"What causes the fall of empires?"
Today Morford writes about BushSpeak in Bush, The Spoiled Man-Child:
"Bush is, of course, speaking to children. He is speaking to babies. It is a decidedly shallow and hollow and oddly deflated type of language that offers not a single nutritious or substantive thought to the political or cultural dialogue, other than to expand his staggering collection of embarrassing Bushisms.
It's all merely a crayon drawing, an intellectual wading pool, a big messy cartoon world populated by manly white good guys and fanged dark evil guys and we are good and They are evil and that's all there is to it so please stop asking weird tricky polysyllabic questions.
Maybe this is appropriate. Maybe this is as it should be. After all, we are, by and large, a nation that refuses to grow up, refuses to take responsibility for our gluttony and its global effects, refuses to see the world as it is now, a mad tangle of interconnected humanity, a global marketplace, a hodgepodge of variegated religions all stemming from the same source and that therefore all require a nimble and nuanced and deeply intelligent leadership to navigate. Qualities that our current leadership has, well, not at all."
Friday, June 03, 2005
Thursday, June 02, 2005
He did it.
Yes, it happened. Last Friday.
I couldn't talk about it at the time. Actually, I still can't fully articulate it. But Mark Morford finally wrote something that not only do I disagree with but it infuriated me. The man didn't go far enough and in stopping short, he's done a huge disservice to all of us.
Here are my initial blatherings on the subject.
I didn't highlight last Friday's column by Mark Morford. It's not that I didn't want to, because I did. I was enraged. I knew it would happen at some point. The day would come when Morford would write something that I wouldn't agree with. It's inevitable. But I didn't realize it would hit me in my core the way this column did.
Although I've tried and plan on doing so, I still don't have the words to fully explain my thoughts. I spit nails just trying to articulate my ideas. Last Friday Morford's words pushed so many buttons that I allowed myself to think, feel and sink right into a pit. Yeah, even with all the resting and quiet, deep inside...I felt lost. Angry. Furious. And drifting. It was the beginning of 5 days of increasing inner isolation and a greater knowledge of how left of center I really am. Or, as a good friend told me a few years ago - "on the bleeding edge of the margin."
How do I begin to explain an 'AND' world when we are so hung up on the idea that if it is one then it cannot at the same time, be the other?
This or that.
Good or evil.
Black or white.
Male or female.
Shit.
The more I learn about myself and the core of my spirituality, the more I see how it can be both and all. The more I see how the greatest harm we do to ourselves is preconceptions which limit our lives. The more I see how we are all so hungry for inner connection and to be loved that we'll frighteningly clutch a damned label for identity. The more I see that our world, our humanity is really one big fucking paradox.
Yes, it happened. Last Friday.
I couldn't talk about it at the time. Actually, I still can't fully articulate it. But Mark Morford finally wrote something that not only do I disagree with but it infuriated me. The man didn't go far enough and in stopping short, he's done a huge disservice to all of us.
Here are my initial blatherings on the subject.
I didn't highlight last Friday's column by Mark Morford. It's not that I didn't want to, because I did. I was enraged. I knew it would happen at some point. The day would come when Morford would write something that I wouldn't agree with. It's inevitable. But I didn't realize it would hit me in my core the way this column did.
Although I've tried and plan on doing so, I still don't have the words to fully explain my thoughts. I spit nails just trying to articulate my ideas. Last Friday Morford's words pushed so many buttons that I allowed myself to think, feel and sink right into a pit. Yeah, even with all the resting and quiet, deep inside...I felt lost. Angry. Furious. And drifting. It was the beginning of 5 days of increasing inner isolation and a greater knowledge of how left of center I really am. Or, as a good friend told me a few years ago - "on the bleeding edge of the margin."
How do I begin to explain an 'AND' world when we are so hung up on the idea that if it is one then it cannot at the same time, be the other?
This or that.
Good or evil.
Black or white.
Male or female.
Shit.
The more I learn about myself and the core of my spirituality, the more I see how it can be both and all. The more I see how the greatest harm we do to ourselves is preconceptions which limit our lives. The more I see how we are all so hungry for inner connection and to be loved that we'll frighteningly clutch a damned label for identity. The more I see that our world, our humanity is really one big fucking paradox.
Fabulous photography.
