There are memories I had conveniently forgotten about which now resurface. There are things I never thought I’d want to write about or even touch—just seemed pointless. Now it doesn’t matter who’s listening as long as someone is. Otherwise, what are these moments we experience for? Where do they go? How do they move? I’m interested in the movement of memories, how they make their way to the present only to bring or impart awareness and understanding about our past.
I thought of Paul this morning. I met him during my fourth year of University when I was contemplating which field placement to choose for my last year of study before graduation. He worked as a counselor in a downtown hospital in the Psychiatric Ward. I thought it would be a good and challenging experience to be a part of his team, to be his student and he, my field instructor.
It was a beautiful Friday afternoon in July when I went to the hospital for my interview. Paul was a jolly fellow, very kind, friendly, and caring. He was accompanied by his superior. The three of us sat together in his office, they in front of me, their backs to a single window in the room, and discussed some of the things I could expect by going on board with them. There are things we remember vividly and other experiences we don’t, that just seem to occur without our awareness. That’s why there are only a handful of nows that we remember as though they happened yesterday while others, when we weren’t fully present, can just slip as though they never occurred.
I should have been happy that day in my frame and eager to accept this placement. I say should because it was the perfect day in so many ways. The water near the Harbourfront was a spectacular sight against the pop blue of the sky. The sun was bright and strong beaming its light through the spaces between the leaves of the trees. And yet, while I glanced out the window during pauses in conversation, I couldn’t get this chill or a feeling of dampness to leave me. I could see and sense things in a way I couldn’t the day before. The air felt heavy yet very thin and transparent, clear, vivid, and moist. I remember thinking that Paul had a very round face and a sincere smile. I felt cold and just couldn’t find a way to get warm in my chair. I couldn't wait to leave. I couldn't wait to get outside. I couldn't wait for night. The white of the hospital, the scattered energy in the air, the unsettling feelings I was experiencing were telling me to decline the offer.
I told Paul I would think about it and let him know by mid August of my decision which I did over a phone message. I had decided I would skip a year and do my placement in 1998, unsure of where that would be. In February of 1997, I made my way to the faculty department to go over some options when the head coordinator for placing students asked me if my name was Grace. I was probably the only one left of my class to choose a placement…
Well what she said next really stopped me in my tracks.
You’re the student who turned down the placement with Paul, right? I guess you didn’t hear what happened to him in December?
He was found murdered……in a dumpster……by the hospital……cut into pieces……and decapitated……
I add these pauses because that’s how I heard what was said. Words either move up and stay there or they move down and linger. I had a pocket of feelings settling in the middle of my body. I was having a hard time conceptualizing the murdered part before the other words trailed along. I remember feeling that same chill I experienced that day in Paul’s office the moment she uttered those words to me.
I only share this because I felt something that July afternoon that I could have easily dismissed as being meaningless or unimportant. I mean I'm talking about a few moments of an hour of my life that took place fourteen years ago! And so what, right? Maybe it’s all a coincidence. But does it really matter whether it is or it isn’t? What good did it do him for me to have had those feelings? I can’t be so arrogant to think I was being spared a difficult situation had I worked with him for four months before he passed. Why wasn’t the second student spared? Why her and not me? Why no answers? Why are there never any answers we can understand? Listening to the voice, to my intuition is great but what good does it do if it only helps me? Why can’t it transcend and serve others? Because I tell you, it’s senseless, tragic, and sad if we make it all about ourselves.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Monday, February 22, 2010
Wind and Waves
I came up with the story below late last night. Actually, images and words came flooding in and wouldn't let me sleep until three a.m., until I got the story straight and right. I'm relieved it's out of me, over and done with. Right...if only life were that easy. But, at least, I'm having fun.
I open the iron doors to a castle that belongs to my forefathers. I set down my shield, remove my helmet and armor. I’m wearing an emerald green dress that hangs a few inches above my knees. My skin is as white as snow and my hair as black as night. Like outside, I feel cold in here; nothing but stone walls envelop the interior of this place. A storm is coming and not one produced by Nature.
As I walk along, I can hear faint celtic music echoing through the hall from a nearby village buried somewhere deep in the forest. It must be loud to penetrate these walls. Room after room, I find no one. The bedroom to the right of these majestic stairs, where I will surrender this night, hasn’t been slept in for what seems like days, maybe even weeks. There is a cup filled with water that sits on a table underneath the window. I’m so thirsty but I dare not drink from it…not from this cup.
I remove my clothes and set my dress to the right of the bed on a wooden chair that looks like a throne passed down from generations. I’m aware of a few scars on my body especially the one that extends from just below my rib cage down to my right hip. I also notice the nick above my left shoulder. I'm filthy from my travels, from the merciless wind whipping against my skin like tiny razors, from the galloping of sand and dust in my hair and eyes. I'm surprised there's warm water in these vessels because I can't take another drop, another inch of winter. When I'm done washing away the memory and stain of this day, I turn the sheets over and find shelter underneath. I’m a fighter, a warrior and fazed by nothing. My eyes wash over the ceiling down along the walls across the foot of my bed and over to the window. The moonlight shines bright, the stars sparkle across the midnight skies.
