Secretly streaming inner dialogue is judging Parker's new found fire to push himself. It's quacking 'that's not right' into a second thought of 'what the hell do I know?' and decide to autocratically supersede myself and have some fun. I push myself into a writing schedule, which has proven very effective. I remember now that I am a force of energy, and I am taking up space. It is time to start living It with some intent and impact, for I indeed make waves when dropped in water.
Parker cleverly calling out my annoying sabotaging semantics caught me off guard, in a way where no wall appeared. An abundance of fails emerge into graceful space between us. Exhausted egos at rest, he was finally able to slip it into my place of least resistance. After days of toe stomping, we were actually starting to samba. His delivery soft and thoughtful, easing into my receptive reaction-less rhythm. He reflects on my intent to over-analyze feelings, rather than just feeling them. Yes, the beauracracy of my mind is keeping my heart from communicating fully. My face scrunches up when asked how I feel, I want to exaggerate with poetry and other diversities. I have forgotten how to just say happy or angry or sad. It seems too simple somehow. I want to decipher the 'how of the what' instead of just stating the obvious. Heart + head have landed in an episode of Three's Company, and Mr. Furley needs an explanation spelled out for him before he faints.
Just before I left Mexico, I had a tarot reading with an herb-smoking Israeli clairvoyant, who told me a Sagittarius is a 'lawyer and criminal in one person, do not listen to yourself at all too much.'
My tribe is unknowingly yet consciously holding space and pushing me into opinion zone, where my imput is necessary and valued before making final group decisions. Being a rather easy-going soul I usually don't provide my two cents. Stepping into a new flow knowing I am part of the collaboration, and what I say matters. Learning how to express what I want has been a miraculous discovery.
Along this thought line somewhere tribes are overlapping and I am sure there are some beautiful men on the other side of this wanting. Parker reminds me of the universal implications: to declare not to 'want' a boyfriend, but instead to be 'open to' or 'ready' for a boyfriend. As my magnetism increases I wonder if my heart's GPS signal will reach them and tell them where to find me. Hopefully there won't be too much red tape involved.
20 June 2011
My dad is shaking an old steno pad in my direction. He chuckles in Italianized English 'thu-th-this-a notebook here-a conTains a lisT of-a my fears!.' Entries ping-pong from the absurdly cartoony 'fear of a piano dropping my head,' to the absolutely unthinkable, 'fear of losing my hands.' he says in lowered tone. My father is a master tailor, you see. I also resonate in fear during that thoughts' pause. My hands - a major mystical portal to expanded consciousness, a dynamic pliable structure in constant shift on the cellular homeostasis. Hyper-awareness obsessive disorder anyone? I am truth-tripping on nature's home grown conscious boosters.
Five-fingered gateways with an appetite for fondling or poking every fucking thing (yes gross sticky stuff too, but mostly textiles, sides of buildings, trees and smooth brown skin) brain neurons popping through applied artful actions a mano. They are the quantum traffic controllers, like a Reiki spider(wo)man. I multi-color scribble my way into book rewrites, I cut up my words and re-piece them like magnetic poetry...They have also started to crochet and do Google searches for the grids of consciousness, and they are taking a large quantity of notes. The learning is reinforced when it is heard, written and read, like learning it three different ways at once.
Exhausted I lay down my notebook and pen. Gathering other peoples words for so long, I wish not to be a parakita any longer. Brain needs a shuffle/sort/reboot, so it can boogie to its own tuned rhythm. Hours of crochet providing a means to let details slot into their homes, organizing into gradual expansion of authentic amplifying voice. The micro and the macro resonate on a palpable plane for me. It's like being in two places at once, I am there...and I am sitting here in this little body, ok that's cool, but it freaks me out sometimes, and it makes me laugh because it is so.very.fucking.weird. I AM the groove, the vibration, and it is my 'voice' + my 'dance' + my 'song' = my true expression.
Double knot stitching is the DJ for this remix.
My father bellows down the phone "it's like trying to explain what chocolate tastes like!"
This last lunar eclipse is having some sort of warewolfing effect on me, Ryan lent me a wearable grounding device that removes static from the body, and is aiding divinely deep sleeping in an otherwise fluctuating insomniac existence. My new penchant for quality sleep was my argument for not staying until the end of Devi Bhava, the all night kirtan hugfest featuring Amma, Indian saint, the embodiment of Shakti, embracing millions worldwide. Her organization and volunteers accomplishing more than all world governments combined. The Hilton LAX was swimming in the divine feminine, planes flying overhead were getting splattered with it, and carrying it up into the clouds like huge metal energetic rickshaws.
I sat in the middle of the bhaktis and watched the people coming off the stage post Darshan, they were touching their hearts, laughing, or crying. Some were beside themselves with bubbling joy. Last year I did a dance after my first Amma hug, she saw me (i cannot put enough emphasis on the word saw) and we morphed into two howling monkeys having the best time ever throwing shit in each others faces! I slithered back down the stairs proclaiming 'Amma is a monkey - I knew it!!' We are Amma's children, human beams of light and love softening over-protected hearts, it makes squishy when held in ultimate safety in the arms of the mother. We were floating in the space of that feeling, that deep remembering, held together with the glue called shakti. Everything is alright.
