Prompt from Rob Breszny's Free Will Astrology: For Gemini: "What do you think is the most pressing communiqué your future self is currently beaming your way?"
It's funny , but I once attempted to write a play about this very concept - my future wise-woman self (in the form of Baba Yaga) having a dialogue with my present self.
Although my external circumstances might seem bleak or extreme to some at the moment, I see that I am being nurtured and provided for in a way that is allowing me to go deeper into Spirit. I'm not studying formally with any institution of higher learning or even with a mystery school, but I am ravenously devouring all the books I can get my hands on regarding Gnosticism, the true origins of Christianity, Helena Blavatsky and the Theosophical Society, etc, etc. I want to know the real meaning, the real substance, behind the ritual forms - on all levels. And my future self wants me to get back to Singing (particularly songs of love). Just found out via C.W. LEADBEATER'S "Christian Gnosis" that the word "person" means: per - "through," sona - "sound." Cool. Digging into this business about "the Logos," rather than "God," is a bit confusing and rather reads like science fiction, but is fascinating nonetheless. Deeper study is required. Ciao for now!
Showing posts with label Spirituality. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Spirituality. Show all posts
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Freedom to choose
when our world has gone beyond the current turmoil and chaos of change, I want to see the whole world existing in a reality where each person has the freedom to choose exactly what his/her own version of paradise would be, and to have ...the means/resources to follow that bliss. AND IF SOMEONE TRIES that reality and finds it not to his liking, then by all means, he should be able to experiment, improvise, and tweak reality until he/she finds her true bliss.
Amen brothas and sistas!
Amen brothas and sistas!
Monday, February 7, 2011
Re Spring Issue of Parabola 2011
Reading the Spring issue of Parabola Magazine has given me new inspiration and understanding.
Jonathan Omer-Man describes my personal relationship with suffering via a hasidic interpretation of
the Jews' slavery and Moses' role in the scenario. He says : in the initial stages of their slavery, the Jews' coping mechanism (and mine) was to buffer themselves against pain, they suffered a loss of identity (as I did) and fell intoa melancholic non-action. They accepted slavery as their fate. Omer-Man says they felt wretched and alone, hopeless. (Been there,done that, too.) Then, Moses was the deus ex machinae. In order to provoke a shift inside them, Moses provoked the Pharoah into worsening their condition so that they would not be static anymore. The pain became so excruciating that they were forced to make a choice: "We don't want to live this way any more." Thus began the Exodus! I don't know about you, but I LOVE Parabola Magazine - it just clarified things for me. I had never heard this interpretation before. All I have to do is make the "shift," get off my duff and move -- no more hiding, no more buffering--make the change! Thank you, Jonathan Omer-Man, for sharing this wisdom. I love you!
Jonathan Omer-Man describes my personal relationship with suffering via a hasidic interpretation of
the Jews' slavery and Moses' role in the scenario. He says : in the initial stages of their slavery, the Jews' coping mechanism (and mine) was to buffer themselves against pain, they suffered a loss of identity (as I did) and fell intoa melancholic non-action. They accepted slavery as their fate. Omer-Man says they felt wretched and alone, hopeless. (Been there,done that, too.) Then, Moses was the deus ex machinae. In order to provoke a shift inside them, Moses provoked the Pharoah into worsening their condition so that they would not be static anymore. The pain became so excruciating that they were forced to make a choice: "We don't want to live this way any more." Thus began the Exodus! I don't know about you, but I LOVE Parabola Magazine - it just clarified things for me. I had never heard this interpretation before. All I have to do is make the "shift," get off my duff and move -- no more hiding, no more buffering--make the change! Thank you, Jonathan Omer-Man, for sharing this wisdom. I love you!
Friday, December 24, 2010
UNITY by Kathryn Preston
"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."
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, 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.
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."
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!
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
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