So much for almost a full 5 days off! Somehow it's gotten intensely, incredibly, insanely busy, and most of it doesn't revolve around work. I don't know what it's all about, but that's the way it is. I'll be back tomorrow with more for you. Have a wonderful evening everyone.
Friday, December 31, 2004
Wednesday, December 29, 2004
When I read my 'scope a second time (see entry below), my mind stuck on a certain word, quite foreign to me. Autohagiography.
From Weird Words:
"Writing about oneself in an adulatory way.
Autohagiography has the same relationship to autobiography as a publicist’s puffery has to objective truth. So far as I know it hasn’t yet reached the pages of any major dictionary, being one of those words that lurks unnoticed in the linguistic undergrowth, only occasionally emerging to startle the unwary reader. The first use of it I can trace is in the title of the book The Confessions of Aleister Crowley; An Autohagiography, which was published in 1970. I’ve also seen the adjective autohagiographical, but it seems to be rare to the point where it is reinvented each time it’s used. The root word hagiography comes from the Greek agios, “holy”, and was at first applied to books which described the lives of the saints. Such books had a marked tendency towards uncritical descriptions. So sometime about the end of last century hagiography broadened its sense to that of any biographical work that flatters or idolises its subject."
Consider the fact my painting has ceased due to massive doubt around my self-worth, you think Brezsny hit the nail on the head when he suggested I write my autohagiography? Next to the mission statement, this too sounds like a worthwhile exercise.
From Weird Words:
"Writing about oneself in an adulatory way.
Autohagiography has the same relationship to autobiography as a publicist’s puffery has to objective truth. So far as I know it hasn’t yet reached the pages of any major dictionary, being one of those words that lurks unnoticed in the linguistic undergrowth, only occasionally emerging to startle the unwary reader. The first use of it I can trace is in the title of the book The Confessions of Aleister Crowley; An Autohagiography, which was published in 1970. I’ve also seen the adjective autohagiographical, but it seems to be rare to the point where it is reinvented each time it’s used. The root word hagiography comes from the Greek agios, “holy”, and was at first applied to books which described the lives of the saints. Such books had a marked tendency towards uncritical descriptions. So sometime about the end of last century hagiography broadened its sense to that of any biographical work that flatters or idolises its subject."
Consider the fact my painting has ceased due to massive doubt around my self-worth, you think Brezsny hit the nail on the head when he suggested I write my autohagiography? Next to the mission statement, this too sounds like a worthwhile exercise.
Here is this week's Freewill Astrology by Rob Brezsny. From here on, I'll be using their archive link (which I never have in the past). Makes more sense, eh?
And I'll share mine.
Capricorn:
"The coming year will be a perfect time for you to write your autobiography, or even your autohagiography. You will also attract cosmic favors if you create a new mission statement and an updated manifesto summing up your philosophy of life. Re-examine and revise your life story in 2005, Capricorn. Get in the habit of imagining yourself as the star of a hero's journey. For extra credit, heed the advice of Ralph Waldo Emerson: "Make your own Bible. Collect all the words and sentences that in your reading have been like a blast of triumph."
I had to laugh because last year I wrote an entry about our personal mission statements. Let's see if I can find it.
Oh here it is. It's about halfway down the entry.
I never sat down to write it, but I think about it often. Why do I exist? What am I here for? If I continually ask why after coming up with an answer for each...until I get to the root...what would that final answer be?
Mission statements explain the reason for an organization or individual.
Example -
Question: Why am I here, or why is it important for me to be here?
Answer: Because I need to make the most of my potential.
Question: Why?
Answer: Because that's part of being human. Striving.
Question: Why?
And on...and on.
I'm not going further with that right now, because it gets really personal and needs some digging. But pushing the 'why question' really helps to strip the bullshit away.
Maybe this is a good time in my life to really explore that. Maybe I'll have to push myself to sit down and see how far I can get with answering the 'why question.'
(Mark Morford is taking some holiday time and so there aren't any columns to link to)
And I'll share mine.
Capricorn:
"The coming year will be a perfect time for you to write your autobiography, or even your autohagiography. You will also attract cosmic favors if you create a new mission statement and an updated manifesto summing up your philosophy of life. Re-examine and revise your life story in 2005, Capricorn. Get in the habit of imagining yourself as the star of a hero's journey. For extra credit, heed the advice of Ralph Waldo Emerson: "Make your own Bible. Collect all the words and sentences that in your reading have been like a blast of triumph."
I had to laugh because last year I wrote an entry about our personal mission statements. Let's see if I can find it.
Oh here it is. It's about halfway down the entry.
I never sat down to write it, but I think about it often. Why do I exist? What am I here for? If I continually ask why after coming up with an answer for each...until I get to the root...what would that final answer be?
Mission statements explain the reason for an organization or individual.
Example -
Question: Why am I here, or why is it important for me to be here?
Answer: Because I need to make the most of my potential.
Question: Why?
Answer: Because that's part of being human. Striving.
Question: Why?
And on...and on.
I'm not going further with that right now, because it gets really personal and needs some digging. But pushing the 'why question' really helps to strip the bullshit away.
Maybe this is a good time in my life to really explore that. Maybe I'll have to push myself to sit down and see how far I can get with answering the 'why question.'
(Mark Morford is taking some holiday time and so there aren't any columns to link to)
Tuesday, December 28, 2004
A little Susan Sontag:
"16. Thus, the Camp sensibility is one that is alive to a double sense in which some things can be taken. But this is not the familiar split-level construction of a literal meaning, on the one hand, and a symbolic meaning, on the other. It is the difference, rather, between the thing as meaning something, anything, and the thing as pure artifice."
-1964, Sontag's Notes on "Camp"
---------------
"What I want people to think about is how serious war is. How it is elective. It's not an inevitable state of affairs. War is not the weather. I want people to think about what war is. And at the same time, I know it's very hard. I end the book by saying, in a way the world is divided into people who know-- have had direct experience of war, and people who haven't.
And if you've had a direct experience of war, and I think every single soldier, or journalist who's been-- in-- you know, in the trenches and the front line or an observer-- or human rights worker, or anybody who has actually had a direct experience, prolonged direct experience with war, knows that when you go home, and people say, "How was it?" Or "What was it like?" You really can't explain. You can't-- you-- you-- you feel as if you can never tell them what it was really like.
That it is both more horrible than any kind of pictures could convey, and maybe one of the most horrible parts of it is that it becomes a normality. It becomes a world that you can live in. There is a culture of war."