A vision flashes before me, a light, a warmth. His head is buried deep in my neck, his right arm outstretched across my chest. My left shoulder and arm are cradled tightly in his hand. I’m somewhat detached. I’m caught off guard. He’s every man and then, maybe…no. I know him but I can’t make out his face, can’t quite place him like a long lost dream tucked away in some dark corner of the earth. And just like that, the image dissipates. I suddenly notice my sword is lying next to me. It’s always been next to me, ever since I can remember. I may be in a fortress but one can never be too safe. I roll over to my right side with head resting in hand and walk my left fingers along the edge of the sword all the way to its tip. I feel a slight sting due to my carelessness but a drop of blood adds some splash to an otherwise dull room. It’s been nothing but blues and grays for days…
I assume my position once again, my head resting on the pillows, right hand over heart and the other over belly. A deep sleep comes over me and I’m consumed by dream. I hear a voice, the sweetest voice to ever reach my ears. And the dialogue begins.
You mustn’t use the sword at the expense of your heart.
It’s my shield, my protector, my way through this world.
Why you insist on burying one of your most beautiful and cherished qualities is mind boggling.
Well, that’s easy for you to say, isn’t it? You were all heart.
And fire.
I thought you liked identifying with the Princess of Cups. She’s gracious and generous, loving and giving.
So what? What good does it do to bare my heart like that? To dwell in Romance? To be a helper? What is so noble about that? I mean, really? I’m what Nick Cave refers to as those people scribbled in the margins of a story that's patently absurd. I belong nowhere.
To love, ultimately, is for the benefit of others, not for yourself.
I know you’ve been wounded and bruised but I assure you, and I know that you understand, to love is its own reward.
You make attempts to repress that which you feel, which is all encompassing, isn't it? And larger than yourself, no? Your feelings are reflective of every colour in the Universe and beyond and yet, yet you fail to see how that sword leads you right back to your heart, to that overflowing cup. In fact, it's your heart that has power over that sword and not the other way around.
Why can I not keep this sword?
You don’t have to part with it. But use it for its rightful purpose.
You reach for it when you sense your heart needs protection but I tell you, it's a waste of precious time. Your heart needs no metal, no steel. Your shelter lies in your capacity to love.
That sword is a tool you must use to cut and clear away the density of the mind, of your mind. Then you’ll be able to see truth from illusion. You can manifest all that you want but you must first decide what warrants wanting, fighting for or surrendering to. Your sword carries great power and strength but it must be used correctly.
I’m lost in nothing but wind and waves. Throw me some flames, some earth.
Take up the sword and do it yourself.
I open the iron doors to a castle that belongs to my forefathers. I set down my shield, remove my helmet and armor. I’m wearing an emerald green dress that hangs a few inches above my knees. My skin is as white as snow and my hair as black as night. Like outside, I feel cold in here; nothing but stone walls envelop the interior of this place. A storm is coming and not one produced by Nature.
As I walk along, I can hear faint celtic music echoing through the hall from a nearby village buried somewhere deep in the forest. It must be loud to penetrate these walls. Room after room, I find no one. The bedroom to the right of these majestic stairs, where I will surrender this night, hasn’t been slept in for what seems like days, maybe even weeks. There is a cup filled with water that sits on a table underneath the window. I’m so thirsty but I dare not drink from it…not from this cup.
I remove my clothes and set my dress to the right of the bed on a wooden chair that looks like a throne passed down from generations. I’m aware of a few scars on my body especially the one that extends from just below my rib cage down to my right hip. I also notice the nick above my left shoulder. I'm filthy from my travels, from the merciless wind whipping against my skin like tiny razors, from the galloping of sand and dust in my hair and eyes. I'm surprised there's warm water in these vessels because I can't take another drop, another inch of winter. When I'm done washing away the memory and stain of this day, I turn the sheets over and find shelter underneath. I’m a fighter, a warrior and fazed by nothing. My eyes wash over the ceiling down along the walls across the foot of my bed and over to the window. The moonlight shines bright, the stars sparkle across the midnight skies.
A vision flashes before me, a light, a warmth. His head is buried deep in my neck, his right arm outstretched across my chest. My left shoulder and arm are cradled tightly in his hand. I’m somewhat detached. I’m caught off guard. He’s every man and then, maybe…no. I know him but I can’t make out his face, can’t quite place him like a long lost dream tucked away in some dark corner of the earth. And just like that, the image dissipates. I suddenly notice my sword is lying next to me. It’s always been next to me, ever since I can remember. I may be in a fortress but one can never be too safe. I roll over to my right side with head resting in hand and walk my left fingers along the edge of the sword all the way to its tip. I feel a slight sting due to my carelessness but a drop of blood adds some splash to an otherwise dull room. It’s been nothing but blues and grays for days…
I assume my position once again, my head resting on the pillows, right hand over heart and the other over belly. A deep sleep comes over me and I’m consumed by dream. I hear a voice, the sweetest voice to ever reach my ears. And the dialogue begins.
You mustn’t use the sword at the expense of your heart.
