"You must endure the turbulence of change in order to grow."
--Paolo Friere
This time, n-o-w, has me rubbing up against
the edges.
A consistent pressure builds between all that I have known and the daily, small steps I must now take towards the divine path that beckons. I walk forward, into its continued unfolding, even as the act itself makes for an uncomfortable ride. There is no more denying this great ancestral call. A distant sound, it has traveled millions of light years to arrive here, now, and can no longer be evaded. There is to be no more running and hiding from destiny, from our shared evolution
churning.
Here, n-o-w,
we are.
This motion, like a great earthquake of seemingly disparate bodies wearing down the pointed sides of reason and the angular limitations of scarcity, eventually leads to:
A Breakthrough - an uprising of new earth; a culmination of potent terrain prime for new growth and abundant life; creation itself.
("What do you want to grow?" I ask you now just as I once asked myself last summer. Then, I scrawled my answers in colorful pen across a large piece of paper and now I continue to sit with my intentions as I visualize and see them in my mindbody and soulspirit's eye.)
However, now is the time for chafing. The rubbing up against cannot be denied, especially here in the downtown, city center where, whenever we step outside the safe cocoon of our humble Hive, we are faced with an onslaught of human suffering. We smell its pungent stench of stale alcohol and sharp piss. We hear its screeching halt of metal on metal, of a civilization careening on a brink. We taste its bitter poison hanging above our heads in a foggy marine layer. Noxious fumes of thick exhaust rush into our pores. There is no escape.
On Friday night, Samuel referred to the practice of Yoga or Art as a means with which to channel and offer an energetic gift. He also spoke of how, after ~10,000 hours spent practicing either of these, one "presses up against God." And, I think, that's what I've been doing all along.
Monday, January 31, 2011
On Vampires and Gods
"What you see is your reflection," she says.
"Yes, the truth of this statement dawned on me long ago," is what I think,
but I don't respond to her directly. Her spite, spewed like a hissing snake,
is enough to have me running for a washroom where I can purge myself of her
feigned mother nature.
This morning, I recognize how much easier it is for me to see the vampiric
reflections, to see the dark take-take-taking of my own soul. I fell, hard,
for this shadow self last summer. Immediately, I saw it - I saw him - for what we were, and for how it is. In the process, I have been learning how to love ~ how to wrap my arms around my own shadows and press harder, especially when a desire to point an extended finger and exclaim, "You you you," grips my be-ing. "Me me me," however, is ultimately all it ever is. Nonetheless, two vampires do not make a right and so I made the required left turn, out of his bedroom and away from the metaphorical darkness. Lifetime experience has shown me that my own vampiricism does little to serve the long-term sustainability of my squelched spirit.
Lately, however, the reflections I have been glimpsing have been of Gods in men's clothing. The lights in their eyes beam, their smiles expand and their vulnerable hearts melt the mere mortals with whom they engage. I, too, sit like putty across from their grand presence. I, too, wobble in my weak humanity as I erroneously once again believe that these Godly men exist outside of me.
As a woman, it is relatively easy to bear witness to the Earth Goddess Mama, as well as to the wise-witchy-woman stirring a magical elixir of planetary aromas, within.
But, God? God, I have been taught, is male. God is man, the Sun/Son, the life upon which an Earthdaughter revolves. He who is not me. Yet, when I look closer, when I wipe off the illusion of my own breath that has fogged the looking glass mirror, yet again what I spy is always and ever ME - a mere reflection. Waiting to be acknowledged. Hoping to be brought forth, to my breast, from where he has sprung, and held, rocked and swayed until the separation melts and we are both
One.
We are both once again
One.
We are
One.
(Don't you see?)
"Yes, the truth of this statement dawned on me long ago," is what I think,
but I don't respond to her directly. Her spite, spewed like a hissing snake,
is enough to have me running for a washroom where I can purge myself of her
feigned mother nature.
This morning, I recognize how much easier it is for me to see the vampiric
reflections, to see the dark take-take-taking of my own soul. I fell, hard,
for this shadow self last summer. Immediately, I saw it - I saw him - for what we were, and for how it is. In the process, I have been learning how to love ~ how to wrap my arms around my own shadows and press harder, especially when a desire to point an extended finger and exclaim, "You you you," grips my be-ing. "Me me me," however, is ultimately all it ever is. Nonetheless, two vampires do not make a right and so I made the required left turn, out of his bedroom and away from the metaphorical darkness. Lifetime experience has shown me that my own vampiricism does little to serve the long-term sustainability of my squelched spirit.
Lately, however, the reflections I have been glimpsing have been of Gods in men's clothing. The lights in their eyes beam, their smiles expand and their vulnerable hearts melt the mere mortals with whom they engage. I, too, sit like putty across from their grand presence. I, too, wobble in my weak humanity as I erroneously once again believe that these Godly men exist outside of me.
As a woman, it is relatively easy to bear witness to the Earth Goddess Mama, as well as to the wise-witchy-woman stirring a magical elixir of planetary aromas, within.
But, God? God, I have been taught, is male. God is man, the Sun/Son, the life upon which an Earthdaughter revolves. He who is not me. Yet, when I look closer, when I wipe off the illusion of my own breath that has fogged the looking glass mirror, yet again what I spy is always and ever ME - a mere reflection. Waiting to be acknowledged. Hoping to be brought forth, to my breast, from where he has sprung, and held, rocked and swayed until the separation melts and we are both
One.
We are both once again
One.
We are
One.
(Don't you see?)
You were in my dreams, this morning...
Still potent in our coming together,
we once again met in the space between,
where bone and flesh collide
where hungry tongues and waiting want
commingle and discover
freedom
a liberation
a release from all that is.
My body chemistry changed
that day we met.
No longer content in what had been its regular cycle,
now, the dropping comes quicker.
Now, a quickening, internal pulse begs, asks,
demands
fertilization.
But the time is not yet ripe and so I wait.
Blood runs, like rivers, across the tides of my patient heart.
Blood streams, like long-lost currents, between my voluptuous thighs.
Today, I once again awoke to our pawing and grabbing,
to our primal desires once again meeting and feeding,
nurturing a raw simplicity.
This morning, I felt your hot breath on my neck,
your selfish taking pulling at my dress, and my absolute
desire to fulfill whatever need this is - whatever
deep human call your be-ing elicits in me.
This morning, as my bodymind came to and the pitch black of my psyche
began to recede, the reverie slipped like glass beads from my consciousness.
Dropping away and back down into my subconscious where all that
is remains, where the answers to "Why?" may someday be revealed.
Where the light of a fast-approaching dawn begins...
From outside of me, and over my shoulder, a conspicuous laughter
emerged. Not mine, and not human, the knowing cackle simply
laughed. It simply laughed.
we once again met in the space between,
where bone and flesh collide
where hungry tongues and waiting want
commingle and discover
freedom
a liberation
a release from all that is.
My body chemistry changed
that day we met.
No longer content in what had been its regular cycle,
now, the dropping comes quicker.
Now, a quickening, internal pulse begs, asks,
demands
fertilization.
But the time is not yet ripe and so I wait.
Blood runs, like rivers, across the tides of my patient heart.
Blood streams, like long-lost currents, between my voluptuous thighs.
Today, I once again awoke to our pawing and grabbing,
to our primal desires once again meeting and feeding,
nurturing a raw simplicity.
This morning, I felt your hot breath on my neck,
your selfish taking pulling at my dress, and my absolute
desire to fulfill whatever need this is - whatever
deep human call your be-ing elicits in me.
This morning, as my bodymind came to and the pitch black of my psyche
began to recede, the reverie slipped like glass beads from my consciousness.
Dropping away and back down into my subconscious where all that
is remains, where the answers to "Why?" may someday be revealed.
Where the light of a fast-approaching dawn begins...
From outside of me, and over my shoulder, a conspicuous laughter
emerged. Not mine, and not human, the knowing cackle simply
laughed. It simply laughed.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Give Your Self A BREAK!
(This is me sticking my tongue out at you.)
Forget the seriousness of this life.
Forget the notions you cling to.
Forget all the striving, and the seeking.
Forget it all.
Jump into your favorite dance song.
Turn the radio up
LOUD
and wail around as though the whole world were ending.
As though this moment, now, was all there is.
As though you could shake all the shit -
all the turmoil and the pain,
all the sadness and the anger,
all the tension and the stored e-motion,
OUT.
'Cuz you can.
You just gotta
give your self a break.
Stand Up,
Be Counted.
Forget the seriousness of this life.
Forget the notions you cling to.
Forget all the striving, and the seeking.
Forget it all.
Jump into your favorite dance song.
Turn the radio up
LOUD
and wail around as though the whole world were ending.
As though this moment, now, was all there is.
As though you could shake all the shit -
all the turmoil and the pain,
all the sadness and the anger,
all the tension and the stored e-motion,
OUT.
'Cuz you can.
You just gotta
give your self a break.
Stand Up,
Be Counted.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Letter to You, Dear Friend...
It is what it is.
It IS monumental and yet, it isn't.
It's just life.
Unfolding.
According to Divine Perfect Plan. ♥
Someday, I would LOVE to recount ALL of the juicy moments of LIFE, LOVE & Learning that have flowed as a result of committing to my "Hero's Journey," as a by-product of my listening and trying to truly honor & feed my Soul.
I pray that we - you and I - meet again - in person, sitting face to face, cross-legged under the Bodhi tree, sharing in story ...
However, this time, n-o-w, is pushing me up against all of my own edges. My learning curve is HUGE and the acceleration of time & space around me is speeding up. Yes, Balance is a goal and I am trying by sinking in, by re-membering that "There is No End Point" - only and ever this. Hence, I've been contemplating "Letting Go" in my work and life lately. And, my dear friends have had to say to me, "Get out of the story, Cara." How I appreciate their swift kicks to my butt! Because, in this "Love as Letting Go" I recognize that I must, too, let go of YOU - of what came before, of what may or may not come, of our past and some perceived future. And, I recognize that I have held on so tightly for years because of FEAR. I've been so afraid for soooo long.. to allow my Self to just BE who i really am (and "let your love BE, your very best," Michael Franti). In so many ways, this was how our relationship survived.. I refused to let go of you and our connection because I was too afraid to create new, deep intimacies.
Nonetheless, I have infinite gratitude for You...
♥
---CHC
It IS monumental and yet, it isn't.
It's just life.
Unfolding.
According to Divine Perfect Plan. ♥
Someday, I would LOVE to recount ALL of the juicy moments of LIFE, LOVE & Learning that have flowed as a result of committing to my "Hero's Journey," as a by-product of my listening and trying to truly honor & feed my Soul.
I pray that we - you and I - meet again - in person, sitting face to face, cross-legged under the Bodhi tree, sharing in story ...
