"Unity" by Kathryn Preston
There is an Irish band called, "Gaelic Storm Tree,"
and they have a song entitled, "Swimmin' in the Sea." A
partial lyric is "... the Earth is my home."
Since we are all born of this Earth, it is my belief that we
are all more the same than not. If you go back far enough in time ... eventually you will find that we all come from the same source.
The dividing lines
that we create in our loyalties, from sports teams to
political factions to extreme nationalism, are
illusions that keep us separate. It has long been a
dream of mine to live abroad, study different
cultures, and to generally feel "at home" in the
world, wherever I may go.
This dream is seriously being impeded by
corporate cronies' and their political policies.
However, I believe we are seeing the
beginning of the breakdown of corporate structures due to corruption backfiring.
Enron, BP and others are not only showing us our collective dark
side, but are also showing us how far our shift toward
materialism has taken us away from our collective soul.
The struggles in the external world are a direct reflection of the
struggle within each of us. I believe the world's
inhabitants are engaged in the archetypal story of the
prodigal son returning home.
The current era is
gearing all of us toward finding out who we really are,
which will create the path "home."
In the search for “who I am,” I have researched and experienced
tribal/indigenous spirituality and cultures, and have concluded
that my previous role as an actor in the theater was Shamanic in nature.
The Shaman essentially takes an inner experience and
performs it, with props, turning an internal
experience into an external experience for
participants and on-lookers. This creates a pathway
for collective healing and catharsis. This was the
thinking behind Greek theater. The Greeks
believed that catharsis was beneficial to all of
society and theater attendance was mandatory.
My time in the Theater was a starting point for inner
exploration. Infinitely interested in the
mysteries of the universe, questions of individual
purpose, and issues of healing, Acting was my
vehicle toward that end. Theater is more than an
intellectual excercise, more than entertaiment.
Theater is ritualization of the soul. As such, its
capacity for healing society's wounds and the aches in
our hearts is infinite. Acting and Improvisation lets us become so
intimate (with ourselves and the rest of humanity)
through empathy and exploration, that we begin
to understand others foibles, and thus, our own.
From this understanding, compassion is born.
As we
witness a world shaken by violence and trauma,
standing on the brink of seemingly never-ending war,
Compassion is crying out for release from
the shackles of our subconscious. As our awareness
becomes increasingly global, the values of understanding,
compassion, and tolerance are more and more in
demand. The demand will be supplied those whose vision
for our nation and our planet is life-affirming and
inclusive, rather than destructive and exclusionary.
Historically, in times of chaos, the Arts have
experienced a resurgence. It is my fervent belief that
a living, breathing Theater is needed now more than
ever.
Our planet is quite possibly in the throes of the
greatest cultural transformation, or paradigm shift,
ever known. If the U.S.’ mission is to
"light the way" to freedom, then the old ways of invasion, destruction,
occupation, and exploitation must begin to play a
minor role in this epic drama of ours. The U.S. must
be a true leader who commits to creating solutions
that benefit all.
The new, true leaders will be those who utilize
creativity,imagination, and compassion to create a new reality.
One of the ways that artists can serve at the
forefront of this revolution is by doing what we do
best. The roles actors play are Jung's archetypes of
the subconscious. The symbolic languauge of mythology and story
are the same thing our dreams our made of. The theater
and the actor serve as gateways for communication
between the conscious mind and the soul. The actor's
willingness to see others as a reflection of the self
creates a bridge between human beings. The actor's
ability to translate the myths of one culture to
another can create a bridge based upon the
commonalities that exist in the human consciousness.
Exploring and translating the myths of different
cultures allows us to understand what people believe
in and value. To that end, Impovisation may be an
increasingly effective tool for creating bridges between cultures.
Hearing others values,
and listening to why those values have been developed,
may lead us to discover that people we perceive as
being completely alien to us, actually have hearts
like ours that have been wounded, and they are trying
to protect themselves from further pain. I believe that
this common human story is the basis for most of the
agressive power-plays at every level of human
interaction in the world. Our deepest desires to
better our circumstances, to protect what is ours,
and to minimize pain for ourselves and our loved ones,
is a basic desire of people everywhere. Add to this
the possibility that we are all One, that everyone we
encounter is a reflection of some facet of ourselves, that our
"enemy" is actually our brother.
"Do unto others as you would have them do unto you,"
makes a lot of sense if we actually believe that "the other,"
the stranger, the enemy,
is really a facet of ourselves being reflected back to us.
Previous experience as an actor has taught me to
imagine the very thoughts that lead a person to behave
as he does. It has crossed my mind that in creating
the actual thoughts of another person, I have actually become
(metaphorically or literally) that other person. Some
say this is insanity... or perhaps… it just might be UNITY.
I believe that if two people are capable
of unity, then a group of like-minded people are capable
of it, and it is my greatest hope that the
whole world will be capable of creating such empathy
that fear will no longer be commonplace because
we will know each other’s
thoughts and hearts just by reading the smiles on each
others’ faces. Then, all the prodigal sons and
daughters (like me)will have returned "home."
Friday, December 24, 2010
Friday, October 8, 2010
The Kiva
The Kiva by Kathryn Preston
Riding in the El Dorado with the top down on that one-lane highway, her “baby” at the wheel, she felt a sense of expansion and freedom she hadn’t felt for a while. It had been way too long since she had been out on the open road and she was ripe for this trip. Her sense of adventure was open full throttle!
They were headed out to the Kiva in Marble, CO. National Geographic had sent them to get the story and photos. In this particular Kiva, no photography had ever been allowed prior to this moment in time. She had written a story, and he had provided the eerily intuitive photographs for Cowboys and Indians magazine that had won the stamp of approval of Colorado’s Ute elders. Permission to cover the Marble, CO Kiva was now being granted to them by a local Ute tribe because they had proven their ability to “become native,” to get inside indigenous ways of thinking and being, and to truly understand and empathize from the inside-out. The two of them, the writer and the photographer, saw it as part of their unified mission in life to portray these beautiful people as the allies to humanity and stewards of the Earth that they truly are, and to illuminate their ancient ways of knowing in an attempt to create an alternative consciousness to the current forces of destruction being pursued by the rampant, self-absorbed consumerism of the patriarchy.
Discovering and disseminating indigenous ways of being
are also part of the effort to liberate the divine-feminine principle that has been suppressed for over 2,000 years. Our heroine also believes that freeing the divine-feminine from mental slavery is freeing herself. As Lilla Watson, the aboriginal activist said, "If you have come here to help me, you are wasting your time. But if you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us work together."
The dynamic duo couldn't wait to investigate! The stories and images they collaborated on were nothing short of magical. She was forever mystified by him, the photographer, who could convey a whole story via a single image. He thought in abstract images, which was very much like indigenous peoples’ ways of knowing. Like the Lakota Sioux elder who had reportedly “seen” the arrival of the white man’s “iron horses” (locomotives) before they ever set foot on the continent, the photographer was her very own “noble savage.” To her, he was a vessel for the Muses, an open channel through which the universe could express and experience itself, and he was a compassionate person, to boot. In other words, he reflected the best parts of herself back to her.
Their current assignment was exactly what they wanted their lives to be about. Previously, she had shown him a childhood photo of herself, her nose buried in a children's book entitled, “Magic Tricks!” She thought this snapshot was as close as one could get to a photograph of her soul. Over the years, she had come to believe deeply in real magic. Not the “Hogwarts” kind, but the kind that sees a tree grow from a seed, a fetus emerge from the womb … and she never ceased to be amazed by the genius of the designs behind our natural earthly systems. To watch lightning as it strikes in the sky and think how similar it is to the flow of lava running down the side of a volcano, or a mountain stream flowing to the sea, or to the blood that runs through our veins, or the veins of a leaf, or the branches in a tree, and on and on. These energy flows are repeating patterns all throughout Nature. What do these similarities tell us?
She had the feeling it all had something to do with being created "in the image of" the Source of all things. This was something she'd like to discuss with a Shaman.
As she ruminated, the warm desert sun and wind caressed her, and left her feeling warm, open, beautiful, content: like
a good lover should. She thought about the symbolism of the Sun in Native American and other cultures: “Father Sun,” representing masculine energies. “Masculine” in this sense having nothing to do with gender, but referring to action-oriented energies rather than activities like listening, receiving, or gestating ideas, which are traditionally “feminine,” intuitive energies. She mused that this man, whose shoulder she was now resting her head upon, was like the Sun: a life-affirming force with whom she knew she could grow. She, on the other hand, was more a symbol of the feminine, receptive energies: incredibly intuitive, imaginative, a good listener, always brewing ideas to be birthed at a later time. She knew that he had appeared in her life at the right time: just when she had become aware of her need to honor the masculine energies within herself. Yes, he was her Love, but he was also a teacher sent by the Universe: the Creator, the Great Spirit, God. He would never say that he was a teacher because he didn’t feel that he was. She, however, knew that he was teaching her to be more action-oriented. Not action-oriented like a bull-dozer that moves forward with no consciousness about how its progress affects others or the environment, but action-energies that are tempered with compassion (the feminine) rather than tyranny (the human ego run-amuck). He was teaching merely by being who he was. She knew that she had a singular tendency to focus only on the intuitive, inner states of being because she concurred with what Carl Jung had said in his autobiography: that the inner world was equally as fascinating as anything happening in the outside world. She knew she needed balance, though. She needed to get more active in the physical world about bringing her ideas to life. In many cultures, there is a saying: “when the student is ready, the teacher will appear.” It was this frame of mind that she was in when she decided to march right down to National Geographic and apply for a job as a staff writer. She had the awareness, and knew that a teacher would appear. And lo and behold, who should appear when she was given her first assignment? The photographer. The moment she met him, she knew who he was. But she didn’t say anything for quite some time because, as we all know, it takes men a little longer to catch-on to such things. (wink). It was better for him to realize it in his own time. And time is something that we all have more of than we think we do.
To the photographer, she was fair of face, easy on the eyes. Anyone could see that. What others might not realize at first glance is that her Spirit was as voluptuous as her physical form. He saw that she was a child of nature and he loved that about her. She had a connection with nature that turned something on inside of her, something primal, transcendental. He loved that she could go out into the woods alone for hours and come back to read him the most amazing poetry that she had written while communing with her Muses: the woodland fairies, ancestral spirits, or higher self. Whatever that something was … she was connected to it. She created
magic for others, and he adored her for it. He felt it was his job to protect her from human parasites that would prey on her and take advantage of her good nature. This had already happened to her many times before she met him. He also knew that she could be hard on herself because she had unconsciously taken on the role of her calloused childhood care-takers. She had a terrible time trusting people and could be very hard on herself. He understood this and saw that she was becoming more aware with every passing day. The more aware she became, the more the distrust seemed to disappear. His unconditional acceptance of her had helped her immensely, and he knew she needed that. She recognized this too, and as a result, grew more trusting and loving as time went on.
He was a wise person. He understood the fundamental duality of the universe and knew that because we are all mirror images of the universe, all of humanity contains this duality as well. Dark and light, feminine and masculine, chaos and bliss. Can't have one without the other, and you must take the bad with the good. To that end, he gave her space when she needed it, and knew that when she was ready and had processed whatever was troubling her, she would return renewed, having spent time alone with her Spirit. She had purity and passion all rolled into one. He knew that Beauty, as an expression of divinity, was the thinking behind the painting of the Sistine Chapel, and she personified this aesthetic for him. She was his very own archetypal Venus-Lillith-incarnate.
The moment they arrived at the Kiva, a shift in consciousness hit them instantly. Like a scene in a Castaneda novel where Carlos receives a smack in the back from his mentor Don Juan Matus, propelling him into a new dimension, they had landed in another reality.
A Ute elder greeted them at the entrance to the Kiva as dry red dust from the surrounding hills swirled around the trio like spirit dancers or whirling dervishes. Their guide seemed young for an “elder,” but they both knew that he must be very well respected by his tribe in order to have been chosen to guide them. He introduced himself as Swift Eagle, or “Swifty” for short, and he invited them to join him in a cleansing, purifying ceremony called Smudging. Before entering the kiva, he burned some sage sticks tied in a small bundle and used an eagle feather to fan the purifying smoke around their heads and around the perimeter of their bodies. The duo held hands, closed their eyes and took long luxurious breaths, inhaling the scent of the sacred herb. Swifty explained softly that the way we breathe is a metaphor for the way we relate to one another on this planet. Short, staccato breaths equate with quick, superficial encounters. Long, deep breaths indicate taking one's time to listen and relate. The writer in her observed that Swifty’s skin was like a road-map of the local terrain. The dryness of the desert had carved deep grooves into his reddish-brown skin as wind and water had carved deep canyons and valleys into Mother Earth.
Properly purified, they began the descent into the kiva. The photographer knew that his soul-twin was noting the symbolism of every moment. He remembered her previously telling him that according to Jungian analysis, descending stairs in dreams represents entry into the world of the unconscious: dreams, archetypes, and the collective knowledge of all our ancestors’. He knew she was thinking about this as they descended the stairway, and he looked at her with a knowing smile as he squeezed her hand.
They were inside the most magical of places, the Kiva, the cave, the womb of mother Earth. The place of entering in. Dark, dank, and mysterious, a sanctuary. A place of transformation. Swifty suggested that like the female womb, the kiva was a portal for spirit to travel from one reality to another.
They sat on the cool, red earth as Swifty built a fire. He explained that he was going to chant some prayers in his native tongue to invoke spirit helpers and that the two of them were welcome to vocalize as well, in whatever fashion they chose: words, prayers, song; as long as their intent was to call for guidance from Spirit. Our heroine was not only a writer, but fancied herself a singer as well, and she began to improvise vocals that were hybrids of Lakota tunes and South African rhythms she had heard before. The photographer added to the cacophony by praying out loud for all the good things he wanted to happen for his family and friends.The acoustics in the Kiva were astounding and created a sense of euphoria that was exhilarating. She secretly wished she could have a recording of the chant because it struck her as improvisation, creativity, and spirituality at their finest. There was no need to even break them down into separate categories like that. They were all one. She sneaked a tiny peak at her love. His eyes were closed and he was smiling. They were both ecstatic. Soon, Swifty began to wind-down his chanting and they followed suit.
After a moment or two of silence, Swifty asked them to clear their minds and join him on a journey back in time. He chanted the word, “remember” over and over, for what seemed like an eternity, and she sensed he was entering a trance. He had asked them to allow images or pictures to enter their mind’s eye. For a while, she saw nothing and decided to just focus on her breathing. As she relaxed more deeply, she began to see quick flashes, like photos projected on a screen. They seemed to be images of the middle ages: castles, horses, sword fighting, lots of mud, and dreary looking weather. She thought that it was filthy, this locale she was seeing, and she wouldn’t want to live there. But just as she had this thought, Swifty said softly, “try not to judge what you’re seeing. Just observe.” (A bit eerie how he seemed to know what she was thinking.) Soon the images became like a movie, and she had the feeling she was watching a story reminiscent of Joan of Arc, messenger of God. She found this interesting because the mythology behind her own ruling planet, Mercury, is that Gemini (her zodiac sign) is the “messenger of the Gods."
She felt a bit like Joan of Arc, in that relating information about, or from, “the divine” was part of her life’s purpose. She was a spiritual devotee, one who believed that all paths lead to the divine, even those that seem dark or difficult. Sometimes humans can be so dense or preoccupied with trivial, mundane things that the universe has to create tragedy or some type of pain or hardship in order to wake people up, so that we learn the lessons we came here to learn and move to the next level of consciousness. She thought about how dense she must have been because it had taken a lot of pain, years of it, in order to absolutely break her heart in a manner that would force it to stay open and let love flow freely in and out. The biggest mistake she had made was making the pain a part of her identity, believing herself a victim. However, in the end, Pain had been transformational and she had cocooned herself from society for a while in order to really heal. Emerging from the chrysalis of healing, she felt that new life was beginning inside of her; she was seeing life from a new vantage point. She was feeling free these days, but the price she had paid for that freedom was not unlike that of a soldier at war. In the end, she became so fed up with being in pain that she had gathered up all her force of will and changed her life. Pain is one of the most powerful teachers that we have in this life. Transforming that pain into compassion via empathy is the greatest triumph of the human spirit. Further, transforming empathy into action, according to Nelson Mandela, that "respects and enhances the freedom of others" is a soulful goal that can lead to an alternate reality of unity, rather than one of fear and domination. She knew well from personal experience that sometimes one has to go through darkness in order to find the light. She knew, from having gone deep within herself, to places where most people fear to tread, that light and dark, masculine or feminine (or any opposite energies) exist within one another, not separately. And it's not true that light is good while darkness is bad. The purpose of life is to integrate these opposing energies within ourselves … sometimes a lonely and daunting path … sometimes alive and ecstatic. Like now. She couldn’t wait to hear what her love was experiencing.
He was seeing a lot of black. The darkness reminded him of outer-space. He thought about all the times they’d gone camping and stared up at the night sky, the stars, the cosmos, and felt something sublime, an affinity, a recognition that “outer-space” exists within himself. He had first gotten in touch with his “inner-space” while taking acting classes in college. He had gone so far inside himself as an actor attempting to portray another human being that he felt he had gone to another place, a place beyond himself, beyond empathy, where he could tap into universal consciousness. There were these moments he had experienced onstage, where time stopped and there were no thoughts, only a hyper-real sense of being fully in the moment, where nothing else mattered but the awareness of this moment.
But he had never heard his fellow actors describe any such experiences, for them it was all about the ego, and after a while that superficial quality led him away from acting to seek
others like himself. He had found the love of his life, his soul-twin through photo-journalism, and together they were seeking a community of like-minded souls, which is what had led them to this very moment.
The blackness behind his closed lids had turned into a swirling purple haze, the color of spiritual “sight.” He saw images of bats: sleeping, flying, hanging upside down. Later, Swifty explained that bats are symbols of transformation, a reflection of what is transpiring deep within the psyche.
Presently, Swifty said he was going to blindfold the duo for their climb back up the ladder and their re-entrance into ordinary reality. The blindfold represented the veil between the worlds. When they reached the top they would begin to see life anew with the insights they had gained in the Kiva. When they got to the top of the ladder, Swifty explained that as they returned to the surface, it would be as if they were emerging from the womb of Mother Earth. So, they climbed up the ladder and sat at the opening of the kiva in silence until Swifty came up to take the blindfolds off. He asked them to each come up with an intention that they wanted to carry out into the world with them. He gave them each a candle, and as they were lit, Swifty asked them to speak their intention aloud. Verbalizing creates a vibration in the material world that aids in bringing intentions out of the world of thought and into physical reality. As she spoke her intention, she became overwhelmed by a heightened sense of reality. She began to cry with the recognition of the sheer beauty of this world we live in. At that moment, she felt that everything in the world was perfect and beautiful and as it should be. She realized that even during difficult times, things are actually unfolding as they should. Sometimes difficult events in our lives help us see where we have gotten off-track, or they give us the experience we will need to deal with what lies on the road ahead. But it was this feeling that everything was as it should be that filled her with wonder.