-April 2003, from the transcript of an interview on NOW with Bill Moyers
---------------
"Photographs convert works of art into items of information. They do this by making parts and wholes equivalent. When I was in Orvieto, I could see the whole facade by standing back, but then I couldn't see the details. Then I could move close and see the detail of whatever was not higher than, say, eight feet, but there was no way whereby my eye could blot out the whole. The camera elevates the fragment to a privileged position. As Malraux points out, a photograph can show a piece of sculpture - a head, a hand - which looks superb by itself, and ' this may be reproduced alongside another object which might be ten times bigger but, in the ' format of the book. occupies the same amount of space. In this way. Photography annihilates our sense of scale.
It also does queer things to our sense of time. Never before in human history did people have any idea of what they looked like as children. The rich commissioned portraits of their children, but the conventions of portraiture from the Renaissance through the nineteenth century were thoroughly determined by ideas about class and didn't give people a very reliable idea of what they had looked like."
-from an interview with Geoffrey Movius, published in Boston Review
---------------
6.21.2003
Susan Sontag wins the German peace prize in recognition of her contribution to the defense of free thought.
---------------
"16. Thus, the Camp sensibility is one that is alive to a double sense in which some things can be taken. But this is not the familiar split-level construction of a literal meaning, on the one hand, and a symbolic meaning, on the other. It is the difference, rather, between the thing as meaning something, anything, and the thing as pure artifice."
-1964, Sontag's Notes on "Camp"
---------------
"What I want people to think about is how serious war is. How it is elective. It's not an inevitable state of affairs. War is not the weather. I want people to think about what war is. And at the same time, I know it's very hard. I end the book by saying, in a way the world is divided into people who know-- have had direct experience of war, and people who haven't.
And if you've had a direct experience of war, and I think every single soldier, or journalist who's been-- in-- you know, in the trenches and the front line or an observer-- or human rights worker, or anybody who has actually had a direct experience, prolonged direct experience with war, knows that when you go home, and people say, "How was it?" Or "What was it like?" You really can't explain. You can't-- you-- you-- you feel as if you can never tell them what it was really like.
That it is both more horrible than any kind of pictures could convey, and maybe one of the most horrible parts of it is that it becomes a normality. It becomes a world that you can live in. There is a culture of war."
-April 2003, from the transcript of an interview on NOW with Bill Moyers
---------------
"Photographs convert works of art into items of information. They do this by making parts and wholes equivalent. When I was in Orvieto, I could see the whole facade by standing back, but then I couldn't see the details. Then I could move close and see the detail of whatever was not higher than, say, eight feet, but there was no way whereby my eye could blot out the whole. The camera elevates the fragment to a privileged position. As Malraux points out, a photograph can show a piece of sculpture - a head, a hand - which looks superb by itself, and ' this may be reproduced alongside another object which might be ten times bigger but, in the ' format of the book. occupies the same amount of space. In this way. Photography annihilates our sense of scale.
It also does queer things to our sense of time. Never before in human history did people have any idea of what they looked like as children. The rich commissioned portraits of their children, but the conventions of portraiture from the Renaissance through the nineteenth century were thoroughly determined by ideas about class and didn't give people a very reliable idea of what they had looked like."
-from an interview with Geoffrey Movius, published in Boston Review
---------------
6.21.2003
Susan Sontag wins the German peace prize in recognition of her contribution to the defense of free thought.
---------------
From Reuters
Susan Sontag, Writer and Critic, dies at 71
by Claudia Parsons
NEW YORK (Reuters) - Author and social critic Susan Sontag, one of the strongest voices of intellectual opposition to U.S. policies after the Sept. 11 attacks, died on Tuesday at age 71 at a New York cancer hospital.
Sontag, who had suffered from leukemia for some time, was known for interests that ranged from French existentialist writers to ballet, photography and politics.
She was the author of 17 books and a lifelong human rights activist, and her work has been translated into more than 30 languages. Among her best known works was a 1964 study of homosexual aesthetics called "Notes on Camp."
Sontag was among the first to raise a dissenting voice after Sept. 11, 2001, in a controversial New Yorker magazine essay arguing that talk of an "attack on civilization" was "drivel."
She ignited a firestorm of criticism when she declared that the attacks were not a "cowardly attack" on civilization but "an act undertaken as a consequence of specific American alliances and actions."
Sontag has since been an outspoken critic of President Bush over his response to the Sept. 11 attacks and particularly the U.S.-led war in Iraq.
"I can confirm she passed away this morning," a spokeswoman at New York's Sloan Kettering hospital said but declined to give any more details.
Born in New York in 1933, Sontag grew up in Arizona and Los Angeles before going to the University of Chicago, and later Harvard and Oxford. She wrote novels, non-fiction books, plays and film-scripts as well as essays for The New Yorker, Granta, the New York Review of Books and other literary titles.
A longtime opponent of war and a human rights activist, Sontag spent several years in Sarajevo and staged Beckett's "Waiting for Godot" there under siege in the summer of 1993.
From 1987 to 1989 she was president of the American Center of PEN, an international writers' organization dedicated to freedom of expression, where she led a number of campaigns on behalf of persecuted and imprisoned writers.
In 2003 she was awarded a peace prize in Germany and the Prince of Asturias Prize in Spain. Earlier honors included the U.S. National Book Award for her novel "In America" in 2000.
Susan Sontag, Writer and Critic, dies at 71
by Claudia Parsons
NEW YORK (Reuters) - Author and social critic Susan Sontag, one of the strongest voices of intellectual opposition to U.S. policies after the Sept. 11 attacks, died on Tuesday at age 71 at a New York cancer hospital.
Sontag, who had suffered from leukemia for some time, was known for interests that ranged from French existentialist writers to ballet, photography and politics.
She was the author of 17 books and a lifelong human rights activist, and her work has been translated into more than 30 languages. Among her best known works was a 1964 study of homosexual aesthetics called "Notes on Camp."
Sontag was among the first to raise a dissenting voice after Sept. 11, 2001, in a controversial New Yorker magazine essay arguing that talk of an "attack on civilization" was "drivel."
She ignited a firestorm of criticism when she declared that the attacks were not a "cowardly attack" on civilization but "an act undertaken as a consequence of specific American alliances and actions."
Sontag has since been an outspoken critic of President Bush over his response to the Sept. 11 attacks and particularly the U.S.-led war in Iraq.