Found on The Padacia-
From Guardian Unlimited, introducing Sebastiao Salgado in Genesis.
Stage 1: The Galapagos
Stage 2: Under The Volcanoes
Stage 3: Among The Giants
Found on The Padacia-
From Guardian Unlimited, introducing Sebastiao Salgado in Genesis.
Stage 1: The Galapagos
Stage 2: Under The Volcanoes
Stage 3: Among The Giants
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
What's in a name?
The last few months, I've become quite uncomfortable with girlfag as my blog name. When the discomfort made itself known, I spent some time wondering what would I call my blog. In a flash I saw it. My last name. Simply. Nongender specific. I remembered my first year as an art student. My friends all solely used my last name. In my current job, there are a few coworkers who use only my last name, although with their own unique twist. My last name. It felt the best. I spent the rest of that weekend researching and knew it was a name I needed to rediscover.
My mother had done the genealogy once. She learned that we came from a line of very passionate spiritual people who would die for their beliefs. At the time, those beliefs were intertwined with the catholic church. We were farmers in France who fought in the Crusades. Raping, pillaging and killing in the name of the holy father.
I've said in the past that my fire comes from my father. Although we view the world differently and will fight for different causes, it is the gift I cherish.
My last name. That feels the best. I know that names are labels as well. But there seems to be a little more ambiguity to mine. That weekend, through research I learned there's a history of men with my last name, one in particular, who is working hard as a priest in the Catholic church to denounce homosexuality. He's published papers, given talks and is quoted by other religions who support his homophobic rhetoric.
And then, on the other end of the spectrum, I discovered another gentleman with my name, who is just as diligently publishing, teaching and writing about sexual freedom and cutting edge ideas...such as sexual orientation and gender are societal constructs.
Reading that, I knew I had to reclaim my name. Also as I've written long ago, being out in my daily life means this partial anonymity irks me. There is a small group, not only in Seattle, who know who I am. When I connect with someone, I let them in. So I'm not fully anonymous.
And yet, I'm in a quandry. I've discussed this with the Bear and my shrink. My one concern regarding outing myself is not about myself but my family and my job. More so my family.
It would hurt them terribly if they read some of my words.
So do I go in and edit two years worth of writing? In addition, as the shrink mentioned, it was my partial anonymity that allowed me to be as open as I've been. He wonders if I would censor more of my thoughts by being out.
All important things to think about. Although an apt descriptor, it is the idea of the label, after years of wearing it, that has become itchy. The back of my neck is raw from the rubbing and I wonder if it's time to grab my scissors and cut it out of the fabric.
The last few months, I've become quite uncomfortable with girlfag as my blog name. When the discomfort made itself known, I spent some time wondering what would I call my blog. In a flash I saw it. My last name. Simply. Nongender specific. I remembered my first year as an art student. My friends all solely used my last name. In my current job, there are a few coworkers who use only my last name, although with their own unique twist. My last name. It felt the best. I spent the rest of that weekend researching and knew it was a name I needed to rediscover.
My mother had done the genealogy once. She learned that we came from a line of very passionate spiritual people who would die for their beliefs. At the time, those beliefs were intertwined with the catholic church. We were farmers in France who fought in the Crusades. Raping, pillaging and killing in the name of the holy father.
I've said in the past that my fire comes from my father. Although we view the world differently and will fight for different causes, it is the gift I cherish.
My last name. That feels the best. I know that names are labels as well. But there seems to be a little more ambiguity to mine. That weekend, through research I learned there's a history of men with my last name, one in particular, who is working hard as a priest in the Catholic church to denounce homosexuality. He's published papers, given talks and is quoted by other religions who support his homophobic rhetoric.
And then, on the other end of the spectrum, I discovered another gentleman with my name, who is just as diligently publishing, teaching and writing about sexual freedom and cutting edge ideas...such as sexual orientation and gender are societal constructs.
Reading that, I knew I had to reclaim my name. Also as I've written long ago, being out in my daily life means this partial anonymity irks me. There is a small group, not only in Seattle, who know who I am. When I connect with someone, I let them in. So I'm not fully anonymous.
And yet, I'm in a quandry. I've discussed this with the Bear and my shrink. My one concern regarding outing myself is not about myself but my family and my job. More so my family.
It would hurt them terribly if they read some of my words.
