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!

A Celtic Solstice

The Celts are my ancestors, but I have known precious little of this heritage as all my familial bonds were severed in childhood. I know I was named for my paternal grandmother, Kate O’Shaughnessy, who moved to Canada from Ireland to escape genocide via famine induced by the British government. There she met and married Carl Preston. Preston means “priest town.” Apparently, in twelfth century Scotland, there was and still is a town named Preston, run by a group of Catholic priests. Eventually the pair moved to the Adirondack Mountains of upstate New York where I was born.

My life seemed to be in a state of chaotic-limbo, so I took the opportunity to do some digging into the history and mythology of “my people.” I use quotes around the phrase “my people” because I have never really felt the fervor of a nationalistic identity. I grew up in a foster home where African-American, Native American, Irish-American, you name it - were all my brothers and sisters. I didn’t realize it then, but I see now that there was hidden treasure in the hardships of life as an orphan. Considering people from all walks of life to be my kith and kin has led to a world- view that is inclusive of all human beings and all life.

For much of my life, however, I felt like an outsider in my own culture: a culture that takes many of its ideas of civilization from a Greco-Roman world view. Interestingly, the name “Celt” comes from the Greek word “Celtoi” meaning “stranger” or “outsider.” For many years I found a “home” in the theater. Migrating across America, performing plays, writing poetry, and maintaining an ancient oral tradition that I had no idea I was part of. Today I am a writer, poet, actor, singer, and somewhat of a mystic. Since I was not in a position to learn this behavior from my parents, I have surmised that these gifts can only have been passed down through the ages from the original Bard by means of genetics or Jung’s collective unconscious.

When I speak of the “original Bard,” I don’t mean Shakespeare (though I love his work dearly.) Contrary to popular belief, the term “Bard” is of Celtic origin. In ancient times, the Bard would perform his poetry during feasts, satirizing or glorifying his warrior tribesmen, while the Chieftain looked on. What appeals to me most about this character, the Bard, is that although he had a formidable intellect, and was an exquisite performer and public speaker, the real magic of his “critiques” lay within the intimate connection he had with each member of his tribe. That kind of kinship and connection steeped in history and tradition is what I have envied Europeans for all my life. Now, I realize that my ancestors were the fathers of Europe, and I am more connected than I ever realized. A simple flick of the switch inside my head has produced a connectivity heretofore unknown to me. This connection illuminates “ways of thinking” that I thought were unique to me, but is actually unique to the Celts.

It is a non-classical, Celtic mind that believes opposing facts can be equally right, and that a conclusion can be arrived at from a number of different directions. In contrast, it is the Greco-Roman mind that thinks in terms of strict order, hierarchies, beauracracies, squares, rectangles, and boxes. My thinking has always been much freer, more fluid, more abstract. Celtic art forms were inspired by the land and sea they loved so well. Their art, like their lifestyle, was about freedom of movement: open-ended curves and beautiful swells. Celtic art and music reflects a philosophy of freedom. I realize that what I am about to write is a rather romantic notion, and probably every orphan’s deepest desire, but I wish I could live with a tribe of people who love the land they live on as fiercely as they love one another. I met a native Irishman who describes a rural man as knowing and loving the land he lives on the same way he knows his lady-love. An Irishman feels the soil the same way he runs his hands through his true love’s hair. He is as familiar with the contours of the land as he is with every nook and cranny of his beloved’s body. If everyone honored the spirit of the land and the spirit of the feminine in this manner, there might be more “peace on earth.”

My research on Celtic Solstice rituals has provided me with illumination and guidance as to why my life seemed in limbo. Ancient Winter Solstice festivals consisted of four rituals:

1. Rites of mortification, austerity. This is the natural cycle we are in at this time of the year. The sun is in stasis. Sol = “sun,” and stice = “still.” There is a suspended animation that happens at the end of one cycle (death of the old), before the New Year (birth of the new sun/son) begins. This explains my feeling of limbo, but what is its purpose?

2. Rites of purgation: expelling bad moral or physical habits. Fasts, abstinence; getting rid of the old so the new can flow in. Then, having surrendered to austerity for the purpose of purification (preparing for the new ) we move on to:

3. The rites of invigoration, rejuvenation of energies. Ancients did this through ritual combat (much like stage combat of today); battles between death and life, old and new, winter and spring. And last but not least:

4. The rites of jubilation: comes from an overwhelming sense of relief that death has been beaten and the continuance of life has begun.

I believe that my world was turned upside down recently because it is only within the fertile ground of chaos that creation, renewal, and transformation can happen. I feel that I am on the verge of letting go of old ways that no longer serve me so that I may loose the chains that have held my heart in bondage. I am on the precipice, about to cross the threshold into that portal which is my own heart. I am about to discover a new world, abundant with possibility, as generations of fathers and mothers before me had done. Their journey was physical. Mine is spiritual.

As I shed my old skin and reinvent myself and my life, I also have a sense of advancing my ancestors’ legacy: to bring freedom of thought and new ways of being into the present moment; to create my life as the highest form of art, and to share all of this with others in the interest of Unity.

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!

Quest

I have changed so radically - in the way I think and see life - as a result of this journey. It’s not right for me to try to squash myself back into a box that I no longer fit into. My intention is to expand as far as I can in this life, SPIRITUALLY. Now it is clear that I need to seek out people who are likeminded in a soulful way: interested in ancient wisdom-teachings from all backgrounds, who love Creativity and Nature. These are the folks who are my true tribe. I am forced to re-define “family” and what that will look like for me from here on out. I am not content to merely engage in spiritual dialogue on the internet whilst eking out a living in “drudgeryville.” I need to move on to find out where I belong. I need to find a new direction to move in. I need to find a group with common values that is committed to something larger than myself and my small concerns. Right now, I need what the ancient Druids would call a “soul-friend” (Anam Chara)who can help me narrow my focus so that I can begin to map out the next steps on my path; someone who understands the process of true transformation and transition, a support person who can help me keep moving along the path and not get stuck (as I know will happen if I continue to walk the path of the “lone-wolf.”) This is where all of my Friends come in. Is there an apprenticeship where I can learn how to take my intuitive, compassionate, and creative gifts and put them into some kind of practical, meaningful, and fulfilling use? I am praying with all my heart that I can achieve more intensity in the realm of bliss. It has been a long and dificult journey, but now I think I’m finally “coming home” to Myself. Thank you all for your kindness and generosity toward me. I REALLY APPRECIATE IT!!!
Kathryn Preston
1/12/11

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."

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.

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