"I can confirm she passed away this morning," a spokeswoman at New York's Sloan Kettering hospital said but declined to give any more details.
Born in New York in 1933, Sontag grew up in Arizona and Los Angeles before going to the University of Chicago, and later Harvard and Oxford. She wrote novels, non-fiction books, plays and film-scripts as well as essays for The New Yorker, Granta, the New York Review of Books and other literary titles.
A longtime opponent of war and a human rights activist, Sontag spent several years in Sarajevo and staged Beckett's "Waiting for Godot" there under siege in the summer of 1993.
From 1987 to 1989 she was president of the American Center of PEN, an international writers' organization dedicated to freedom of expression, where she led a number of campaigns on behalf of persecuted and imprisoned writers.
In 2003 she was awarded a peace prize in Germany and the Prince of Asturias Prize in Spain. Earlier honors included the U.S. National Book Award for her novel "In America" in 2000.
Have you been keeping up with the news on the monster quake and tsunamis? In addition to massive death toll, what threw me on the 26th, in the first article, was a line that mentioned the impact of the quake was so great it shook the earth off it's rotation for a bit.
We are very, very small.
As I stepped out of my apartment building, the cold hit my skin. There was frost everywhere. And there was fog. Still is. Standing on my steps before hitting the sidewalk I looked up. The remnants of the full moon pierced through the thick grey matter. It had a brightness that wasn't going to allow itself to be diminished. I stopped and stared. My eyes were glued to the big white ball. What a nice way to start my day.
We are very, very small.
As I stepped out of my apartment building, the cold hit my skin. There was frost everywhere. And there was fog. Still is. Standing on my steps before hitting the sidewalk I looked up. The remnants of the full moon pierced through the thick grey matter. It had a brightness that wasn't going to allow itself to be diminished. I stopped and stared. My eyes were glued to the big white ball. What a nice way to start my day.
Monday, December 27, 2004
I want...
- a walk around Green Lake and then a Red Mill burger, with their killer onion rings.
- more time off this week (although i'm only working Monday, Tuesday and 3 hours on Wednesday).
- a surprise check of $1,000 so I can get new tires, my car tuned up, renew my car registration and recement my crown (which is loose but I can't afford to get to the dentist right now).
- the new version upgrade of our donor software to magically happen while giving us instant knowledge of changes and a seamless transition.
-an assistant to do our 3,000 year end tax receipt letters.
- an extra week in January so I can go away at the end of it.
- to be able to paint again.
- someone to vacuum my apartment. And it would be a bonus if they did bathrooms.
- to be able to live by bartering.
- to finish the current batch of giving I'm working on so I can go home.
- Ben and Jerry's to be good for me. The more I eat, the quicker my metabolism.
- to never, ever, ever have to pay taxes to a homophobic, bigoted, racist, classist, militaristic, art and education hating government again.
- a walk around Green Lake and then a Red Mill burger, with their killer onion rings.
- more time off this week (although i'm only working Monday, Tuesday and 3 hours on Wednesday).
- a surprise check of $1,000 so I can get new tires, my car tuned up, renew my car registration and recement my crown (which is loose but I can't afford to get to the dentist right now).
- the new version upgrade of our donor software to magically happen while giving us instant knowledge of changes and a seamless transition.
-an assistant to do our 3,000 year end tax receipt letters.
- an extra week in January so I can go away at the end of it.
- to be able to paint again.
- someone to vacuum my apartment. And it would be a bonus if they did bathrooms.
- to be able to live by bartering.
- to finish the current batch of giving I'm working on so I can go home.
- Ben and Jerry's to be good for me. The more I eat, the quicker my metabolism.
- to never, ever, ever have to pay taxes to a homophobic, bigoted, racist, classist, militaristic, art and education hating government again.
I'm trying to blog. Yesterday I tried to blog. It ain't happening. I sit. I type. My mind wanders. I don't get more than a sentence and a half out when I think of something else, knowing that what I just wrote is garbage. So I'll surf. I'll read the paper. Check email one more time. I return my focus to half written thoughts and jibberish only to jump around again. It seems like I'm frozen. What can I say?
How about this?
Something big happened the other day in my session. Yeah, it's all about my painting and the dream I had last week. Thing is, I have no idea how to articulate what I'm feeling. Apparently it hasn't solidified itself in thoughts yet. A heavy sense of unease begats frustration. At times it feels like dark isolation. And the one truth that weaves itself through the mishmash of everything else is displacement. I feel lost.
People provide a satisying distraction. Yet even in the midst of laughter and love, my head still attempts to clarify my inner muddled mess.
Fuck.
How about this?
Something big happened the other day in my session. Yeah, it's all about my painting and the dream I had last week. Thing is, I have no idea how to articulate what I'm feeling. Apparently it hasn't solidified itself in thoughts yet. A heavy sense of unease begats frustration. At times it feels like dark isolation. And the one truth that weaves itself through the mishmash of everything else is displacement. I feel lost.
People provide a satisying distraction. Yet even in the midst of laughter and love, my head still attempts to clarify my inner muddled mess.
Fuck.
Sunday, December 26, 2004
What a full day! Full in the people sense, but not in a bad way. It was good. Casa Hoss was good. And full in the belly way. We ate. And ate. And ate some more. I really enjoy these men. There's an ease. Some have known each other for over 15 years and there is the comfortableness that comes with that. Driving home I thought of what really constitutes family, other than blood.
I'm such a sucker. Even though I don't celebrate Christmas, I still enjoy some of the visuals. Such as smiling when I noticed Santa and a group of elves walking down the street, or tonight, when all the decorated homes were lit. It's festive. And I tend to get into the cheese or the class. As I've said before, I can get off on someone's joy.
That's it for now.
Sweet dreams everyone.
I'm such a sucker. Even though I don't celebrate Christmas, I still enjoy some of the visuals. Such as smiling when I noticed Santa and a group of elves walking down the street, or tonight, when all the decorated homes were lit. It's festive. And I tend to get into the cheese or the class. As I've said before, I can get off on someone's joy.
That's it for now.
Sweet dreams everyone.
Saturday, December 25, 2004
Want to know why I love my apartment?
Well, in addition to the landlord grabbing my hand and welcoming me home when I handed him my rental deposit, all the large windows which allow access to another world out there, the cobalt blue tile kitchen counter, the seafoam painted bathroom floor, the built in dresser which had an ice chest on the bottom where I store my painting flammables, the funky painted doors, the sound of someone playing the piano as I walk down the hall, the woodworking studio, the photo lab and the painting studio in the basement, the apartment cats, and the street cats who consider us family, it is an eclectic, bohemian type atmosphere. Even though we don't all know each other...in a strange way we do. Friendly. Really friendly.