And if the two of them could find a community of people that were truly interested in doing the same, then they really could create a little bit of heaven on earth. It’s like Margaret Mead said, “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.”
She thought about this man by her side and what an absolute miracle it was that he appeared in her life: her mystic man, her best friend, partner, and fellow mischief-maker. If she were to interpret her life as a waking dream, she realized that he was a mirror, a part of herself being reflected back to her. Loving him was loving the deepest parts of herself, and in turn, loving the source that created us all.
Suddenly, she remembered a line from a play. The play was that old chestnut, “Our Town,” and Emily Gibbs asks, “Does anyone ever realize life while they live it? Every, every moment?” And she was sure that there were people who did. Thornton Wilder may have been one. Swifty may be one, Buddha, Jesus, the Dalai Lama, Ghandi, Martin Luther King, the avatars in India. She longed to be like them, to fully realize life and her soul’s true purpose.
Riding in the El Dorado with the top down on that one-lane highway, her “baby” at the wheel, she felt a sense of expansion and freedom she hadn’t felt for a while. It had been way too long since she had been out on the open road and she was ripe for this trip. Her sense of adventure was open full throttle!
They were headed out to the Kiva in Marble, CO. National Geographic had sent them to get the story and photos. In this particular Kiva, no photography had ever been allowed prior to this moment in time. She had written a story, and he had provided the eerily intuitive photographs for Cowboys and Indians magazine that had won the stamp of approval of Colorado’s Ute elders. Permission to cover the Marble, CO Kiva was now being granted to them by a local Ute tribe because they had proven their ability to “become native,” to get inside indigenous ways of thinking and being, and to truly understand and empathize from the inside-out. The two of them, the writer and the photographer, saw it as part of their unified mission in life to portray these beautiful people as the allies to humanity and stewards of the Earth that they truly are, and to illuminate their ancient ways of knowing in an attempt to create an alternative consciousness to the current forces of destruction being pursued by the rampant, self-absorbed consumerism of the patriarchy.
Discovering and disseminating indigenous ways of being
are also part of the effort to liberate the divine-feminine principle that has been suppressed for over 2,000 years. Our heroine also believes that freeing the divine-feminine from mental slavery is freeing herself. As Lilla Watson, the aboriginal activist said, "If you have come here to help me, you are wasting your time. But if you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us work together."
The dynamic duo couldn't wait to investigate! The stories and images they collaborated on were nothing short of magical. She was forever mystified by him, the photographer, who could convey a whole story via a single image. He thought in abstract images, which was very much like indigenous peoples’ ways of knowing. Like the Lakota Sioux elder who had reportedly “seen” the arrival of the white man’s “iron horses” (locomotives) before they ever set foot on the continent, the photographer was her very own “noble savage.” To her, he was a vessel for the Muses, an open channel through which the universe could express and experience itself, and he was a compassionate person, to boot. In other words, he reflected the best parts of herself back to her.
Their current assignment was exactly what they wanted their lives to be about. Previously, she had shown him a childhood photo of herself, her nose buried in a children's book entitled, “Magic Tricks!” She thought this snapshot was as close as one could get to a photograph of her soul. Over the years, she had come to believe deeply in real magic. Not the “Hogwarts” kind, but the kind that sees a tree grow from a seed, a fetus emerge from the womb … and she never ceased to be amazed by the genius of the designs behind our natural earthly systems. To watch lightning as it strikes in the sky and think how similar it is to the flow of lava running down the side of a volcano, or a mountain stream flowing to the sea, or to the blood that runs through our veins, or the veins of a leaf, or the branches in a tree, and on and on. These energy flows are repeating patterns all throughout Nature. What do these similarities tell us?
She had the feeling it all had something to do with being created "in the image of" the Source of all things. This was something she'd like to discuss with a Shaman.
As she ruminated, the warm desert sun and wind caressed her, and left her feeling warm, open, beautiful, content: like
a good lover should. She thought about the symbolism of the Sun in Native American and other cultures: “Father Sun,” representing masculine energies. “Masculine” in this sense having nothing to do with gender, but referring to action-oriented energies rather than activities like listening, receiving, or gestating ideas, which are traditionally “feminine,” intuitive energies. She mused that this man, whose shoulder she was now resting her head upon, was like the Sun: a life-affirming force with whom she knew she could grow. She, on the other hand, was more a symbol of the feminine, receptive energies: incredibly intuitive, imaginative, a good listener, always brewing ideas to be birthed at a later time. She knew that he had appeared in her life at the right time: just when she had become aware of her need to honor the masculine energies within herself. Yes, he was her Love, but he was also a teacher sent by the Universe: the Creator, the Great Spirit, God. He would never say that he was a teacher because he didn’t feel that he was. She, however, knew that he was teaching her to be more action-oriented. Not action-oriented like a bull-dozer that moves forward with no consciousness about how its progress affects others or the environment, but action-energies that are tempered with compassion (the feminine) rather than tyranny (the human ego run-amuck). He was teaching merely by being who he was. She knew that she had a singular tendency to focus only on the intuitive, inner states of being because she concurred with what Carl Jung had said in his autobiography: that the inner world was equally as fascinating as anything happening in the outside world. She knew she needed balance, though. She needed to get more active in the physical world about bringing her ideas to life. In many cultures, there is a saying: “when the student is ready, the teacher will appear.” It was this frame of mind that she was in when she decided to march right down to National Geographic and apply for a job as a staff writer. She had the awareness, and knew that a teacher would appear. And lo and behold, who should appear when she was given her first assignment? The photographer. The moment she met him, she knew who he was. But she didn’t say anything for quite some time because, as we all know, it takes men a little longer to catch-on to such things. (wink). It was better for him to realize it in his own time. And time is something that we all have more of than we think we do.
To the photographer, she was fair of face, easy on the eyes. Anyone could see that. What others might not realize at first glance is that her Spirit was as voluptuous as her physical form. He saw that she was a child of nature and he loved that about her. She had a connection with nature that turned something on inside of her, something primal, transcendental. He loved that she could go out into the woods alone for hours and come back to read him the most amazing poetry that she had written while communing with her Muses: the woodland fairies, ancestral spirits, or higher self. Whatever that something was … she was connected to it. She created
magic for others, and he adored her for it. He felt it was his job to protect her from human parasites that would prey on her and take advantage of her good nature. This had already happened to her many times before she met him. He also knew that she could be hard on herself because she had unconsciously taken on the role of her calloused childhood care-takers. She had a terrible time trusting people and could be very hard on herself. He understood this and saw that she was becoming more aware with every passing day. The more aware she became, the more the distrust seemed to disappear. His unconditional acceptance of her had helped her immensely, and he knew she needed that. She recognized this too, and as a result, grew more trusting and loving as time went on.
He was a wise person. He understood the fundamental duality of the universe and knew that because we are all mirror images of the universe, all of humanity contains this duality as well. Dark and light, feminine and masculine, chaos and bliss. Can't have one without the other, and you must take the bad with the good. To that end, he gave her space when she needed it, and knew that when she was ready and had processed whatever was troubling her, she would return renewed, having spent time alone with her Spirit. She had purity and passion all rolled into one. He knew that Beauty, as an expression of divinity, was the thinking behind the painting of the Sistine Chapel, and she personified this aesthetic for him. She was his very own archetypal Venus-Lillith-incarnate.
The moment they arrived at the Kiva, a shift in consciousness hit them instantly. Like a scene in a Castaneda novel where Carlos receives a smack in the back from his mentor Don Juan Matus, propelling him into a new dimension, they had landed in another reality.
A Ute elder greeted them at the entrance to the Kiva as dry red dust from the surrounding hills swirled around the trio like spirit dancers or whirling dervishes. Their guide seemed young for an “elder,” but they both knew that he must be very well respected by his tribe in order to have been chosen to guide them. He introduced himself as Swift Eagle, or “Swifty” for short, and he invited them to join him in a cleansing, purifying ceremony called Smudging. Before entering the kiva, he burned some sage sticks tied in a small bundle and used an eagle feather to fan the purifying smoke around their heads and around the perimeter of their bodies. The duo held hands, closed their eyes and took long luxurious breaths, inhaling the scent of the sacred herb. Swifty explained softly that the way we breathe is a metaphor for the way we relate to one another on this planet. Short, staccato breaths equate with quick, superficial encounters. Long, deep breaths indicate taking one's time to listen and relate. The writer in her observed that Swifty’s skin was like a road-map of the local terrain. The dryness of the desert had carved deep grooves into his reddish-brown skin as wind and water had carved deep canyons and valleys into Mother Earth.
Properly purified, they began the descent into the kiva. The photographer knew that his soul-twin was noting the symbolism of every moment. He remembered her previously telling him that according to Jungian analysis, descending stairs in dreams represents entry into the world of the unconscious: dreams, archetypes, and the collective knowledge of all our ancestors’. He knew she was thinking about this as they descended the stairway, and he looked at her with a knowing smile as he squeezed her hand.
They were inside the most magical of places, the Kiva, the cave, the womb of mother Earth. The place of entering in. Dark, dank, and mysterious, a sanctuary. A place of transformation. Swifty suggested that like the female womb, the kiva was a portal for spirit to travel from one reality to another.
They sat on the cool, red earth as Swifty built a fire. He explained that he was going to chant some prayers in his native tongue to invoke spirit helpers and that the two of them were welcome to vocalize as well, in whatever fashion they chose: words, prayers, song; as long as their intent was to call for guidance from Spirit. Our heroine was not only a writer, but fancied herself a singer as well, and she began to improvise vocals that were hybrids of Lakota tunes and South African rhythms she had heard before. The photographer added to the cacophony by praying out loud for all the good things he wanted to happen for his family and friends.The acoustics in the Kiva were astounding and created a sense of euphoria that was exhilarating. She secretly wished she could have a recording of the chant because it struck her as improvisation, creativity, and spirituality at their finest. There was no need to even break them down into separate categories like that. They were all one. She sneaked a tiny peak at her love. His eyes were closed and he was smiling. They were both ecstatic. Soon, Swifty began to wind-down his chanting and they followed suit.
After a moment or two of silence, Swifty asked them to clear their minds and join him on a journey back in time. He chanted the word, “remember” over and over, for what seemed like an eternity, and she sensed he was entering a trance. He had asked them to allow images or pictures to enter their mind’s eye. For a while, she saw nothing and decided to just focus on her breathing. As she relaxed more deeply, she began to see quick flashes, like photos projected on a screen. They seemed to be images of the middle ages: castles, horses, sword fighting, lots of mud, and dreary looking weather. She thought that it was filthy, this locale she was seeing, and she wouldn’t want to live there. But just as she had this thought, Swifty said softly, “try not to judge what you’re seeing. Just observe.” (A bit eerie how he seemed to know what she was thinking.) Soon the images became like a movie, and she had the feeling she was watching a story reminiscent of Joan of Arc, messenger of God. She found this interesting because the mythology behind her own ruling planet, Mercury, is that Gemini (her zodiac sign) is the “messenger of the Gods."
She felt a bit like Joan of Arc, in that relating information about, or from, “the divine” was part of her life’s purpose. She was a spiritual devotee, one who believed that all paths lead to the divine, even those that seem dark or difficult. Sometimes humans can be so dense or preoccupied with trivial, mundane things that the universe has to create tragedy or some type of pain or hardship in order to wake people up, so that we learn the lessons we came here to learn and move to the next level of consciousness. She thought about how dense she must have been because it had taken a lot of pain, years of it, in order to absolutely break her heart in a manner that would force it to stay open and let love flow freely in and out. The biggest mistake she had made was making the pain a part of her identity, believing herself a victim. However, in the end, Pain had been transformational and she had cocooned herself from society for a while in order to really heal. Emerging from the chrysalis of healing, she felt that new life was beginning inside of her; she was seeing life from a new vantage point. She was feeling free these days, but the price she had paid for that freedom was not unlike that of a soldier at war. In the end, she became so fed up with being in pain that she had gathered up all her force of will and changed her life. Pain is one of the most powerful teachers that we have in this life. Transforming that pain into compassion via empathy is the greatest triumph of the human spirit. Further, transforming empathy into action, according to Nelson Mandela, that "respects and enhances the freedom of others" is a soulful goal that can lead to an alternate reality of unity, rather than one of fear and domination. She knew well from personal experience that sometimes one has to go through darkness in order to find the light. She knew, from having gone deep within herself, to places where most people fear to tread, that light and dark, masculine or feminine (or any opposite energies) exist within one another, not separately. And it's not true that light is good while darkness is bad. The purpose of life is to integrate these opposing energies within ourselves … sometimes a lonely and daunting path … sometimes alive and ecstatic. Like now. She couldn’t wait to hear what her love was experiencing.
He was seeing a lot of black. The darkness reminded him of outer-space. He thought about all the times they’d gone camping and stared up at the night sky, the stars, the cosmos, and felt something sublime, an affinity, a recognition that “outer-space” exists within himself. He had first gotten in touch with his “inner-space” while taking acting classes in college. He had gone so far inside himself as an actor attempting to portray another human being that he felt he had gone to another place, a place beyond himself, beyond empathy, where he could tap into universal consciousness. There were these moments he had experienced onstage, where time stopped and there were no thoughts, only a hyper-real sense of being fully in the moment, where nothing else mattered but the awareness of this moment.
But he had never heard his fellow actors describe any such experiences, for them it was all about the ego, and after a while that superficial quality led him away from acting to seek
others like himself. He had found the love of his life, his soul-twin through photo-journalism, and together they were seeking a community of like-minded souls, which is what had led them to this very moment.
The blackness behind his closed lids had turned into a swirling purple haze, the color of spiritual “sight.” He saw images of bats: sleeping, flying, hanging upside down. Later, Swifty explained that bats are symbols of transformation, a reflection of what is transpiring deep within the psyche.
Presently, Swifty said he was going to blindfold the duo for their climb back up the ladder and their re-entrance into ordinary reality. The blindfold represented the veil between the worlds. When they reached the top they would begin to see life anew with the insights they had gained in the Kiva. When they got to the top of the ladder, Swifty explained that as they returned to the surface, it would be as if they were emerging from the womb of Mother Earth. So, they climbed up the ladder and sat at the opening of the kiva in silence until Swifty came up to take the blindfolds off. He asked them to each come up with an intention that they wanted to carry out into the world with them. He gave them each a candle, and as they were lit, Swifty asked them to speak their intention aloud. Verbalizing creates a vibration in the material world that aids in bringing intentions out of the world of thought and into physical reality. As she spoke her intention, she became overwhelmed by a heightened sense of reality. She began to cry with the recognition of the sheer beauty of this world we live in. At that moment, she felt that everything in the world was perfect and beautiful and as it should be. She realized that even during difficult times, things are actually unfolding as they should. Sometimes difficult events in our lives help us see where we have gotten off-track, or they give us the experience we will need to deal with what lies on the road ahead. But it was this feeling that everything was as it should be that filled her with wonder.
And if the two of them could find a community of people that were truly interested in doing the same, then they really could create a little bit of heaven on earth. It’s like Margaret Mead said, “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.”
She thought about this man by her side and what an absolute miracle it was that he appeared in her life: her mystic man, her best friend, partner, and fellow mischief-maker. If she were to interpret her life as a waking dream, she realized that he was a mirror, a part of herself being reflected back to her. Loving him was loving the deepest parts of herself, and in turn, loving the source that created us all.
Suddenly, she remembered a line from a play. The play was that old chestnut, “Our Town,” and Emily Gibbs asks, “Does anyone ever realize life while they live it? Every, every moment?” And she was sure that there were people who did. Thornton Wilder may have been one. Swifty may be one, Buddha, Jesus, the Dalai Lama, Ghandi, Martin Luther King, the avatars in India. She longed to be like them, to fully realize life and her soul’s true purpose.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Inner Genius
"In ancient times, everyone was considered to possess inner genius. It was a kind of guardian spirit that accompanied a person through life and helped one overcome odds and achieve personal heights. We've lost touch with this original meaning of genius (related etymologically to the fabled genie in the lamp) in all our concern over IQ testing and similar nonsense. It's time we brought it back."
Thomas Armstrong, PhD
Recently, a man who had read part of a play that I am currently writing, asked me: "how can this character claim to be "every-woman"?! If she can be "everyone," then what is to stop me from being you or you from being me?" To which I replied, "Exactly!"
Exploring this question is what motivates my very life and has led me to explore and experience myself as a poet. It occurred to me recently that years of experience in the Theater as an actor helped me develop me the very tools I would need to tap into the "poet within." It would seem that in terms of my own evolution as an artist and a human being, I am no longer happy to merely regurgitate and interpret other people's words. I have a compelling need to discover my own "voice" through poetry, which for me, is a spiritual journey.
Ever-fascinated by all subjects esoteric and mystical, I feel I am exploring the pathways that connect us all through poetry. When people say that we as a human race are "one," I believe that. I feel that by exploring the poetry that exists with in me, I am actually practicing a form of ancient Gnosis where the self is the ultimate portal to higher consciousness. The adage "know thyself" is Gnostic and contains more wisdom than people realize. Through the relationship I have created with the deepest, most cavernous places of my own being, I am learning to navigate my own inner labyrinth, and in doing so, seem to have found a portal, a tunnel that seems to lead me to a universal consciousness.
As an actor, I sometimes had what I like to call "quantum moments" onstage where I was able to exist for a few moments in a state of consciousness where it seemed that the "I" that was fearful and small and separate, no longer existed. In these moments, the "I or "me" that has a distinct form with visual and physical boundaries, would fall away and be momentarily forgotten, like I imagine an out of body experience might be. I focused my attention so deeply inside myself that there was only consciousness and a sense of calm and contentment. In every-day life we seem to buy into these walls and boundaries that show where you stop and I begin, to say this is where my country ends and yours begins, to state: "this is my home, not yours." Or, we observe these lines that tell us this is my skin, and that is the bark of a tree, and they are not the same. Many spiritualities teach that this thinking is an illusion, that the tree and the human, the bark and the skin, are facades in this 3D world of form that mask the consciousness that lies within. It is consciousness that unites us all. There really is no separation. This is the greatest fallacy, or dilemma, facing the human race, preventing our evolution, and allowing us to stay under the control of an elite few who know that if they keep us distracted from our true power via media and marketing, we will never tap into our true potential as spiritual beings. And by subjugating our own power, we enable them to remain in control, and allow them to continue the patriarchal profanity that they call "reality." Television and all of the gadgetry that creates constant noise, prevents us from hearing our own voices, our own wisdom. This wisdom begins to ring out loud and clear when we tap into the silence of our being. Poetry is but one means of tapping into that eternal source of power and wisdom.