However, this time, n-o-w, is pushing me up against all of my own edges. My learning curve is HUGE and the acceleration of time & space around me is speeding up. Yes, Balance is a goal and I am trying by sinking in, by re-membering that "There is No End Point" - only and ever this. Hence, I've been contemplating "Letting Go" in my work and life lately. And, my dear friends have had to say to me, "Get out of the story, Cara." How I appreciate their swift kicks to my butt! Because, in this "Love as Letting Go" I recognize that I must, too, let go of YOU - of what came before, of what may or may not come, of our past and some perceived future. And, I recognize that I have held on so tightly for years because of FEAR. I've been so afraid for soooo long.. to allow my Self to just BE who i really am (and "let your love BE, your very best," Michael Franti). In so many ways, this was how our relationship survived.. I refused to let go of you and our connection because I was too afraid to create new, deep intimacies.
Nonetheless, I have infinite gratitude for You...
♥
---CHC
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
On Primal Fluidity: A Beginning
(Yes, I've been distracted.
Music can, and does, do this for me....
It pulls me into its rhythmic refrains
and spits me out into a timeless ancestry.
It calls me
back
here, now
to the fluidity
of time,
to a precious oozing,
and a sinking
into
SelffloorEarthothers
no limits nor boundaries
no bone nor mass
only this
fluidity
only this sticky, sweetness
rich, like local honey pearls melting upon your tongue
here, n-o-w
thirsty in its wanting
raging in its hunger
growing, writhing,
stewing and bubbling
a potent primalcy.
TONIGHT @ THE HIVE
Primal Fluidity with Cara
8-9pm $15 - for Class (with Free entrance to "Just Dance")
9-11pm "JUST DANCE" $8.00
Music can, and does, do this for me....
It pulls me into its rhythmic refrains
and spits me out into a timeless ancestry.
It calls me
back
here, now
to the fluidity
of time,
to a precious oozing,
and a sinking
into
SelffloorEarthothers
no limits nor boundaries
no bone nor mass
only this
fluidity
only this sticky, sweetness
rich, like local honey pearls melting upon your tongue
here, n-o-w
thirsty in its wanting
raging in its hunger
growing, writhing,
stewing and bubbling
a potent primalcy.
TONIGHT @ THE HIVE
Primal Fluidity with Cara
8-9pm $15 - for Class (with Free entrance to "Just Dance")
9-11pm "JUST DANCE" $8.00
The Meaning of Music
(Sometimes, it can be literal)
"I close my eyes and I think of all the things that I want to see
'Cause I know, now that I've opened up my heart I know that
Anything I want can be, so let it be, so let it be:.
Strength, courage, and wisdom
It's been inside of me all along,
Strength, courage, wisdom
It's been inside of me all along, everyday I'm praying for."
"I close my eyes and I think of all the things that I want to see
'Cause I know, now that I've opened up my heart I know that
Anything I want can be, so let it be, so let it be:.
Strength, courage, and wisdom
It's been inside of me all along,
Strength, courage, wisdom
It's been inside of me all along, everyday I'm praying for."
Monday, January 24, 2011
On the Metaphor of Bees, take I
It took a stinging slap to the face
to get me
to stop
and notice.
We were checking out property in the Poway area,
investigating space with the intention of creating
a sustainable food community. We had been forewarned.
A group of forty beehives had recently been relocated to this
land's rolling, green hills.
I was the lone female and the youngest of our group of three.
I was accompanied by two older men, in their mid-50s. One of them
was deathly allergic to bee stings and had forgotten his Epi-pen.
While perusing the orchards of local fruit trees, we headed
up the largest hill to gain a bird's eye perspective upon
the possibility that lay stretched out before us.
As this energy of mine likes to do, I led the way.
Confidently striding up a winding, dirt road,
I innocently approached someone else's, new home. I heard the angry
buzz of a disgruntled neighbor before I saw it coming.
"Grrrrrr....," I imagine the martyr was buzzing as he flew right at my face.
I had no out. I had no means to escape. I could only receive
the stinging slap.
I screamed,
slipped
and fell to the Earth.
The guys quickly came upon me. They helped me up but were slow to pull out a credit card in order to remove the stinger from my hurt face. The stinger released its apitoxin into my cheek, in the space above my mouth and to the left of my nose. "Ouch, that hurt," I whined. I dipped my finger into fresh mud and
applied it to my wound. Over the next few days, the left side of my face was swollen - it was painful to laugh and smile. (Alexandra Villegas even has a picture of one of these swollen moments, taken of myself and Julia Dashe while enjoying Be-ing at La Milpa Organica.)
A number of months later, Shakti and I were found standing down an Ocean Beach alleyway in the light of a morning sun, chatting and enjoying this process, n-o-w. As we stood, less than three-feet apart, talking, a Honeybee buzzed right across and through the distance between our two faces.
"Helloooooo!!!" it buzzed, begging for our attention.
"I'm heeeeeeeeeeeeeere," came its ancient call.
"Re-member............," and it was off.
Just like that.
"Hey," I say. "That reminds me. I just had a dream - I was driving my mother's car, on the 5 North, around Trestles in Carlsbad, when a swarm of bees flew in through the open, driver-side window. They swarmed around each of my legs as my feet stayed in contact with the accelerator. I was frightened, yet breathing. They flew off, out the open, passenger-side door window and I pulled the car over to..."
Last October, for my 34th birthday gift, Robert presented me with a sweet, yellow and black pillow, its form in the shape of a Bee.
He left it for me on the porch of Shakti's old OB pad.
Buzz.
Buzz.
Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz......................
to get me
to stop
and notice.
We were checking out property in the Poway area,
investigating space with the intention of creating
a sustainable food community. We had been forewarned.
A group of forty beehives had recently been relocated to this
land's rolling, green hills.
I was the lone female and the youngest of our group of three.
I was accompanied by two older men, in their mid-50s. One of them
was deathly allergic to bee stings and had forgotten his Epi-pen.
While perusing the orchards of local fruit trees, we headed
up the largest hill to gain a bird's eye perspective upon
the possibility that lay stretched out before us.
As this energy of mine likes to do, I led the way.
Confidently striding up a winding, dirt road,
I innocently approached someone else's, new home. I heard the angry
buzz of a disgruntled neighbor before I saw it coming.
"Grrrrrr....," I imagine the martyr was buzzing as he flew right at my face.
I had no out. I had no means to escape. I could only receive
the stinging slap.
I screamed,
slipped
and fell to the Earth.
The guys quickly came upon me. They helped me up but were slow to pull out a credit card in order to remove the stinger from my hurt face. The stinger released its apitoxin into my cheek, in the space above my mouth and to the left of my nose. "Ouch, that hurt," I whined. I dipped my finger into fresh mud and
applied it to my wound. Over the next few days, the left side of my face was swollen - it was painful to laugh and smile. (Alexandra Villegas even has a picture of one of these swollen moments, taken of myself and Julia Dashe while enjoying Be-ing at La Milpa Organica.)
A number of months later, Shakti and I were found standing down an Ocean Beach alleyway in the light of a morning sun, chatting and enjoying this process, n-o-w. As we stood, less than three-feet apart, talking, a Honeybee buzzed right across and through the distance between our two faces.
"Helloooooo!!!" it buzzed, begging for our attention.
"I'm heeeeeeeeeeeeeere," came its ancient call.
"Re-member............," and it was off.
Just like that.
"Hey," I say. "That reminds me. I just had a dream - I was driving my mother's car, on the 5 North, around Trestles in Carlsbad, when a swarm of bees flew in through the open, driver-side window. They swarmed around each of my legs as my feet stayed in contact with the accelerator. I was frightened, yet breathing. They flew off, out the open, passenger-side door window and I pulled the car over to..."
Last October, for my 34th birthday gift, Robert presented me with a sweet, yellow and black pillow, its form in the shape of a Bee.
He left it for me on the porch of Shakti's old OB pad.
Buzz.
Buzz.
Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz......................
PURE Cheese
I was late to a business meeting last night.
I needed the time and space to decompress.
Life is swirling. In fantastic vapors of rhythmic One~ness,
in pungent aromas of melodic synchrony and in this
n-o-w.
Sometimes, it is a lot of stimuli to take in.
So, I carried my Buddha body up that Golden Hill
and, with shoes off and my mindbody in touch with the Earth,
I oozed back in. Like stepping, slowly into a scalding, hot bath.
I came to. I was revived. I sat in pose, I stretched in postures.
I enjoyed the fading of the sun's light over a western horizon as it
quietly fell across a city at dusk. Prior to this, I stopped along the way
to notice.
Adam was where I usually find him - at the corner of 14th and F Streets.
He was chatting with a woman whom I had yet to meet. He forcefully
announced my approach. I felt the woman's instinctive response to defend,
to question me and my motives. Her walls of defense were palpable.
I introduced myself to her, with an open palm.
"Hi, I'm Cara," I said.
Reluctantly, she met me, "I'm Irene."
"Hey, we're Irene Cara together!" I animatedly respond.
And, right there, on these city streets, I break out into song,
"What a feeling, bein's believin'
I can have it all, now I'm dancin' for my life
Take your passion, and make it happen
Pictures come alive, you can dance right through your life."
In the process, I melt her fortress.
She smiles.
"Yes," she says. "This is synchrony," she implies.
"I can build towards my dreams," I think I hear say.
Soon, my feet carry me off, up that proverbial hill but my
SoulSpirit has already been hijacked:
"First, when there's nothing but a slow glowing dream
That your fear seems to hide deep inside your mind
All alone I have cried silent tears full of pride
In a world made of steel, made of stone
Well I hear the music, close my eyes, feel the rhythm
Wrap around, take a hold of my heart
Now I hear the music, close my eyes, I am rhythm
In a flash it takes hold of my heart
What a feeling (I am music now), Be-ing's believing (I am rhythm now)
Pictures come alive, you can dance right through your life
What a feeling (I can really have it all)
What a feeling (Pictures come alive when I call)
I can have it all (I can really have it all)
Have it all (Pictures come alive when I call)
(call, call, call, call, what a feeling) I can have it all
(Be-ing's believin') Be-ing's believin'
(Take your passion, make it happen) make it happen
(What a feeling) what a feeling..."
Oh yeah.
Eventually, I wander back into the Hive.
I step into the warmth and apologize for my tardiness.
"Dorkiness is a sword," Madison and I agree.
"It can slash through and penetrate the Ego."
I needed the time and space to decompress.
Life is swirling. In fantastic vapors of rhythmic One~ness,
in pungent aromas of melodic synchrony and in this
n-o-w.
Sometimes, it is a lot of stimuli to take in.
So, I carried my Buddha body up that Golden Hill
and, with shoes off and my mindbody in touch with the Earth,
I oozed back in. Like stepping, slowly into a scalding, hot bath.
I came to. I was revived. I sat in pose, I stretched in postures.
I enjoyed the fading of the sun's light over a western horizon as it
quietly fell across a city at dusk. Prior to this, I stopped along the way
to notice.
Adam was where I usually find him - at the corner of 14th and F Streets.
He was chatting with a woman whom I had yet to meet. He forcefully
announced my approach. I felt the woman's instinctive response to defend,
to question me and my motives. Her walls of defense were palpable.
I introduced myself to her, with an open palm.
"Hi, I'm Cara," I said.
Reluctantly, she met me, "I'm Irene."
"Hey, we're Irene Cara together!" I animatedly respond.