It’s my shield, my protector, my way through this world.
Why you insist on burying one of your most beautiful and cherished qualities is mind boggling.
Well, that’s easy for you to say, isn’t it? You were all heart.
And fire.
I thought you liked identifying with the Princess of Cups. She’s gracious and generous, loving and giving.
So what? What good does it do to bare my heart like that? To dwell in Romance? To be a helper? What is so noble about that? I mean, really? I’m what Nick Cave refers to as those people scribbled in the margins of a story that's patently absurd. I belong nowhere.
To love, ultimately, is for the benefit of others, not for yourself.
I know you’ve been wounded and bruised but I assure you, and I know that you understand, to love is its own reward.
You make attempts to repress that which you feel, which is all encompassing, isn't it? And larger than yourself, no? Your feelings are reflective of every colour in the Universe and beyond and yet, yet you fail to see how that sword leads you right back to your heart, to that overflowing cup. In fact, it's your heart that has power over that sword and not the other way around.
Why can I not keep this sword?
You don’t have to part with it. But use it for its rightful purpose.
You reach for it when you sense your heart needs protection but I tell you, it's a waste of precious time. Your heart needs no metal, no steel. Your shelter lies in your capacity to love.
That sword is a tool you must use to cut and clear away the density of the mind, of your mind. Then you’ll be able to see truth from illusion. You can manifest all that you want but you must first decide what warrants wanting, fighting for or surrendering to. Your sword carries great power and strength but it must be used correctly.
I’m lost in nothing but wind and waves. Throw me some flames, some earth.
Take up the sword and do it yourself.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
A Letter to Rocky Dennis
Dear Rocky,
Do you remember that first letter I wrote to you when I was twelve? Do you recall how I mysteriously lost it and was so upset with myself? I still have no idea where it went to. I think of you every so often and yesterday at 2:55a.m was one of those times. I’ve been staying up late these past nights listening to music. I just don’t feel the need to sleep and the music keeps me focused and dreamy. Oh, the places I’ve been to when I’m half awake and half asleep…I feel so blessed. It’s very unlike me to stay awake at night and still feel energized in the morning after only four to five hours of what’s otherwise known as this little death.
When I wrote to you back in the day, I reached out to you like a younger sister to her older brother. I imagined us in a playground in the park getting sand in our hair and clothes. I was only five when you died on October 4, 1978. Today I write to you like an older sister would to a younger brother. Time has a way of doing that. You are eternally seventeen…
I think of that telling poem you wrote and often recite it to myself.
These things are good: ice cream and cake, a ride on a harley, seeing monkeys in the trees, the rain on my tongue, and the sun shining on my face. These things are a drag: dust in my hair, holes in my shoes, no money in my pocket, and the sun shining on my face.
I’m sorry that some kids can be cruel. I’m sorry that some people know not what they do. I’m sorry you had to carry such a heavy burden. I’m sorry that you had to die so young. If you had been my brother and anyone tried to mess with you, I swear, I would have killed them with a stroke of my pen. But you were loved Rocky. I like the light in your eyes, that smile on your face, your perseverance, your strength. You were a good kid with a solid heart and a strong will.
So, why last night? Why now do you choose to enter my mind? Do you want to tell me something? Huh? If you want Rock, you can visit me in a dream and smile your smile. Maybe, just maybe, I'll even let you speak to me. But I can't make any promises. And no matter what anyone says, you were a beautiful young man with a spirit so bright, one could feel your light from miles away. Just like now. I like how you transcend time and space.
May you rest in peace forever.
Sincerely,
Graziella
Do you remember that first letter I wrote to you when I was twelve? Do you recall how I mysteriously lost it and was so upset with myself? I still have no idea where it went to. I think of you every so often and yesterday at 2:55a.m was one of those times. I’ve been staying up late these past nights listening to music. I just don’t feel the need to sleep and the music keeps me focused and dreamy. Oh, the places I’ve been to when I’m half awake and half asleep…I feel so blessed. It’s very unlike me to stay awake at night and still feel energized in the morning after only four to five hours of what’s otherwise known as this little death.
When I wrote to you back in the day, I reached out to you like a younger sister to her older brother. I imagined us in a playground in the park getting sand in our hair and clothes. I was only five when you died on October 4, 1978. Today I write to you like an older sister would to a younger brother. Time has a way of doing that. You are eternally seventeen…
I think of that telling poem you wrote and often recite it to myself.
These things are good: ice cream and cake, a ride on a harley, seeing monkeys in the trees, the rain on my tongue, and the sun shining on my face. These things are a drag: dust in my hair, holes in my shoes, no money in my pocket, and the sun shining on my face.
I’m sorry that some kids can be cruel. I’m sorry that some people know not what they do. I’m sorry you had to carry such a heavy burden. I’m sorry that you had to die so young. If you had been my brother and anyone tried to mess with you, I swear, I would have killed them with a stroke of my pen. But you were loved Rocky. I like the light in your eyes, that smile on your face, your perseverance, your strength. You were a good kid with a solid heart and a strong will.