A couple other reasons: the owner of the building (who doesn't live here) paid for Thanksgiving dinner at a local restaurant for all those in the building who didn't have a place to go to. This morning I went out to grab a coffee. Someone had taped candy canes to every single door in the building. And two for those who had two people living in that particular apartment.
It was another reminder that I made a good choice. In spite of the noise outside (which now comes and goes), it is all good.
Well, in addition to the landlord grabbing my hand and welcoming me home when I handed him my rental deposit, all the large windows which allow access to another world out there, the cobalt blue tile kitchen counter, the seafoam painted bathroom floor, the built in dresser which had an ice chest on the bottom where I store my painting flammables, the funky painted doors, the sound of someone playing the piano as I walk down the hall, the woodworking studio, the photo lab and the painting studio in the basement, the apartment cats, and the street cats who consider us family, it is an eclectic, bohemian type atmosphere. Even though we don't all know each other...in a strange way we do. Friendly. Really friendly.
A couple other reasons: the owner of the building (who doesn't live here) paid for Thanksgiving dinner at a local restaurant for all those in the building who didn't have a place to go to. This morning I went out to grab a coffee. Someone had taped candy canes to every single door in the building. And two for those who had two people living in that particular apartment.
It was another reminder that I made a good choice. In spite of the noise outside (which now comes and goes), it is all good.
I didn't do much of anything today. I met Auxugen for coffee and then agreed to help him do his Christmas shopping, only because he was headed to the Hill, and I still had to find strawberries for the fruit salad I'm making for brunch tomorrow. This salad has fruit and cheese with an orange, basil dressing (with a bit of olive oil). The grocery store wasn't as frightening as I expected it to be. I suspect everyone who was out shopping was either downtown or at the malls. Afterwards it was a couple loads of laundry and then I zoned out on a bit of tv.
Malls and I no longer get along. When I moved to Seattle I tried to commit to never stepping foot in a mall again. But you know, never say never. I do have to say I did well for about 4 years. A few years back, the Bear and wonderboy pushed me off the wagon when they decided I needed to be introduced to Southcenter Mall, the sunday before Christmas. Yeah, it's another example of the Bear's sadism. :-)
Since then, I've gone a few times. It's been a direct beeline to the store I needed and then out again. Being in a mall reminds me why I don't like the bulk of our society and culture. I don't get trends in fashion. What's wrong with a pair of jeans and a t-shirt? I don't understand why people feel the need to wear massive amounts of perfume or cologne. And I realize I'm better off where I am. Away from most of mainstream. I hate the plastic, artificial, throw away, gotta have or die, attitudes that I see and feel in those types of environments. It's all about stuff. Just fucking stuff! Merchandise. Stuff. Ugh.
Anyway, I didn't expect to rant today. So I'm switching gears.
It's Christmas eve. Last year I was geared up for making the final Christmas break with my family. I did. It was fine. They actually understood. You know, my parents still have the capacity (much to my delight) to surprise me. No longer being Christian, I can't support the religious aspect. And with a detest of retail and "have to buy", I can't support the secular holiday either. Neither fit with my life.
This year, I've sat back, much more relaxed. The weird thing is the holiday still haunts me. Tradition is a powerful thing, isn't it? To choose to not celebrate the holiday is still a form of celebration. And yet, this celebration is held alone. It's strange spending the days doing regular stuff while it seems the rest of the world is in hypergear and on a different plane. So I set it up to do brunch tomorrow, with a mixed bag. Leather family and friends. Some who don't do Christmas for various reasons. And others who I'm sure do. But seeing it's a varied crew, it will be good. Christmas isn't the focus. It's about friends getting together.
I have more to write, but not sure how to write it. So I'm ending this here - and may or may not be back later. In the meantime, for whatever each of you celebrate, I hope it is good and filled with some peace. Or...at least filled with good questions that get your mind and gutt working. ;-)
Malls and I no longer get along. When I moved to Seattle I tried to commit to never stepping foot in a mall again. But you know, never say never. I do have to say I did well for about 4 years. A few years back, the Bear and wonderboy pushed me off the wagon when they decided I needed to be introduced to Southcenter Mall, the sunday before Christmas. Yeah, it's another example of the Bear's sadism. :-)
Since then, I've gone a few times. It's been a direct beeline to the store I needed and then out again. Being in a mall reminds me why I don't like the bulk of our society and culture. I don't get trends in fashion. What's wrong with a pair of jeans and a t-shirt? I don't understand why people feel the need to wear massive amounts of perfume or cologne. And I realize I'm better off where I am. Away from most of mainstream. I hate the plastic, artificial, throw away, gotta have or die, attitudes that I see and feel in those types of environments. It's all about stuff. Just fucking stuff! Merchandise. Stuff. Ugh.
Anyway, I didn't expect to rant today. So I'm switching gears.
It's Christmas eve. Last year I was geared up for making the final Christmas break with my family. I did. It was fine. They actually understood. You know, my parents still have the capacity (much to my delight) to surprise me. No longer being Christian, I can't support the religious aspect. And with a detest of retail and "have to buy", I can't support the secular holiday either. Neither fit with my life.
This year, I've sat back, much more relaxed. The weird thing is the holiday still haunts me. Tradition is a powerful thing, isn't it? To choose to not celebrate the holiday is still a form of celebration. And yet, this celebration is held alone. It's strange spending the days doing regular stuff while it seems the rest of the world is in hypergear and on a different plane. So I set it up to do brunch tomorrow, with a mixed bag. Leather family and friends. Some who don't do Christmas for various reasons. And others who I'm sure do. But seeing it's a varied crew, it will be good. Christmas isn't the focus. It's about friends getting together.
I have more to write, but not sure how to write it. So I'm ending this here - and may or may not be back later. In the meantime, for whatever each of you celebrate, I hope it is good and filled with some peace. Or...at least filled with good questions that get your mind and gutt working. ;-)
Thursday, December 23, 2004
I had forgotten all about this until Sir sent me the link yesterday.
Make your own snowflakes!
It's a fun time-waster.
Here's another seasonal site. What we put children through because it's really about us, not them.
Make your own snowflakes!
It's a fun time-waster.
Here's another seasonal site. What we put children through because it's really about us, not them.