And, right there, on these city streets, I break out into song,
"What a feeling, bein's believin'
I can have it all, now I'm dancin' for my life
Take your passion, and make it happen
Pictures come alive, you can dance right through your life."
In the process, I melt her fortress.
She smiles.
"Yes," she says. "This is synchrony," she implies.
"I can build towards my dreams," I think I hear say.
Soon, my feet carry me off, up that proverbial hill but my
SoulSpirit has already been hijacked:
"First, when there's nothing but a slow glowing dream
That your fear seems to hide deep inside your mind
All alone I have cried silent tears full of pride
In a world made of steel, made of stone
Well I hear the music, close my eyes, feel the rhythm
Wrap around, take a hold of my heart
Now I hear the music, close my eyes, I am rhythm
In a flash it takes hold of my heart
What a feeling (I am music now), Be-ing's believing (I am rhythm now)
Pictures come alive, you can dance right through your life
What a feeling (I can really have it all)
What a feeling (Pictures come alive when I call)
I can have it all (I can really have it all)
Have it all (Pictures come alive when I call)
(call, call, call, call, what a feeling) I can have it all
(Be-ing's believin') Be-ing's believin'
(Take your passion, make it happen) make it happen
(What a feeling) what a feeling..."
Oh yeah.
Eventually, I wander back into the Hive.
I step into the warmth and apologize for my tardiness.
"Dorkiness is a sword," Madison and I agree.
"It can slash through and penetrate the Ego."
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Taking the Time
This is it.
This is Power.
This n-o-w.
Bubbling up from the Earth, it springs.
Radiating our from the sun, it burns.
Feeding my body with its vibrating pulse, it emptys.
I soak in
the nothingness.
Bookended between all that came before
and what is to come, the distant hum of time plays out.
Tickling my senses,
I stop
and notice.
--CHC
This is Power.
This n-o-w.
Bubbling up from the Earth, it springs.
Radiating our from the sun, it burns.
Feeding my body with its vibrating pulse, it emptys.
I soak in
the nothingness.
Bookended between all that came before
and what is to come, the distant hum of time plays out.
Tickling my senses,
I stop
and notice.
--CHC
Before Rumi, there was Lao-Tzu...
(My Brothers ~ ONE and all..)
"Look, it cannot be seen - it is beyond form.
Listen, it cannot be heard - it is beyond sound.
Grasp, it cannot be held - it is intangible.
These three are indefinable, they are one.
From above it is not bright;
From below it is not dark:
Unbroken thread beyond description.
It returns to nothingness.
Form of the formless,
Image of the imageless,
It is called indefinable and beyond imagination.
Stand before it - there is no beginning.
Follow it and there is no end.
Stay with the Tao, Move with the present.
Knowing the ancient beginning is the essence of Tao."
--the REAL "LT"
"Look, it cannot be seen - it is beyond form.
Listen, it cannot be heard - it is beyond sound.
Grasp, it cannot be held - it is intangible.
These three are indefinable, they are one.
From above it is not bright;
From below it is not dark:
Unbroken thread beyond description.
It returns to nothingness.
Form of the formless,
Image of the imageless,
It is called indefinable and beyond imagination.
Stand before it - there is no beginning.
Follow it and there is no end.
Stay with the Tao, Move with the present.
Knowing the ancient beginning is the essence of Tao."
--the REAL "LT"
Friday, January 21, 2011
Re-Imagining Space: On Reflections
Be the Altar, not the Alternative.
Between time and space there is a place which is the altar of human legacy.
Each individual must identify this altar and worship it.
It will give personality, purpose and prosperity.
Any alternative to this is to lose the gratefulness, the grace and the glow of life.
O Yogi, this is the sacred secret of prosperity.
(from Yogi Bhajan's Ten Sacred Secrets to Success)
Here in the Hive, we turn and greet the Cardinal Directions.
We rise to honor the multi-dimensionality of Be-ing -
of east, west, north, south. Of up, down, Mother, Father, Earth, Sky.
And we recognize their meeting place - here, inside Us, at the core of our Self.
Here in the Hive, I turn and in every direction my gaze falls upon an altar.
Not a platform where religious rites are performed nor a structure
where sacrifice is made. But, rather, a pure reminder that everything has
energy. These things in our lives take and give energy. What kind of energy will sustain
us in these times to come? (And, what kind will not?) How do we honor these things?
Here in the Hive, my eyes fall upon books, art, beauty, rocks, flowers, feathers, masks,
stories, candles, an expansive wood floor and more. Here in the Hive, we honor these things -
by "Puja'ing" them. Basically, "to puja" means to honor the divine. We all celebrate the divine in each other - usually through sex, touch, love, contact, communication, community and more. However, here in the Hive, we recognize that every thing is Divine. Therefore, every thing is honored - the past, the present and the future. The here and n-o-w, so we take the time to dust off these relics and mementos that feed our Be-ing - the words on paper, the sound in objects, the meaning in metaphor. The friendships that require a continual meeting in the middle - a showing up to share, even through the pain of transgressions and the turbulence of growth.
Here in the Hive, I am continually met with mirror reflections. Not literally - for this is one studio where you will not gaze neither lustfully nor dejectedly upon a two-dimensional and flat projection of your Be-ing (unless, of course, you're commencing your practice in the Hive's loo) - but, rather, metaphorically. In every direction I look, I See Me (intimacy=In to Me I See) - in the paintings and the imagery, in the curvaceous balance balls and the rigid floor, in the spinning hoops and the reverberating speakers. In the sun's rays streaming in through the south-facing windows and in the Buddha forever etched in stone. In You. In your beauty and grace, in your wildness and freedom, and in your pain and trepidation.
Hence, I bow.
I greet
You.
Us.
Me.
This moment,
n-o-w.
(Join US:
http://www.prosperity-hive.com/membership.html)
Between time and space there is a place which is the altar of human legacy.
Each individual must identify this altar and worship it.
It will give personality, purpose and prosperity.
Any alternative to this is to lose the gratefulness, the grace and the glow of life.
O Yogi, this is the sacred secret of prosperity.
(from Yogi Bhajan's Ten Sacred Secrets to Success)
Here in the Hive, we turn and greet the Cardinal Directions.
We rise to honor the multi-dimensionality of Be-ing -
of east, west, north, south. Of up, down, Mother, Father, Earth, Sky.
And we recognize their meeting place - here, inside Us, at the core of our Self.
Here in the Hive, I turn and in every direction my gaze falls upon an altar.
Not a platform where religious rites are performed nor a structure
where sacrifice is made. But, rather, a pure reminder that everything has
energy. These things in our lives take and give energy. What kind of energy will sustain
us in these times to come? (And, what kind will not?) How do we honor these things?
Here in the Hive, my eyes fall upon books, art, beauty, rocks, flowers, feathers, masks,
stories, candles, an expansive wood floor and more. Here in the Hive, we honor these things -
by "Puja'ing" them. Basically, "to puja" means to honor the divine. We all celebrate the divine in each other - usually through sex, touch, love, contact, communication, community and more. However, here in the Hive, we recognize that every thing is Divine. Therefore, every thing is honored - the past, the present and the future. The here and n-o-w, so we take the time to dust off these relics and mementos that feed our Be-ing - the words on paper, the sound in objects, the meaning in metaphor. The friendships that require a continual meeting in the middle - a showing up to share, even through the pain of transgressions and the turbulence of growth.
Here in the Hive, I am continually met with mirror reflections. Not literally - for this is one studio where you will not gaze neither lustfully nor dejectedly upon a two-dimensional and flat projection of your Be-ing (unless, of course, you're commencing your practice in the Hive's loo) - but, rather, metaphorically. In every direction I look, I See Me (intimacy=In to Me I See) - in the paintings and the imagery, in the curvaceous balance balls and the rigid floor, in the spinning hoops and the reverberating speakers. In the sun's rays streaming in through the south-facing windows and in the Buddha forever etched in stone. In You. In your beauty and grace, in your wildness and freedom, and in your pain and trepidation.
Hence, I bow.
I greet
You.
Us.
Me.
This moment,
n-o-w.
(Join US:
http://www.prosperity-hive.com/membership.html)
On Existence: from Osho Zen Ta'rot, Major Arcana 1
"You are not accidental.
Existence needs you.
Without you something will be missing in existence
and nobody can replace it.
That's what gives you dignity, that the whole existence will miss you.
The stars and sun and moon,
the trees and birds and earth -
everything in the universe will feel a small place is vacant
which cannot be filled by anybody except you.
This gives you a tremendous joy, a fulfillment that you are
related to existence, and existence cares for you.
Once you are clean and clear, you can see tremendous love
falling on your from all dimensions."
"...she sits on the lotus leaf of perfection, gazing at the beauty of the night sky.
She knows that "home" is not a physical place in the outside world, but an
inner quality of relaxation and acceptance. The stars, the rocks, the trees,
the flowers, the fish and birds - all are our brothers and sisters in this dance of life.
We human beings tend to forget this, as we pursue our own private agendas
and believe we must fight to get what we need. But ultimately, our sense of
separateness is just an illusion, manufactured by the narrow preoccupations of the mind.
Now is the time to look at whether you are allowing yourself to receive the extraordinary
gift of feeling 'at home' where ever you are. If you are, be sure to take time to savor it so it
can deepen and remain with you. If on the other hand you've been feeling like the world is
out to get you, it's time to take a break. Go outside tonight and look at the stars.
Existence needs you.
Without you something will be missing in existence
and nobody can replace it.
That's what gives you dignity, that the whole existence will miss you.
The stars and sun and moon,
the trees and birds and earth -
everything in the universe will feel a small place is vacant
which cannot be filled by anybody except you.
This gives you a tremendous joy, a fulfillment that you are
related to existence, and existence cares for you.
Once you are clean and clear, you can see tremendous love
falling on your from all dimensions."
"...she sits on the lotus leaf of perfection, gazing at the beauty of the night sky.
She knows that "home" is not a physical place in the outside world, but an
inner quality of relaxation and acceptance. The stars, the rocks, the trees,
the flowers, the fish and birds - all are our brothers and sisters in this dance of life.
We human beings tend to forget this, as we pursue our own private agendas
and believe we must fight to get what we need. But ultimately, our sense of
separateness is just an illusion, manufactured by the narrow preoccupations of the mind.
Now is the time to look at whether you are allowing yourself to receive the extraordinary
gift of feeling 'at home' where ever you are. If you are, be sure to take time to savor it so it
can deepen and remain with you. If on the other hand you've been feeling like the world is
out to get you, it's time to take a break. Go outside tonight and look at the stars.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
"Prosperity: Resources to Fulfill your Destiny"
from The Aquarian Teacher by Yogi Bhajan
"Prosperity is all around and within us. It is the ability to find, organize, and use the resources we need to fulfill our highest destiny and identity. Most people take one of three attitudes: scarcity, abundance or prosperity. Scarcity is the attitude of the Negative Mind: "There is not enough." "How will it hurt me?" "What will I lose?" People ruled by scarcity thinking are averse to risk-taking, live with a fear of loss, or become hyper-vigilant about being misused.