Eyes combing through the giant hall, savoring the visual feast of LA's inhabitants, witnessing the results of this experimental oil change for the psyche. The gradual shift over 5 days spent mixing the matrix in with magicians. My current level of trust is making me feel a bit cocky, I ask Spirit to show me the Grid. I am curious to see if it is a hologram or made of diamonds. I want to experience what was behind the words of Rumi, the paint brush of Dali, the thing that makes the seed sprout, yes show me that vibrationally woven tapestry. Haz changitos (fingers crossed) in hopes the download completes before crossing the imaginary line of 'the real world starts Here' and shoes have to be put back on before returning to the iGrid.
Five-fingered gateways with an appetite for fondling or poking every fucking thing (yes gross sticky stuff too, but mostly textiles, sides of buildings, trees and smooth brown skin) brain neurons popping through applied artful actions a mano. They are the quantum traffic controllers, like a Reiki spider(wo)man. I multi-color scribble my way into book rewrites, I cut up my words and re-piece them like magnetic poetry...They have also started to crochet and do Google searches for the grids of consciousness, and they are taking a large quantity of notes. The learning is reinforced when it is heard, written and read, like learning it three different ways at once.
Exhausted I lay down my notebook and pen. Gathering other peoples words for so long, I wish not to be a parakita any longer. Brain needs a shuffle/sort/reboot, so it can boogie to its own tuned rhythm. Hours of crochet providing a means to let details slot into their homes, organizing into gradual expansion of authentic amplifying voice. The micro and the macro resonate on a palpable plane for me. It's like being in two places at once, I am there...and I am sitting here in this little body, ok that's cool, but it freaks me out sometimes, and it makes me laugh because it is so.very.fucking.weird. I AM the groove, the vibration, and it is my 'voice' + my 'dance' + my 'song' = my true expression.
Double knot stitching is the DJ for this remix.
My father bellows down the phone "it's like trying to explain what chocolate tastes like!"
This last lunar eclipse is having some sort of warewolfing effect on me, Ryan lent me a wearable grounding device that removes static from the body, and is aiding divinely deep sleeping in an otherwise fluctuating insomniac existence. My new penchant for quality sleep was my argument for not staying until the end of Devi Bhava, the all night kirtan hugfest featuring Amma, Indian saint, the embodiment of Shakti, embracing millions worldwide. Her organization and volunteers accomplishing more than all world governments combined. The Hilton LAX was swimming in the divine feminine, planes flying overhead were getting splattered with it, and carrying it up into the clouds like huge metal energetic rickshaws.
I sat in the middle of the bhaktis and watched the people coming off the stage post Darshan, they were touching their hearts, laughing, or crying. Some were beside themselves with bubbling joy. Last year I did a dance after my first Amma hug, she saw me (i cannot put enough emphasis on the word saw) and we morphed into two howling monkeys having the best time ever throwing shit in each others faces! I slithered back down the stairs proclaiming 'Amma is a monkey - I knew it!!' We are Amma's children, human beams of light and love softening over-protected hearts, it makes squishy when held in ultimate safety in the arms of the mother. We were floating in the space of that feeling, that deep remembering, held together with the glue called shakti. Everything is alright.
Eyes combing through the giant hall, savoring the visual feast of LA's inhabitants, witnessing the results of this experimental oil change for the psyche. The gradual shift over 5 days spent mixing the matrix in with magicians. My current level of trust is making me feel a bit cocky, I ask Spirit to show me the Grid. I am curious to see if it is a hologram or made of diamonds. I want to experience what was behind the words of Rumi, the paint brush of Dali, the thing that makes the seed sprout, yes show me that vibrationally woven tapestry. Haz changitos (fingers crossed) in hopes the download completes before crossing the imaginary line of 'the real world starts Here' and shoes have to be put back on before returning to the iGrid.
11 June 2011
Current conclusions not yet set in truthy stone, for i am indeed in peculiar territory, appreciating this unconventional groove, sustained in the rhythm of planetary zing. There is a whisper of difference between the allowing and the creating of each moment, ever open wide to unseen forces at large. Mother isn't convinced, however. Maternally laced alerts hustle with judgments disguised as concern, compelled belching stemming from auto-pilot tugs at my sympathetic nervous system to confirm its realness. Inclination to correct the construct is withheld, leaving the anxious path to her in which she has chosen to reside.
Proof culminating into a belief system based on trust in the universe and Self. Super-charged energy still resonating from SoCal festival encounters, i clearly do not fit into the matrix. Smiles and laughing seemingly unwelcome, enjoyment left to sailboat for destination asleep abyss without pure water to drink. Incessant urgings to make mischief, to poke, shake, awaken the illusionally duped, actively digging for creative ways to express heartfelt rebel missions. Dispensing concepts for balancing rational mind thought with intuitive sensations propel me forward into original uses of this life's purpose.