So, why last night? Why now do you choose to enter my mind? Do you want to tell me something? Huh? If you want Rock, you can visit me in a dream and smile your smile. Maybe, just maybe, I'll even let you speak to me. But I can't make any promises. And no matter what anyone says, you were a beautiful young man with a spirit so bright, one could feel your light from miles away. Just like now. I like how you transcend time and space.
May you rest in peace forever.
Sincerely,
Graziella
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
The Princess of Cups
Things are getting stranger. My feelings are strange. It’s all so surreal right now. I’ve been contemplating and struggling lately, internally. I picked up my Tarot deck—Aleister Crowley’s Thoth Tarot—before heading out to see my parents yesterday night. I’ve owned this deck for six plus years and was never fully drawn to it because of stories I’d heard of Mr. Crowley and because I knew there was real power and precision to the stories revealed by the pulling of cards as they related to one's life. Ever since my first blog of this year, I’ve been gravitating towards this deck. Any apprehension I once had is a thing of the past. I’m ready.
I stood by the kitchen counter with my coat on and felt I needed to pull three cards before heading out. In front of me lay a book about Gurdjieff, his face taking up most of the cover, his eyes staring right through me. I shuffled the cards thinking of Crowley and asked the universe to give me some insight about my current situation. As I lay down the cards, I was aware of Gurdjieff, my Jesus key chain on top of the book and Crowley in my head. I pulled the Six of Swords (Science), the Princess of Cups and the Ace of Disks. I took Lon Milo Duquette’s Understanding Aleister Crowley’s Thoth Tarot book with me and was excited about reading each of their descriptions while riding the bus.
I had pulled the Science card in the past as well as the Princess of Cups and even the Ace of Disks but this arrangement, this reading spoke to me directly. Perhaps, I’m paying more attention or am seeing the world through new eyes. I recall flipping the pages to find the Princess of Cups and being blown away when I read the description. Being the middle card, she represents the present. Everything I’ve learned of her is a reflection of the things I’ve been feeling and thinking and exploring.
She’s known as the Lover. She is a giver who holds a chalice in her hand that represents her heart which she is very protective of. Her heart fills the world. She lives in the realm of Romance and Emotion, but she’s able to manifest her dreams into reality because she’s earth of water. Now, this part is key. She’s not just a daydreamer. She’s able to intuit the world as it is and will things into being. She represents psychic abilities or heightened perception and may also reflect creativity in the way of writing, music and art. That’s me. Princesses are messengers and in this case, she may bring a new relationship, the birth of a child, or a new love.
I took her with me to work this morning and placed her on my desk to my right glancing over every now and then taking in the greens and blues of the card. I could have fallen asleep just staring at her. She keeps surprising me because while surfing the net and wanting to feed my curiosity, I came across a blog by a woman from Peru who devoted an entire page to the Princess of Cups. I could have cried reading it because it was deeply heartfelt--the way she described her sentiments and the pain she experienced, internally and in silence. She spoke of two paths and two loves and feeling the pressure of having to choose between one or the other and then coming to the realization that by choosing one, she was not only neglecting the other (which brought her more pain) but in doing so, was also denying aspects of herself. I thought that was brilliant, eye opening, freeing. She spoke of this kind of duality and how she feels she's risen above it but after much struggle. She realizes she can bring love to both differently without any guilt and that rules or morality, especially for a woman, can be a form of imprisonment if it denies her the capacity to love. Beautiful. And she got all this from pulling the Princess of Cups...
I'm still trying to piece things together for myself so I can't really offer that much in the way of insight but I think I'm getting close to understanding her role in my life at this time. Some parts are obvious, others a little obscure but as with all things, life unfolds and its messages revealed in due course, when we're ready, present and receptive.
I stood by the kitchen counter with my coat on and felt I needed to pull three cards before heading out. In front of me lay a book about Gurdjieff, his face taking up most of the cover, his eyes staring right through me. I shuffled the cards thinking of Crowley and asked the universe to give me some insight about my current situation. As I lay down the cards, I was aware of Gurdjieff, my Jesus key chain on top of the book and Crowley in my head. I pulled the Six of Swords (Science), the Princess of Cups and the Ace of Disks. I took Lon Milo Duquette’s Understanding Aleister Crowley’s Thoth Tarot book with me and was excited about reading each of their descriptions while riding the bus.
I had pulled the Science card in the past as well as the Princess of Cups and even the Ace of Disks but this arrangement, this reading spoke to me directly. Perhaps, I’m paying more attention or am seeing the world through new eyes. I recall flipping the pages to find the Princess of Cups and being blown away when I read the description. Being the middle card, she represents the present. Everything I’ve learned of her is a reflection of the things I’ve been feeling and thinking and exploring.
She’s known as the Lover. She is a giver who holds a chalice in her hand that represents her heart which she is very protective of. Her heart fills the world. She lives in the realm of Romance and Emotion, but she’s able to manifest her dreams into reality because she’s earth of water. Now, this part is key. She’s not just a daydreamer. She’s able to intuit the world as it is and will things into being. She represents psychic abilities or heightened perception and may also reflect creativity in the way of writing, music and art. That’s me. Princesses are messengers and in this case, she may bring a new relationship, the birth of a child, or a new love.