Abundance is the province of the Positive Mind. People ruled by abundance-thinking believe they can do almost anything with enough effort, intelligence or luck. They take risks. They are optimists against all evidence. They often accumulate possessions, money or accomplishments. But there is also a risk of absorption in the things they create, so they may lose their sense of purpose, after a time. Acquisition itself becomes a purpose until a certain emptiness questions the many successes they are focused on.
Prosperity is the special gift of the Neutral Mind. People who rule with the Neutral Mind use the sum of both the Negative and Positive Minds, then divide the total input by the Neutral Mind. They take the down sides and the up sides and calculate how to use them based on their real purpose, identity, meaning, or destiny. The Neutral Mind uses intuition and keeps a sense of meaning and purpose at the center of one's life efforts. The result is a sensitivity to what to do next, what not to do, and who to connect with in order to let inner destiny blossom.
Prosperity is not about wealth or poverty. it is about fulfillment of your destiny. It is about clarity amidst distractions and diversions. IT IS ABOUT RELATIONSHIPS THAT ARE MUTUALLY SATISFYING. It is a gift that comes with every soul.
We already have prosperity as the Heavens have the Sun. If we turn toward the light we will be warmed and filled with energy. If we know the art to sense the whispers of our inner direction we can ask the world for what we need with confidence and complete success!"
(page 241)
"Prosperity is all around and within us. It is the ability to find, organize, and use the resources we need to fulfill our highest destiny and identity. Most people take one of three attitudes: scarcity, abundance or prosperity. Scarcity is the attitude of the Negative Mind: "There is not enough." "How will it hurt me?" "What will I lose?" People ruled by scarcity thinking are averse to risk-taking, live with a fear of loss, or become hyper-vigilant about being misused.
Abundance is the province of the Positive Mind. People ruled by abundance-thinking believe they can do almost anything with enough effort, intelligence or luck. They take risks. They are optimists against all evidence. They often accumulate possessions, money or accomplishments. But there is also a risk of absorption in the things they create, so they may lose their sense of purpose, after a time. Acquisition itself becomes a purpose until a certain emptiness questions the many successes they are focused on.
Prosperity is the special gift of the Neutral Mind. People who rule with the Neutral Mind use the sum of both the Negative and Positive Minds, then divide the total input by the Neutral Mind. They take the down sides and the up sides and calculate how to use them based on their real purpose, identity, meaning, or destiny. The Neutral Mind uses intuition and keeps a sense of meaning and purpose at the center of one's life efforts. The result is a sensitivity to what to do next, what not to do, and who to connect with in order to let inner destiny blossom.
Prosperity is not about wealth or poverty. it is about fulfillment of your destiny. It is about clarity amidst distractions and diversions. IT IS ABOUT RELATIONSHIPS THAT ARE MUTUALLY SATISFYING. It is a gift that comes with every soul.
We already have prosperity as the Heavens have the Sun. If we turn toward the light we will be warmed and filled with energy. If we know the art to sense the whispers of our inner direction we can ask the world for what we need with confidence and complete success!"
(page 241)
On Prosperity
The picked chords of an electric guitar chimed melodically while the ancient call of a hollow Didjerido echoed. Together, rising up and meeting in a spiraling dance of music and meaning, the Hive buzzed with a timeless rhythm. Upon this cue, I moved through primal fluidity and slid across a wooden floor. Offering up my bodymind and soulspirit to the ever present eyes of a watchful King, to the potent gaze of a powerful Goddess and to the arching leap of a Crazy Horse, I took my place along the great, flowing river of time. I looked out upon a burgeoning city, where mechanical arms swing and where building's rest, some empty and aching. I wandered into a conversation with a young man. Struggling to discover the light within all of the darkness that he has ever known, he says, "Prosperity? Not Prosperous? It implies that you are not there yet - that you are actively striving towards it."
"Yes," I respond. "It is a response to where we find ourselves in time and space," I say. "We are not prosperous, no. We are sick and we are dying. We are sad and we are lonely. We know great abundance, yet we have been brainwashed by an illusion of lack, of not enough - not enough food; not enough money; not enough power; not enough attention." We have even been fooled into believing that it is WE who are not good enough. "So long as my aunts and uncles sleep on the cold pavement below while million-dollar buildings stand erect and empty, there is No prosperity," I share. "So long as the stark contrast between the have's and the have not's remain, there is no prosperity."
Yes, Shakti and I are privileged to have known abundance and we are privileged to be living here, at the Hive, n-o-w. However, our own, personal prosperity will not be achieved until we are all prosperous - together.
N-o-w is the time.
To come together.
And to uplift one another in the process.
We believe this.
Do you?
If so, then JOIN US!!!!
www.prosperity-hive.com
www.facebook.com/#!/prosperityhive
"Yes," I respond. "It is a response to where we find ourselves in time and space," I say. "We are not prosperous, no. We are sick and we are dying. We are sad and we are lonely. We know great abundance, yet we have been brainwashed by an illusion of lack, of not enough - not enough food; not enough money; not enough power; not enough attention." We have even been fooled into believing that it is WE who are not good enough. "So long as my aunts and uncles sleep on the cold pavement below while million-dollar buildings stand erect and empty, there is No prosperity," I share. "So long as the stark contrast between the have's and the have not's remain, there is no prosperity."
Yes, Shakti and I are privileged to have known abundance and we are privileged to be living here, at the Hive, n-o-w. However, our own, personal prosperity will not be achieved until we are all prosperous - together.
N-o-w is the time.
To come together.
And to uplift one another in the process.
We believe this.
Do you?
If so, then JOIN US!!!!
www.prosperity-hive.com
www.facebook.com/#!/prosperityhive
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
"Celebrating the Doctor"
 |
| painting by Mario Torero, www.fuerzamundo.org |
"I have a dream that someday children of all colors, genders, shapes and sizes will be born unto this Earth with the freedom of choice. The choice to choose a life that they will have ordained for their selves. I have a dream that we as a society will not place norms on these innocent children and that we will not dictate which paths they shall choose. I have a dream that these children will grow up in an open-minded, hate-free society and that they will make wise choices which they will then pass on to their offspring. I have a dream and together we can make it a reality."
Today, after browsing through the number of Facebook postings that my peers made in regards to Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.'s birthday, I wondered what actions I took yesterday - on the national holiday that honors his Be-ing - that help to further the Doctor's dream (or, even, my own). I was hard-pressed to come up with any quick answers. (Even though, I do believe that the Prosperity Hive is a living, breathing model of MLK's notion of "beloved community." I also believe, in my heart of hearts, that the photos of our event from this past Saturday shout this from these San Diego rooftops.)
Today, I have felt energetically drained. I could do little but walk. I can always walk. I came into this world with this miraculous instrument - this body, with these two legs and feet. It has carried me great distances - around the world and back, even. For me, walking is both refuge and solace. It is how I connect to time and place, to the Earth under my feet, to my Self and to the world around me. I walk and I breathe. I walk and I notice. I walk and I re-member. I walk and I reflect - upon Peace Pilgrim, for example, a silver-haired woman who spent 28 years walking 25,000 miles all in the name of "Peace."
On this past New Year's Day, I enjoyed time spent with dear friends while engaging in the Red Lotus Society's "Peace in the Streets" event. While dancing in their Ideal Hotel and to my favorite local tunes provided by Todo Mundo, I reached across that seemingly great divide and introduced myself to an older woman who was sitting by herself at one of the heavy, mahogany tables. "Hi, I'm Cara," I extended my open hand. We chatted amicably as I obnoxiously laid on top of the cumbersome piece of furniture. We discovered our shared passion for walking. "Let's walk together sometime," I suggested. She readily agreed and scrawled her phone number down on a white, square napkin.
I had yet to to call Linda when yesterday rolled around. There I was, doing what I do - walking towards that Golden Hill after waking in the morning - and there she was, paused near the police department. "Linda?" I inquired. "Yes," she responded. So, we walked together that morning and we walked together again this evening. Tonight, we shared a brilliant moment on a busy street corner when I spoke my sadness, emotion arose, and Linda hugged me right there - under a full moon, as pedestrians strolled by and cars flew through the green light. I might now know how to truly demand what I am worth - especially when it comes to money and men - and I still don't "know" what I'm doing. Yet, somehow, I think the Doctor is looking down upon me, and smiling.
Monday, January 17, 2011
When Crazy Horse Cruised In
 | ||
| "Crazy Horse," by Mario Torero |
Perhaps, I've always known.
My psyche has certainly been talking ever since I was a little girl. Even then, my subconscious, dream life was potent, vivid and filled with re-occurring images, such as a home that I always returned to, with secret doors, hidden passageways and dead ancestors; a turbulent ocean that I had to fight, tooth and nail, just to arrive, exhausted and spent, upon a washed up shore; and crumbling cliffs from which I would fall great heights, only to land upon hard ground, get up again, and repeat the process.
As I grew through the difficulties of being only and ever this - human - my gift for listening faded like a yellow Bermuda Buttercup in the heat of a summer's sun. The onslaught of popular culture attacked my sense of well-being, encouraging within me a gross desire to fit in, to be liked and to not be "different" from my peers around me. The voices of right and wrong, of who's who and what's what, began competing for my attention, snuffing out the echoing calls of timeless ancestry that had surged up and flowed from the deep pits of my bodymind and soulspirit.
In college, I had to be re-taught how to listen - how to tune out the chatter of that endless monkey mind that wants to jump up and grab at every offering of a sound; how to empty my brain, like a blank canvas once again, so that I can be fully present to what is being shared; and how to recall key words, once it is my turn to speak, for continuing the thread of conversation. Today, I discover great joy in simply be-ing with others, in listening to our shared story - or some semblance of it. For I no longer believe in coincidence - there is great meaning found underneath any rock so long as I take the time to stop
and notice.
So, last week, Dad brought up Crazy Horse and I listened. He spoke of Custer and connection and, if you know us Cadwallader's then you know we got something about this letter 'C' (community, contact, communication, cooperation - the list goes on). One week later and one of my main men carried his paintings in through our Hive's doors. He unrolled and unveiled, "Crazy Horse." Synchronicity, indeed!
What's it to mean?
Who's to know?
Though, last night, while walking through Florida Canyon, on my way up to a local shaman's home in University Heights, a white owl flew overhead. Upon my arrival, I was presented with a plate of locally-grown and organic food. I had been invited in to bear witness to the story of a visionary leader who is committed to preserving the traditions and values of a native way of life as it is found in the Amazon. I glimpsed images of painted faces. I giggled at hand-crafted, emotive masks and I stroked the fur of pure, animal magnetism.
Dear God, I hear you.
I am listening...
