with compassionate eyes, allowing for them and then actively choosing to focus on PRODUCTIVE, forward-moving actions. 

  

MODEL

As a child, I was very androgynous looking.  Mainly, it was because my mother refused to let my hair grow long.  "It's too hard to deal with," she would say.  So, throughout elementary school, as I tumbled my way across both gymnasium floors and elementary school playgrounds, I was often mistaken for a boy by adults who didn't know me.  This was a bit mortifying yet, I felt inept at verbally communicating my truth to these silly, grown folks.  I always looked up to my big sister to be my voice.  "She's a girl," she'd retort.  Then, after a few years, the people started telling my mother, "You should put her in modeling school."  I would just shrug my shoulders at this suggestion.  "How strange!" I thought.

At twelve years old, I was being managed by a local modeling agency.  I got a few gigs doing print media - my image decorated Halloween costume bags and a tie-dye making t-shirt kit.  Eager to impress my peers after a natural fall off of a popular culture pedastool, I fairly widely distributed my headshot across my middle school campus.  What can I say but, oh, to be human!?   While strutting my stuff on a catwalk in Los Angeles, I knew my experience was simply about personal development.  After all, my modeling classes taught me basic, important skills, such as: how to apply makeup for my face; how to dress; public speaking; acting; and relating to the camera as though it's a person.  Ha!  I also knew my destiny - I am 5'2," with a body type that comes from my paternal grandmother, a voluptuous and sturdy woman of German Jewish stock.  Thus, I was fine when the ride came to an end and I moved on to the next adventure of high school and the performing arts.

So, for my #36, my dear brother KM, of Stone's Throw Photography once again brought out the model in me.  K. and I worked together at REI years ago, where we first discussed his practicing his craft while I received documentation of my ephemeral and organic art philosophy, which I could then use as demonstration in my graduate school portfolio.  This past October, Kevin and I completed our fourth photo shoot together.  Kevin has photographed me at Calaveras, a preserve of land near my parent's home where I was bitten by a rattlesnake; on Swami's Beach in Encinitas, with one of my main dance partners, E.A.C.; at Torrey Pines State Beach; and then in downtown San Diego, both at Las Raices Collective and Balboa Park.  (Yes, he also took the two photos of me above.)

So, here I am - pretending, perhaps, like I am still that girl of my past - and here we are, living in an era of celebrity culture and an over-the-top narcissism that fuels our social media.  What can I type but that I am a product of my environment?  

Last year, A.F. was in conversation with a local hip-hop dancer who had pitched a modeling reality series to one of TV's many networks.  "The Street of Dreams" was to be filmed on a glitzy La Jolla street,  as it luxuriously wound down from Mt. Soledad.  On a summer afternoon, four of us discussed the possibility of all of our working together, while also shooting an episode in the Prosperity Hive.

That day, we spent the time together talking about this word, MODEL.  We ruminated upon how it's been sadly taken out of context by today's standards and we agreed that we would all build toward a vision in which the MODELS we show off to the world were: people of diverse skin color, body shape and ideology; friendly neighbors who demonstrate loving care and civic participation; and adults of integrity who work towards more than just their own carnal desires and primal needs.

Here on this Blog, I've declared that I am holding myself up as a MODEL of Un~Sustainability. 
And, perhaps, if you were to peel back my layers a little further, I just might share that I'd bee delighted to bee considered someone in that first category, as well.  But, I'll just keep my head down and building forward, as I silently hope that you will see my truth, step up beside me, hold my hand and dig in.