When others hear my poetry and respond to me with an embrace, I see that gesture as confirmation that I have tapped into that universal stream of consciousness that is available to all of us. I have gone so deeply inside myself that I have touched a place not unlike "deep space." I imagine this place to be Carl Jung's "collective unconscious" which refers to that part of a person's unconscious that is common to all human beings. Jung said that it contains archetypes, the language of dreams, and these symbols are manifested by all people in all cultures. These symbols are said to exist prior to experience and are instinctual.
Sometimes I access this symbolic language through my dreams. Some of my best work comes out of the symbolism of dreams. Sometimes I access this symbolic language while awake. I see pictures or images in my imagination and then try to translate them into words. Other artists translate their visions into paintings or sculptures. But, the medium that seems to best suit my nature is that of words and language. As an actor, I used visualization techniques to refine my performances in my head before performing them in reality. Now, I improvise dialogues in my imagination with characters of my own creation, and sometimes these visualizations become a poem or a play.
Conversely, I have also created poetry by first allowing my mind to quiet itself of all thoughts and dialogue, to become a "tabula rasa." Eventually, out of the darkness and quiet, pictures or images emerge, and flash across the movie-screen in my mind. (For this reason, this coming to know the quiet and darkness within, I am absolutely not "afraid of the dark." For what lies within the darkness can be illuminating. I know that what happens inside me is reflected in external reality. For instance, people often chastise me for walking by myself at night or for hiking alone. To which I say, "Pshaw!" for I know that walking alone at night or hiking alone is an external reflection of what is happening inside me - a reflection of my learning to navigate through, and becoming comfortable with, the darker spaces of my being . Jung called it "integration." It is the process of coming to know the yin and yang, the dark and light, the feminine and masculine energies within myself. The more I learn about and befriend the darkness within myself, the less I fear the "shadow" in others). Mining myself for the poetry within, allows me to observe images in the darkness of the movie -theater in my mind (my imagination). At first, I just try to observe the images without attaching any meaning to them or trying to "figure them out." I find that if I jot these images down in a journal, then put them aside for a few days, oftentimes the images will manifest in my waking world when I travel to a new geographic area I have not been to before; or I may meet someone while I'm running errands who says something that creates an "aha!" moment, and my mind jumps back to the image I saw while I sat in quiet contemplation and some meaning begins to evolve. Often, these "aha" moments turn out to be a clue to an answer I am currently seeking in my life, or, it can be like a breadcrumb, leading me down a new path in life. After a few days of allowing the images to gestate in my subconscious, I will actively free-flow associations onto paper. For me, writing it all out in long-hand feels organic. Then, after having written a page or two, when nothing else seems to want to reveal itself, I actively attempt to craft a poem. At this point, I can see a message beginning to take shape out of the free-flow. This process of crafting the poem is exciting, like solving a mystery.
In the past I have been inspired by Hemingway's terse, clipped, journalistic style of writing, and I let that inform my poetry. Efficiency of words is key in poetry. Also, as an actor, I am always inspired by Shakespeare, who knew not only the current vernacular-usage of a word, but also knew the etymology. Thus, when Shakespeare chose a word, he chose the one that would embody double-entendres or convey triple and quadruple levels of meaning. He was also a mystic. He knew the ancient wisdom of the cycles and rhythms in nature. He was often commissioned by Royals to write plays, but within these political plays one also finds the language of ancient alchemy, the tarot, and astrology - which all carry within them the language of dreams, archetypes, and symbols. Elizabethan audiences understood this language very well as the more intuitive forms of knowledge were still within their ever-day lexicon. Shakespeare's plays were poetry. Poetry is alchemy. And the purpose of alchemy has always been a search for the mystical correspondences between the material and the immaterial.
Kathryn Preston
Thomas Armstrong, PhD
Recently, a man who had read part of a play that I am currently writing, asked me: "how can this character claim to be "every-woman"?! If she can be "everyone," then what is to stop me from being you or you from being me?" To which I replied, "Exactly!"
Exploring this question is what motivates my very life and has led me to explore and experience myself as a poet. It occurred to me recently that years of experience in the Theater as an actor helped me develop me the very tools I would need to tap into the "poet within." It would seem that in terms of my own evolution as an artist and a human being, I am no longer happy to merely regurgitate and interpret other people's words. I have a compelling need to discover my own "voice" through poetry, which for me, is a spiritual journey.
Ever-fascinated by all subjects esoteric and mystical, I feel I am exploring the pathways that connect us all through poetry. When people say that we as a human race are "one," I believe that. I feel that by exploring the poetry that exists with in me, I am actually practicing a form of ancient Gnosis where the self is the ultimate portal to higher consciousness. The adage "know thyself" is Gnostic and contains more wisdom than people realize. Through the relationship I have created with the deepest, most cavernous places of my own being, I am learning to navigate my own inner labyrinth, and in doing so, seem to have found a portal, a tunnel that seems to lead me to a universal consciousness.
As an actor, I sometimes had what I like to call "quantum moments" onstage where I was able to exist for a few moments in a state of consciousness where it seemed that the "I" that was fearful and small and separate, no longer existed. In these moments, the "I or "me" that has a distinct form with visual and physical boundaries, would fall away and be momentarily forgotten, like I imagine an out of body experience might be. I focused my attention so deeply inside myself that there was only consciousness and a sense of calm and contentment. In every-day life we seem to buy into these walls and boundaries that show where you stop and I begin, to say this is where my country ends and yours begins, to state: "this is my home, not yours." Or, we observe these lines that tell us this is my skin, and that is the bark of a tree, and they are not the same. Many spiritualities teach that this thinking is an illusion, that the tree and the human, the bark and the skin, are facades in this 3D world of form that mask the consciousness that lies within. It is consciousness that unites us all. There really is no separation. This is the greatest fallacy, or dilemma, facing the human race, preventing our evolution, and allowing us to stay under the control of an elite few who know that if they keep us distracted from our true power via media and marketing, we will never tap into our true potential as spiritual beings. And by subjugating our own power, we enable them to remain in control, and allow them to continue the patriarchal profanity that they call "reality." Television and all of the gadgetry that creates constant noise, prevents us from hearing our own voices, our own wisdom. This wisdom begins to ring out loud and clear when we tap into the silence of our being. Poetry is but one means of tapping into that eternal source of power and wisdom.
When others hear my poetry and respond to me with an embrace, I see that gesture as confirmation that I have tapped into that universal stream of consciousness that is available to all of us. I have gone so deeply inside myself that I have touched a place not unlike "deep space." I imagine this place to be Carl Jung's "collective unconscious" which refers to that part of a person's unconscious that is common to all human beings. Jung said that it contains archetypes, the language of dreams, and these symbols are manifested by all people in all cultures. These symbols are said to exist prior to experience and are instinctual.
Sometimes I access this symbolic language through my dreams. Some of my best work comes out of the symbolism of dreams. Sometimes I access this symbolic language while awake. I see pictures or images in my imagination and then try to translate them into words. Other artists translate their visions into paintings or sculptures. But, the medium that seems to best suit my nature is that of words and language. As an actor, I used visualization techniques to refine my performances in my head before performing them in reality. Now, I improvise dialogues in my imagination with characters of my own creation, and sometimes these visualizations become a poem or a play.
Conversely, I have also created poetry by first allowing my mind to quiet itself of all thoughts and dialogue, to become a "tabula rasa." Eventually, out of the darkness and quiet, pictures or images emerge, and flash across the movie-screen in my mind. (For this reason, this coming to know the quiet and darkness within, I am absolutely not "afraid of the dark." For what lies within the darkness can be illuminating. I know that what happens inside me is reflected in external reality. For instance, people often chastise me for walking by myself at night or for hiking alone. To which I say, "Pshaw!" for I know that walking alone at night or hiking alone is an external reflection of what is happening inside me - a reflection of my learning to navigate through, and becoming comfortable with, the darker spaces of my being . Jung called it "integration." It is the process of coming to know the yin and yang, the dark and light, the feminine and masculine energies within myself. The more I learn about and befriend the darkness within myself, the less I fear the "shadow" in others). Mining myself for the poetry within, allows me to observe images in the darkness of the movie -theater in my mind (my imagination). At first, I just try to observe the images without attaching any meaning to them or trying to "figure them out." I find that if I jot these images down in a journal, then put them aside for a few days, oftentimes the images will manifest in my waking world when I travel to a new geographic area I have not been to before; or I may meet someone while I'm running errands who says something that creates an "aha!" moment, and my mind jumps back to the image I saw while I sat in quiet contemplation and some meaning begins to evolve. Often, these "aha" moments turn out to be a clue to an answer I am currently seeking in my life, or, it can be like a breadcrumb, leading me down a new path in life. After a few days of allowing the images to gestate in my subconscious, I will actively free-flow associations onto paper. For me, writing it all out in long-hand feels organic. Then, after having written a page or two, when nothing else seems to want to reveal itself, I actively attempt to craft a poem. At this point, I can see a message beginning to take shape out of the free-flow. This process of crafting the poem is exciting, like solving a mystery.
In the past I have been inspired by Hemingway's terse, clipped, journalistic style of writing, and I let that inform my poetry. Efficiency of words is key in poetry. Also, as an actor, I am always inspired by Shakespeare, who knew not only the current vernacular-usage of a word, but also knew the etymology. Thus, when Shakespeare chose a word, he chose the one that would embody double-entendres or convey triple and quadruple levels of meaning. He was also a mystic. He knew the ancient wisdom of the cycles and rhythms in nature. He was often commissioned by Royals to write plays, but within these political plays one also finds the language of ancient alchemy, the tarot, and astrology - which all carry within them the language of dreams, archetypes, and symbols. Elizabethan audiences understood this language very well as the more intuitive forms of knowledge were still within their ever-day lexicon. Shakespeare's plays were poetry. Poetry is alchemy. And the purpose of alchemy has always been a search for the mystical correspondences between the material and the immaterial.
Kathryn Preston
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Child of Nature
When we last checked in with our protagonist, she was in Marble, CO at the Kiva contemplating the play “Our Town,” and the character Emily Gibbs asking, “Does anyone ever realize life while they live it? Every, every minute?” And she was sure that there were people who did. Thornton Wilder may have been one. Buddha, Jesus, the Dalai Lama, Ghandi, Martin Luther King, the avatars in India. She longed to be like them, to fully realize life and her soul’s true purpose.
Today, we find our beloved heroine standing in the middle of the North Star Nature Preserve near Aspen, crying. Elated and saddened at the same time, she feels so alive with the energy and beauty of natural-majesty all around her, yet feels her spirit being bludgeoned by this repetitious pattern of having to take meaningless jobs where she caters to people’s superficial egos and meaningless desires.
She is standing in the middle of Creation, at the edge of a pond, searching the protective peaks all around her, pleading with Jesus and all the ascended masters: "how do I create the reality that I want to live, the one where I am like Anne Labastille in Woodswoman, or like Drunvalo Melchizedek, who gave up mundane society and walked off Into The Wild to live in the mountains and forests? How do I get back to the Garden?”
Ever the rebel and freedom-fighter, she’s not even remotely interested in the never-never land reality of some glamorous second-home-playground to the rich and famous, but is soulfully and ardently enchanted with the thought of living in harmony with nature, in living simply, in living off the land, not taking any more than she needs, and enjoying the roses along the way -- like Henry David Thoreau. She knows in her heart she will be living her Truth when she is learning how to navigate wild terrain, living off the land, chopping her own firewood, because she never feels more alive than when engaged in a nurturing dialectic between Mother Nature and her own Wild Nature. How many times has she envied women who know all about herbs, berries, trees, and all the wild plants of the earth: which are edible? which are not? which are good for tinctures and medicinal uses? which make the best pies? To be able to read animal tracks and habits, to understand the cycles within cycles and seasons within seasons the way tribal peoples do. She has been longing for a teacher, a soul-mate, a miracle, a deus-ex-machina to appear and lead her to that cozy little log cabin in the woods that she yearns for. Not a log-home Mc Mansion, but a rustic one-room cabin, with a woodstove and enough room for herself and her fellow mischief-maker; a place of simplicity and clarity from which to learn the ancient ways.
She recalls days in childhood when she was taken to the woods to cut down trees for firewood, calling “Tim-berrrrr!” at the top of her lungs; the gorgeous scent of pine-soaked days making her ecstatic; days spent gathering sap in buckets to make syrup; days in the forest picking blueberries; endless hours spent traipsing through the woods following myriad paths, seeing miracle after miracle … these have been her happiest hours on Earth.
She hikes into the unknown with reckless abandon, exploring a new and mysterious path, and suddenly her "baby" shows up after been "on assignment." She grins as she slowly sizes him up while he approaches; he radiates warm sunshine, and she is ecstatic. He winks at her and says, "Hello, my Love. Did you miss me?"
Like her, he is a journalist/photographer: an imaginative Intuitive, a creative-writer, an visual/abstract thinker. He longs to live in a log cabin in the woods, where together they can pursue their love of writing, and their desire to photograph and be-one-with-nature, with full fervor. After sharing the trail and baring their souls over countless hours, he stops her dead in her tracks and tells her that she is his best friend and ally, and asks if she really wants to be free!?! And if she does, will she go with him and really do what they’ve been talking about doing? She doesn’t even hesitate. She smiles that secret smile. In her mind, they're already gone. They are already deep in the beautiful wilderness, miles from anywhere, building their dream homestead, and they are oh so blissfully happy.
Today, we find our beloved heroine standing in the middle of the North Star Nature Preserve near Aspen, crying. Elated and saddened at the same time, she feels so alive with the energy and beauty of natural-majesty all around her, yet feels her spirit being bludgeoned by this repetitious pattern of having to take meaningless jobs where she caters to people’s superficial egos and meaningless desires.
She is standing in the middle of Creation, at the edge of a pond, searching the protective peaks all around her, pleading with Jesus and all the ascended masters: "how do I create the reality that I want to live, the one where I am like Anne Labastille in Woodswoman, or like Drunvalo Melchizedek, who gave up mundane society and walked off Into The Wild to live in the mountains and forests? How do I get back to the Garden?”
Ever the rebel and freedom-fighter, she’s not even remotely interested in the never-never land reality of some glamorous second-home-playground to the rich and famous, but is soulfully and ardently enchanted with the thought of living in harmony with nature, in living simply, in living off the land, not taking any more than she needs, and enjoying the roses along the way -- like Henry David Thoreau. She knows in her heart she will be living her Truth when she is learning how to navigate wild terrain, living off the land, chopping her own firewood, because she never feels more alive than when engaged in a nurturing dialectic between Mother Nature and her own Wild Nature. How many times has she envied women who know all about herbs, berries, trees, and all the wild plants of the earth: which are edible? which are not? which are good for tinctures and medicinal uses? which make the best pies? To be able to read animal tracks and habits, to understand the cycles within cycles and seasons within seasons the way tribal peoples do. She has been longing for a teacher, a soul-mate, a miracle, a deus-ex-machina to appear and lead her to that cozy little log cabin in the woods that she yearns for. Not a log-home Mc Mansion, but a rustic one-room cabin, with a woodstove and enough room for herself and her fellow mischief-maker; a place of simplicity and clarity from which to learn the ancient ways.
She recalls days in childhood when she was taken to the woods to cut down trees for firewood, calling “Tim-berrrrr!” at the top of her lungs; the gorgeous scent of pine-soaked days making her ecstatic; days spent gathering sap in buckets to make syrup; days in the forest picking blueberries; endless hours spent traipsing through the woods following myriad paths, seeing miracle after miracle … these have been her happiest hours on Earth.
She hikes into the unknown with reckless abandon, exploring a new and mysterious path, and suddenly her "baby" shows up after been "on assignment." She grins as she slowly sizes him up while he approaches; he radiates warm sunshine, and she is ecstatic. He winks at her and says, "Hello, my Love. Did you miss me?"
Like her, he is a journalist/photographer: an imaginative Intuitive, a creative-writer, an visual/abstract thinker. He longs to live in a log cabin in the woods, where together they can pursue their love of writing, and their desire to photograph and be-one-with-nature, with full fervor. After sharing the trail and baring their souls over countless hours, he stops her dead in her tracks and tells her that she is his best friend and ally, and asks if she really wants to be free!?! And if she does, will she go with him and really do what they’ve been talking about doing? She doesn’t even hesitate. She smiles that secret smile. In her mind, they're already gone. They are already deep in the beautiful wilderness, miles from anywhere, building their dream homestead, and they are oh so blissfully happy.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Red Fox and the Pathway Home
Red Fox and the Pathway Home
by Kathryn Preston
The Full Harvest Moon illuminates
my wild inner landscape,
currently eclipsing the external world.
The Night is an
old kodachrome negative:
solids are light,
nebulous spaces, dark.
Sitting Indian-style on Mother Earth,
she asks the universe for a sign.
Suddenly,
A Red Fox trots,
stops,
and talks.
He brings a message from the Unseen.
"You live in the 'in-between,'
light and dark,
dawn and dusk,
following Nature’s musk
to the doorways of other worlds.
Listen.
Fox ears HEAR Spirit.
Close your eyes and listen.
I am your brother, and Like you
I carry all of creation within me.
FREE YOUR CREATIVITY.
This is your pathway Home."
by Kathryn Preston
The Full Harvest Moon illuminates
my wild inner landscape,
currently eclipsing the external world.
The Night is an
old kodachrome negative:
solids are light,
nebulous spaces, dark.
Sitting Indian-style on Mother Earth,
she asks the universe for a sign.
Suddenly,
A Red Fox trots,
stops,
and talks.
He brings a message from the Unseen.
"You live in the 'in-between,'
light and dark,
dawn and dusk,
following Nature’s musk
to the doorways of other worlds.
Listen.
Fox ears HEAR Spirit.
Close your eyes and listen.
I am your brother, and Like you
I carry all of creation within me.
FREE YOUR CREATIVITY.
This is your pathway Home."
Sunday, September 5, 2010
The Old Druid by Kathryn Preston
The Old Druid
By Kathryn Preston
To the Druid,
the Mighty Oak is King,
but the Pine Tree
does it for me.