Sunday, January 16, 2011
yes, maybe...
and i'm thinking that maybe a time will come
when the striving won't feel so
in vain
when the vanity won't fall
upon the slumped shoulders of a crumbling façade
that once was the me i used to know.
the someone i thought i never was.
now, just flaky pieces of hard cement,
of dandruff upon lapels,
and lint found in the bottom of your right, jean pocket.
and i'm thinking that this will all just be a dream
a grand fantasy conjured up by a 100-foot tall giant
gas bubble burping and hiccuping through time and space
hurtling towards the outer edges of consciousness
and back towards the source
to all that once was
to who we thought we were going to be.
and i'm feeling the vibrations as they ripple and wind into a great interwoven fabric
this tertiary existence gives birth
pungent aromas permeate and sound pierces the silence.
spirit is penetrated.
and i'm thinking that maybe a time will come
when this is enough, just exactly as it is
when an awakened soul has arrived
into this moment, now,
looks around and thinks
"yes,
this
is
it."
when the striving won't feel so
in vain
when the vanity won't fall
upon the slumped shoulders of a crumbling façade
that once was the me i used to know.
the someone i thought i never was.
now, just flaky pieces of hard cement,
of dandruff upon lapels,
and lint found in the bottom of your right, jean pocket.
and i'm thinking that this will all just be a dream
a grand fantasy conjured up by a 100-foot tall giant
gas bubble burping and hiccuping through time and space
hurtling towards the outer edges of consciousness
and back towards the source
to all that once was
to who we thought we were going to be.
and i'm feeling the vibrations as they ripple and wind into a great interwoven fabric
this tertiary existence gives birth
pungent aromas permeate and sound pierces the silence.
spirit is penetrated.
and i'm thinking that maybe a time will come
when this is enough, just exactly as it is
when an awakened soul has arrived
into this moment, now,
looks around and thinks
"yes,
this
is
it."
Alchemy: Stirring Moments into Magic
Drop into
my witch’s cauldron
big, black pot
iron legs, claw feet
my witch’s cauldron
big, black pot
iron legs, claw feet
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 mundane.
Ride with me
on my bruja’s highway
twisting turns and angular perceptions
a fluidity of space and time
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
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.
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 mundane.
Ride with me
on my bruja’s highway
twisting turns and angular perceptions
a fluidity of space and time
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
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.
Friday, January 14, 2011
Aunties and Uncles
I experienced a brilliant moment of emotion this morning.
An upwelling of tears and sadness freely flowed through me.
I write this because I wasn't always like this. I used to think that vulnerability was a weakness.
I used to think that I had to hide many facets of my humanity. Now, I walk through the bustling city
streets of downtown, holding my chest and openly weeping. Now, I rejoice in this be-ing human.
So, I was returning from my walk up that Golden Hill, with coffee in hand.
My mind was reflecting and contemplating as my body tried to remember to simply BE
here, now. Breathe in the damp, moist air and exhale out the stale, stagnant energy; notice the gentle breeze through the barren trees; and feel the blue expanse of sky overhead as well as the hard pavement under my shoes as my feet walk contained within a pair of black and white checkered Vans.
I was thinking about this business launch party we're throwing tomorrow and
how I have invited many of my neighbors, including a few who call these streets
of San Diego home. I know that I will have to delicately tread the distance between the mental health of one of them and the fear of my property manager. I know that I ruffle feathers, a lot. This, however, is rarely my actual intention. You see, my very own flesh and blood - my mother's brother - is homeless. He has called the streets of Los Angeles home for over twenty years. So, when I stop and chat with Gethro, who enjoys sketching naked humans in his silver-lock journal, I address him just as I would my uncle. For, he IS my uncle. Hence, I hug him, I share oranges with him, I ask him how he slept. I treat him no differently then I would another. It's true, I don't usually invite him in - because I don't know what the answers are, but I can at least try and remember to be human in my asking the questions.
(Like, "Is it okay for my uncle to live in the cold shadows between a wire fence and a white curb?")
So, the recognition of my "uncles" here on these city streets brought me to tears today. If I had a magic wand, I would wave it in my hand and turn my tears into vessels of shelter. But I am only and ever this - simply human, walking these city streets and dreaming of alternative possibilities.
An upwelling of tears and sadness freely flowed through me.
I write this because I wasn't always like this. I used to think that vulnerability was a weakness.
I used to think that I had to hide many facets of my humanity. Now, I walk through the bustling city
streets of downtown, holding my chest and openly weeping. Now, I rejoice in this be-ing human.
So, I was returning from my walk up that Golden Hill, with coffee in hand.
My mind was reflecting and contemplating as my body tried to remember to simply BE
here, now. Breathe in the damp, moist air and exhale out the stale, stagnant energy; notice the gentle breeze through the barren trees; and feel the blue expanse of sky overhead as well as the hard pavement under my shoes as my feet walk contained within a pair of black and white checkered Vans.
I was thinking about this business launch party we're throwing tomorrow and
how I have invited many of my neighbors, including a few who call these streets
of San Diego home. I know that I will have to delicately tread the distance between the mental health of one of them and the fear of my property manager. I know that I ruffle feathers, a lot. This, however, is rarely my actual intention. You see, my very own flesh and blood - my mother's brother - is homeless. He has called the streets of Los Angeles home for over twenty years. So, when I stop and chat with Gethro, who enjoys sketching naked humans in his silver-lock journal, I address him just as I would my uncle. For, he IS my uncle. Hence, I hug him, I share oranges with him, I ask him how he slept. I treat him no differently then I would another. It's true, I don't usually invite him in - because I don't know what the answers are, but I can at least try and remember to be human in my asking the questions.
(Like, "Is it okay for my uncle to live in the cold shadows between a wire fence and a white curb?")
So, the recognition of my "uncles" here on these city streets brought me to tears today. If I had a magic wand, I would wave it in my hand and turn my tears into vessels of shelter. But I am only and ever this - simply human, walking these city streets and dreaming of alternative possibilities.
On POWER
I no longer believe in coincidence.
This past year has taught me that life is unfolding according to divine, perfect plan;
that everything happens for a reason; that I can simply trust and allow this; and that I don't have to know "why," or "what for" - especially in the moments of hardship and discomfort.
I can try and just let it all BE.
Last night, I helped a dear friend learn a simple skill - such as flier making - so that she can promote and market her self and her own business. We began our evening together by chatting over a dinner of fruity drinks and gluten-free pasta in a Gaslamp establishment. It has been a few years since she moved to southern California, and she still mourns the loss of the tight-knit community that she moved away from. There, on a Hawaiian island, she had trustworthy others immediately in her life - people who could help her with the heavy responsibility of single parenthood in a moment's notice. There, elders are given the respect they are due by being instantaneously recognized as "auntie" and "uncle." And, there, she felt a palpable connection to the Earth under her feet. Synchronicity was her spirit guide and life required little force on her part - all she needed to do was be with intention, listen and respond.
The concrete jungle and fast-moving freeways; the materials-based value system and loss of neighborly interaction; and the communal illusion of individuality all made for a sharp contrast within her vibrant, everyday life. We spoke of the power of intuition and how it comes from our relationship to and with the Earth. Together, we met in the middle where power resides not in money or attention, but in the the simple experience of the tides ebbing and flowing, of the moon waxing and waning, of the breath expanding and contracting and of the cosmos moving towards and away from. ALL ONE.
This sister of mine, with her beaming, wide smile, brilliant spirit and BE-autiful outward appearance, met me, saw me, heard me, REFLECTED ME. And, there we sat. Chatting, laughing, enjoying this be-ing human ~ together. No where to go. No one to be. Nothing to do. Simply, here, n-o-w. Then, our waitress came around again. A college-aged, young woman she stood above us and felt the Earth shift, under her feet. "Whoa," she said, looking around herself. "Did you two feel that? There was a...," she stammered as she glanced around and noticed that she was alone in her feeling. Embarrassed by her seeming outburst, she couldn't explain herself even as she tried to. She backed away, out of the moment and away from our table.
We laughed.
'Tis all we could do.
(I LOVE YOU, mz. h!)
This past year has taught me that life is unfolding according to divine, perfect plan;
that everything happens for a reason; that I can simply trust and allow this; and that I don't have to know "why," or "what for" - especially in the moments of hardship and discomfort.
I can try and just let it all BE.
Last night, I helped a dear friend learn a simple skill - such as flier making - so that she can promote and market her self and her own business. We began our evening together by chatting over a dinner of fruity drinks and gluten-free pasta in a Gaslamp establishment. It has been a few years since she moved to southern California, and she still mourns the loss of the tight-knit community that she moved away from. There, on a Hawaiian island, she had trustworthy others immediately in her life - people who could help her with the heavy responsibility of single parenthood in a moment's notice. There, elders are given the respect they are due by being instantaneously recognized as "auntie" and "uncle." And, there, she felt a palpable connection to the Earth under her feet. Synchronicity was her spirit guide and life required little force on her part - all she needed to do was be with intention, listen and respond.
The concrete jungle and fast-moving freeways; the materials-based value system and loss of neighborly interaction; and the communal illusion of individuality all made for a sharp contrast within her vibrant, everyday life. We spoke of the power of intuition and how it comes from our relationship to and with the Earth. Together, we met in the middle where power resides not in money or attention, but in the the simple experience of the tides ebbing and flowing, of the moon waxing and waning, of the breath expanding and contracting and of the cosmos moving towards and away from. ALL ONE.
This sister of mine, with her beaming, wide smile, brilliant spirit and BE-autiful outward appearance, met me, saw me, heard me, REFLECTED ME. And, there we sat. Chatting, laughing, enjoying this be-ing human ~ together. No where to go. No one to be. Nothing to do. Simply, here, n-o-w. Then, our waitress came around again. A college-aged, young woman she stood above us and felt the Earth shift, under her feet. "Whoa," she said, looking around herself. "Did you two feel that? There was a...," she stammered as she glanced around and noticed that she was alone in her feeling. Embarrassed by her seeming outburst, she couldn't explain herself even as she tried to. She backed away, out of the moment and away from our table.
We laughed.
'Tis all we could do.
(I LOVE YOU, mz. h!)
A Snapshot of "Cara," from 1997
(excerpt taken from a small, handheld journal called "Women's Notes," upon the top of which is scrawled, in block, green print, "Cara's Bible")
"2/11/97
My true flaw lay in the fact that although I seek individuality, I am a conformer.
Although I seek to be different, it is my sameness that keeps me from attaining such ideals.
The only and true way to be different is to realize and live in the realization that we are all the same,
WE ARE ALL ONE. My attempts at declaring myself special, unique, different, this one or that one, are futile and self-defeating."
I was only nineteen and, yet, fourteen years later, my sentiments remain the same. I share this n-o-w because I want you to know my intentions for continuing to throw these thoughts, my ideas, a contemplation of RUMInations upon life, out here into virtual Lalaland. Yes, I am human. And, yes, as an artist my ego is HUGE - my need to express is great and my belief in what I have to share is admirable. Sometimes, I taste grandeur within myself because I see it in the world around me. Is the swirling Milky Way galaxy not magnificent? When I point out Orion's Nebula, found within the sheath of Orion's sword in his mighty constellation of a North American night sky, is it not grand? When you taste the sweet fruit of a ripe avocado prior to its falling from a blooming tree, is it not a miracle? "YES, yes, yes," comes the words we build a foundation upon.