Wednesday, December 22, 2004
Remember when I wrote about my desire to create a Foundation for Freaks? That was sparked because I do NOT want others to go through what I've been through. And yet, maybe we all need to go through the hard stuff. Otherwise, how else would we learn? Where does character come from? Wisdom? Maturity? It's the fire that cleanses us.
But still, because I have a deep down need to be recognized, I want to recognize. I wish I had the ability, the capacity to offer that to others.
Here's another thing. One day while surfing...you know...surfing like you surf...I came across a website for a man who is a masage therapist, a counselor, offers body work and Sacred Intimacy sessions. In addition, I saw him advertise something I'd never before seen. Holding sessions. Yes, I know you could get that through a Sacred Intimate. But until I saw it in print, I never considered the possibility and what that would mean. Imagine. To have someone who would hold you for an hour a week. No talking. Just holding. No expectations of anything else. Very clear boundaries. To be held. Deeply.
That idea hasn't left my head. When I can afford it, I wouldn't mind accessing that for myself. I don't believe it should be done unless you have some type of therapist to fall back on. I can imagine how just being held could bring up loads of stuff. As children, how many of us were actually held as much as we needed? In this world, it's not realistic. No matter how great our parents were. To be held.
Like the Foundation for Freaks, I mentioned to the shrink that one day, I'd like to be able to offer that to others. He said I'd be great at it. Maybe those who need holding the most can be the best holders? I know that if I were to do so, I would hook up with someone else's practice. Maybe work in conjunction with someone. Otherwise, alone, I'd be messing with things I'm not experienced with handling.
So, it's back to dealing with my shit first. Everything will fall into place. One small step at a time.
Sometimes I feel like such a drone, speaking of what I'm going through. At times, it feels like I'm the depressing blogger. My anxieties, my worries, my insecurities. But I suppose that you also see some of my passion, my joy and my excitement. My insights and my confusion. It's all wrapped up in the same big ball.
But still, because I have a deep down need to be recognized, I want to recognize. I wish I had the ability, the capacity to offer that to others.
Here's another thing. One day while surfing...you know...surfing like you surf...I came across a website for a man who is a masage therapist, a counselor, offers body work and Sacred Intimacy sessions. In addition, I saw him advertise something I'd never before seen. Holding sessions. Yes, I know you could get that through a Sacred Intimate. But until I saw it in print, I never considered the possibility and what that would mean. Imagine. To have someone who would hold you for an hour a week. No talking. Just holding. No expectations of anything else. Very clear boundaries. To be held. Deeply.
That idea hasn't left my head. When I can afford it, I wouldn't mind accessing that for myself. I don't believe it should be done unless you have some type of therapist to fall back on. I can imagine how just being held could bring up loads of stuff. As children, how many of us were actually held as much as we needed? In this world, it's not realistic. No matter how great our parents were. To be held.
Like the Foundation for Freaks, I mentioned to the shrink that one day, I'd like to be able to offer that to others. He said I'd be great at it. Maybe those who need holding the most can be the best holders? I know that if I were to do so, I would hook up with someone else's practice. Maybe work in conjunction with someone. Otherwise, alone, I'd be messing with things I'm not experienced with handling.
So, it's back to dealing with my shit first. Everything will fall into place. One small step at a time.
Sometimes I feel like such a drone, speaking of what I'm going through. At times, it feels like I'm the depressing blogger. My anxieties, my worries, my insecurities. But I suppose that you also see some of my passion, my joy and my excitement. My insights and my confusion. It's all wrapped up in the same big ball.
I'm being a lazy pig this vacation. Yesterday, I let go of the guilt when I came to that realization. I still want to varnish a few paintings. I still have a couple things I should do. And you know what? If it happens, it happens. If not, I'll do it another time. It dawned on me that my 2 weeks in June was a travel vacation. October's time, although I came back relaxed, was still involved with lots of people. I love having all this time to do something, nothing, whatever. No set plans except for brunch on Saturday morning.
It's after 5 and I've finally ventured out of my house. I'm at Septieme, for my first cup of joe today. This morning's caffeine fix came from a honey pear black tea I have in my cupboards. In a bit, I'll see the Bear and wonderboy. They called a couple hours ago and wanted to get together. Also, I'd like to spend some fun time with Auxugen. It's been a while since he and I have hung out.
But for some reason, it seems important to not make plans ahead of time. There's something to be said to waking, getting out of bed and know that there is no place you have to be. The feeling is the same as sinking into a deep bed with loads of down comforters and pillows. There is a sense of timelessness.
It's after 5 and I've finally ventured out of my house. I'm at Septieme, for my first cup of joe today. This morning's caffeine fix came from a honey pear black tea I have in my cupboards. In a bit, I'll see the Bear and wonderboy. They called a couple hours ago and wanted to get together. Also, I'd like to spend some fun time with Auxugen. It's been a while since he and I have hung out.
But for some reason, it seems important to not make plans ahead of time. There's something to be said to waking, getting out of bed and know that there is no place you have to be. The feeling is the same as sinking into a deep bed with loads of down comforters and pillows. There is a sense of timelessness.
What can I do?
Mark Morford has a few suggestions. I've seen the lists a while back and don't believe I've posted them. I was still too bruised from the election. But I am a big believer in 'hit 'em where it hurts'. And that's the almighty fucking wallet. It's all about greed and profits. So what can I do? What can we do?
Listen to Morford. He says:
"Because I don't care how shriveled the souls of a given company's GOP-lovin' board of directors are, if they see profits dropping because all the shoppers in the huge and culturally potent blue cities -- the shoppers, in other words, who don't live in the red welfare states and hence who actually have a shred of disposable income and maybe a modicum of concern and integrity regarding who profits when they spend it -- if they notice that those shoppers are suddenly skipping nasty little Circuit City (98 percent to Repubs) and instead buy their compressed-plastic Japanese-made landfill-ready electronics at monstrous Price Club (98 percent to Dems), well, it sends them a message.
And the message is, in a calm and respectful nutshell, "Bite me."
So true Mr. Morford.
Speaking of red states and blue states. Do you remember the beautious Fuck The South rant? Have you really read it? Did you actually look at the links? It is brilliant.
I went back and gave it a second look. Tucked within, I found this treasure. It is an archived blog entry, dated September 27, 2004. Yeah, before the election. It's part of a network of Law blogs. The writer has a tidy little map that shows which states benefit from the federal tax policies and which states are actually footing that bill. Morford's column reminded me of this.