Lovely Pine Tree
protects,gives privacy
to those who scamper
beneath her eaves.
She has no leaves
to drop in Fall.
All in all,
she stays tall and full
year 'round,
standing her ground,
whistling her sacred song
when the spirit we call 'wind '
comes along to speak with me
through the Pine Tree.
Her branches
reach toward heaven
seeking her boon
like an old Druid
'drawing down the moon.'
Surrounded
by precious Pines,
it's here I feel most "at home."
By Kathryn Preston
To the Druid,
the Mighty Oak is King,
but the Pine Tree
does it for me.
Lovely Pine Tree
protects,gives privacy
to those who scamper
beneath her eaves.
She has no leaves
to drop in Fall.
All in all,
she stays tall and full
year 'round,
standing her ground,
whistling her sacred song
when the spirit we call 'wind '
comes along to speak with me
through the Pine Tree.
Her branches
reach toward heaven
seeking her boon
like an old Druid
'drawing down the moon.'
Surrounded
by precious Pines,
it's here I feel most "at home."
Friday, August 20, 2010
Nature as Metaphor
Let's suppose, as Denise Linn did in "The Secret Language of Signs: How to Interpret the Coincidences and Symbols in your life," that I am a soul existing in the great dark void (before being birth into the material, earthly plane), and in all objectivity, my soul realizes that I need to learn humility in order for my soul to evolve to a higher level of consciousness. To this end, I engage another soul who is particularly loving toward me, saying, "I need to learn humility. Will you incarnate with me on Earth and play the role of my abuser?" This scenario, put forth by Linn, suggests that we have an existence prior to our earthly existence, and that we actually choose our roles, circumstances, and experiences on Earth before we ever hit that portal known as the female womb, the gate-way to human life. (Incidentally, have you noticed that people who have near-death experiences talk about the light at the end of the tunnel? I wonder if the "tunnel" out of this earthly experience at death is the same as the birth canal that is the tunnel into this existence? When we die here on earth, are we simultaneously being born somewhere else?) This scenario also contains the basic elements of Theater. My experience as an actor and writer has led me to believe that Theater itslef is a metaphor, a mirror, reflecting the underlying structure of reality. My entire being resonates with the idea that our souls are directors and playwrights, consulting with various "players" (soulmates) to establish a rough story-outline before arriving on planet Earth, where we then improvise the "meat" of the scene (our human lives). The point is to imagine that we are all here on Earth co-creating a cosmic drama for reasons of individual and collective soul-growth.
From this perspective, birth is not just the beginning of our existence on Earth, but in the larger picture, it is the process by which spirit transforms into matter for the purpose of evolving to a higher consciousness. This perspective also suggests that we have actually chosen the life we are leading, and the characters around us, for very specific reasons. Hence, none of us are victims. Coming from the perspective that we are spiritual beings having a human experience allows us to believe that we already have the ability to direct our lives toward ultimate soul growth. We are so much more powerful than we have been programmed to believe by unconscious (fellow) humans, and it is up to each of us to shake ourselves out of lethargy and complacency to remember who we really are and what power is truly ours.
There are multiple reflections of this theatrical metaphor in the world of men and matter. Whether it is children playing "pretend" in order to explore their developing powers or to try out possible roles in the world of adults, or grown men acting-out their interior conflicts by projecting their fears onto "others" in the world, we humans create drama. Drama is conflict. The only way we humans seem to learn anything of any importance is via struggle. Moving through conflict, we come to new levels of understanding. If we understand the basic premise that life is a mataphor for larger spiritual realities, then we can begin to "see" reality in a different manner. Just as almost every word that Shakespeare wrote carries a double or multi-layered meaning, we humans must begin to see our world with the eyes of the soul, to behold actions, behavior, and events as double-entendres. Just as ancient Astrology, Runes, Tarot, Alchemy, etc. use symbols to convey esoteric meanings, we must behold every-day events as symbolic of a larger esoteric reality.
To illustrate my point, I will relate a 'drama' that occurred in my life and my esoteric interpretation of the event. A few years ago, I arrived in Colorado seeking the guidance of a spiritual teacher. What I found was a sexual predator. At that point in time my story was enacted for me in nature because it is not easy to see our own story from an objective vantage point until it is presented externally for us. A week or so after I had been raped, I went into the woods, looking to Mother Nature for her special brand of nurturing and healing. As I hiked, I enountered three deer. Two of the deer were on the hillside above me, obviously awaiting something, looking in my direction with great intensity. I knew they were aware of me but they didn't move away from me as I expected them to. I lay down on the ground watching them for ten minutes, but they didn't move. I decided to move forward on the trail. I had only taken two steps when something rustled in the brush beside me! It was a deer that had been hit by a car and was dying in front of my eyes. As I didn't want the poor soul to suffer any longer than necessary, I ran back to my apartment, called the CDOW and gave them the location of the deer. Then I returned to the deer and sat with it as it neared death. I have never seen anything quite so profound. The deer glared at me with a highly potent mixture of wild-fear and self-protection. At the same time, the deer was becoming so weak that as its eyes bore through me with laser-like intensity, its neck muscles began to weaken and wobble in slow, concentric circles. I have never, before or since, seen such a display of strength and vulnerability at the same time. The CDOW representatives arrived and mercifully put the deer out of its misery. Secretly, I knew that this drama was intended for me to "see." I understand what indigenous peoples know: that the earth and its inhabitants are reflections that teach us about ourselves. I knew that the deer's death was a reflection of what was happening to me internally. I was witnessing the death of a part of myself, my old personality, and the old ego patterns. I wept bitterly for the deer and for myself. I had seen the utter terror in the deer's eyes before it's death and knew that the fear was my own, for I did not know what trials awaited me on my journey (initiation) through the “valley of the shadow of (symbolic) death.” However, I now know that my old persona had to die in order to allow my spirit to be guided by the ultimate spiritual teacher, my own soul. This Spring as signs of new life appeared all around, I saw three deer race down the hillside, hurdle a split-rail fence, and sprint through my backyard! They were full of vitality, excitement, and energy! I saw that they were a renewed reflection of me, that my time in the dark night of the soul had ended, and that I would soon emerge from my chrysalis to experience re-birth, resurrection, and transformation into a new life and new way of being.
If life on Earth is a cosmic drama, a reflection in matter and form of the unseen spiritual reality, then the seeker may begin to ask, "What is my role in this drama? What is the larger picture? Who am I?" At first it seems terrifying to not know who you are, to witness the deconstruction of one's own personality, but this is only because we have been so programmed and conditioned to buy-into incredibly narrow identities and limiting realities, based on marketing schemes and religious dogmas designed by people who want to turn us into a bunch of homogenous, zombie-consumers who will believe whatever we are spoon-fed. The people running this country do not want us to know our true, infinite, personal power because that would mean they would not be able to control our minds and by extension, our purse-strings. I have come to the realization that it is much more liberating to not know exactly who you are, because rigid ideas about identity stop you from experimenting, learning, and growing. If you already think you know everything, nothing new can break through your programming. Allow yourself to not know so that new answers will grow.
Listen to the voice inside you. Anyone who claims to be a guru or teacher is suspect. A true teacher tells you to listen to the wisdom with in you. Your dreams are part of your own inner wisdom and no one can take them away from you. Mine your dreams for the gold within. Discovering the mystery within my nocturnal dreams and learning to unlock their secrets is the very thing that kept me alive during my darkest hours of recovery from rape. Like Carl Jung in his autobiography, I have found that the world inside myself is far more interesting than anything happening in the often superficial, misguided, external world. The inner world is also the true portal to the cosmos. Outer-space is really the space inside us. People who poo-pooh others' spiritual beliefs because they don't coincide with their own thinking are petty tyrants. The saying, "do unto others as you would have them do unto you" was around long before the time of Christ. The pagans, adherents to nature-based spiritualities, observed nature and saw that when one person tries to control or harm another, they are only hurting themsleves, for they understand that we are all One in the larger scheme of things. If you go back far enough in history and time, we all come from the same place and we are all related. That is the natural order of things.
Shakespeare wrote: "All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and entrances; each man in his time plays many parts." The phrase "in his time" seems limited (to life on Earth). What if "our time" is multifarious in terms of levels of consciousness, different planets as schools of thought, and infinite/simultaneous realities? I believe that if I can even think the thought that we are multi-dimensional beings with infinite powers, then the reality is possible. I am finding that when I operate from the assumption that my mind and heart together are capable of creating anything I want, then these things actually begin to manifest. This is the knowledge that the heirarchy of men, The Church, and the Establishment have sought to suppress for thousands of years. The process of Birth is not only the entrance of spirit into this physical plane, it is a physical metaphor that expresses the esoteric mystery, the formula for creation, and its blueprint lies within each of us.
If we stop thinking of the terms "Mother" and "Father," and "Masculine" and "Feminine" in terms of gender or genitalia, and start replacing these ideas with the more accurate definitions of the energies they represent, we can start creating a new understanding, a new paradigm. Father or Masculine energy = "willpower," "action," "sowing, planting." Mother or Feminine energy = "intuitive," "receptive states," "gestating thoughts, ideas, or seeds that are nurtured, cared for, protected until ready for birthing, manifesting, or becoming reality." The feminine is the energy or the vehicle that harbors new realities. The symbolism of Mother Mary holding the child Jesus is a metaphor for spirit having entered into the physical plane. The word "Christ" means "soul-directed." Thus, it is the spirit that is soul-directed that manifests new realities, that births new consciousness into being. My trauma, my “drama,” has been a spiritual path that has been instrumental in getting my spirit back on track by becoming guided by the soul instead of the ego.
Kathryn Preston
From this perspective, birth is not just the beginning of our existence on Earth, but in the larger picture, it is the process by which spirit transforms into matter for the purpose of evolving to a higher consciousness. This perspective also suggests that we have actually chosen the life we are leading, and the characters around us, for very specific reasons. Hence, none of us are victims. Coming from the perspective that we are spiritual beings having a human experience allows us to believe that we already have the ability to direct our lives toward ultimate soul growth. We are so much more powerful than we have been programmed to believe by unconscious (fellow) humans, and it is up to each of us to shake ourselves out of lethargy and complacency to remember who we really are and what power is truly ours.
There are multiple reflections of this theatrical metaphor in the world of men and matter. Whether it is children playing "pretend" in order to explore their developing powers or to try out possible roles in the world of adults, or grown men acting-out their interior conflicts by projecting their fears onto "others" in the world, we humans create drama. Drama is conflict. The only way we humans seem to learn anything of any importance is via struggle. Moving through conflict, we come to new levels of understanding. If we understand the basic premise that life is a mataphor for larger spiritual realities, then we can begin to "see" reality in a different manner. Just as almost every word that Shakespeare wrote carries a double or multi-layered meaning, we humans must begin to see our world with the eyes of the soul, to behold actions, behavior, and events as double-entendres. Just as ancient Astrology, Runes, Tarot, Alchemy, etc. use symbols to convey esoteric meanings, we must behold every-day events as symbolic of a larger esoteric reality.
To illustrate my point, I will relate a 'drama' that occurred in my life and my esoteric interpretation of the event. A few years ago, I arrived in Colorado seeking the guidance of a spiritual teacher. What I found was a sexual predator. At that point in time my story was enacted for me in nature because it is not easy to see our own story from an objective vantage point until it is presented externally for us. A week or so after I had been raped, I went into the woods, looking to Mother Nature for her special brand of nurturing and healing. As I hiked, I enountered three deer. Two of the deer were on the hillside above me, obviously awaiting something, looking in my direction with great intensity. I knew they were aware of me but they didn't move away from me as I expected them to. I lay down on the ground watching them for ten minutes, but they didn't move. I decided to move forward on the trail. I had only taken two steps when something rustled in the brush beside me! It was a deer that had been hit by a car and was dying in front of my eyes. As I didn't want the poor soul to suffer any longer than necessary, I ran back to my apartment, called the CDOW and gave them the location of the deer. Then I returned to the deer and sat with it as it neared death. I have never seen anything quite so profound. The deer glared at me with a highly potent mixture of wild-fear and self-protection. At the same time, the deer was becoming so weak that as its eyes bore through me with laser-like intensity, its neck muscles began to weaken and wobble in slow, concentric circles. I have never, before or since, seen such a display of strength and vulnerability at the same time. The CDOW representatives arrived and mercifully put the deer out of its misery. Secretly, I knew that this drama was intended for me to "see." I understand what indigenous peoples know: that the earth and its inhabitants are reflections that teach us about ourselves. I knew that the deer's death was a reflection of what was happening to me internally. I was witnessing the death of a part of myself, my old personality, and the old ego patterns. I wept bitterly for the deer and for myself. I had seen the utter terror in the deer's eyes before it's death and knew that the fear was my own, for I did not know what trials awaited me on my journey (initiation) through the “valley of the shadow of (symbolic) death.” However, I now know that my old persona had to die in order to allow my spirit to be guided by the ultimate spiritual teacher, my own soul. This Spring as signs of new life appeared all around, I saw three deer race down the hillside, hurdle a split-rail fence, and sprint through my backyard! They were full of vitality, excitement, and energy! I saw that they were a renewed reflection of me, that my time in the dark night of the soul had ended, and that I would soon emerge from my chrysalis to experience re-birth, resurrection, and transformation into a new life and new way of being.
If life on Earth is a cosmic drama, a reflection in matter and form of the unseen spiritual reality, then the seeker may begin to ask, "What is my role in this drama? What is the larger picture? Who am I?" At first it seems terrifying to not know who you are, to witness the deconstruction of one's own personality, but this is only because we have been so programmed and conditioned to buy-into incredibly narrow identities and limiting realities, based on marketing schemes and religious dogmas designed by people who want to turn us into a bunch of homogenous, zombie-consumers who will believe whatever we are spoon-fed. The people running this country do not want us to know our true, infinite, personal power because that would mean they would not be able to control our minds and by extension, our purse-strings. I have come to the realization that it is much more liberating to not know exactly who you are, because rigid ideas about identity stop you from experimenting, learning, and growing. If you already think you know everything, nothing new can break through your programming. Allow yourself to not know so that new answers will grow.
Listen to the voice inside you. Anyone who claims to be a guru or teacher is suspect. A true teacher tells you to listen to the wisdom with in you. Your dreams are part of your own inner wisdom and no one can take them away from you. Mine your dreams for the gold within. Discovering the mystery within my nocturnal dreams and learning to unlock their secrets is the very thing that kept me alive during my darkest hours of recovery from rape. Like Carl Jung in his autobiography, I have found that the world inside myself is far more interesting than anything happening in the often superficial, misguided, external world. The inner world is also the true portal to the cosmos. Outer-space is really the space inside us. People who poo-pooh others' spiritual beliefs because they don't coincide with their own thinking are petty tyrants. The saying, "do unto others as you would have them do unto you" was around long before the time of Christ. The pagans, adherents to nature-based spiritualities, observed nature and saw that when one person tries to control or harm another, they are only hurting themsleves, for they understand that we are all One in the larger scheme of things. If you go back far enough in history and time, we all come from the same place and we are all related. That is the natural order of things.
Shakespeare wrote: "All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and entrances; each man in his time plays many parts." The phrase "in his time" seems limited (to life on Earth). What if "our time" is multifarious in terms of levels of consciousness, different planets as schools of thought, and infinite/simultaneous realities? I believe that if I can even think the thought that we are multi-dimensional beings with infinite powers, then the reality is possible. I am finding that when I operate from the assumption that my mind and heart together are capable of creating anything I want, then these things actually begin to manifest. This is the knowledge that the heirarchy of men, The Church, and the Establishment have sought to suppress for thousands of years. The process of Birth is not only the entrance of spirit into this physical plane, it is a physical metaphor that expresses the esoteric mystery, the formula for creation, and its blueprint lies within each of us.
If we stop thinking of the terms "Mother" and "Father," and "Masculine" and "Feminine" in terms of gender or genitalia, and start replacing these ideas with the more accurate definitions of the energies they represent, we can start creating a new understanding, a new paradigm. Father or Masculine energy = "willpower," "action," "sowing, planting." Mother or Feminine energy = "intuitive," "receptive states," "gestating thoughts, ideas, or seeds that are nurtured, cared for, protected until ready for birthing, manifesting, or becoming reality." The feminine is the energy or the vehicle that harbors new realities. The symbolism of Mother Mary holding the child Jesus is a metaphor for spirit having entered into the physical plane. The word "Christ" means "soul-directed." Thus, it is the spirit that is soul-directed that manifests new realities, that births new consciousness into being. My trauma, my “drama,” has been a spiritual path that has been instrumental in getting my spirit back on track by becoming guided by the soul instead of the ego.
Kathryn Preston
Monday, August 9, 2010
Deeksha Dreams
This happened a few years ago in Colorado:
I had had extremely vivid dreams of John Brown, my ex-fiancee and first love, in the past four or five years, though I haven't seen him since 1990. When I lived in Carbondale,CO a few years ago, he came to me in a dream, as if he were right in front of me, and told me that I was “in recovery,” and that I would be ok. He also said to me (in a dream) that I had to let go of him so that someone else could love me. I remember being shocked because it had been so many years since we were together, and I thought I had let go.
I remember he nearly had a breakdown before he left me in Alaska to go home to Newfoundland when he graduated from UAA . He thought he was going nuts and didn't know if he was doing the right thing by leaving me behind. In those days, I was the strong one. I was his rock of Gibraltar. I assured him that I would be ok, and that he had to get on with his tasks of either training as a cross country skier for the Olympics, or going on to law school, and that I loved him no matter what happened, and would join him when I graduated. Until that moment, I had never felt anyone's love so strongly in my life. That he would feel so conflicted, that he felt he was going insane - no one's ever loved me like that - before or since. When I went to Newfoundland for Christmas and New Year's, he gave me a diamond ring. Later, when I was back in Alaska and lost weight, the ring fell off my finger and into the washing machine and was never retrieved, and I knew that was a horrible sign. Little did I know, he had already met someone in law school ... and the separation, distance and time apart was getting to be too much ... for him. I would have hung in there until .... So, in the moment that I was thinking about all this, I started sobbing, I had loved him so much. We were so good together. I felt like screaming. It hurt like hell to remember and feel the pain of his loss again, but I also knew that I had to allow myself to feel it fully in order to be able to let it go.