So do I go in and edit two years worth of writing? In addition, as the shrink mentioned, it was my partial anonymity that allowed me to be as open as I've been. He wonders if I would censor more of my thoughts by being out.
All important things to think about. Although an apt descriptor, it is the idea of the label, after years of wearing it, that has become itchy. The back of my neck is raw from the rubbing and I wonder if it's time to grab my scissors and cut it out of the fabric.
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Monday, May 30, 2005
Say it isn't so!
Please say today isn't Monday and tomorrow is a work day. I want the rest of the week off.
You see, I've really had a chance, in the last 4 days, to rest. That feeling of relaxation is just now kicking in - work falling away, and now it feels much too soon to return. Okay...July. July isn't too far away, right? 4 weeks or something. I can until July for my vacation.
I could...now that I think about it...oh wow...actually, I could take one more day off. I don't think I need to be at work for anything specific. I have loads of vacation time. Maybe I'll pop into the office in the morning and check my calendar. We'll see what happens.
Tonight, while walking home from a wonderful afternoon at Cafe Septieme, jotting down notes and reading, I figured out why I haven't been able to write everything that's been in my head. I have 4 different drafts started. The ideas needed to come out so I didn't forget them. But I couldn't gather the oomph to pursue them further. Methinks my head was/is on a break.
Please say today isn't Monday and tomorrow is a work day. I want the rest of the week off.
You see, I've really had a chance, in the last 4 days, to rest. That feeling of relaxation is just now kicking in - work falling away, and now it feels much too soon to return. Okay...July. July isn't too far away, right? 4 weeks or something. I can until July for my vacation.
I could...now that I think about it...oh wow...actually, I could take one more day off. I don't think I need to be at work for anything specific. I have loads of vacation time. Maybe I'll pop into the office in the morning and check my calendar. We'll see what happens.
Tonight, while walking home from a wonderful afternoon at Cafe Septieme, jotting down notes and reading, I figured out why I haven't been able to write everything that's been in my head. I have 4 different drafts started. The ideas needed to come out so I didn't forget them. But I couldn't gather the oomph to pursue them further. Methinks my head was/is on a break.
Sunday, May 29, 2005
Simple Sunday -
Today's been lusciously cool and cloudy. I thought for sure that I'd spend it outdoors, walking around and then popping into Septieme's to read and do some writing but I barely made it out of my new (for me) comfy leather chair. Tatoo'd Bear was doing buzzcuts and a bbq at the Seattle Eagle this afternoon. I considered going down for a bit. It didn't happen. I have one more day of freedom and so will head out tomorrow.
The sketchbook I carry with me is full and it's time to get a new one. Tomorrow I'll walk down to Utrecht and pick up my favorite drawing book (in the 5x8 size). I think that's why I actually filled this one up. I didn't get bored with it.
I know that sounds strange. But there's something about having the perfect paper weight and texture, the perfect binding, the perfect size. I've tried the Moleskin books and although I really enjoy their ruled books, the paper in the plain books are too slick and too thin for drawing. I like a little bit of tooth in my sketchbooks.
The small outing I did do today consisted of a trip to the video store, the coffee shop and the grocery store. I planned on heading out for coffee only, and ended up walking back with arms filled with groceries, including a large bunch of red chard. Red chard thrills me. My day is complete.
Today's been lusciously cool and cloudy. I thought for sure that I'd spend it outdoors, walking around and then popping into Septieme's to read and do some writing but I barely made it out of my new (for me) comfy leather chair. Tatoo'd Bear was doing buzzcuts and a bbq at the Seattle Eagle this afternoon. I considered going down for a bit. It didn't happen. I have one more day of freedom and so will head out tomorrow.
The sketchbook I carry with me is full and it's time to get a new one. Tomorrow I'll walk down to Utrecht and pick up my favorite drawing book (in the 5x8 size). I think that's why I actually filled this one up. I didn't get bored with it.
I know that sounds strange. But there's something about having the perfect paper weight and texture, the perfect binding, the perfect size. I've tried the Moleskin books and although I really enjoy their ruled books, the paper in the plain books are too slick and too thin for drawing. I like a little bit of tooth in my sketchbooks.
The small outing I did do today consisted of a trip to the video store, the coffee shop and the grocery store. I planned on heading out for coffee only, and ended up walking back with arms filled with groceries, including a large bunch of red chard. Red chard thrills me. My day is complete.