You have no idea how often I hear about queers who still shop at Walmart. That, in and of itself, is just about unforgivable to me. So not only do we not seem to care who we give our money to on a corporate level, but apparently we are doing the same on a federal level. Our pants are dropped to our ankles. We have willingly bent over and are screaming to any skank walking by to shove a fucking 2x4 up our asses. We really are allowing ourselves to get screwed. It is no one's fault but our own.
And, if you do take the time to care enough and read Morford's article, he reminds us it is about small steps. Let's just lift up our feet.
Now, how about a soothing dose of Rob Brezsny's Freewill Astrology?
Mark Morford has a few suggestions. I've seen the lists a while back and don't believe I've posted them. I was still too bruised from the election. But I am a big believer in 'hit 'em where it hurts'. And that's the almighty fucking wallet. It's all about greed and profits. So what can I do? What can we do?
Listen to Morford. He says:
"Because I don't care how shriveled the souls of a given company's GOP-lovin' board of directors are, if they see profits dropping because all the shoppers in the huge and culturally potent blue cities -- the shoppers, in other words, who don't live in the red welfare states and hence who actually have a shred of disposable income and maybe a modicum of concern and integrity regarding who profits when they spend it -- if they notice that those shoppers are suddenly skipping nasty little Circuit City (98 percent to Repubs) and instead buy their compressed-plastic Japanese-made landfill-ready electronics at monstrous Price Club (98 percent to Dems), well, it sends them a message.
And the message is, in a calm and respectful nutshell, "Bite me."
So true Mr. Morford.
Speaking of red states and blue states. Do you remember the beautious Fuck The South rant? Have you really read it? Did you actually look at the links? It is brilliant.
I went back and gave it a second look. Tucked within, I found this treasure. It is an archived blog entry, dated September 27, 2004. Yeah, before the election. It's part of a network of Law blogs. The writer has a tidy little map that shows which states benefit from the federal tax policies and which states are actually footing that bill. Morford's column reminded me of this.
You have no idea how often I hear about queers who still shop at Walmart. That, in and of itself, is just about unforgivable to me. So not only do we not seem to care who we give our money to on a corporate level, but apparently we are doing the same on a federal level. Our pants are dropped to our ankles. We have willingly bent over and are screaming to any skank walking by to shove a fucking 2x4 up our asses. We really are allowing ourselves to get screwed. It is no one's fault but our own.
And, if you do take the time to care enough and read Morford's article, he reminds us it is about small steps. Let's just lift up our feet.
Now, how about a soothing dose of Rob Brezsny's Freewill Astrology?
Tuesday, December 21, 2004
My dream and my session
I dreamt I had sex with my first woman lover. Next thing I knew I was alone in my apartment (much larger than my current one). My pants were still around my ankles but I didn't bother to pull them up. I left them that way. You see, I had to paint. Clumsily walking to my stash of paintings, I grabbed a large canvas. I noticed that the frame was wobbly and the canvas wasn't correctly prepped. But I wanted to paint. I had a large 4 inch brush that I loaded with blue paint and began working the background. My eyes dropped to the bottom of the painting and saw something I had previously painted. It looked like large patches of different shades of green. Yet when I turned my painting around to get a better look at it, I saw the beginnings of a portrait of a building, meticulously done. There wasn't even any green. It was creams and yellows. Perspective in order. Detailed. It surprised me because that's not the way I paint. But it was familiar. Somehow I remembered painting it. So I wasn't ready to destroy that section. I liked it and wanted to work it into whatever would happen now. I had the sense that I was tipsy. Drugged somehow.
There was a noise at my door and I hobbled over. Someone was trying to get in. I mumbled "go away" and tried to slam and lock the door. A piece of fabric stuck in the door jam and prevented it from locking. My heart pounded. I wondered why I felt drugged, shrugged it off and returned to my painting, my pants still around my ankles.
While working I sensed something. Turning around, I saw a man walk through my apartment. He had entered from the back. 3 or 4 other men followed him. I tried to yell at them, demanded they leave. But my mouth felt filled with cotton balls. "Get out of here or I'll call the cops" came out garbled. I hit the first guy on the shoulder. He responded, "don't touch me or I'll have you arrested". I was furious by his audacity. They continued to walk through my apartment and right out the door. I woke.
I just remembered this dream and then yesterday's therapy session came to mind.
You see, a few days ago, I took the cd made from the slides of my older work - 57 pieces total. Loaded it into iPhoto and found some great music. It's a classical, traditional piece done with an edge. Kinda like me.
I created a little 6 minute slideshow. I love it and can't wait to show it to my Seattle folks. Yes Bear, Hoss, Auxugen and others...you'll get to see!
Yesterday, I brought my laptop to my session. At the beginning I told the shrink, "if we are going to continue with working on me you need to see who I was." I sat back while he looked and immersed himself in my work. Every once in a while he made sounds of surprise and approval.
me: I want to add photos of my current work to this but I'm afraid they won't stand up to the strength of these older ones. I was happy then. It was 3 years of full immersion in painting. When I worked a job for money, it was a warehouse job. Totally physical and didn't zap my creative energy. I carried my sketchbook all the time and was always working something. Lots of little sketches and thumbnails when I had a minute.
the shrink: we have to get you back there
me: I was a good painter then, but I wasn't aware. Now I'm becoming aware yet have gone from recently being a shitty painter to a nonpainter. Maybe the quality of painting you just witnessed will never come back.
shrink: wait and see. Imagine when you get through the worse of this. You'll be stronger and your painting will return. You'll have both.
me: okay. That means you have a big job ahead of you. I'm counting on you to help get me there.
And that's how I really feel. It's all about trust. I am trusting he can help, can guide. And I trust that if he can't, he'll let me know. This is a huge leap of faith on my part. Damn, life is so fucking hard sometimes.
I dreamt I had sex with my first woman lover. Next thing I knew I was alone in my apartment (much larger than my current one). My pants were still around my ankles but I didn't bother to pull them up. I left them that way. You see, I had to paint. Clumsily walking to my stash of paintings, I grabbed a large canvas. I noticed that the frame was wobbly and the canvas wasn't correctly prepped. But I wanted to paint. I had a large 4 inch brush that I loaded with blue paint and began working the background. My eyes dropped to the bottom of the painting and saw something I had previously painted. It looked like large patches of different shades of green. Yet when I turned my painting around to get a better look at it, I saw the beginnings of a portrait of a building, meticulously done. There wasn't even any green. It was creams and yellows. Perspective in order. Detailed. It surprised me because that's not the way I paint. But it was familiar. Somehow I remembered painting it. So I wasn't ready to destroy that section. I liked it and wanted to work it into whatever would happen now. I had the sense that I was tipsy. Drugged somehow.