Simultaneously, I also recognize a singular grain of sand as it sits upon a washed up shore on a forgotten about stretch of island beach. It is no more and no less than the billions of other grains that lay all around it. In fact, it appears almost indistinguishable. Together, these parts of one puzzle are pulled away from and back towards the source. They are merely playing out their role in the unfolding of time, in the ebbing and flowing of the Earth's natural forces. Small and minute, they flow - in and out, out and in. Like our breath, our lungs and our hearts beating within our warm chests.
Like the heavens above and the Earth below, I too am big and small. I too, simply, am. And, I am also simply not. Thus, when I share, n-o-w, I do it because my story IS our story. Human story is universal - it is the fabric of our existence. Our collective consciousness is awake, it craves our shared reciprocity and has a deep hunger for a healing that has been millennia in the coming.
N-o-w is the time.
Let's release
our fear.
"2/11/97
My true flaw lay in the fact that although I seek individuality, I am a conformer.
Although I seek to be different, it is my sameness that keeps me from attaining such ideals.
The only and true way to be different is to realize and live in the realization that we are all the same,
WE ARE ALL ONE. My attempts at declaring myself special, unique, different, this one or that one, are futile and self-defeating."
I was only nineteen and, yet, fourteen years later, my sentiments remain the same. I share this n-o-w because I want you to know my intentions for continuing to throw these thoughts, my ideas, a contemplation of RUMInations upon life, out here into virtual Lalaland. Yes, I am human. And, yes, as an artist my ego is HUGE - my need to express is great and my belief in what I have to share is admirable. Sometimes, I taste grandeur within myself because I see it in the world around me. Is the swirling Milky Way galaxy not magnificent? When I point out Orion's Nebula, found within the sheath of Orion's sword in his mighty constellation of a North American night sky, is it not grand? When you taste the sweet fruit of a ripe avocado prior to its falling from a blooming tree, is it not a miracle? "YES, yes, yes," comes the words we build a foundation upon.
Simultaneously, I also recognize a singular grain of sand as it sits upon a washed up shore on a forgotten about stretch of island beach. It is no more and no less than the billions of other grains that lay all around it. In fact, it appears almost indistinguishable. Together, these parts of one puzzle are pulled away from and back towards the source. They are merely playing out their role in the unfolding of time, in the ebbing and flowing of the Earth's natural forces. Small and minute, they flow - in and out, out and in. Like our breath, our lungs and our hearts beating within our warm chests.
Like the heavens above and the Earth below, I too am big and small. I too, simply, am. And, I am also simply not. Thus, when I share, n-o-w, I do it because my story IS our story. Human story is universal - it is the fabric of our existence. Our collective consciousness is awake, it craves our shared reciprocity and has a deep hunger for a healing that has been millennia in the coming.
N-o-w is the time.
Let's release
our fear.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Free Fallin'
"I wanna free fall, out into nothing,
gonna leave this, world for awhile
And I'm free, free fallin'
Yeah I'm free, free fallin"
--Tom Petty & the Hearbreakers
Yet again, I've done it.
It was a little harder this time around.
I figure that letting go will continue to become more and more
difficult the older I get, and with the more responsibility I take on.
Nonetheless, I've let go of the cell phone and the car.
I don't REALLY need them.
In fact, I honestly believe that it is NOT sustainable for most Americans to have
one of each. (As I've previously written, I'm holding myself up as a model.)
I have spent most of my adult life without either of these pesky traps of "modern
convenience," anyway. In college, I walked and rode my bike because my parents, unlike a lot of my
peers', refused to buy me a car. They were right - a car isn't neccessary when one lives and works
within a five mile radius. During the process, I discovered how my lifestyle lent itself to a vibrancy and an overwhelming sense of FREEDOM. Plus, my bodymind has always been invigorated by the physical act of motion. Hence, my best creative flow happens during a walk or a bike ride. It wasn't always ideal - especially in the rain. But the experience taught me a lot about what true independence looks like.
Even when I first moved down to the city of San Diego, back in '03, I utilized public transportation as well as my own two feet to get around these undulating hills of America's Finest City. It has simply always been both a preference and a dogma. But, then, I fell in love and my desire to be able to connect instantaneously became an addiction. I "needed" back then, or so I thought. Now, however, I know that this isn't love - love is spacious and open, love is letting go, letting go, letting go, let go....
So, I've let go, again.
And I'm free falling, out into this world,
out into nothing.
I don't know what's to come.
Lately, I have been feeling foolish for even holding onto this virtual reality.
Last night, I contemplated letting go of this, too - of the Facebook and the blogging. Of the striving, or so it seems. And my mistakes have been plentiful. They keep happening, one after the other.
I guess, I'm learning...
I think I'm free fallin.'
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Please, Let's Not Cloak Our Sexuality..
especially not within a thick gauze of spirituality.
I appreciate straight forward candor. Like, with the cutie who was standing in line, in front of me, at my nearest coffee shop stomping ground. He kept looking me, up and down, so I said, "Yes, I am wearing the same thing I wore last night." "You're adorable," he responded. "As are you," I quickly came back. (And, he was.) This kind of superficial banter and quick come-on is easy. It's honest, even. Great, if I see him again; no worries, if I don't. C'est la vie, and such is the nature of life. I can dig this. It's visceral and in the moment. It's two-dimensional and based on nothing even remotely substantial.
It's the way I prefer it, actually. Just tell it like it is. A dear friend recently threw it right out there. "I want to have passionate, hot sex with you for hours and hours, and continue to be the loving friends that we are." Yes! Or, No. Either way, it's refreshingly honest. None of this, "Let me tell her what I think she'll want to hear" load of bull. Which, believe me guys, no woman in her right mind wants to hear "Let's be monogamous" after a few piddly escapades! (Certainly not me. So, leave that can of crap at the door.)
More recently, there have been sentiments shared as to how myself and another might have a "spiritual connection" that is worth investigating. Of course, this call came through my line after he had already spent some time - that very same day - exploring another "spiritual connection" with a close friend. Hmmm... I am open, certainly. But, please, only when you have you seen me with my head bald, once again looking like the Tibetan Monk that I can transform into; when you have lifted me up from a cold pavement, with excrement running down my leg; and when you have looked deep into the liquid brown pools of my eyes, past the youth and beauty that this time n-o-w sometimes displays and into my raw, vulnerable humanity where all is and is simultaneously not; THEN you can say,
"I do believe there is something deeper at play here."
Although, those words won't be necessary then -
your actions will have said it all.
I appreciate straight forward candor. Like, with the cutie who was standing in line, in front of me, at my nearest coffee shop stomping ground. He kept looking me, up and down, so I said, "Yes, I am wearing the same thing I wore last night." "You're adorable," he responded. "As are you," I quickly came back. (And, he was.) This kind of superficial banter and quick come-on is easy. It's honest, even. Great, if I see him again; no worries, if I don't. C'est la vie, and such is the nature of life. I can dig this. It's visceral and in the moment. It's two-dimensional and based on nothing even remotely substantial.
It's the way I prefer it, actually. Just tell it like it is. A dear friend recently threw it right out there. "I want to have passionate, hot sex with you for hours and hours, and continue to be the loving friends that we are." Yes! Or, No. Either way, it's refreshingly honest. None of this, "Let me tell her what I think she'll want to hear" load of bull. Which, believe me guys, no woman in her right mind wants to hear "Let's be monogamous" after a few piddly escapades! (Certainly not me. So, leave that can of crap at the door.)
More recently, there have been sentiments shared as to how myself and another might have a "spiritual connection" that is worth investigating. Of course, this call came through my line after he had already spent some time - that very same day - exploring another "spiritual connection" with a close friend. Hmmm... I am open, certainly. But, please, only when you have you seen me with my head bald, once again looking like the Tibetan Monk that I can transform into; when you have lifted me up from a cold pavement, with excrement running down my leg; and when you have looked deep into the liquid brown pools of my eyes, past the youth and beauty that this time n-o-w sometimes displays and into my raw, vulnerable humanity where all is and is simultaneously not; THEN you can say,
"I do believe there is something deeper at play here."
Although, those words won't be necessary then -
your actions will have said it all.
What Popsy Said
Popsy said that Crazy Bull & Custer were born around the same time period and that many intriguing parallels connected their life stories (aside from the bloodshed and the battles, of course). "But, Crazy Bull wasn't a leader," he said. "In fact, Indians weren't leaders, at all. They were individuals who didn't lead." "Maybe, they just had a different value set," I responded.
Personally, I've never wanted to lead followers. In college, I would write,
"I could never follow a leader, nor lead followers," on bathroom stall walls. My ex and I always met in this middle ground - of natural rebellion, of having been born rebels without a cause long after the popular culture fad had faded.
More recently, though, I've been letting go of my desire to react defensively to life around me. These days, I am simply trying to accept life for what it is. Not that I know - it just simply IS.
Nonetheless, an urgent call keeps arising from deep within my psyche. It's melodic pang keeps chirping out an epitaph, demanding that I keep showing up, putting one foot in front of the other and doing my work. "Stand up and be counted," I hear. However, I still don't desire to stand with others who quickly follow what is being sold - even if it is me who is doing the selling. Rather, all I ask is that questions are asked, a myriad of answers are ruminated upon and that, regardless of whatever "truth" is chosen, there is always a recognition that it is relative and ever-changing.
I like to think that Native American peoples had it "right," and that they knew just as I now believe:
that WE ARE ALL LEADERS HERE.
So, I am hoping that you will join me in grasping hands, raising our voices, lifting each other up and shaking the Earth so that its cosmic ripples sustain us for another 40+ years.
Yes, indeed.
Personally, I've never wanted to lead followers. In college, I would write,
"I could never follow a leader, nor lead followers," on bathroom stall walls. My ex and I always met in this middle ground - of natural rebellion, of having been born rebels without a cause long after the popular culture fad had faded.
More recently, though, I've been letting go of my desire to react defensively to life around me. These days, I am simply trying to accept life for what it is. Not that I know - it just simply IS.
Nonetheless, an urgent call keeps arising from deep within my psyche. It's melodic pang keeps chirping out an epitaph, demanding that I keep showing up, putting one foot in front of the other and doing my work. "Stand up and be counted," I hear. However, I still don't desire to stand with others who quickly follow what is being sold - even if it is me who is doing the selling. Rather, all I ask is that questions are asked, a myriad of answers are ruminated upon and that, regardless of whatever "truth" is chosen, there is always a recognition that it is relative and ever-changing.
I like to think that Native American peoples had it "right," and that they knew just as I now believe:
that WE ARE ALL LEADERS HERE.
So, I am hoping that you will join me in grasping hands, raising our voices, lifting each other up and shaking the Earth so that its cosmic ripples sustain us for another 40+ years.
Yes, indeed.
WHO AM I TO SELL "SOUL FOOD?"
"...Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be?...As we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others." from Marianne Williamson's
A Return To Love: Reflections on the Principles of A Course in Miracles
My graduate school advisers would be shaking their heads in sideways directions if they heard me co-opting a term from someone else's past and using it for my benefit today. They would, perhaps, accuse me of "cultural appropriation." Yet, such thinking, again, only serves to further what Francis Moore Lappe (especially in her book, Hope's Edge, which is a follow up to Diet for a Small Planet - a seminal read for anyone remotely invested in questions of sustainability) would call "a premise of lack." "There isn't enough - food, money, resources, energy, materials, acknowledgment, recognition, etc - to go around, so don't steal our ideas, our ways or our culture and then sell it back to us, piece meal by happy meal," the thought goes. And, yes, there is a point there. Well taken.