I read some physics recently that said that the smallest particles in the universe are not matter or light waves, they are bits of information, and that when one particle meets another, it leaves a part of itself - they each leave a bit of information with the other. Thereafter, the book suggested, there is always some form of communication that happens on a subatomic level. And I thought that this could explain the communication I received from John in my subconscious. I knew I needed help letting go. So, I prayed. I visualized myself interacting with Mary Magdalene. I imagined her with long dark, silky hair and bronze skin, with the most beautiful smile. I imagined her embracing me,talking and listening to me like a truly divine, compassionate, empathic mother would. I pleaded with her not to leave me, and begged her to help me. I didn't specifiy how. But, I knew that I needed to know how to let go. I needed to know how to remove the barriers in my psyche that keep me from trusting anyone else, that keep me from getting close to anyone. Then I cried myself to sleep.
And this is where it gets really interesting.
Later that night, I had a dream. In the dream, a WORD appeared very clearly. Although I did not recognize the word, I remember thinking while dreaming: "I have to remember this word and search for it on the internet tomorrow to find out what it means." Of course, the next morning, I forgot ... BUT, I worked from 10a until 7p, and when I got home, I opened the newspaper and looked at the calendar section inside the front page to see what events might be happening around town that evening. Lo and behold, I saw the word from my dream in the newspaper, and as soon as I saw it, a lightning bolt of realization hit me! I said, "Oh my God!" out loud five times, and got up to call the number that was in the newspaper. The word from my dream was right there on the printed page, and when I saw it, the dream came flooding back to me. Apparently this word, "Deeksha," alludes to the transfer of divine energy, and I view this dream and my subsequent reading of the newspaper as direct communication from the universe!
Transferring energy is a direct answer to my question about "how do I let John go?" I have been waiting for communication from the beyond my whole life! And today, the universe made sure that I GOT IT!
I had had extremely vivid dreams of John Brown, my ex-fiancee and first love, in the past four or five years, though I haven't seen him since 1990. When I lived in Carbondale,CO a few years ago, he came to me in a dream, as if he were right in front of me, and told me that I was “in recovery,” and that I would be ok. He also said to me (in a dream) that I had to let go of him so that someone else could love me. I remember being shocked because it had been so many years since we were together, and I thought I had let go.
I remember he nearly had a breakdown before he left me in Alaska to go home to Newfoundland when he graduated from UAA . He thought he was going nuts and didn't know if he was doing the right thing by leaving me behind. In those days, I was the strong one. I was his rock of Gibraltar. I assured him that I would be ok, and that he had to get on with his tasks of either training as a cross country skier for the Olympics, or going on to law school, and that I loved him no matter what happened, and would join him when I graduated. Until that moment, I had never felt anyone's love so strongly in my life. That he would feel so conflicted, that he felt he was going insane - no one's ever loved me like that - before or since. When I went to Newfoundland for Christmas and New Year's, he gave me a diamond ring. Later, when I was back in Alaska and lost weight, the ring fell off my finger and into the washing machine and was never retrieved, and I knew that was a horrible sign. Little did I know, he had already met someone in law school ... and the separation, distance and time apart was getting to be too much ... for him. I would have hung in there until .... So, in the moment that I was thinking about all this, I started sobbing, I had loved him so much. We were so good together. I felt like screaming. It hurt like hell to remember and feel the pain of his loss again, but I also knew that I had to allow myself to feel it fully in order to be able to let it go.
I read some physics recently that said that the smallest particles in the universe are not matter or light waves, they are bits of information, and that when one particle meets another, it leaves a part of itself - they each leave a bit of information with the other. Thereafter, the book suggested, there is always some form of communication that happens on a subatomic level. And I thought that this could explain the communication I received from John in my subconscious. I knew I needed help letting go. So, I prayed. I visualized myself interacting with Mary Magdalene. I imagined her with long dark, silky hair and bronze skin, with the most beautiful smile. I imagined her embracing me,talking and listening to me like a truly divine, compassionate, empathic mother would. I pleaded with her not to leave me, and begged her to help me. I didn't specifiy how. But, I knew that I needed to know how to let go. I needed to know how to remove the barriers in my psyche that keep me from trusting anyone else, that keep me from getting close to anyone. Then I cried myself to sleep.
And this is where it gets really interesting.
Later that night, I had a dream. In the dream, a WORD appeared very clearly. Although I did not recognize the word, I remember thinking while dreaming: "I have to remember this word and search for it on the internet tomorrow to find out what it means." Of course, the next morning, I forgot ... BUT, I worked from 10a until 7p, and when I got home, I opened the newspaper and looked at the calendar section inside the front page to see what events might be happening around town that evening. Lo and behold, I saw the word from my dream in the newspaper, and as soon as I saw it, a lightning bolt of realization hit me! I said, "Oh my God!" out loud five times, and got up to call the number that was in the newspaper. The word from my dream was right there on the printed page, and when I saw it, the dream came flooding back to me. Apparently this word, "Deeksha," alludes to the transfer of divine energy, and I view this dream and my subsequent reading of the newspaper as direct communication from the universe!
Transferring energy is a direct answer to my question about "how do I let John go?" I have been waiting for communication from the beyond my whole life! And today, the universe made sure that I GOT IT!
Friday, July 30, 2010
Crabtree and Delmhorst
Special to the VJ by Kathryn Preston
Crabtree and Delmhorst bring a musical storm to Steve's
Steve’s Guitars impresario Steve Standiford, warmly hailed the return of acoustic musicians Melissa Crabtree and Kris Delmhorst to his intimate venue on November 19.
Crabtree, opening for the crowd with local guitar wizard Frank Martin providing accompaniment, did much more than just warm up the room with her thought-provoking, Woody Guthrie style of quietly revolutionary musicianship. She exhibited a wild-woman/tomboy quality that pushes the boundaries of what society considers feminine, a quality that seemingly runs in her family tree. “Anna Lee” breathed life into the spirit of Crabtree’s great aunt, exiled by the family for being a lot like Crabtree herself. Honoring her aunt’s legacy, she sang: “No one could ever whisper your name, but I can feel you winking at me from the picture frame.”
When she’s not touring, Crabtree is a river-runner. “Cat Fishin’” was written on the Delores River in Colorado, and displays what the over-thirties crowd might describe as a Nancy Sinatra, walkin’-boots-attitude toward life.
With the tune “A Message from a Soldier,” Crabtree embodies the mythological role of the “messenger.” She interviews a soldier headed for Iraq: “We started talkin’ ‘bout the Patriot Act. He said ‘I guess they got together to stab us in the back. But I should probably be careful ‘bout what I say cause if the colonel heard, he’d have ‘em take me away.’” Crabtree literally becomes the channel through which the soldier’s spirit can be heard.
There was a whole host of strong feminine spirits sharing the stage with Crabtree. Her vocals and finger-picking invoked the spirit of Janis Joplin in “Me and Bobby McGee” as well as Helen Reddy and “Delta Dawn.” The audience also heard an accomplished balladeer, the likes of Michelle Shocked.
Her reverence for free-flowing rivers is paid homage in “Muddy Waters:” “I have dreams, they’re always changing. My life always needs rearranging. But I feel at ease when I see the flowin’ water of the muddy Colorado.”
With the message that we must all aspire to create and sustain the world we want to be a part of, she is walking her talk, having toured the country in a bio-diesel automobile, and having produced a CD to promote the use of fossil fuel alternatives.
While Crabtree sings of man’s relationship to the Earth, her fellow Sagittarian Delmhorst sings of the relationships between men and women. Like Wuthering Heights set to music, Delmhorst’s lyrics probe the darker moments of relationships: “I’ve been dying this whole evening to just reach out for your hand. I’ve been trying to keep believing that I might understand. I know words fail you, and I know sometimes I do too.”
Even more tempestuous is “Hurricane,” evocative of Stevie Nicks’ “I have always been a storm.” Delmhorst sings: “Blow me down and leave me lying in your wake. Let it rain, let it pour, let it roar away. I’m holdin’ out my tongue for a taste of rain.”
In “Bobby Lee” there’s a sense of suffocating in a relationship, and the imagery is downright biblical: “This cave’s too dark for me…. I was only trying to roll the stone away.”
Emblematic of audience response that night, the man next to me started growling during “Waiting Under the Waves.” He said it was a reaction to the seductive Tori Amos-like way Delmhorst manipulated her breath.
Moving in circles and spinning are common themes for Delmhorst, conjuring images of a cyclone. In “Lullabye” she croons: ‘You have turned in circles all your life so your shadow wouldn’t show.” Likewise, in “Weathervane,” she sings: “I too can move the prairies. I too can move the sea. I’m gonna take that motion, take it right inside of me. No more spin around, spin around, spin around.”
“Little Wings,” a celebration of human moments in a corporate world, was dedicated to Steve Standiford, owner of the musical venue that evening, for sharing his warm and an authentic space for music-making.
Delmhorst left us with these words of wisdom: “No matter what you bought or sold, the only thing you’ll have to hold is the love you’ve loved and the truth you’ve told.”
Amen.
Crabtree and Delmhorst bring a musical storm to Steve's
Steve’s Guitars impresario Steve Standiford, warmly hailed the return of acoustic musicians Melissa Crabtree and Kris Delmhorst to his intimate venue on November 19.
Crabtree, opening for the crowd with local guitar wizard Frank Martin providing accompaniment, did much more than just warm up the room with her thought-provoking, Woody Guthrie style of quietly revolutionary musicianship. She exhibited a wild-woman/tomboy quality that pushes the boundaries of what society considers feminine, a quality that seemingly runs in her family tree. “Anna Lee” breathed life into the spirit of Crabtree’s great aunt, exiled by the family for being a lot like Crabtree herself. Honoring her aunt’s legacy, she sang: “No one could ever whisper your name, but I can feel you winking at me from the picture frame.”
When she’s not touring, Crabtree is a river-runner. “Cat Fishin’” was written on the Delores River in Colorado, and displays what the over-thirties crowd might describe as a Nancy Sinatra, walkin’-boots-attitude toward life.
With the tune “A Message from a Soldier,” Crabtree embodies the mythological role of the “messenger.” She interviews a soldier headed for Iraq: “We started talkin’ ‘bout the Patriot Act. He said ‘I guess they got together to stab us in the back. But I should probably be careful ‘bout what I say cause if the colonel heard, he’d have ‘em take me away.’” Crabtree literally becomes the channel through which the soldier’s spirit can be heard.
There was a whole host of strong feminine spirits sharing the stage with Crabtree. Her vocals and finger-picking invoked the spirit of Janis Joplin in “Me and Bobby McGee” as well as Helen Reddy and “Delta Dawn.” The audience also heard an accomplished balladeer, the likes of Michelle Shocked.
Her reverence for free-flowing rivers is paid homage in “Muddy Waters:” “I have dreams, they’re always changing. My life always needs rearranging. But I feel at ease when I see the flowin’ water of the muddy Colorado.”
With the message that we must all aspire to create and sustain the world we want to be a part of, she is walking her talk, having toured the country in a bio-diesel automobile, and having produced a CD to promote the use of fossil fuel alternatives.
While Crabtree sings of man’s relationship to the Earth, her fellow Sagittarian Delmhorst sings of the relationships between men and women. Like Wuthering Heights set to music, Delmhorst’s lyrics probe the darker moments of relationships: “I’ve been dying this whole evening to just reach out for your hand. I’ve been trying to keep believing that I might understand. I know words fail you, and I know sometimes I do too.”
Even more tempestuous is “Hurricane,” evocative of Stevie Nicks’ “I have always been a storm.” Delmhorst sings: “Blow me down and leave me lying in your wake. Let it rain, let it pour, let it roar away. I’m holdin’ out my tongue for a taste of rain.”
In “Bobby Lee” there’s a sense of suffocating in a relationship, and the imagery is downright biblical: “This cave’s too dark for me…. I was only trying to roll the stone away.”
Emblematic of audience response that night, the man next to me started growling during “Waiting Under the Waves.” He said it was a reaction to the seductive Tori Amos-like way Delmhorst manipulated her breath.
Moving in circles and spinning are common themes for Delmhorst, conjuring images of a cyclone. In “Lullabye” she croons: ‘You have turned in circles all your life so your shadow wouldn’t show.” Likewise, in “Weathervane,” she sings: “I too can move the prairies. I too can move the sea. I’m gonna take that motion, take it right inside of me. No more spin around, spin around, spin around.”
“Little Wings,” a celebration of human moments in a corporate world, was dedicated to Steve Standiford, owner of the musical venue that evening, for sharing his warm and an authentic space for music-making.
Delmhorst left us with these words of wisdom: “No matter what you bought or sold, the only thing you’ll have to hold is the love you’ve loved and the truth you’ve told.”
Amen.
Eddie From Ohio
http://www.valley-journal.com/article/20041111/COMMUNITY/922589012&parentprofile=search
Eddie from Ohio: Great tunes and a musical ‘legacy of hope’
Thursday, November 11, 2004
Eddie from Ohio: Great tunes and a musical ‘legacy of hope’
BY KATHRYN PRESTON
Special to the VJ
Patrons packed the house at Steve's Guitars last Saturday for the highly anticipated Carbondale premiere of Eddie From Ohio.
EFO's lyric-driven folk-rock, quartet harmonies, and urban/tribal rhythms lit up this small town with their world-class style.
Hailing from Virginia, EFO's first tune, “Virginia in My Eyes” evokes that end of a long road-trip feeling when the mountains rise up to greet you and you know you're in the home-stretch. “Walkin' in Jerusalem” is a traditional tune transformed into a bluesy-gospel, full of chutzpah!
Speaking of chutzpah, Julie Murphy-Wells’ lead vocals are quirky yet seductive. Always crystal clear, she belts like a siren on the bluesy “If You Love Me, Leave Me Alone” and growls like a lioness in the whacky ditty “The Bird,” a hilarious lament about road-rage. Her girl-next-door quality comes through on songs like “Baltimore” with its vulnerable honesty, and her tough-girl persona emerges on the darkly comedic “1,000 Sarahs,” winning the “angry-Alanis Morrisette-award.”
Speaking of awards, the band bestowed the “best audience participation” award on Carbondale for its enthusiastic interplay on EFO's version of the Beatle's “Come Together.” One of my personal favorites was the gritty break-up song “Adios, Lorena” which evoked shades of Johnny Cash, featuring Murphy-Wells and Robbie Schaeffer in harmonized song-speak.
Displaying his own professional prowess, Eddie Hartness, the drummer, performed a solo with one hand on the bongos and the other slamming his drum-set with his stick, creating a primal frenzy that rivaled Santana on speed! The only way it could have been better was if he had worn that thong! (Ya had to be there!)
Hartness also commented on the origin of the band's harmonies: “We started out playing stuff like Crosby, Stills, and Nash and the Indigo Girls.” Then, the band's harmonies evolved to a higher degree of complexity under Murphy-Wells' arrangements. She received classical training at Virginia Tech., while the guys went to James Madison University in Harrisonburg, VA. Murphy-Wells related that Hartness is a “natural Irish tenor” while Schaffer is “a classically trained bass.”
The band has a talent for comic satire with tunes like “Stupid American,” and “Loving Couples.” However, they become ultra-poignant with songs like “Einstein” telling us “ the faster you go/ the slower you grow/ until you're nothing at all” — a subtle reminder that while our country conquers other cultures, extinguishes other species, and destroys the very resources that sustain us, we are actually advocating our own demise in doing so.
Couple that with “This is Me” which suggests that pain and violence don't die with those who are killed in war, but actually live and grow in those who survive.
However, EFO lights the way to a brighter day with their closing number “Walk Humbly, Son.” Originally written by Michael Clem for his son, it could easily become the quintessential anthem for a new millennium, sewing the seeds of a new culture based on goodwill and unanimity.
Eddie From Ohio did more than merely entertain us, they left us with a legacy of hope.
(Kathryn Preston is a local resident who has been an actor, a voice-over artist and a freelance writer. She can be reached at kathrynshakti@yahoo.com)
Eddie from Ohio: Great tunes and a musical ‘legacy of hope’
Thursday, November 11, 2004
Eddie from Ohio: Great tunes and a musical ‘legacy of hope’
BY KATHRYN PRESTON
Special to the VJ
Patrons packed the house at Steve's Guitars last Saturday for the highly anticipated Carbondale premiere of Eddie From Ohio.
EFO's lyric-driven folk-rock, quartet harmonies, and urban/tribal rhythms lit up this small town with their world-class style.
Hailing from Virginia, EFO's first tune, “Virginia in My Eyes” evokes that end of a long road-trip feeling when the mountains rise up to greet you and you know you're in the home-stretch. “Walkin' in Jerusalem” is a traditional tune transformed into a bluesy-gospel, full of chutzpah!
Speaking of chutzpah, Julie Murphy-Wells’ lead vocals are quirky yet seductive. Always crystal clear, she belts like a siren on the bluesy “If You Love Me, Leave Me Alone” and growls like a lioness in the whacky ditty “The Bird,” a hilarious lament about road-rage. Her girl-next-door quality comes through on songs like “Baltimore” with its vulnerable honesty, and her tough-girl persona emerges on the darkly comedic “1,000 Sarahs,” winning the “angry-Alanis Morrisette-award.”
Speaking of awards, the band bestowed the “best audience participation” award on Carbondale for its enthusiastic interplay on EFO's version of the Beatle's “Come Together.” One of my personal favorites was the gritty break-up song “Adios, Lorena” which evoked shades of Johnny Cash, featuring Murphy-Wells and Robbie Schaeffer in harmonized song-speak.
Displaying his own professional prowess, Eddie Hartness, the drummer, performed a solo with one hand on the bongos and the other slamming his drum-set with his stick, creating a primal frenzy that rivaled Santana on speed! The only way it could have been better was if he had worn that thong! (Ya had to be there!)
Hartness also commented on the origin of the band's harmonies: “We started out playing stuff like Crosby, Stills, and Nash and the Indigo Girls.” Then, the band's harmonies evolved to a higher degree of complexity under Murphy-Wells' arrangements. She received classical training at Virginia Tech., while the guys went to James Madison University in Harrisonburg, VA. Murphy-Wells related that Hartness is a “natural Irish tenor” while Schaffer is “a classically trained bass.”
The band has a talent for comic satire with tunes like “Stupid American,” and “Loving Couples.” However, they become ultra-poignant with songs like “Einstein” telling us “ the faster you go/ the slower you grow/ until you're nothing at all” — a subtle reminder that while our country conquers other cultures, extinguishes other species, and destroys the very resources that sustain us, we are actually advocating our own demise in doing so.
Couple that with “This is Me” which suggests that pain and violence don't die with those who are killed in war, but actually live and grow in those who survive.
However, EFO lights the way to a brighter day with their closing number “Walk Humbly, Son.” Originally written by Michael Clem for his son, it could easily become the quintessential anthem for a new millennium, sewing the seeds of a new culture based on goodwill and unanimity.