There was a noise at my door and I hobbled over. Someone was trying to get in. I mumbled "go away" and tried to slam and lock the door. A piece of fabric stuck in the door jam and prevented it from locking. My heart pounded. I wondered why I felt drugged, shrugged it off and returned to my painting, my pants still around my ankles.
While working I sensed something. Turning around, I saw a man walk through my apartment. He had entered from the back. 3 or 4 other men followed him. I tried to yell at them, demanded they leave. But my mouth felt filled with cotton balls. "Get out of here or I'll call the cops" came out garbled. I hit the first guy on the shoulder. He responded, "don't touch me or I'll have you arrested". I was furious by his audacity. They continued to walk through my apartment and right out the door. I woke.
I just remembered this dream and then yesterday's therapy session came to mind.
You see, a few days ago, I took the cd made from the slides of my older work - 57 pieces total. Loaded it into iPhoto and found some great music. It's a classical, traditional piece done with an edge. Kinda like me.
I created a little 6 minute slideshow. I love it and can't wait to show it to my Seattle folks. Yes Bear, Hoss, Auxugen and others...you'll get to see!
Yesterday, I brought my laptop to my session. At the beginning I told the shrink, "if we are going to continue with working on me you need to see who I was." I sat back while he looked and immersed himself in my work. Every once in a while he made sounds of surprise and approval.
me: I want to add photos of my current work to this but I'm afraid they won't stand up to the strength of these older ones. I was happy then. It was 3 years of full immersion in painting. When I worked a job for money, it was a warehouse job. Totally physical and didn't zap my creative energy. I carried my sketchbook all the time and was always working something. Lots of little sketches and thumbnails when I had a minute.
the shrink: we have to get you back there
me: I was a good painter then, but I wasn't aware. Now I'm becoming aware yet have gone from recently being a shitty painter to a nonpainter. Maybe the quality of painting you just witnessed will never come back.
shrink: wait and see. Imagine when you get through the worse of this. You'll be stronger and your painting will return. You'll have both.
me: okay. That means you have a big job ahead of you. I'm counting on you to help get me there.
And that's how I really feel. It's all about trust. I am trusting he can help, can guide. And I trust that if he can't, he'll let me know. This is a huge leap of faith on my part. Damn, life is so fucking hard sometimes.
Monday, December 20, 2004
I wanted to write this morning but didn't have anything to say. Also, I didn't have much time. AE was picking me up about 9am for breakfast. It's so good having him around and yet I know there must be an element of culture shock for him. Imagine living in a place where it's fairly peaceful, insulated from the chaotic, frenetic energy of our society. Only to poke your head out for almost three weeks, and have it be at Christmas time. Thrown into the midst of the fanatical rush of retail therapy and commercialism. To come from a community that is committed to living a mindful life and move into a world where the majority walk around in oblivion. Tough stuff.
Even though its my vacation, I popped into work this morning for a quick 20 minute job of processing a gift that came in via the website. A coworker mentioned that he saw me walking down Broadway on Saturday. He said I was glowing - happy in a way he hasn't seen me before. He saw I was with AE. I laughed and mentioned it was the Mountain energy that can't help but rub off on me when I smell it. I inhale deep, take it in through all my pores and holes.
I'm calmer about Christmas this year, having made the final break with family holiday time last year. There's less stress on my part. Although I do notice that I still need to surround myself with people on The Day. Otherwise, I have this overwhelming feeling I'm a loser, in some strange way. Crazy, isn't it? But it's there. I'll be heading to Hoss' for brunch with a bunch of other strays or those that need to get away from family. Solidarity. And as I mentioned to another blogger last week, it provides a loving buffer. And it doesn't hurt that Hoss is a great and sexy host. :-)
This morning I noticed something new. Energy. Real live energy. I had it. After Saturday afternoon with AE, I went home and pretty much didn't do anything, regarding speaking with people, until today. There was a small break in there for a quick breakfast with The Bear and wonderboy. I had to give wonderboy his overdue birthday gift.
The spark of life I felt was amazing. It showed me that I really need to be strict with grabbing good size chunks of quiet, alone time. For some reason, at this juncture of my life, I need lots of rest. If it means less social time with friends, so be it. But it doesn't mean I love them less. Actually more. When we get together I want to be fully present for them.
I don't have much more to write. Not now anyway. So we'll talk later, eh?
Even though its my vacation, I popped into work this morning for a quick 20 minute job of processing a gift that came in via the website. A coworker mentioned that he saw me walking down Broadway on Saturday. He said I was glowing - happy in a way he hasn't seen me before. He saw I was with AE. I laughed and mentioned it was the Mountain energy that can't help but rub off on me when I smell it. I inhale deep, take it in through all my pores and holes.
I'm calmer about Christmas this year, having made the final break with family holiday time last year. There's less stress on my part. Although I do notice that I still need to surround myself with people on The Day. Otherwise, I have this overwhelming feeling I'm a loser, in some strange way. Crazy, isn't it? But it's there. I'll be heading to Hoss' for brunch with a bunch of other strays or those that need to get away from family. Solidarity. And as I mentioned to another blogger last week, it provides a loving buffer. And it doesn't hurt that Hoss is a great and sexy host. :-)
This morning I noticed something new. Energy. Real live energy. I had it. After Saturday afternoon with AE, I went home and pretty much didn't do anything, regarding speaking with people, until today. There was a small break in there for a quick breakfast with The Bear and wonderboy. I had to give wonderboy his overdue birthday gift.
The spark of life I felt was amazing. It showed me that I really need to be strict with grabbing good size chunks of quiet, alone time. For some reason, at this juncture of my life, I need lots of rest. If it means less social time with friends, so be it. But it doesn't mean I love them less. Actually more. When we get together I want to be fully present for them.
I don't have much more to write. Not now anyway. So we'll talk later, eh?
The blogger from Baghdad Burning just made out her Christmas wish list. Check it out, okay? If nothing else, it's a sobering reminder of what our government and media won't share with us. They would prefer we don't see the hardship, pain and devastation this war causes those who are not American.