Auspicious allies dive head first into cosmic conspiring, formulating, sharing, listening critically. Three distinct viewpoints exist as interlocking pieces, providing scenarios and possibilities, support and success in manifesting the phenomenal. There is no telling when two earth signs combine with fire. Fire offers radical ideas, Earth looking for a way to secure it, ground it, create a marketing plan for it - complete with two for one offers.
03 June 2011
Strolling in heart-beat time, with a mischievous bounce, i purr as a lioness and howl like a monkey, for i.am.at. Lightning in a Bottle. Upon first glance, a scaled-down Burning Man living with lush green foliage and untouchable lake, a juicy Symbiosis fringe-family-feel, plus a bonus fur and glitter lined activation swirling out to the galactic grid. There is no more fucking around with these magic people, they are acutely conscious and tuned in, inebriated with life.
Reflecting with ancestral souls softens me to the I AM point of expression, the entirely playful, funky, ninja-monkey set into motion. Body's intense desire to shake off accumulated cosmic dust from the past few forevers. Mushroom medicine accompanies this ride along with copious amounts of hashish, while sipping Chocolate Cowboys (half coffee/half chocolate) in attempts to push the chilling lake night air from deep in the bones. Fellow monkeys grooving on dusty dance floors escort me into beat patterns they are hooked into, i dance for all the people who cannot, and a few who don't want to.
LIB is the ultimate eye candyland for watchers and watchees. Space permitting to simply Be. Birthing a magical, sage-smelling atmosphere, where divine timing is observed. It is borderline unbelievable until breathed in fully, head nods in agreement with heart, 'this is where i live!' Laughter rising, chakras exploding, energy pinballing and popping with no chance of settling or integrating until the completion of at least 7 yoga classes under the burning sun. Not until assimilating the fireworks from the multitude of tender totemic embraces accumulated by the weekends close.
Central nervous system freaking on love overdrive, i advance uphill flanked by two beautiful goddesses. Jen who really knows how to kick it, and Ali, the unofficial (although undisputed) festival Contessa. Simultaneous second chakra heated rumblings interrupt in intense volcano style. Shakti powers combine to shuffle it, direct it, breathe it, release it, and restfully send it back to Mother Earth. Festival womb energy multiplies the healing abilities, results reaching far and wide. Seekers of all levels become ever changed from direct exposure to this blast of amor.
Continuous loops of potent workshops, yoga, monkey chanting, hugging, eating, meditating, moving, repeated trips to the tea house and bliss bar- there exists a resonating theme- as if we had made an earthly agreement astrally beforehand. Right intention consciously practiced in group form expands vibrations exponentially. More so when participants are undoubtedly aware of it's effect on the whole, backed by gratitude and fearlessness, and dead serious about authentically energizing the field.
Questions arise concerning the ability to hold it, keep a piece of it in the pockets at all times, especially when naked. Is it possible to carry it everywhere? To flash it, dangle it, hold it out like a carrot for others. Get used to people looking at you as if you were crazy, or is that already happening? If so, good. Perfect. Keep Up.
Reflecting with ancestral souls softens me to the I AM point of expression, the entirely playful, funky, ninja-monkey set into motion. Body's intense desire to shake off accumulated cosmic dust from the past few forevers. Mushroom medicine accompanies this ride along with copious amounts of hashish, while sipping Chocolate Cowboys (half coffee/half chocolate) in attempts to push the chilling lake night air from deep in the bones. Fellow monkeys grooving on dusty dance floors escort me into beat patterns they are hooked into, i dance for all the people who cannot, and a few who don't want to.
LIB is the ultimate eye candyland for watchers and watchees. Space permitting to simply Be. Birthing a magical, sage-smelling atmosphere, where divine timing is observed. It is borderline unbelievable until breathed in fully, head nods in agreement with heart, 'this is where i live!' Laughter rising, chakras exploding, energy pinballing and popping with no chance of settling or integrating until the completion of at least 7 yoga classes under the burning sun. Not until assimilating the fireworks from the multitude of tender totemic embraces accumulated by the weekends close.
Central nervous system freaking on love overdrive, i advance uphill flanked by two beautiful goddesses. Jen who really knows how to kick it, and Ali, the unofficial (although undisputed) festival Contessa. Simultaneous second chakra heated rumblings interrupt in intense volcano style. Shakti powers combine to shuffle it, direct it, breathe it, release it, and restfully send it back to Mother Earth. Festival womb energy multiplies the healing abilities, results reaching far and wide. Seekers of all levels become ever changed from direct exposure to this blast of amor.
Continuous loops of potent workshops, yoga, monkey chanting, hugging, eating, meditating, moving, repeated trips to the tea house and bliss bar- there exists a resonating theme- as if we had made an earthly agreement astrally beforehand. Right intention consciously practiced in group form expands vibrations exponentially. More so when participants are undoubtedly aware of it's effect on the whole, backed by gratitude and fearlessness, and dead serious about authentically energizing the field.
Questions arise concerning the ability to hold it, keep a piece of it in the pockets at all times, especially when naked. Is it possible to carry it everywhere? To flash it, dangle it, hold it out like a carrot for others. Get used to people looking at you as if you were crazy, or is that already happening? If so, good. Perfect. Keep Up.
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