I took her with me to work this morning and placed her on my desk to my right glancing over every now and then taking in the greens and blues of the card. I could have fallen asleep just staring at her. She keeps surprising me because while surfing the net and wanting to feed my curiosity, I came across a blog by a woman from Peru who devoted an entire page to the Princess of Cups. I could have cried reading it because it was deeply heartfelt--the way she described her sentiments and the pain she experienced, internally and in silence. She spoke of two paths and two loves and feeling the pressure of having to choose between one or the other and then coming to the realization that by choosing one, she was not only neglecting the other (which brought her more pain) but in doing so, was also denying aspects of herself. I thought that was brilliant, eye opening, freeing. She spoke of this kind of duality and how she feels she's risen above it but after much struggle. She realizes she can bring love to both differently without any guilt and that rules or morality, especially for a woman, can be a form of imprisonment if it denies her the capacity to love. Beautiful. And she got all this from pulling the Princess of Cups...
I'm still trying to piece things together for myself so I can't really offer that much in the way of insight but I think I'm getting close to understanding her role in my life at this time. Some parts are obvious, others a little obscure but as with all things, life unfolds and its messages revealed in due course, when we're ready, present and receptive.
Monday, February 15, 2010
The realm of the unsaid
King Crimson's Starless has an opening melody that is unlike any other. What am I to do with a melody like that? What did Fripp have in mind? There's only two places one can go--the far past or the immediate present but never the future--the past consisting of unrealized dreams and the present, the awareness of what your life is really like. You've got to be still for that violin, that crying violin that just won't let up.
Muse's first album Showbiz was an oversight on my part. I can't believe what this album does to me. Bellamy was only 19 or 20 when he wrote the songs... Fillip is my favourite next to Unintended. The music shoots me out into space across the galaxies and then carries me on a wave back to earth over mountains and oceans, castles and forests and then out again to Mars and Venus, Saturn and Neptune... If it wasn't for music, I don't know how I'd survive, how any of us could. With Muse, I'm always walking out into some kind of torrential downpour and I don't mind it, not for one second because I always find the light and more. But truth be told, I'll take rain over sunshine anytime--to discover myself. Like I said, I lean towards the highly Romantic where Byron and Shelley roam.
Since writing my blogs and trying to be honest and truthful, I feel like I've been experiencing my life in a different way. It's like I can't hide from those things I once brushed off as unimportant or pointless. I can't run away anymore, as it were. I'm fascinated with the written word versus the spoken word. I'm fascinated by those things we don't say yet are able to hear when we speak with one another. I like how the written word can give a voice to unspoken thoughts, how it can be subtle and yet direct and profound. I like losing myself in the poetry of the piece.
I wonder what came first, the spoken word or the written word. It's hard to maintain a certain level of awareness in my daily life except when I reside here. I take refuge in music and expression in the form of writing. I think I'm also ready to pick up those pastels and coloured chalk I've neglected for way too long now. I miss the feel of the chalk between my index and middle finger. I miss getting lost in the human form and emotion.
Sometimes I wonder what all of this is for. I wonder how I'm going to be able to channel all of this energy. I don't know how to contain it. I'm so in love with this process, I'm actually afraid of it, of what it will show me, what it will tell me...about me. It's like when you fall head over heels for someone, you know, the one you didn't see coming, the unexpected one who makes you question just when you thought you had it all figured out. You want to know everything about them, what they taste like, what their fears are, what they dream of. And you want them to want you but you're afraid of what that could mean. What if Mr.Inspiration decides to leave? What if Mr.Magic no longer finds me worthy? What if Mr.Synchronicity gets bored?
What if all I'm left with is Mr.Guilt & Shame Inc.? What if Mr.Regret lingers and hovers like a bad omen? What if it's nothing but me and Mr.Disappointment? I can't have any of that. I refuse. There are always two paths in front of me. I stand between both. Path A is the comfortable path, the safe route, the one I've come to know, the one I'm supposed to greet with a smile and a warm hug. It's the path filled with all the usual and similar emotions we humans experience that often times takes away from the great and hides us from the truth. It's predictable, painfully predictable. You know how it goes--grow up, find a good job, marry, live in a big house and have some kids but never question anything. Questioning is the mirror that wakes us up to our potential. I can't tell you how many times I've cringed at this sort of nonchalant unfolding of events. Path B gives me a taste, a glimpse of something else, something more, where I see myself as I always intended myself to be but I don't know how to make it last, I don't know how to keep it present. It's full of wonder and magic, passion and beauty, darkness and depth.
When you're looking for that something, the universe answers back in a way you're able to understand. It always does. Always. I know it may seem that I am unhappy with my current lot and to some extent I have to be in order to propel me forward. One must be unsatisfied, otherwise there's no desire. I'm all about passion. For better or for worse, there's got to be passion. You don't know how many times I've wanted the answers, how I wish someone would just tell me what to do. It's not easy for us Geminis. We always have two choices but we can never seem to make a decision and when we do, it's often the wrong one. Sometimes wrong decisions are necessary to help us see what the right ones are.