Eddie From Ohio did more than merely entertain us, they left us with a legacy of hope.
(Kathryn Preston is a local resident who has been an actor, a voice-over artist and a freelance writer. She can be reached at kathrynshakti@yahoo.com)
Soul Feel
Thursday, October 28, 2004
SoulFeel; charismatic, enigmatic, and ready
Editor’s note: The Valley Journal this week inaugurates a new feature, music and stage reviews by local writer Kathryn Preston. Preston, who has a stage and music background, can be reached at kathrynshakti@yahoo.com or by calling the VJ at 963-3211, extension 100, and leaving a message. Her reviews will be published periodically in The Valley Journal.
BY KATHRYN PRESTON
Special to the VJ
“Soulful” was the theme at the Black Nugget one recent Friday evening in Carbondale, as SoulFeel took the stage. An evening of freewheelin’ vocals, rhythmic dexterity, and lush harmonies made for a packed dance floor and a rhapsody of soul.
The harmonies of lead singer Brad Foster and Dobro master Brook Mooney are reminiscent of Simon and Garfunkel. Laying those harmonies on top of funk, psychedelic rock, delta blues, and even reggae rhythms, creates a hybrid, the music of SoulFeel seems to willfully defy any notion of niche.
Foster’s lead vocals range from a soft, but powerful Prince-like falsetto to a gravely bass, the likes of Dr. John or Louis Armstrong. Not bad for a 25-year-old white boy from Baton Rouge.
A highlight of the evening was the band’s rendition of Led Zeppelin’s “Whole Lotta Love,” with Foster gripping two microphones, giving a hauntingly Morrison-esque performance. When asked about his musical influences, Foster listed Jim Morrison, “and anyone else who has overwhelming charisma.” During “Relax Your Mind,” it was as if Foster were crooning his love to some imaginary sweetheart or to the music itself. It doesn’t get more charismatic than that.
SoulFeel took the audience on a road-trip, from a country road leading to Foster’s Grandpa’s house in Mississippi to Johnny Cash’s “Folsom Prison,” which refreshingly was not just a copy-cat cover tune - it seriously rocked the house!
Completing the band were Dane Wilson, a Glenwood Springs native, on drums; Kurt Radomski on Mandolin, adding a tinge of Appalachia; and Michael Jude (of Take the Wheel fame) sitting in on bass. Keyboardist Jeff Johnston was absent, as he is in Florida volunteering aid in disaster relief.
As one patron from Denver put it, “These guys are right on the fence!” meaning they are poised for bigger things. And, indeed, they are. The band plans to start touring regionally by the end of January, according to band manager, Erin Rogers. For upcoming tour and scheduling info, check out www.soulfeel.net.
SoulFeel; charismatic, enigmatic, and ready
Editor’s note: The Valley Journal this week inaugurates a new feature, music and stage reviews by local writer Kathryn Preston. Preston, who has a stage and music background, can be reached at kathrynshakti@yahoo.com or by calling the VJ at 963-3211, extension 100, and leaving a message. Her reviews will be published periodically in The Valley Journal.
BY KATHRYN PRESTON
Special to the VJ
“Soulful” was the theme at the Black Nugget one recent Friday evening in Carbondale, as SoulFeel took the stage. An evening of freewheelin’ vocals, rhythmic dexterity, and lush harmonies made for a packed dance floor and a rhapsody of soul.
The harmonies of lead singer Brad Foster and Dobro master Brook Mooney are reminiscent of Simon and Garfunkel. Laying those harmonies on top of funk, psychedelic rock, delta blues, and even reggae rhythms, creates a hybrid, the music of SoulFeel seems to willfully defy any notion of niche.
Foster’s lead vocals range from a soft, but powerful Prince-like falsetto to a gravely bass, the likes of Dr. John or Louis Armstrong. Not bad for a 25-year-old white boy from Baton Rouge.
A highlight of the evening was the band’s rendition of Led Zeppelin’s “Whole Lotta Love,” with Foster gripping two microphones, giving a hauntingly Morrison-esque performance. When asked about his musical influences, Foster listed Jim Morrison, “and anyone else who has overwhelming charisma.” During “Relax Your Mind,” it was as if Foster were crooning his love to some imaginary sweetheart or to the music itself. It doesn’t get more charismatic than that.
SoulFeel took the audience on a road-trip, from a country road leading to Foster’s Grandpa’s house in Mississippi to Johnny Cash’s “Folsom Prison,” which refreshingly was not just a copy-cat cover tune - it seriously rocked the house!
Completing the band were Dane Wilson, a Glenwood Springs native, on drums; Kurt Radomski on Mandolin, adding a tinge of Appalachia; and Michael Jude (of Take the Wheel fame) sitting in on bass. Keyboardist Jeff Johnston was absent, as he is in Florida volunteering aid in disaster relief.
As one patron from Denver put it, “These guys are right on the fence!” meaning they are poised for bigger things. And, indeed, they are. The band plans to start touring regionally by the end of January, according to band manager, Erin Rogers. For upcoming tour and scheduling info, check out www.soulfeel.net.
Acoustic Mayhem
Acoustic Mayhem and the Cohens warm it up at Steve’ Guitars
(In a continuing series of articles by Carbondale, CO writer Kathryn Preston, reviewing happenings in the local music scene, we bring you this account of a recent night at Steve’s Guitars. An unexpected cancellation yielded a night of enjoyment of the warm Appalachian sounds of a couple of local musicians, followed by the rabble-rousing harmonies of Acoustic Mayhem.)
BY KATHRYN PRESTON
Special to the VJ
Expecting to sit in with bluegrass band Sweet Sunny South, Andrea Early Cohen instead sat with her husband, Mathew Cohen as the members of S.S.S. were stranded in Paonia, CO with what Steve Standiford somewhat jokingly referred to as ‘whooping cough.’
Braving sub-zero temperatures, the pair warmed up the room at Steve’s Guitars on Dec. 3 with their soft Appalachian sounds.
The duo took the audience on a tour of instruments, cultures, and mythologies. Fiddling a frenetic instrumental titled, “Ellie’s Tune,” in honor of her cow-dog, Early Cohen was accompanied by her partner on a West African djembe drum. Switching mid-song to a Celtic bodhran (pronounced “bow-rawn”), Cohen musically displayed a few of the translations of the drum’s name: “tray drum,” “thunder,” and “soft, dull sound.”
Cohen then picked up his guitar for a playful homage to a “coffee buzz.” He expressed his gratitude for the stimulant singing, “There’s nothin’ in the world like your daily grind.”
The couple then introduced the audience to the didgeridoo, an Australian aboriginal wind instrument. The painstaking breathing process involved is fascinating to observe. The resulting sound is an extended hypnotic bass monotone. Considered the world’s oldest instrument at 40,000 years old, research reveals a gorgeous mythology associated with the instrument: “As the Gods play, dance, and sing, they create the world.”
Pulling another folk-music surprise from their bag o’ tricks, Early Cohen played her fiddle while her husband played percussion by tapping on her fiddle strings with fiddlesticks. According to scholars, the playing of fiddlesticks was considered “common” by the upper classes in Shakespeare’s time. This disdain can be found in “Henry IV” as The Bard writes, “The devil rides on a fiddlestick.” Linguistically, this explains how the expression evolved to mean that something someone just said was nonsense. However, the consensus at Steve’s Guitars that evening was that another delicacy had been added to the cultural smorgasbord offered that evening.
Another folk tradition, Clogging, a percussive blend of Irish, English, and Scottish step-dancing, was enthusiastically demonstrated by Early Cohen.
Mr. Cohen ended their set with the “dancing goose,” a variation of the limberjack. Cohen held a stick, with a wooden (goose) cut-out attached to it, over a dancing board he sat on. He used subtle pressure from his fingers to push the board down, creating a spring-board under the goose which caused it to “dance.”
An almost eerie synchronicity emerged as Acoustic Mayhem took the stage. They launched into a song about a mythological character called the Hoo-Doo. Elliot Leonard, on guitar and vocals, explained that the Hoo-Doo could be found in the woods or at the side of a road. “ … But they freeze like a deer on the headlights, so don’t slow down, just run that Hoo-Doo down.”
Interestingly, African folk legend says that Hoo-Doos appeared to hunters and planters in the forests to teach them the transformative properties of herbs, minerals, and other life forms. “Hunter’s Moon” incorporated this mythology as Leonard sang, “… and the spirits ride on the night of the hunter’s moon.”
The band — Craig and Lorraine Curry, Elliot Leonard, Lester Rogers, Marc Bruell, and Ken Carpenter — are heavily influenced by the Austin music scene and musicians like John Hyatt, Rodney Crowell, Buddy and Julie Miller, and Emmy Lou Harris. The band’s rabble-rousing harmonies hit their peak in the yodels of “Kansas City Star.”
The band’s covers of John Gorca, Mary Chapin Carpenter, Bruce Utah Phillips, and the Rolling Stones are both passionate and quietly thoughtful. These dual energies can also be heard in the rowdy, “Memphis in the Meantime,” skillfully driven by Curry’s cello, and in “This Old Porch” by Lyle Lovett, a slice of Americana that sounds a bit like Dan Fogleberg with a twang.
Craig Curry treated the audience to an impression of “Elvis,” a tune recorded by Jimmy Buffet under the name of “Freddie and the Fishsticks.” Elliot Leonard's poignant vocals on “Denver Diner” evoked strains of Harry Chapin, while “High Mountain Air,” written and sung by Leonard, recalled the clarity of spirit of John Denver. Marc Bruell’s violin playing displayed a sensuality that seemed to embody a medieval minstrel attempting to woo his mistress.
In the spirit of the giving-season, and in the tradition of indigenous cultures, it’s appropriate to give some thought and thanks to the music and music-makers that touch our hearts. In most folk /acoustic instruments the resonator is made of wood while the actual source of the sound is of animal origin. Once-living beings are now literally a part of the music. Their essences combine to create the songs of the universe.
(In a continuing series of articles by Carbondale, CO writer Kathryn Preston, reviewing happenings in the local music scene, we bring you this account of a recent night at Steve’s Guitars. An unexpected cancellation yielded a night of enjoyment of the warm Appalachian sounds of a couple of local musicians, followed by the rabble-rousing harmonies of Acoustic Mayhem.)
BY KATHRYN PRESTON
Special to the VJ
Expecting to sit in with bluegrass band Sweet Sunny South, Andrea Early Cohen instead sat with her husband, Mathew Cohen as the members of S.S.S. were stranded in Paonia, CO with what Steve Standiford somewhat jokingly referred to as ‘whooping cough.’
Braving sub-zero temperatures, the pair warmed up the room at Steve’s Guitars on Dec. 3 with their soft Appalachian sounds.
The duo took the audience on a tour of instruments, cultures, and mythologies. Fiddling a frenetic instrumental titled, “Ellie’s Tune,” in honor of her cow-dog, Early Cohen was accompanied by her partner on a West African djembe drum. Switching mid-song to a Celtic bodhran (pronounced “bow-rawn”), Cohen musically displayed a few of the translations of the drum’s name: “tray drum,” “thunder,” and “soft, dull sound.”
Cohen then picked up his guitar for a playful homage to a “coffee buzz.” He expressed his gratitude for the stimulant singing, “There’s nothin’ in the world like your daily grind.”
The couple then introduced the audience to the didgeridoo, an Australian aboriginal wind instrument. The painstaking breathing process involved is fascinating to observe. The resulting sound is an extended hypnotic bass monotone. Considered the world’s oldest instrument at 40,000 years old, research reveals a gorgeous mythology associated with the instrument: “As the Gods play, dance, and sing, they create the world.”
Pulling another folk-music surprise from their bag o’ tricks, Early Cohen played her fiddle while her husband played percussion by tapping on her fiddle strings with fiddlesticks. According to scholars, the playing of fiddlesticks was considered “common” by the upper classes in Shakespeare’s time. This disdain can be found in “Henry IV” as The Bard writes, “The devil rides on a fiddlestick.” Linguistically, this explains how the expression evolved to mean that something someone just said was nonsense. However, the consensus at Steve’s Guitars that evening was that another delicacy had been added to the cultural smorgasbord offered that evening.
Another folk tradition, Clogging, a percussive blend of Irish, English, and Scottish step-dancing, was enthusiastically demonstrated by Early Cohen.
Mr. Cohen ended their set with the “dancing goose,” a variation of the limberjack. Cohen held a stick, with a wooden (goose) cut-out attached to it, over a dancing board he sat on. He used subtle pressure from his fingers to push the board down, creating a spring-board under the goose which caused it to “dance.”
An almost eerie synchronicity emerged as Acoustic Mayhem took the stage. They launched into a song about a mythological character called the Hoo-Doo. Elliot Leonard, on guitar and vocals, explained that the Hoo-Doo could be found in the woods or at the side of a road. “ … But they freeze like a deer on the headlights, so don’t slow down, just run that Hoo-Doo down.”
Interestingly, African folk legend says that Hoo-Doos appeared to hunters and planters in the forests to teach them the transformative properties of herbs, minerals, and other life forms. “Hunter’s Moon” incorporated this mythology as Leonard sang, “… and the spirits ride on the night of the hunter’s moon.”
The band — Craig and Lorraine Curry, Elliot Leonard, Lester Rogers, Marc Bruell, and Ken Carpenter — are heavily influenced by the Austin music scene and musicians like John Hyatt, Rodney Crowell, Buddy and Julie Miller, and Emmy Lou Harris. The band’s rabble-rousing harmonies hit their peak in the yodels of “Kansas City Star.”
The band’s covers of John Gorca, Mary Chapin Carpenter, Bruce Utah Phillips, and the Rolling Stones are both passionate and quietly thoughtful. These dual energies can also be heard in the rowdy, “Memphis in the Meantime,” skillfully driven by Curry’s cello, and in “This Old Porch” by Lyle Lovett, a slice of Americana that sounds a bit like Dan Fogleberg with a twang.
Craig Curry treated the audience to an impression of “Elvis,” a tune recorded by Jimmy Buffet under the name of “Freddie and the Fishsticks.” Elliot Leonard's poignant vocals on “Denver Diner” evoked strains of Harry Chapin, while “High Mountain Air,” written and sung by Leonard, recalled the clarity of spirit of John Denver. Marc Bruell’s violin playing displayed a sensuality that seemed to embody a medieval minstrel attempting to woo his mistress.
In the spirit of the giving-season, and in the tradition of indigenous cultures, it’s appropriate to give some thought and thanks to the music and music-makers that touch our hearts. In most folk /acoustic instruments the resonator is made of wood while the actual source of the sound is of animal origin. Once-living beings are now literally a part of the music. Their essences combine to create the songs of the universe.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Shakti and Shiva
Shakti and Shiva
Lying beside you,
arm draped across your chest,
leg snuggled in your thigh,
I feel the rhythmic heaving and sinking
of your belly,
like waves on an
intimate inland lake
flowing in consistent , concentric circles,
disciplined in design
yet undulating with a soft sensuality
that sweeps aside my lack of faith.
Subtly synchronizing my breath with yours,
my lungs, my loins, my heart, my mind
expand
with the universe.
Within each wave
another rhythm,
a double-time syncopation,
containing seeds of passion
which build slowly
like a tidal wave
bursting open the temple door
setting our spirits free
like dolphins breaking the surface,
or soaring eagles.
In time,
the tide subsides
leaving deep peace
in its wake.
Lying beside you,
arm draped across your chest,
leg snuggled in your thigh,
I feel the rhythmic heaving and sinking
of your belly,
like waves on an
intimate inland lake
flowing in consistent , concentric circles,
disciplined in design
yet undulating with a soft sensuality
that sweeps aside my lack of faith.
Subtly synchronizing my breath with yours,
my lungs, my loins, my heart, my mind
expand
with the universe.
Within each wave
another rhythm,
a double-time syncopation,
containing seeds of passion
which build slowly
like a tidal wave
bursting open the temple door
setting our spirits free
like dolphins breaking the surface,
or soaring eagles.
In time,
the tide subsides
leaving deep peace
in its wake.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Wanton Irish Faerie
I see people encased in fearful shells
living lives of tripping-tedium,
embedded in the ordinary.
Mine, however, is the vast, dark sky
and the spaces between the stars.
Unencumbered by riches or materialism:
Mine is the promise of Magic.
I see no reason to live
other than to be free.
Not caged by any loyalty
to political or national affiliations,
my life is only one facet of
a mystery much larger than
self or country.
Disappointments in love, loyalty, and trust
are merely a crucible
where in I crush the herbs of ego
into the fine dust of transformation,
creating the alchemical elixir of the Soul.
Now is the time to dance
naked and laughing and wild as a
wanton Irish faerie
in a jasmine sunbeam.
living lives of tripping-tedium,
embedded in the ordinary.
Mine, however, is the vast, dark sky
and the spaces between the stars.
Unencumbered by riches or materialism:
Mine is the promise of Magic.
I see no reason to live
other than to be free.
Not caged by any loyalty
to political or national affiliations,
my life is only one facet of
a mystery much larger than
self or country.
Disappointments in love, loyalty, and trust
are merely a crucible
where in I crush the herbs of ego
into the fine dust of transformation,
creating the alchemical elixir of the Soul.
Now is the time to dance
naked and laughing and wild as a
wanton Irish faerie
in a jasmine sunbeam.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Flowing through the Unicorn's Horn
Angels sigh with dewy breath
the scent of jasmine
as I surrender to this quasi-death
and ritual resurrection.
As I lay me down to sleep
reality melts away,
and flames in my soul do leap
breathing into the cauldron of my womb.
Behind closed lids,
the third eye perceives
a milk-white light;
a swirling vortex.
A mini-galaxy
spirals out from between my brows,
flowing through the unicorn's horn,
tunneling through time and space.
Eventually my pure essence emerges,
straddling a comet of quartz,
amplifying my desire to see
through the eyes of divinity.
the scent of jasmine
as I surrender to this quasi-death
and ritual resurrection.
As I lay me down to sleep
reality melts away,
and flames in my soul do leap
breathing into the cauldron of my womb.
Behind closed lids,
the third eye perceives
a milk-white light;
a swirling vortex.
A mini-galaxy
spirals out from between my brows,
flowing through the unicorn's horn,
tunneling through time and space.
Eventually my pure essence emerges,
straddling a comet of quartz,
amplifying my desire to see
through the eyes of divinity.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Poetry
The Ghost of Downtown Northwest D.C.
By Kathryn Preston
She’s the ghost of downtown northwest D.C.
Gothic Shaman,
Madonna in blackface.
Dragging her death-drapes
outside society,
beyond reality.