However, allow me to share an experience from this past Sunday, when I arrived onto a packed dance floor, writhing with dozens of human bodies shimmying through shared time and space. Meanwhile, my own personal energetic body was a sharp contrast to the pulsing beats that DJ God was throwing down and to the booty shaking that was happening all around me by my fellow Dance Church revelers. Instead of meeting them at their tempo, I chose to stay inward - slower, contained, held, flowing without any grand, sweeping gestures. It was simply how I felt and, sometimes, the best way we honor others, is by honoring ourselves first. And, then, DJ God threw down a Stevie Wonder mix that had excerpts from that iconic 80's television show, What's Happening?, interspersed with a fly rhythm and a heavy downbeat that moved right through me - penetrating a deep, guttural core. In that moment, I jumped up to my feet, threw my hands to my hips, rolled my head around my neck and told nobody but the ceiling above, "I SELL SOUL FOOD, BITCH!" What followed was my entire Self releasing a foot pounding, hip cranking, full bodymind soulspirit release that feeds some innately humananimal part of me. Some connection to all that once was - to a lineage of human ancestry - flowed through me. In fact, sometimes in these moments, there is no me. There is only US, and our shared pulse. There is only this moment now. There is only and ever this.
So, today, I speak from a premise of possibility, as well as from the untapped potential of truly honoring our past. Our shared story - ourstory - where, yes, African peoples were stolen from their native lands, enslaved and forced to build a developing country upon their ebony backs, baking in a hot, southern sun. It was by their blood, sweat, toil and tears that a capitalist America began to flourish. How did these ancestors of ours survive? How did they endure? By dancing and singing, of course! By raising their voices, in sweet harmony, and by flinging their bodies, in staccato melody. By enjoying the setting sun, even after a hard day's work, outside on a patio or on the dirt road, with their next door neighbors, with their family and their friends. By breaking bread, together, while savoring the Earth's natural delights of collard greens, okra, kale, mustard, pokeweed, and more. By coming together, time after time again, in spite of the oppression, violence and force that may have chained their bodies but never enslaved their souls.
By freeing their spirits ~
YES, indeed.
(I hope you'll join us for some fresh, heaping plates of live and local SOUL FOOD at this Saturday's, 01/15 6-10pm, official business launch of the "Prosperity Hive.")
YES, indeed.
(I hope you'll join us for some fresh, heaping plates of live and local SOUL FOOD at this Saturday's, 01/15 6-10pm, official business launch of the "Prosperity Hive.")
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
late-night, post-bar, & another shrugging-of-shoulders ("humph, MEN!!!!!")
and i'm thinking that maybe a time will come
when the striving won't feel so
in vain
when the vanity won't fall
upon the slumped shoulders of a crumbling facade
that once was the me i used to know.
the someone i thought i never was.
now, just flaky pieces of hard cement,
of dandruff upon lapels,
and lint found in the bottom of your right, jean pocket.
and i'm thinking that this will all just be a dream
a grand fantasy conjured up by a 100-foot tall giant
gas bubble burping and hiccuping through time and space
hurtling towards the outer edges of consciousness
and back towards the source
to all that once was
to who we thought we were going to be.
and i'm feeling the vibrations as they ripple and wind into a great interwoven fabric
this tertiary existence gives birth
pungent aromas permeate and sound pierces the silence.
spirit is penetrated.
and i'm thinking that maybe a time will come
when this is enough, just exactly as it is
when an awakened soul has arrived
into this moment, now,
looks around and thinks
"yes,
this
is
it."
when the striving won't feel so
in vain
when the vanity won't fall
upon the slumped shoulders of a crumbling facade
that once was the me i used to know.
the someone i thought i never was.
now, just flaky pieces of hard cement,
of dandruff upon lapels,
and lint found in the bottom of your right, jean pocket.
and i'm thinking that this will all just be a dream
a grand fantasy conjured up by a 100-foot tall giant
gas bubble burping and hiccuping through time and space
hurtling towards the outer edges of consciousness
and back towards the source
to all that once was
to who we thought we were going to be.
and i'm feeling the vibrations as they ripple and wind into a great interwoven fabric
this tertiary existence gives birth
pungent aromas permeate and sound pierces the silence.
spirit is penetrated.
and i'm thinking that maybe a time will come
when this is enough, just exactly as it is
when an awakened soul has arrived
into this moment, now,
looks around and thinks
"yes,
this
is
it."
I'm Holding My Self Up as a Model...of UNsustainability
I want to be clear.
I preach about "sustainability" and this idea of what it means to "endure"
because I have not been sustainable, because I honestly do not know what taking just enough
in this moment
n-o-w
looks like.
I honestly don't really know
how to let go
of the moments that have come before
of the pain of the past
and of that little ball of excitement for an elusive future
(which may or may not come).
And, I sure as heck do not know how to make nuclear fusion.
I'm not a sun
(I'm a daughter.)
I'm just a wee little human
not a burning bright orb of spinning gas located thousands of light years away.
I'm simply
here, now
placing one foot, in front of the other
and walking forward into some
unknowable present,
ever unfolding,
and always magnificent
if i simply take the time
to
stop
and
notice.
I preach about "sustainability" and this idea of what it means to "endure"
because I have not been sustainable, because I honestly do not know what taking just enough
in this moment
n-o-w
looks like.
I honestly don't really know
how to let go
of the moments that have come before
of the pain of the past
and of that little ball of excitement for an elusive future
(which may or may not come).
And, I sure as heck do not know how to make nuclear fusion.
I'm not a sun
(I'm a daughter.)
I'm just a wee little human
not a burning bright orb of spinning gas located thousands of light years away.
I'm simply
here, now
placing one foot, in front of the other
and walking forward into some
unknowable present,
ever unfolding,
and always magnificent
if i simply take the time
to
stop
and
notice.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
On Nuclear Fusion
"You must carry a chaos inside you to give birth to a shooting star."
--Nietzsche
i am containing "this."
what ever "this" is, i have been reigning it in.
i have been holding it closer to my chest.
winter solstice inspired such a pursuit.
no more giving my power away.
if i am going to sustain myself
then i must contain
the throbbing.
so, i bear witness
to its growing and building within my core.
i imagine it gaining pressure and vibrating,
slowly at first. like well water drops from out of a spigot.
i envision
nuclei flying, less with force and
more in grace and ease.
i am trying
to let go
of a desire to premeditate which nuclei will fuse.
i'm trying
to trust and allow
that a new element will form.
cracks pop up. fissure happens.
solar flares escape the surface
of my boiling, hot skin.
a creative fire
burns
and i leak less
of my potent energy.
no more offering my porcelain neck to the bloodsucking fangs
of vampirical others. no longer an outlet for another to simply
plug into and withdraw.
this energy is
power-ful.
and it is no longer to be given away
for free.
this current,
this pulse
costs.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Even the Amazing Dances Must Come to an End
I am sitting in the dark of the "Batcave." The rays of a late afternoon, southern sun, are falling across the wood floor found inside of the studio. Adam, one of my neighbors who resides on the corner of 14th and F Streets, recently shared with me that SuperGirl's name - as in, from the 1950's SuperBoy comic strip - was Cara. "Cara Star," he said. "She arrived right around the time that Crypto showed up." "Hmmmm... interesting," I think, although I reply with a, "Good, I like that."
Today, I ducked into the brand, spanking new East Village Coffeehouse with a reporter. He had spent almost three decades working for the U-T. He retired some time ago, and had run off to Europe for a change in scenery. He, like me, was making a recent return to downtown San Diego living. We met on the streets of Little Italy earlier this afternoon. Carrying a South African basket and munching on locally-grown walnuts, I was returning to the Hive after spending the morning at the Farmer's Market. He fell into line behind me. When I turned my head to pass onto the other side of the street, I chose to say "Hello" to him instead.
"Hey," like honey, the words spilled off of my tongue.
Thus beginning a journey down an uncharted path - a trajectory that could not be forced, willed or premeditated. It can only be responded to within the open moments of vulnerability and surrender, of saying "Yes, and..." to as many moments as are humanly possible in any given situation.
"Heyyyyyy," she says.
So, we walked and we talked. From Union to Market Streets, the concrete passed underfoot and time oozed by, in complacent ease. Our conversation was lively and full - from homelessness to compassion, from children to artificial insemination, and from philosophy to practice. Few stones were left unturned. "I am surprised someone as independent as you wants to have kids," he shared.
"I have no remorse for not having children, or a wife. I was married once, for eight years, but she divorced me because I was in love with my work. I have no regrets," he spoke as he kept up with my youthful stride.
Like all good things, even the amazing dances must come to an end. For it was time that I returned to the Hive. In spite of his language to the contrary, I felt the subtle flutter of his energy.
Would he like to play Clark Kent to my Super Woman?
Maybe.
However, this cartoon character has only recently learned to fly. And she's hoping that she won't have to duck into a phone booth or turn back time in order to keep meeting back
in the middle
of a dance floor, certainly,
of sustained intimacy, definitely,
and of the balance between
work and play.
Today, I ducked into the brand, spanking new East Village Coffeehouse with a reporter. He had spent almost three decades working for the U-T. He retired some time ago, and had run off to Europe for a change in scenery. He, like me, was making a recent return to downtown San Diego living. We met on the streets of Little Italy earlier this afternoon. Carrying a South African basket and munching on locally-grown walnuts, I was returning to the Hive after spending the morning at the Farmer's Market. He fell into line behind me. When I turned my head to pass onto the other side of the street, I chose to say "Hello" to him instead.
"Hey," like honey, the words spilled off of my tongue.
Thus beginning a journey down an uncharted path - a trajectory that could not be forced, willed or premeditated. It can only be responded to within the open moments of vulnerability and surrender, of saying "Yes, and..." to as many moments as are humanly possible in any given situation.
"Heyyyyyy," she says.
So, we walked and we talked. From Union to Market Streets, the concrete passed underfoot and time oozed by, in complacent ease. Our conversation was lively and full - from homelessness to compassion, from children to artificial insemination, and from philosophy to practice. Few stones were left unturned. "I am surprised someone as independent as you wants to have kids," he shared.
"I have no remorse for not having children, or a wife. I was married once, for eight years, but she divorced me because I was in love with my work. I have no regrets," he spoke as he kept up with my youthful stride.
Like all good things, even the amazing dances must come to an end. For it was time that I returned to the Hive. In spite of his language to the contrary, I felt the subtle flutter of his energy.
Would he like to play Clark Kent to my Super Woman?
Maybe.
However, this cartoon character has only recently learned to fly. And she's hoping that she won't have to duck into a phone booth or turn back time in order to keep meeting back
in the middle
of a dance floor, certainly,
of sustained intimacy, definitely,
and of the balance between
work and play.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Learning to Accept - My Self
Seven years ago, a familiar pattern unfolded.