I think there's a third path. It's the one that becomes apparent to you when you're not choosing between Path A or Path B, when you relinquish all control. It involves a complete surrendering. You don't know what's going to happen, how things will transpire but you trust all will be well. The blessings come in the form of revelations, situations, events, and people. An other is always involved in the transformation. Something about their light attracts your own. They more than help to change the course of your life. They change everything. Everything.
I don't know how I come up with this stuff. I really don't. I don't. Sometimes as I'm writing, I feel like the universe finds a clear opening to move through me. And then all of this is a result. I feel like a rag doll, moving from this place to that. And I'm supposed to be accepting of that? Yes, in many ways, I don't have a choice. I asked for this. Sometimes you have to be careful what you ask for because you may not be ready for what comes, especially if it's filled with intensity and heart, the kind you've been searching for your whole life.
Muse's first album Showbiz was an oversight on my part. I can't believe what this album does to me. Bellamy was only 19 or 20 when he wrote the songs... Fillip is my favourite next to Unintended. The music shoots me out into space across the galaxies and then carries me on a wave back to earth over mountains and oceans, castles and forests and then out again to Mars and Venus, Saturn and Neptune... If it wasn't for music, I don't know how I'd survive, how any of us could. With Muse, I'm always walking out into some kind of torrential downpour and I don't mind it, not for one second because I always find the light and more. But truth be told, I'll take rain over sunshine anytime--to discover myself. Like I said, I lean towards the highly Romantic where Byron and Shelley roam.
Since writing my blogs and trying to be honest and truthful, I feel like I've been experiencing my life in a different way. It's like I can't hide from those things I once brushed off as unimportant or pointless. I can't run away anymore, as it were. I'm fascinated with the written word versus the spoken word. I'm fascinated by those things we don't say yet are able to hear when we speak with one another. I like how the written word can give a voice to unspoken thoughts, how it can be subtle and yet direct and profound. I like losing myself in the poetry of the piece.
I wonder what came first, the spoken word or the written word. It's hard to maintain a certain level of awareness in my daily life except when I reside here. I take refuge in music and expression in the form of writing. I think I'm also ready to pick up those pastels and coloured chalk I've neglected for way too long now. I miss the feel of the chalk between my index and middle finger. I miss getting lost in the human form and emotion.
Sometimes I wonder what all of this is for. I wonder how I'm going to be able to channel all of this energy. I don't know how to contain it. I'm so in love with this process, I'm actually afraid of it, of what it will show me, what it will tell me...about me. It's like when you fall head over heels for someone, you know, the one you didn't see coming, the unexpected one who makes you question just when you thought you had it all figured out. You want to know everything about them, what they taste like, what their fears are, what they dream of. And you want them to want you but you're afraid of what that could mean. What if Mr.Inspiration decides to leave? What if Mr.Magic no longer finds me worthy? What if Mr.Synchronicity gets bored?
What if all I'm left with is Mr.Guilt & Shame Inc.? What if Mr.Regret lingers and hovers like a bad omen? What if it's nothing but me and Mr.Disappointment? I can't have any of that. I refuse. There are always two paths in front of me. I stand between both. Path A is the comfortable path, the safe route, the one I've come to know, the one I'm supposed to greet with a smile and a warm hug. It's the path filled with all the usual and similar emotions we humans experience that often times takes away from the great and hides us from the truth. It's predictable, painfully predictable. You know how it goes--grow up, find a good job, marry, live in a big house and have some kids but never question anything. Questioning is the mirror that wakes us up to our potential. I can't tell you how many times I've cringed at this sort of nonchalant unfolding of events. Path B gives me a taste, a glimpse of something else, something more, where I see myself as I always intended myself to be but I don't know how to make it last, I don't know how to keep it present. It's full of wonder and magic, passion and beauty, darkness and depth.
When you're looking for that something, the universe answers back in a way you're able to understand. It always does. Always. I know it may seem that I am unhappy with my current lot and to some extent I have to be in order to propel me forward. One must be unsatisfied, otherwise there's no desire. I'm all about passion. For better or for worse, there's got to be passion. You don't know how many times I've wanted the answers, how I wish someone would just tell me what to do. It's not easy for us Geminis. We always have two choices but we can never seem to make a decision and when we do, it's often the wrong one. Sometimes wrong decisions are necessary to help us see what the right ones are.
I think there's a third path. It's the one that becomes apparent to you when you're not choosing between Path A or Path B, when you relinquish all control. It involves a complete surrendering. You don't know what's going to happen, how things will transpire but you trust all will be well. The blessings come in the form of revelations, situations, events, and people. An other is always involved in the transformation. Something about their light attracts your own. They more than help to change the course of your life. They change everything. Everything.
I don't know how I come up with this stuff. I really don't. I don't. Sometimes as I'm writing, I feel like the universe finds a clear opening to move through me. And then all of this is a result. I feel like a rag doll, moving from this place to that. And I'm supposed to be accepting of that? Yes, in many ways, I don't have a choice. I asked for this. Sometimes you have to be careful what you ask for because you may not be ready for what comes, especially if it's filled with intensity and heart, the kind you've been searching for your whole life.