She sings and shouts her free-street-speech,
invoking urban-tribal rhythms
at aware but wary passersby.
Averted eyes, leering gazes,
some ignoring, others scolding.
Tell me, who has lost their humanity?
Who is this spectral soul,
haunting the streets
of downtown northwest D.C
and me?
Dream Reality
By Kathryn Preston
I escape the hullaballoo one day
racing down the highway.
Fields of sunburnt daffodils seduce my senses.
I abandon the straight and narrow
knowing I’ll find
what I wasn’t looking for.
Relaxing into the afternoon
under a surly Oak,
whimsical winds caress my hair.
Hypnotized by moody clouds,
I think I see my mother’s face.
Spooked, I run.
Tearing swiftly through tangled branches,
lupine ears upturned,
ancestral whispers strike my drums
like ancient amulets,
crescendoing to chaotic climax.
Trance-like, I am transported
through the crack in the universe
to another point on the continuum.
I climb a spiral stair into the void,
toward the unknown.
Emerging,
I straddle the brink of two worlds.
The vista: endless, undulating:
like fragments of earthenware,
sculpted by hands of ancients,
strewn across time.
While red earth flows through fond fingers,
My soul’s laughter howls across a full moon.
Sleep’s Soliloquy
By Kathryn Preston
Pining for her piper,
who’s composing passion’s play.
She’s longing for his star-song
like a maiden in the hay.
The tune that leaves her swooning,
the tune of this crooning,
Appalachian balladeer.
In her loins she feels hunger and pain,
will the lightning ever pierce the rain?
With ruby red lips
and buoyant boudoir hips,
she hails the Lord of the dance.
Surrendering to sleep’s soliloquy,
her Lord appears quite mystically.
She dreams of love sublime,
of bodies and souls entwined.
10
These she cannot tear from her mind.
From the Grail of communion they sip,
into the chalice of primordial passion they dip.
With soft undulations
and ancient syncopations,
our maiden and her Lord eclipse.
By Kathryn Preston
She’s the ghost of downtown northwest D.C.
Gothic Shaman,
Madonna in blackface.
Dragging her death-drapes
outside society,
beyond reality.
She sings and shouts her free-street-speech,
invoking urban-tribal rhythms
at aware but wary passersby.
Averted eyes, leering gazes,
some ignoring, others scolding.
Tell me, who has lost their humanity?
Who is this spectral soul,
haunting the streets
of downtown northwest D.C
and me?
Dream Reality
By Kathryn Preston
I escape the hullaballoo one day
racing down the highway.
Fields of sunburnt daffodils seduce my senses.
I abandon the straight and narrow
knowing I’ll find
what I wasn’t looking for.
Relaxing into the afternoon
under a surly Oak,
whimsical winds caress my hair.
Hypnotized by moody clouds,
I think I see my mother’s face.
Spooked, I run.
Tearing swiftly through tangled branches,
lupine ears upturned,
ancestral whispers strike my drums
like ancient amulets,
crescendoing to chaotic climax.
Trance-like, I am transported
through the crack in the universe
to another point on the continuum.
I climb a spiral stair into the void,
toward the unknown.
Emerging,
I straddle the brink of two worlds.
The vista: endless, undulating:
like fragments of earthenware,
sculpted by hands of ancients,
strewn across time.
While red earth flows through fond fingers,
My soul’s laughter howls across a full moon.
Sleep’s Soliloquy
By Kathryn Preston
Pining for her piper,
who’s composing passion’s play.
She’s longing for his star-song
like a maiden in the hay.
The tune that leaves her swooning,
the tune of this crooning,
Appalachian balladeer.
In her loins she feels hunger and pain,
will the lightning ever pierce the rain?
With ruby red lips
and buoyant boudoir hips,
she hails the Lord of the dance.
Surrendering to sleep’s soliloquy,
her Lord appears quite mystically.
She dreams of love sublime,
of bodies and souls entwined.
10
These she cannot tear from her mind.
From the Grail of communion they sip,
into the chalice of primordial passion they dip.
With soft undulations
and ancient syncopations,
our maiden and her Lord eclipse.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Revolution of Spirit Rap
Revolution of Spirit Rap
The chapters of your life are rife with ego,
but greater than the ego is the soul.
Your humanity may just be your current starring role
in a whole play about the way,
the way we grow our soul.
So, my friend, as you end this scene and begin again,
be free from the constraints of mortality
and other people’s morality
and let your spirit fly.
They say the microcosm reflects the macrocosm and vice versa.
As within, so without, as above so below,
don’t ya know that the forces battling around the globe
are the very forces battling for our collective soul?
Your first battle should be your own
‘cause it’s only when you get to know the inner foe,
that you truly recognize those who tyrannize
those who have no way to say no.
Once you vanquish the inner tyrant,
you can become a giant of compassion,
and fashion a foundation for our nation.
So, heal thyself and light the way,
the eve of destruction has had its day.
Let each of us discuss our wounds and fears
and heal with the tears of the Phoenix.
Once we acknowledge that my pain is your pain is their pain,
we can see that we are all starring in the same drama
on different stages across the ages.
Whether its emotional
political
financial
or archetypal,
it’s all sound and fury,
smoke and mirrors,
reflecting the original Passion Play,
deus ex machinae.
It’s all about unity or separation,
whether it’s a nation or your own mind,
now is the time for all good men and women to:
focus
pray
meditate
create
an alternate reality of Unity.
Reconstruction must begin within
for anything else,
I have come to the conclusion,
is facade and illusion.
The control freaks have created their dream,
a nightmare which we are forced to accept at every step
but I reject this fatalistic notion
that our dream should be squashed by the machine.
We have the ability,
we have the power,
to turn the tide on the infanticide
of my childhood dream:
to nourish the love,
creativity,
and freeing
of every being on the planet, dammit!
by Kathryn Preston on Saturday, June 23, 2007
The chapters of your life are rife with ego,
but greater than the ego is the soul.
Your humanity may just be your current starring role
in a whole play about the way,
the way we grow our soul.
So, my friend, as you end this scene and begin again,
be free from the constraints of mortality
and other people’s morality
and let your spirit fly.
They say the microcosm reflects the macrocosm and vice versa.
As within, so without, as above so below,
don’t ya know that the forces battling around the globe
are the very forces battling for our collective soul?
Your first battle should be your own
‘cause it’s only when you get to know the inner foe,
that you truly recognize those who tyrannize
those who have no way to say no.
Once you vanquish the inner tyrant,
you can become a giant of compassion,
and fashion a foundation for our nation.
So, heal thyself and light the way,
the eve of destruction has had its day.
Let each of us discuss our wounds and fears
and heal with the tears of the Phoenix.
Once we acknowledge that my pain is your pain is their pain,
we can see that we are all starring in the same drama
on different stages across the ages.
Whether its emotional
political
financial
or archetypal,
it’s all sound and fury,
smoke and mirrors,
reflecting the original Passion Play,
deus ex machinae.
It’s all about unity or separation,
whether it’s a nation or your own mind,
now is the time for all good men and women to:
focus
pray
meditate
create
an alternate reality of Unity.
Reconstruction must begin within
for anything else,
I have come to the conclusion,
is facade and illusion.
The control freaks have created their dream,
a nightmare which we are forced to accept at every step
but I reject this fatalistic notion
that our dream should be squashed by the machine.
We have the ability,
we have the power,
to turn the tide on the infanticide
of my childhood dream:
to nourish the love,
creativity,
and freeing
of every being on the planet, dammit!
by Kathryn Preston on Saturday, June 23, 2007
A Mask and a Shroud
Moving from place to place
disappearing with a trace.
A nameless face in a maddening crowd.
A mask and a shroud.
A spirit searching for the light,
a gypsy wailing with all her might.
Always adapting,
acting,
afraid her heart may never find a home.
Sacrificing herself to survival,
Forging her fortress,
Hiding the emptiness.
Her eccentricity is not about vanity.
It’s the last semblance of sanity
for a heart too traumatized
to express the depth
of the loss
of the last
bonds of love in this world.
Without mother, father, or friend,
without understanding or peace,
without God or heaven,
she is homeless …
to what end?
Society seems superficial.
She maneuvers her polite dismissal
from the civilized world.
Her passionate intensity
reviled by polite society,
her only consolation
is her own isolation.
Her greatest hope,
living in limbo,
Is the creation of a foundation
Of compassion
With which to transform herself
and thereby –
the world.
Kathryn Preston, 2006
disappearing with a trace.
A nameless face in a maddening crowd.
A mask and a shroud.
A spirit searching for the light,
a gypsy wailing with all her might.
Always adapting,
acting,
afraid her heart may never find a home.
Sacrificing herself to survival,
Forging her fortress,
Hiding the emptiness.
Her eccentricity is not about vanity.
It’s the last semblance of sanity
for a heart too traumatized
to express the depth
of the loss
of the last
bonds of love in this world.
Without mother, father, or friend,
without understanding or peace,
without God or heaven,
she is homeless …
to what end?
Society seems superficial.
She maneuvers her polite dismissal
from the civilized world.
Her passionate intensity
reviled by polite society,
her only consolation
is her own isolation.
Her greatest hope,
living in limbo,
Is the creation of a foundation
Of compassion
With which to transform herself
and thereby –
the world.
Kathryn Preston, 2006
Monday, February 15, 2010
intoxication of illusion
Intoxication of Illusion
by Kathryn Preston
The magical prescence manifesting
mirrors the poet-picasso-passion-power
invested in me by a universe experiencing ecstatic intimacy
through this heavenly body
and my divine polarity.
Cosmic counterparts coupling,
uniting, inviting
primal explosions:
portals of expanding consciousness
transcending, transforming, transporting,
penetrating deep within the world-womb,
the source of knowing,
the secret-soul-center,
longing for liberation from limitation, separation,
and the intoxication of illusion.
by Kathryn Preston on Monday, February 15, 2010
© 2010 Kathryn Preston
by Kathryn Preston
The magical prescence manifesting
mirrors the poet-picasso-passion-power
invested in me by a universe experiencing ecstatic intimacy
through this heavenly body
and my divine polarity.
Cosmic counterparts coupling,
uniting, inviting
primal explosions:
portals of expanding consciousness
transcending, transforming, transporting,
penetrating deep within the world-womb,
the source of knowing,
the secret-soul-center,
longing for liberation from limitation, separation,
and the intoxication of illusion.
by Kathryn Preston on Monday, February 15, 2010
© 2010 Kathryn Preston
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Song of the Universe
As a child growing up in the Adirondack Mountains,
entering the woods was entering another reality, a world of mystery, the unknown, where nothing was predictable, and anything could happen.
I loved the woods. My imagination took flight there, and I was free. Eventually, the woods came to a river, and while I often fished at its edges, I never crossed that border physically. Mentally, I always wondered what manner of worlds existed on the other side of the mountain? Currently my question is: what manner of realities exists beyond the confines of my current mindscape?
It is this yearning that will guide me into the next chapter of my life. I have a sense that I am on the brink of finding that place where I will feel fulfilled and whole.
As a young mountain girl, I often went to the woods for solace from the cruel conditions of my childhood. There I would climb the biggest boulder I could find and sing at the top of my voice.
I remember singing "Amazing Grace" with all the passion of a child who knows all too well the meaning of the phrase "wretch like me."
The lyrics hold the key as to why it saved me: "Amazing Grace (divinity), how sweet the sound (song) that saved a wretch like me."
Song is sound, vibration, energy, creativity, divinity. And creativity/creation, for me, is a seed-thought in the universal mind, coupled with a vibrating heart, blending their energies to create the song of the universe, without which, we wouldn't exist.
by Kathryn Preston
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
All Women's Chalice
A radical shift in consciousness happened instantaneously the moment I arrived at 3472 Sunshine Canyon Drive, home of The Star House spiritual retreat center in Boulder, CO. Like a scene in a Castaneda novel where Carlos receives a smack in the back between the shoulder blades which propelled him into a new dimension, I had landed in another reality.
The immediate impression upon arrival at The Star House is one of expansion. Having just driven through the canyon, the landscape suddenly morphed from rows of protective pines to open hills and grasslands. At the top of the hill, gazing down through the valley to Boulder below, one is able to breathe long, luxuriating breaths, inhaling pine, sage, and lavender, while exhaling any and all mundane concerns. The meadow, the clearing, was a mirror of the cleansing and clarity I was about to receive via a weekend at the “All Women’s Chalice” PCA (Path of the Ceremonial Arts) intensive.
The way I became aware of The Star House is an interesting story in and of itself. Having spent twenty years in the theater, steeped in the language of myth and story, my personal research over the last few years has led me to Joseph Campbell’s work: ancient myths and their heroes/heroines; and Carl Jung and his archetypes and dreamwork. Not a believer in any particular organized religion, Mary Magdalene has recently become an object of my attention. My intuition led me to The Gospel of Mary Magdalene by Jean-Yves Leloup, translated from French by Joseph Rowe. The introduction was written by David Tresemer and Laura-Lea Cannon. In it, they mention their play, “My Magdalene.” Instantly, I knew that this is exactly what I have been looking for: modern Theater with all of the original spiritual/ritual significance. Searching for David Tresemer and the play on Yahoo! led me to Lila’s e-mail at The Star House. I asked her if I could read the play. She responded by e-mailing a copy - no charge, no questions asked. Lila asked if I wanted to come to the Star House retreat. I jumped at the chance! Not only was it the synchronicity of thought that lured me, but I was at a crossroads in my life and I knew that I would not be able to move forward in a new direction until I stopped what I was doing, stepped off the treadmill, and took a much needed detour. The weekend intensive did not magically solve all my issues; however, it has provided a jumping-off point, a new focus, a new beginning on “the road less traveled.”
Drawing from the rituals of many ancient paths: Native American, Celtic, etc., the weekend was a kaleidoscope of feminine ways of thinking. We began the weekend in the Kiva: the womb ( portal from one reality into another) of mother earth, a cave, dark and dank; then the symbolic blindfold – the veil between the worlds; next an ascension up a ladder blindfolded; then emerging from the opening in to another portal – that of your own heart - to listen for a deeply individual message. From within I received this message: “Love yourself as you would a beloved. Instead of searching for a beloved, become the beloved.” As each woman received her own message, she shared it with the group, and lit her candle of intention.
Receiving messages through various “mediums” was a definite through-line for the weekend. Water is an effective information transmitter, and at the Celtic well, under the stars: I felt an urge to weep: water, emotions, the moon, the tides, the flow, cleansing, purifying, releasing. Release pain and fear of the past, release distrust, release some of my hermetic privacy so that I may share insights I have gathered on my journey.”
That first evening, we were encouraged to remember our dreams. I dreamt flashes, images: a path through the woods and a wolf.
According to www.birdclan.org/wolf.html: “Wolf is the pathfinder (emphasis added), the forerunner of new ideas who returns to the clan to teach and share medicine. If you were to keep company with Wolves, you would find an enormous sense of family within the pack, as well as a strong individualistic urge, and they live by carefully defined rules and rituals. They are friendly, social, and highly intelligent. Wolves are the epitome of the wild spirit. As you feel Wolf coming alive within you, you may wish to share your knowledge by writing or lecturing on information that will help others better understand their uniqueness or path in life.”
Hmmmm.
The next day, in a visualization guided by Laura-Lea, we were invited to ‘go underground’ to explore secret rooms to find out who we are meant to be in the physical, emotional, and mythic realms. I received images of myself as an alchemist, recording my “findings” based on my life’s experimentations and explorations. I also envisioned a shaman who helps others to learn how to navigate between realities or levels of consciousness. I learned that my voice is the breath, the wind that spreads the seeds of higher consciousness by writing and performing articles, plays, poetry, and songs. I wonder if my biological mother and father ever knew that when they named me Kathryn Gayle, they named me aptly. Kathryn means “purity,” and my middle name, Gayle, means “the singer.” I had always put the two together to mean “the pure singer.”
In the afternoon, the “priestesses” (the other participants and myself) invoked the spirit of each of the four-directions (a Native American tradition.) Initially, I chastised myself for not being able to remember the symbolism of any of the directions, except the North. While facing North, I received his incredible visual of skeletons dancing ecstatically around a campfire at night. As it turns out, the “North” represents bones,
stones, caves, our ancestors. It occurred to me that my ancestors were calling to me.
During another visualization, acting as a scribe for someone else’s meditation, it seemed that many of this participant’s thoughts were similar to my thoughts, and it struck me as she talked about her grandmother, that my grandmother just might be using her to “speak” to me. I don’t even know if I actually believe that this is possible, but the thought struck me in the moment, and as we say in the theater, I “went with it.” This was a
watershed moment, highly significant to me due to the fact that I spent my formative years as a foster child and did not know much about my biological family or their history. Named after my paternal grandmother, Kate O’Shaughnessy, I believe she fled Ireland to escape the potato famine induced by the British, but other than that, I have known nothing solid other than the fact that my family had become splintered and lost to each other. (Ok, so now grandma is calling me, but what does she want?)
On the final morning of the retreat, my sister-goddesses and I entered the Kiva as we had every morning, but this morning I had the sensation that my ankles were being attacked! I scratched them all through the ceremony until they bled. Entering The Star House, I mentioned this oddity to another participant who said, “The ankles have to do with indifference.” OK, so what am I indifferent about? It became clear that I had not previously had any interest in finding out who my grandmother was, this woman whom I was named for. Ashamed of my humble upbringing, I preferred that people saw me as the “dynamic actress,” the free-spirited bohemian, etc. It occurred to me that this thinking has deprived me of possibly the greatest treasure of my life.
I wasn’t seeking treasure when I signed up for this intensive, but that is ultimately what I found. In the piney-wood grove, later that day, leaning against a very old tree, perhaps a “grandmother” itself, I heard: “you have no roots, and you will not grow until you get some.” Suddenly, I had it! It was as if a slew of psychic ingredients had been bubbling in a cauldron, and finally I had the answer! Everything made sense at once. I thought of all the seashells I had seen in the past few weeks. The shells had been a clue, and now I know what they meant. I am to embark on a journey overseas, to the land of my ancestors: Ireland, Scotland, and Wales. I will discover my grandmother’s story, and in doing so, learn my own story and meet the family I never knew. I will write her story and share it with the world so that someone else may see themselves within our story and be inspired to go on a journey, a spiritual Odyssey, with the intention of creating wholeness within. Like concentric circles that flow outward when a pebble is tossed into a pond, it is my hope that my individual, transformation will reverberate in the larger world. As His Holiness the Dalai Lama said: “Although attempting to bring about world peace through internal transformation of individuals is difficult, it is the only way.”