There are some slight differences between now and then, however.
Today, I am not running away from the perceived dysfunction of anothers home, for example. I am not making choices, like staying in a relationship that doesn't feed me, based on fear. And, I am not making a decision because I need to "make or break" a situation. All my cards have been thrown into this deck.
Today, I believe 110% in what I am doing.
N-o-w, I have the support, resources and industriousness myself to create that which I envisioned then. Now, I am (still slowly, but nonetheless) learning how to simply accept
Me.
Seven years ago, I could not accept. Every reflection I came to was imperfect and flawed. I judged each and every environment I entered into as lacking and needing change. At that time, I didn't realize that all I was simply witnessing were mirror images of myself. Each and every time, it was only and ever me.
Like, when I wandered into a dance community (the same dance community that I call "mine," today), and I judged. I became erect and uptight. I chose to see people, bobbing and weaving in disconnected harmony. Although they were moving together, through shared time and space, they surely weren't "dancing." (Or, were they?)
So, I ran out. And, I kept running - away from and towards other people, places and experiences where I would engage and, then, the pattern would repeat itself. Yet again, there it was - another reason to not keep showing up. Some perceived hurt, dejection, criticism, or want unfulfilled. Some little reason for why, for
"No, this isn't it."
Part of this accepting My Self is continuing to show up - even when I don't want to. When I'm hurt or simply apathetic; when I'm wounded and distracted; and even when I want to say, "Fuck you. Leave me the fuck alone." For this is exactly when I need to show up the most.
There are some slight differences between now and then, however.
Today, I am not running away from the perceived dysfunction of anothers home, for example. I am not making choices, like staying in a relationship that doesn't feed me, based on fear. And, I am not making a decision because I need to "make or break" a situation. All my cards have been thrown into this deck.
Today, I believe 110% in what I am doing.
N-o-w, I have the support, resources and industriousness myself to create that which I envisioned then. Now, I am (still slowly, but nonetheless) learning how to simply accept
Me.
Seven years ago, I could not accept. Every reflection I came to was imperfect and flawed. I judged each and every environment I entered into as lacking and needing change. At that time, I didn't realize that all I was simply witnessing were mirror images of myself. Each and every time, it was only and ever me.
Like, when I wandered into a dance community (the same dance community that I call "mine," today), and I judged. I became erect and uptight. I chose to see people, bobbing and weaving in disconnected harmony. Although they were moving together, through shared time and space, they surely weren't "dancing." (Or, were they?)
So, I ran out. And, I kept running - away from and towards other people, places and experiences where I would engage and, then, the pattern would repeat itself. Yet again, there it was - another reason to not keep showing up. Some perceived hurt, dejection, criticism, or want unfulfilled. Some little reason for why, for
"No, this isn't it."
Part of this accepting My Self is continuing to show up - even when I don't want to. When I'm hurt or simply apathetic; when I'm wounded and distracted; and even when I want to say, "Fuck you. Leave me the fuck alone." For this is exactly when I need to show up the most.
On Irony
Together, Shakti and I have manifested a space where we are both hOMe - with a supportive foundation under our feet that is the supple platform from which we can continue to launch our selves - as well as where YOU can cOMe
and not just BE but also
(re)Create your Self.
What is ironic is that a "Self-Creation" Studio is exactly what my ex-boyfriend
envisioned creating - a movement studio where people can gather,
enjoy coffee and conversation, and dive into existential theory found on
bookshelves all the while investigating and re-imagining other ways of Be-ing in this world. When he spoke of this dream, visions of people, having arrived and busily teaching themselves, danced before my eyes. I never anticipated that I would be the one manifesting this fantasy.
He and I could have done this together - in the blink of an eye. Yet, no matter how pure my intentions were, we could never meet in an agreed upon middle. As I have painfully learned, no matter how passionately I believe that another and I can exist in a partnership where our strengths are celebrated, our weaknesses complemented and the mirror reflections that lay all around us honored, I can not force my idea of "love" upon anyone. From the get-go, his path was chosen and the world travels that he envisioned for himself never included me. For over three years, I stubbornly clung to my idealist notion of "LOVE," and I refused to let go - of someone who simply could not and did not want to meet me there and of a relationship that, therefore, did not feed my spirit.
(Today, I try to say, "Au revoir," to such gents more quickly. Though, it's a hard lesson to learn.)
So, I honor him. He, who taught me much. He who had the daring to dream such a dream. He who loves Bruce Lee and emulates his look, his moves, his philosophy and, even, his power. He who also suffered as a result of my inability to make a decision and stick with it, as well as my refusal to listen and to trust.
He who showed me that intuition is not a woman's power but, rather, it is a deeply HUMAN power that is rooted in our EarthBody connection. He who demonstrated how to be like water and how to respond from one's present instincts - in this moment, n-o-w.
Yes, I honor him.
"Muchas gracias, MAAG. Muchas gracias."
and not just BE but also
(re)Create your Self.
What is ironic is that a "Self-Creation" Studio is exactly what my ex-boyfriend
envisioned creating - a movement studio where people can gather,
enjoy coffee and conversation, and dive into existential theory found on
bookshelves all the while investigating and re-imagining other ways of Be-ing in this world. When he spoke of this dream, visions of people, having arrived and busily teaching themselves, danced before my eyes. I never anticipated that I would be the one manifesting this fantasy.
He and I could have done this together - in the blink of an eye. Yet, no matter how pure my intentions were, we could never meet in an agreed upon middle. As I have painfully learned, no matter how passionately I believe that another and I can exist in a partnership where our strengths are celebrated, our weaknesses complemented and the mirror reflections that lay all around us honored, I can not force my idea of "love" upon anyone. From the get-go, his path was chosen and the world travels that he envisioned for himself never included me. For over three years, I stubbornly clung to my idealist notion of "LOVE," and I refused to let go - of someone who simply could not and did not want to meet me there and of a relationship that, therefore, did not feed my spirit.
(Today, I try to say, "Au revoir," to such gents more quickly. Though, it's a hard lesson to learn.)
So, I honor him. He, who taught me much. He who had the daring to dream such a dream. He who loves Bruce Lee and emulates his look, his moves, his philosophy and, even, his power. He who also suffered as a result of my inability to make a decision and stick with it, as well as my refusal to listen and to trust.
He who showed me that intuition is not a woman's power but, rather, it is a deeply HUMAN power that is rooted in our EarthBody connection. He who demonstrated how to be like water and how to respond from one's present instincts - in this moment, n-o-w.
Yes, I honor him.
"Muchas gracias, MAAG. Muchas gracias."
SUSTAINABILITY 101: How Will You Endure?
For weeks now, I've been meaning to write about my own personal path both toward and away from sustainability. In a recent conversation, with the father of a dear friend from high school, the idea of sustainability as representing a lack of growth, or "development," was discussed. My friend's dad honestly viewed sustainability through this lens and, therefore, did not perceive the endeavor as a positive one. Rather, in his mind, sustainability was equivalent and/or synonymous with stagnation - it was unchanging and unmoving. It was not industry, or industrious. And, yet, what I personally am referring to, when I use the word "sustainability", is as to how we - you/me/us, at our very core and in our deepest of hearts - are going to endure. In other words, "how are YOU going to live in the years to come?" It's a simple enough question, really.
So, I've finally become a saleswoman. I've never been much of a salesperson (ask my sister, she'll tell you) - not because I lacked skills, wherewithal or finesse. Rather, because I simply never believed in anything I had to sell. Certainly not the institution of education where monotony is beaten into our children; nor the synthetic materials made in China for an upper class, American outdoor enthusiast; or, even, rickety old, pedicab rides through downtown San Diego. Even dance I struggled with selling - because I don't want you to dance like me, or anyone else for that matter. I want YOU to BE YOU... in all of your glory and your madness. In your strength and your wisdom. In your beauty and your tragedy. But, that's another story for another time.
Today, I sell SOUL FOOD.
(Yes, I am reclaiming the term.)
When I first left San Diego County, for a college located six+hundred miles north, my soul was withered. My spirit was parched - already - and I was only 17. Although I have always been fortunate, privileged and lucky, by that time, my bodymind and soulspirit had already absorbed years, months, days, hours, minutes and seconds of: media watching, in which violence and sex are paraded as common entertainment; male and female adults resenting and disrespecting both themselves and each other; repressed emotion that resulted in volcanic eruptions of anger; heavy handed punishment for minor infractions; a forced obedience of "sit down, and shut-up," of "be seen and not heard;" and the energetic and emotional imbalance of a world dangerously teetering on a brink around me.
For too long, I looked outside of myself to have my very real human needs met -
"I have rolled it up and tried to smoke it,
I have peered into a bottle and tried to drink it,
I have kissed it wholeheartedly and made love to it on a bed of nails,
I have eaten it until my stomach felt close to bursting,
I have drank its wine and pissed its stench.
I have read about it, talked about it,
sat in parishes and prayed about it,
I have gotten down on my knees for it,
I have even jumped out of an airplane for it,"
all in a quest to discover what truly feeds my spirit.
For in the end, one question remains,
"How well did you live?"
HOW WELL DO YOU LIVE?!??!?!?!
So, I've finally become a saleswoman. I've never been much of a salesperson (ask my sister, she'll tell you) - not because I lacked skills, wherewithal or finesse. Rather, because I simply never believed in anything I had to sell. Certainly not the institution of education where monotony is beaten into our children; nor the synthetic materials made in China for an upper class, American outdoor enthusiast; or, even, rickety old, pedicab rides through downtown San Diego. Even dance I struggled with selling - because I don't want you to dance like me, or anyone else for that matter. I want YOU to BE YOU... in all of your glory and your madness. In your strength and your wisdom. In your beauty and your tragedy. But, that's another story for another time.
Today, I sell SOUL FOOD.
(Yes, I am reclaiming the term.)
When I first left San Diego County, for a college located six+hundred miles north, my soul was withered. My spirit was parched - already - and I was only 17. Although I have always been fortunate, privileged and lucky, by that time, my bodymind and soulspirit had already absorbed years, months, days, hours, minutes and seconds of: media watching, in which violence and sex are paraded as common entertainment; male and female adults resenting and disrespecting both themselves and each other; repressed emotion that resulted in volcanic eruptions of anger; heavy handed punishment for minor infractions; a forced obedience of "sit down, and shut-up," of "be seen and not heard;" and the energetic and emotional imbalance of a world dangerously teetering on a brink around me.
For too long, I looked outside of myself to have my very real human needs met -
"I have rolled it up and tried to smoke it,
I have peered into a bottle and tried to drink it,
I have kissed it wholeheartedly and made love to it on a bed of nails,
I have eaten it until my stomach felt close to bursting,
I have drank its wine and pissed its stench.
I have read about it, talked about it,
sat in parishes and prayed about it,
I have gotten down on my knees for it,
I have even jumped out of an airplane for it,"
all in a quest to discover what truly feeds my spirit.
For in the end, one question remains,
"How well did you live?"
HOW WELL DO YOU LIVE?!??!?!?!
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