Friday, February 12, 2010
Vulnerability
I’ve wanted to talk about this for a long while, ever since the image of myself with a sword…It’s very embarrassing but since I like to play around with vulnerability, I’m just going to have to take the plunge. Anyhow, this is my blog and truth be told and as someone recently pointed out to me, I wouldn’t share this kind of stuff if I didn’t want or feel the need to.
There’s a line before me that I don’t cross. I’ve never crossed it. It has way too much power over me. Call it tradition, social restriction, convention, it doesn't matter--it enjoys looming over me. It keeps me in my place. I’ve been staring at this line and what it represents for a couple of months now asking myself what the fear is really all about. There’s always a fear involved, one that taunts me and the good news is that I let it, I allow it which means I have the power to affect change. Fear, worry, and anger are emotions I must do away with. They have never served me well or at least, not to the extent I would have liked them to. And since I am evolving to become master of my own life and emotions, I’ve decided to keep these little three devils in check.
Being free involves all levels of being. Vulnerability is my doorway to freedom. I don’t know how I came to that realization except that it makes sense to me. This vulnerability is unlike the one associated with succumbing to manipulation or persuasion or being in a position where one feels susceptible to physical or emotional attack. This kind of vulnerability I speak of actually creates an inner strength because our guard is down. It involves a complete surrendering to a now, to a moment, with the complete awareness that all will be fine and just. I can feel a kind of stirring, a deep sense of rejoicing as well as an uneasiness, a discomfort.
Recently, I received an email from a woman named Holly. I had written to her a little while ago thanking her for being an inspiration to me. She's a red head model from England who's hired by many photographers seeking to show the relationship between the human figure in Nature. I first came across her work in a website dedicated to everything pre-Raphaelite. Ivory, Holly's model name, inspires me to play around with images and feelings. You can tell she's a pro because even in her nakedness she's able to merge with her physical surroundings and still be apart from it creating an array of magical photographs. I wonder how she overcame her fear of being naked or whether she ever had the fear to begin with.
It’s one thing to dress up in medieval or pre-Raphaelite costume but it’s an entirely different thing to pose nude in Nature, by some majestic tree, stream or rock. I imagine myself feeling very small and insignificant in the presence of greens and earth. However, there is also a great power, I intuit, cultivated from within. The process is sensual and downright scary but it’s the closest thing I’ll get to feeling rooted in the earth and to being connected to something larger than myself so that all of these things become an extension of myself and I an extension of them.
Out there in the cold, the poets, every ruin, rock and leaf become alive and organic, and I want to be immersed in that, with all of my perfect imperfections. If only I could have the pictures taken without anybody behind the camera!! I can't help but feel exposed and transparent and yet I understand these create the necessary backdrop to self-discovery which is precisely why I am compelled to do this. This feeling of vulnerability is so unusual and carries much more power than the actual fear of subjecting my self like that. Each one of my insecurities comes to the forefront. It's designed to work this way. And who takes the pictures? Someone I know? Someone I don’t know? Does it matter, really? No and yes. I gather it needs to be someone I would feel self-conscious around, and not someone I'm completely comfortable with. That would be easier but this is meant to be difficult. It will hold more value for me.
This is crazy. I must stop writing. My cup is overflowing…
There’s a line before me that I don’t cross. I’ve never crossed it. It has way too much power over me. Call it tradition, social restriction, convention, it doesn't matter--it enjoys looming over me. It keeps me in my place. I’ve been staring at this line and what it represents for a couple of months now asking myself what the fear is really all about. There’s always a fear involved, one that taunts me and the good news is that I let it, I allow it which means I have the power to affect change. Fear, worry, and anger are emotions I must do away with. They have never served me well or at least, not to the extent I would have liked them to. And since I am evolving to become master of my own life and emotions, I’ve decided to keep these little three devils in check.
Being free involves all levels of being. Vulnerability is my doorway to freedom. I don’t know how I came to that realization except that it makes sense to me. This vulnerability is unlike the one associated with succumbing to manipulation or persuasion or being in a position where one feels susceptible to physical or emotional attack. This kind of vulnerability I speak of actually creates an inner strength because our guard is down. It involves a complete surrendering to a now, to a moment, with the complete awareness that all will be fine and just. I can feel a kind of stirring, a deep sense of rejoicing as well as an uneasiness, a discomfort.
Recently, I received an email from a woman named Holly. I had written to her a little while ago thanking her for being an inspiration to me. She's a red head model from England who's hired by many photographers seeking to show the relationship between the human figure in Nature. I first came across her work in a website dedicated to everything pre-Raphaelite. Ivory, Holly's model name, inspires me to play around with images and feelings. You can tell she's a pro because even in her nakedness she's able to merge with her physical surroundings and still be apart from it creating an array of magical photographs. I wonder how she overcame her fear of being naked or whether she ever had the fear to begin with.