By Kathryn Preston
The immediate impression upon arrival at The Star House is one of expansion. Having just driven through the canyon, the landscape suddenly morphed from rows of protective pines to open hills and grasslands. At the top of the hill, gazing down through the valley to Boulder below, one is able to breathe long, luxuriating breaths, inhaling pine, sage, and lavender, while exhaling any and all mundane concerns. The meadow, the clearing, was a mirror of the cleansing and clarity I was about to receive via a weekend at the “All Women’s Chalice” PCA (Path of the Ceremonial Arts) intensive.
The way I became aware of The Star House is an interesting story in and of itself. Having spent twenty years in the theater, steeped in the language of myth and story, my personal research over the last few years has led me to Joseph Campbell’s work: ancient myths and their heroes/heroines; and Carl Jung and his archetypes and dreamwork. Not a believer in any particular organized religion, Mary Magdalene has recently become an object of my attention. My intuition led me to The Gospel of Mary Magdalene by Jean-Yves Leloup, translated from French by Joseph Rowe. The introduction was written by David Tresemer and Laura-Lea Cannon. In it, they mention their play, “My Magdalene.” Instantly, I knew that this is exactly what I have been looking for: modern Theater with all of the original spiritual/ritual significance. Searching for David Tresemer and the play on Yahoo! led me to Lila’s e-mail at The Star House. I asked her if I could read the play. She responded by e-mailing a copy - no charge, no questions asked. Lila asked if I wanted to come to the Star House retreat. I jumped at the chance! Not only was it the synchronicity of thought that lured me, but I was at a crossroads in my life and I knew that I would not be able to move forward in a new direction until I stopped what I was doing, stepped off the treadmill, and took a much needed detour. The weekend intensive did not magically solve all my issues; however, it has provided a jumping-off point, a new focus, a new beginning on “the road less traveled.”
Drawing from the rituals of many ancient paths: Native American, Celtic, etc., the weekend was a kaleidoscope of feminine ways of thinking. We began the weekend in the Kiva: the womb ( portal from one reality into another) of mother earth, a cave, dark and dank; then the symbolic blindfold – the veil between the worlds; next an ascension up a ladder blindfolded; then emerging from the opening in to another portal – that of your own heart - to listen for a deeply individual message. From within I received this message: “Love yourself as you would a beloved. Instead of searching for a beloved, become the beloved.” As each woman received her own message, she shared it with the group, and lit her candle of intention.
Receiving messages through various “mediums” was a definite through-line for the weekend. Water is an effective information transmitter, and at the Celtic well, under the stars: I felt an urge to weep: water, emotions, the moon, the tides, the flow, cleansing, purifying, releasing. Release pain and fear of the past, release distrust, release some of my hermetic privacy so that I may share insights I have gathered on my journey.”
That first evening, we were encouraged to remember our dreams. I dreamt flashes, images: a path through the woods and a wolf.
According to www.birdclan.org/wolf.html: “Wolf is the pathfinder (emphasis added), the forerunner of new ideas who returns to the clan to teach and share medicine. If you were to keep company with Wolves, you would find an enormous sense of family within the pack, as well as a strong individualistic urge, and they live by carefully defined rules and rituals. They are friendly, social, and highly intelligent. Wolves are the epitome of the wild spirit. As you feel Wolf coming alive within you, you may wish to share your knowledge by writing or lecturing on information that will help others better understand their uniqueness or path in life.”
Hmmmm.
The next day, in a visualization guided by Laura-Lea, we were invited to ‘go underground’ to explore secret rooms to find out who we are meant to be in the physical, emotional, and mythic realms. I received images of myself as an alchemist, recording my “findings” based on my life’s experimentations and explorations. I also envisioned a shaman who helps others to learn how to navigate between realities or levels of consciousness. I learned that my voice is the breath, the wind that spreads the seeds of higher consciousness by writing and performing articles, plays, poetry, and songs. I wonder if my biological mother and father ever knew that when they named me Kathryn Gayle, they named me aptly. Kathryn means “purity,” and my middle name, Gayle, means “the singer.” I had always put the two together to mean “the pure singer.”
In the afternoon, the “priestesses” (the other participants and myself) invoked the spirit of each of the four-directions (a Native American tradition.) Initially, I chastised myself for not being able to remember the symbolism of any of the directions, except the North. While facing North, I received his incredible visual of skeletons dancing ecstatically around a campfire at night. As it turns out, the “North” represents bones,
stones, caves, our ancestors. It occurred to me that my ancestors were calling to me.
During another visualization, acting as a scribe for someone else’s meditation, it seemed that many of this participant’s thoughts were similar to my thoughts, and it struck me as she talked about her grandmother, that my grandmother just might be using her to “speak” to me. I don’t even know if I actually believe that this is possible, but the thought struck me in the moment, and as we say in the theater, I “went with it.” This was a
watershed moment, highly significant to me due to the fact that I spent my formative years as a foster child and did not know much about my biological family or their history. Named after my paternal grandmother, Kate O’Shaughnessy, I believe she fled Ireland to escape the potato famine induced by the British, but other than that, I have known nothing solid other than the fact that my family had become splintered and lost to each other. (Ok, so now grandma is calling me, but what does she want?)
On the final morning of the retreat, my sister-goddesses and I entered the Kiva as we had every morning, but this morning I had the sensation that my ankles were being attacked! I scratched them all through the ceremony until they bled. Entering The Star House, I mentioned this oddity to another participant who said, “The ankles have to do with indifference.” OK, so what am I indifferent about? It became clear that I had not previously had any interest in finding out who my grandmother was, this woman whom I was named for. Ashamed of my humble upbringing, I preferred that people saw me as the “dynamic actress,” the free-spirited bohemian, etc. It occurred to me that this thinking has deprived me of possibly the greatest treasure of my life.
I wasn’t seeking treasure when I signed up for this intensive, but that is ultimately what I found. In the piney-wood grove, later that day, leaning against a very old tree, perhaps a “grandmother” itself, I heard: “you have no roots, and you will not grow until you get some.” Suddenly, I had it! It was as if a slew of psychic ingredients had been bubbling in a cauldron, and finally I had the answer! Everything made sense at once. I thought of all the seashells I had seen in the past few weeks. The shells had been a clue, and now I know what they meant. I am to embark on a journey overseas, to the land of my ancestors: Ireland, Scotland, and Wales. I will discover my grandmother’s story, and in doing so, learn my own story and meet the family I never knew. I will write her story and share it with the world so that someone else may see themselves within our story and be inspired to go on a journey, a spiritual Odyssey, with the intention of creating wholeness within. Like concentric circles that flow outward when a pebble is tossed into a pond, it is my hope that my individual, transformation will reverberate in the larger world. As His Holiness the Dalai Lama said: “Although attempting to bring about world peace through internal transformation of individuals is difficult, it is the only way.”
By Kathryn Preston
Revolution of Spirit Rap
Revolution of Spirit Rap
by Kathryn Preston
The chapters of your life are rife with ego,
but greater than the ego is the soul.
Your humanity may just be your current starring role
in a whole play about the way,
the way we grow our soul.
So, my friend, as you end this scene and begin again,
be free from the constraints of mortality
and other people’s morality and let your spirit fly.
They say the microcosm reflects the macrocosm and vice versa.
As within, so without, as above so below,
don’t ya know that the forces battling around the globe
are the very forces battling for our collective soul?
Your first battle should be your own
‘cause it’s only when you get to know the inner foe,
that you truly recognize those who tyrannize those who have no way to say no.
Once you vanquish the inner tyrant,
you can become a giant of compassion,
and fashion a foundation for our nation.
So, heal thyself and light the way,
the eve of destruction has had its day.
Let each of us discuss our wounds and fears and heal with the tears of the Phoenix.
Once we acknowledge that my pain is your pain is their pain,
we can see that we are all starring in the same drama
on different stages across the ages.
Whether its emotional, political, financial, or archetypal,
it’s all sound and fury, smoke and mirrors,
reflecting the original Passion Play,
deus ex machinae.
It’s all about unity or separation,
whether it’s a nation or your own mind,
now is the time for all good men and women to:
focus, pray, meditate, create
an alternate reality of Unity.
Reconstruction must begin within
for anything else, I have come to the conclusion, is facade and illusion.
The control freaks have created their dream,
a nightmare which we are forced to accept at every step
but I reject this fatalistic notion
that our dream should be squashed by the machine.
We have the ability,
we have the power,
to turn the tide on the infanticide
of my childhood dream:
to nourish the love, creativity, and freeing of every being on the planet, dammit!
by Kathryn Preston
The chapters of your life are rife with ego,
but greater than the ego is the soul.
Your humanity may just be your current starring role
in a whole play about the way,
the way we grow our soul.
So, my friend, as you end this scene and begin again,
be free from the constraints of mortality
and other people’s morality and let your spirit fly.
They say the microcosm reflects the macrocosm and vice versa.
As within, so without, as above so below,
don’t ya know that the forces battling around the globe
are the very forces battling for our collective soul?
Your first battle should be your own
‘cause it’s only when you get to know the inner foe,
that you truly recognize those who tyrannize those who have no way to say no.
Once you vanquish the inner tyrant,
you can become a giant of compassion,
and fashion a foundation for our nation.
So, heal thyself and light the way,
the eve of destruction has had its day.
Let each of us discuss our wounds and fears and heal with the tears of the Phoenix.
Once we acknowledge that my pain is your pain is their pain,
we can see that we are all starring in the same drama
on different stages across the ages.
Whether its emotional, political, financial, or archetypal,
it’s all sound and fury, smoke and mirrors,
reflecting the original Passion Play,
deus ex machinae.
It’s all about unity or separation,
whether it’s a nation or your own mind,
now is the time for all good men and women to:
focus, pray, meditate, create
an alternate reality of Unity.
Reconstruction must begin within
for anything else, I have come to the conclusion, is facade and illusion.
The control freaks have created their dream,
a nightmare which we are forced to accept at every step
but I reject this fatalistic notion
that our dream should be squashed by the machine.
We have the ability,
we have the power,
to turn the tide on the infanticide
of my childhood dream:
to nourish the love, creativity, and freeing of every being on the planet, dammit!
Dreaming a Life Into Being
Dreaming a Life into Being
by Kathryn Preston
Perched like an apprentice owl
on a contemplative birch bench in a secret riverine alcove,
she closes her eyes, peering into the abyss within,
seeking an image, a symbol,
to guide her on her quest.
In her mind’s eye the purple mist conjures visions of a luminous swan,
gliding with self-possessed tranquility.
Recognizing her future-reflection,
she ponders the ugly-duckling,
buried fathoms deep and wills the wounded-one to surrender,
dissolve, unravel, that she may be resurrected, re-woven;
to die to identity and be re-born to eternity.
In the marsh-waters of the subconscious,
the winged-one navigates the labyrinth in primordial darkness,
as roots reach down-deep where soil is blackest,
to be nurtured by the soul-waters of life.
Our ‘Lady of the Lake’ purifies and prepares among the weeds, reeds, and grasses.
She is deep within the mystery:
nesting, incubating, silently gestating her destiny,
and dreaming a life into being.
by Kathryn Preston on Monday, January 25, 2010
© 2010 Kathryn Preston
by Kathryn Preston
Perched like an apprentice owl
on a contemplative birch bench in a secret riverine alcove,
she closes her eyes, peering into the abyss within,
seeking an image, a symbol,
to guide her on her quest.
In her mind’s eye the purple mist conjures visions of a luminous swan,
gliding with self-possessed tranquility.
Recognizing her future-reflection,
she ponders the ugly-duckling,
buried fathoms deep and wills the wounded-one to surrender,
dissolve, unravel, that she may be resurrected, re-woven;
to die to identity and be re-born to eternity.
In the marsh-waters of the subconscious,
the winged-one navigates the labyrinth in primordial darkness,
as roots reach down-deep where soil is blackest,
to be nurtured by the soul-waters of life.
Our ‘Lady of the Lake’ purifies and prepares among the weeds, reeds, and grasses.
She is deep within the mystery:
nesting, incubating, silently gestating her destiny,
and dreaming a life into being.
by Kathryn Preston on Monday, January 25, 2010
© 2010 Kathryn Preston
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Creativity leads to Diplomacy
After months of soul searching, I have come to the conclusion that my purpose on this planet (for the rest of my days) is to become a conduit for re-introducing the feminine aspect of the divine into the collective consciousness. Intuitive ways of knowing and creativity are necessary antidotes to the out-of-balance patriarchal-consumer forces poisoning our world and psyches today. Experience as an actor has taught me that creativity allows for the development of empathy and compassion, attributes which are absolutely necessary in serious discussions about improving global relations. The premise that creativity is a manifestation of the divine is the basis of my personal worldview.
Creativity allows for flexibility of thought ("thinking outside the box"), enhances problem-solving skills, and establishes powers of empathy and understanding, all of which
lead to greater diplomacy. If America is to truly light the way to freedom for the rest of the world, then creativity and diplomacy must become as great, in our culture and in our leaders, as our dependency on oil.
As an actor, one of the greatest gifts I received as a result of training was to view
others’ strengths and flaws as mirroring my own. An actor has to find an experience within his or her life that allows him to empathize as much as possible with a character in order to portray the character honestly. The actor is compelled to find something in his or her own nature that is on some level similar to the character. The universality of our humanity/divinity can be accessed through this creative play.
For example, an actor may have to take on the role of a murderer. The actor may have never killed a human being, and so does not have that personal experience to draw upon. Using Stanislavsky’s "magic if": "If I were this character, in these circumstances, how would I behave?" - IS A technique an actor might use to play George in "Of Mice and Men." One could argue, on the most basic level, that George is a "murderer." However, there are so many shades of gray surrounding the extenuating circumstances that lead to his decision and subsequent actions that one ends up empathizing with George rather than blindly condemning him in black or white terms. Standing in separation and judgment, saying, "I would never behave like that!" is not an option for an actor, as that kind of thinking is not conducive to the acting process. This type of separation-stance is taken by those who see all people as "the other," the "stranger." As an actor, one must find common ground between oneself and the character. Even if the actor does not condone the character's behavior, he must find a way to understand the behavior and empathize with the reasons why the behavior was manifested. This process of exploring all the aberrant behavior as well as the noble actions of human consciousness is the epitome of diplomacy. It is easy to stand apart in judgment, creating a sense of separation and superiority, which is why so many people do it: from political parties to sports teams to Presidents. It is infinitely harder to find common ground, to look for the good in someone "despicable," or to see thy enemy as thyself. From JFK to Martin Luther King, from Gandhi to Nelson Mandela, isn't this the message that the most beloved leaders throughout time have communicated?
Nelson Mandela said: "After climbing a great hill, one only finds that there are many more hills to climb. I have taken a moment here to rest, to steal a view of the glorious vista that surrounds me, to look back on the distance I have come. But I can rest only for a moment, for with freedom comes responsibilities, and I dare not linger, for my long walk is not yet ended." For many years, I walked through life as an actor. Later, during recovery from trauma, I realized that the Theater Arts had given me the very tools I would need to navigate the "dark night of the soul" that accompanies trauma and recovery. Through visualization; through conversations with "wise-women" characters in my imagination; through the relationship I have created with the most dark, cavernous places of my being, I have navigated my own labyrinth and found the portal to that place that is sacred and universal in all of us. Pain is one of the most powerful teachers that we have in this life. Transforming pain into compassion via empathy is the greatest triumph of the human spirit. Transforming that empathy into action that (according to Mandela) "respects and enhances the freedom of others" is a soulful goal that can lead to an alternate reality of unity, rather than one of fear and domination, and is the seed-thought of the new culture of higher consciousness that is being nurtured in our world today.
Kathryn Preston 2008
Creativity allows for flexibility of thought ("thinking outside the box"), enhances problem-solving skills, and establishes powers of empathy and understanding, all of which
lead to greater diplomacy. If America is to truly light the way to freedom for the rest of the world, then creativity and diplomacy must become as great, in our culture and in our leaders, as our dependency on oil.
As an actor, one of the greatest gifts I received as a result of training was to view
others’ strengths and flaws as mirroring my own. An actor has to find an experience within his or her life that allows him to empathize as much as possible with a character in order to portray the character honestly. The actor is compelled to find something in his or her own nature that is on some level similar to the character. The universality of our humanity/divinity can be accessed through this creative play.
For example, an actor may have to take on the role of a murderer. The actor may have never killed a human being, and so does not have that personal experience to draw upon. Using Stanislavsky’s "magic if": "If I were this character, in these circumstances, how would I behave?" - IS A technique an actor might use to play George in "Of Mice and Men." One could argue, on the most basic level, that George is a "murderer." However, there are so many shades of gray surrounding the extenuating circumstances that lead to his decision and subsequent actions that one ends up empathizing with George rather than blindly condemning him in black or white terms. Standing in separation and judgment, saying, "I would never behave like that!" is not an option for an actor, as that kind of thinking is not conducive to the acting process. This type of separation-stance is taken by those who see all people as "the other," the "stranger." As an actor, one must find common ground between oneself and the character. Even if the actor does not condone the character's behavior, he must find a way to understand the behavior and empathize with the reasons why the behavior was manifested. This process of exploring all the aberrant behavior as well as the noble actions of human consciousness is the epitome of diplomacy. It is easy to stand apart in judgment, creating a sense of separation and superiority, which is why so many people do it: from political parties to sports teams to Presidents. It is infinitely harder to find common ground, to look for the good in someone "despicable," or to see thy enemy as thyself. From JFK to Martin Luther King, from Gandhi to Nelson Mandela, isn't this the message that the most beloved leaders throughout time have communicated?
Nelson Mandela said: "After climbing a great hill, one only finds that there are many more hills to climb. I have taken a moment here to rest, to steal a view of the glorious vista that surrounds me, to look back on the distance I have come. But I can rest only for a moment, for with freedom comes responsibilities, and I dare not linger, for my long walk is not yet ended." For many years, I walked through life as an actor. Later, during recovery from trauma, I realized that the Theater Arts had given me the very tools I would need to navigate the "dark night of the soul" that accompanies trauma and recovery. Through visualization; through conversations with "wise-women" characters in my imagination; through the relationship I have created with the most dark, cavernous places of my being, I have navigated my own labyrinth and found the portal to that place that is sacred and universal in all of us. Pain is one of the most powerful teachers that we have in this life. Transforming pain into compassion via empathy is the greatest triumph of the human spirit. Transforming that empathy into action that (according to Mandela) "respects and enhances the freedom of others" is a soulful goal that can lead to an alternate reality of unity, rather than one of fear and domination, and is the seed-thought of the new culture of higher consciousness that is being nurtured in our world today.
Kathryn Preston 2008
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