And from her previous entry:
"People are wondering how America and gang (i.e. Iyad Allawi, etc.) are going to implement democracy in all of this chaos when they can't seem to get the gasoline flowing in a country that virtually swims in oil. There's a rumor that this gasoline crisis has been concocted on purpose in order to keep a minimum of cars on the streets. Others claim that this whole situation is a form of collective punishment because things are really out of control in so many areas in Baghdad- especially the suburbs. The third theory is that this being done purposely so that the Iraq government can amazingly bring the electricity, gasoline, kerosene and cooking gas back in January before the elections and make themselves look like heroes."
And from her previous entry:
"People are wondering how America and gang (i.e. Iyad Allawi, etc.) are going to implement democracy in all of this chaos when they can't seem to get the gasoline flowing in a country that virtually swims in oil. There's a rumor that this gasoline crisis has been concocted on purpose in order to keep a minimum of cars on the streets. Others claim that this whole situation is a form of collective punishment because things are really out of control in so many areas in Baghdad- especially the suburbs. The third theory is that this being done purposely so that the Iraq government can amazingly bring the electricity, gasoline, kerosene and cooking gas back in January before the elections and make themselves look like heroes."
Sunday, December 19, 2004
Thanks to sunsmogseahorse for the heads up. I did a little research and came up with a couple links, including information from CATIE (Canadian AIDS Treatment Information Center) website.
----
B.C. alerts gay males to meningitis outbreak
Kissing strangers described as hazardous; three dead from saliva-spread bacterium
National
By PETER KENNEDY
Monday, December 13, 2004 - Page A10
VANCOUVER -- British Columbia's gay community is being warned about the danger of kissing strangers after an outbreak of a serious bacterial infection that has killed three gay males in the last month.
Word that six cases of meningococcal C have been reported among gay men in British Columbia since early October, and that three men have died, has spread quickly in Vancouver's Davie Street district.
"This is a major concern right now," said Randy Newburg, general manager of the PumpJack pub, a popular hangout for gays in downtown Vancouver.
"It's Christmas, and around this time people tend to get pretty chummy."
The B.C. Centre for Disease Control said the outbreak is caused by a bacterium known as meningococcus, which can be carried in the nose or throat without causing sickness.
The bacteria are commonly spread through an exchange of saliva, or by sharing food, drinks or cigarettes. Infections can occur in men and women of all ages.
But a recent increase in the rate of infection among gays has prompted the launch of a program of emergency inoculations that will target homosexual males, including teenagers, in British Columbia.
Patricia Daly, a medical health officer with Vancouver Coastal Health, said homosexuals are particularly vulnerable due to the way they tend to socialize.
"Within the gay community, kissing strangers is one of the things we want them to avoid doing at least until they have had the vaccine."
Gays are also being warned about the risks of sharing marijuana joints, cigarettes, drinks and musical instruments.
"We have seen cases of this being spread through sports teams with water bottles, or anything where there is an opportunity to share saliva with strangers," she said.
High fever, headache and stiff neck are common symptoms of meningococcal infection, which can develop suddenly, and in some cases cause brain damage or death.
Mr. Newburg said he is concerned that there appears to have been no correlation between the three men who died. "They don't appear to have slept together or have done anything together," he said.
All three are from the Lower Mainland and Vancouver Island, according to Dr. Daly, who said she is not aware of any recent cases in other parts of Canada.
Homosexuals who may be at higher risk include those who live in or travel to the Lower Mainland or southern Vancouver Island, who have more than one sexual partner, or who are socially among the 45,000 to 60,000 gays in British Columbia.
"Eventually everyone in the province will be immunized, but it will take several years to get everyone fully protected," Dr. Daly said.
----
B.C. alerts gay males to meningitis outbreak
Kissing strangers described as hazardous; three dead from saliva-spread bacterium
National
By PETER KENNEDY
Monday, December 13, 2004 - Page A10
VANCOUVER -- British Columbia's gay community is being warned about the danger of kissing strangers after an outbreak of a serious bacterial infection that has killed three gay males in the last month.
Word that six cases of meningococcal C have been reported among gay men in British Columbia since early October, and that three men have died, has spread quickly in Vancouver's Davie Street district.
"This is a major concern right now," said Randy Newburg, general manager of the PumpJack pub, a popular hangout for gays in downtown Vancouver.
"It's Christmas, and around this time people tend to get pretty chummy."
The B.C. Centre for Disease Control said the outbreak is caused by a bacterium known as meningococcus, which can be carried in the nose or throat without causing sickness.
The bacteria are commonly spread through an exchange of saliva, or by sharing food, drinks or cigarettes. Infections can occur in men and women of all ages.
But a recent increase in the rate of infection among gays has prompted the launch of a program of emergency inoculations that will target homosexual males, including teenagers, in British Columbia.
Patricia Daly, a medical health officer with Vancouver Coastal Health, said homosexuals are particularly vulnerable due to the way they tend to socialize.
"Within the gay community, kissing strangers is one of the things we want them to avoid doing at least until they have had the vaccine."
Gays are also being warned about the risks of sharing marijuana joints, cigarettes, drinks and musical instruments.
"We have seen cases of this being spread through sports teams with water bottles, or anything where there is an opportunity to share saliva with strangers," she said.
High fever, headache and stiff neck are common symptoms of meningococcal infection, which can develop suddenly, and in some cases cause brain damage or death.
Mr. Newburg said he is concerned that there appears to have been no correlation between the three men who died. "They don't appear to have slept together or have done anything together," he said.
All three are from the Lower Mainland and Vancouver Island, according to Dr. Daly, who said she is not aware of any recent cases in other parts of Canada.
Homosexuals who may be at higher risk include those who live in or travel to the Lower Mainland or southern Vancouver Island, who have more than one sexual partner, or who are socially among the 45,000 to 60,000 gays in British Columbia.
"Eventually everyone in the province will be immunized, but it will take several years to get everyone fully protected," Dr. Daly said.
Saturday, December 18, 2004
Addendum to last night's post -
The experience at the Mountain was profound. One massive insight came out of this. Possibility. Possibility that if I tasted it once, I can taste it again. Just because it's the first group where I discovered we spoke the same language, it doesn't mean it's the last or the only. I am sure I can experience that type of connection with others as well.
See? All about possibility!
The experience at the Mountain was profound. One massive insight came out of this. Possibility. Possibility that if I tasted it once, I can taste it again. Just because it's the first group where I discovered we spoke the same language, it doesn't mean it's the last or the only. I am sure I can experience that type of connection with others as well.
See? All about possibility!
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