It’s one thing to dress up in medieval or pre-Raphaelite costume but it’s an entirely different thing to pose nude in Nature, by some majestic tree, stream or rock. I imagine myself feeling very small and insignificant in the presence of greens and earth. However, there is also a great power, I intuit, cultivated from within. The process is sensual and downright scary but it’s the closest thing I’ll get to feeling rooted in the earth and to being connected to something larger than myself so that all of these things become an extension of myself and I an extension of them.
Out there in the cold, the poets, every ruin, rock and leaf become alive and organic, and I want to be immersed in that, with all of my perfect imperfections. If only I could have the pictures taken without anybody behind the camera!! I can't help but feel exposed and transparent and yet I understand these create the necessary backdrop to self-discovery which is precisely why I am compelled to do this. This feeling of vulnerability is so unusual and carries much more power than the actual fear of subjecting my self like that. Each one of my insecurities comes to the forefront. It's designed to work this way. And who takes the pictures? Someone I know? Someone I don’t know? Does it matter, really? No and yes. I gather it needs to be someone I would feel self-conscious around, and not someone I'm completely comfortable with. That would be easier but this is meant to be difficult. It will hold more value for me.
This is crazy. I must stop writing. My cup is overflowing…
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Conversations with the Page of Wands
What do you want?
You summoned me.
What do I need to know?
Would you like me to tell you what you already know?
What would the point in that be?
Repetition.
So this is going to be nothing but riddles, huh?
This will be whatever you want it to be.
I don't know what I want.
Oh, but you do.
I bring good news which is exactly what you need.
I'm trying to understand who or what you represent in my life. I sense my life will never be the same now that you've entered it.
You must choose.
Choose?
Accept or decline.
What?
Now, that would be too easy. I may be young but I'm not stupid.
Why must I even choose? Why not carry on as before?
Well there, you made your choice.
Hold on a second. I don't even know what I'm choosing between?
Your old and new life.
You must display your love to the world even if it makes you feel uncomfortable.
You must continue to let your heart say what it must.
You can change the course of your destiny.
Change will come. It has come. It is here.
You think no one hears you.
You sense it's all for nothing.
I'm here to tell you that others are listening.
You are inspired and so you must keep going.
I support you.
I am the spark and the light of creation.
You have so much fire, so much passion. Why bother with me?
I see potential. I see the birth of new things.
I'm afraid. What if the excitement compels me to cross a line?
Then you'll deal with whatever transpires. Isn't that what the Strength card tells you?
No, it's the Lust card that tells me that--Crowley had a different focus.
Yes.
Morality and ethics weigh heavy on me. There's an inner struggle that's taken shape but it's feeding my creativity. It's this struggle that keeps me inspired to keep exploring. It just seems all wrong and yet so right. I don't want it any other way. I've always done the right thing. I will always do the right thing. I'm just not so sure what the right thing is. Is the voice of tradition speaking or am I evolving into my self? The card tells me I'm walking into danger but that I'll know how to handle it. I must be the maiden taming the lion.
There is no danger here except for the danger you create in your mind. Doesn't the Lust card also tell you to delight in the moment? To engage with life? To pay attention?
I wish I had your vision, your lightheartedness, your enthusiasm.
I don't show up in a reading unless the querent possesses these qualities...
You summoned me.
What do I need to know?
Would you like me to tell you what you already know?
What would the point in that be?
Repetition.
So this is going to be nothing but riddles, huh?
This will be whatever you want it to be.
I don't know what I want.
Oh, but you do.
I bring good news which is exactly what you need.
I'm trying to understand who or what you represent in my life. I sense my life will never be the same now that you've entered it.
You must choose.
Choose?
Accept or decline.
What?
Now, that would be too easy. I may be young but I'm not stupid.
Why must I even choose? Why not carry on as before?
Well there, you made your choice.
Hold on a second. I don't even know what I'm choosing between?
Your old and new life.
You must display your love to the world even if it makes you feel uncomfortable.
You must continue to let your heart say what it must.
You can change the course of your destiny.
Change will come. It has come. It is here.
You think no one hears you.
You sense it's all for nothing.
I'm here to tell you that others are listening.
You are inspired and so you must keep going.
I support you.
I am the spark and the light of creation.
You have so much fire, so much passion. Why bother with me?
I see potential. I see the birth of new things.
I'm afraid. What if the excitement compels me to cross a line?
Then you'll deal with whatever transpires. Isn't that what the Strength card tells you?
No, it's the Lust card that tells me that--Crowley had a different focus.
Yes.
Morality and ethics weigh heavy on me. There's an inner struggle that's taken shape but it's feeding my creativity. It's this struggle that keeps me inspired to keep exploring. It just seems all wrong and yet so right. I don't want it any other way. I've always done the right thing. I will always do the right thing. I'm just not so sure what the right thing is. Is the voice of tradition speaking or am I evolving into my self? The card tells me I'm walking into danger but that I'll know how to handle it. I must be the maiden taming the lion.
There is no danger here except for the danger you create in your mind. Doesn't the Lust card also tell you to delight in the moment? To engage with life? To pay attention?
I wish I had your vision, your lightheartedness, your enthusiasm.
I don't show up in a reading unless the querent possesses these qualities...
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