Saturday, May 28, 2005
Heh...
...want to know what happens when one goes with the flow?
Well, if that one is me...I go to the movies with Auxugen and then afterwards, while finishing lunch outdoors at Cafe Septieme, we notice two hot guys in kilts walking on the other side of the street, realize it is Kiltbear, visiting from SF, and Stephen, wave, which brings them over to come sit down, join us, share drinks...and then kiltbear pulls out his cameraphone which snaps a pix and immediately uploads this to his LJ.
Alas, tis true. I do not take good pix. LOL. But it was a great treat to see Stephen and kiltbear. I haven't seen Stephen since Christmas (I think) and kiltbear in about 2 years!
It was a good day.
...want to know what happens when one goes with the flow?
Well, if that one is me...I go to the movies with Auxugen and then afterwards, while finishing lunch outdoors at Cafe Septieme, we notice two hot guys in kilts walking on the other side of the street, realize it is Kiltbear, visiting from SF, and Stephen, wave, which brings them over to come sit down, join us, share drinks...and then kiltbear pulls out his cameraphone which snaps a pix and immediately uploads this to his LJ.
Alas, tis true. I do not take good pix. LOL. But it was a great treat to see Stephen and kiltbear. I haven't seen Stephen since Christmas (I think) and kiltbear in about 2 years!
It was a good day.
Why oh why don't any of my friends here in Seattle own a sailboat? There is something so wrong about that. This would be the perfect weekend for hanging out...lollygagging on a boat filled with perverted fucks. There'd be a big cooler of good food, a pitcher of ice tea and another of sangria. There would also be a lot of scratchy hemp to tie someone me to the mast.
I'm around this weekend. Taking it slow and easy...well...because I can.
You see, including yesterday, I have 4 days off with no definite plans. This is the first time since October. So I'm taking things as they come, and allowing myself to be selfish. If I want to do it...then yes. I'm also protecting myself from the drama of others as well.
It's interesting. I'm still coasting on a wave of calm, and although I know I will get rocked about at some point...this weekend is for me.
It's hot. It's very hot. The last few days have shot up to 90. I detest anything even approaching 80. But I'm kinda going with the flow. Yesterday was fairly full. The only set appointment I had was waiting on the delivery of a kickass light brown very comfy leather chair. It came from my coworker. Not only did he and another coworker deliver it, and lug it up to the 3rd floor, but all he wants for payment is one good bottle of bourbon. I love this chair.
Afterwards I went to the SIFF box office to pick up tickets for two different shows. Walked around. Made an evening appointment to get my hair all chopped off by Tattoo'd Bear. The last time he touched my head was in November, at one of the buzzcuts, bbq, bootblack fundraisers for the sex scholarship. Since then, I was dealing with 3 months of sleep dep, then moving and a winter of being sick. A thick mop of heavy hair appeared and it drove me crazy. It so needed to go. I opted to do something different than a buzz this time. It's still grabbeable, but very short. Kinda shredded. Low maintenance. Just the way I like it. And it was so good to see him. I missed that man.
Last night, with windows wide open and the fans going, I watched a couple movies about Pollock, one being a documentary. Sir happened to rent them from netflix and then loaned them to me when he was done.
Auxugen picked up a couple tickets for a SIFF film that we'll check out today - Adam and Steve.
What a meandering, slow entry. Kind of like my weekend. That's it for now. I've written more, but decided it needs an entry all it's own. I'll throw it here at some point. See you later.
You see, including yesterday, I have 4 days off with no definite plans. This is the first time since October. So I'm taking things as they come, and allowing myself to be selfish. If I want to do it...then yes. I'm also protecting myself from the drama of others as well.
It's interesting. I'm still coasting on a wave of calm, and although I know I will get rocked about at some point...this weekend is for me.
It's hot. It's very hot. The last few days have shot up to 90. I detest anything even approaching 80. But I'm kinda going with the flow. Yesterday was fairly full. The only set appointment I had was waiting on the delivery of a kickass light brown very comfy leather chair. It came from my coworker. Not only did he and another coworker deliver it, and lug it up to the 3rd floor, but all he wants for payment is one good bottle of bourbon. I love this chair.
Afterwards I went to the SIFF box office to pick up tickets for two different shows. Walked around. Made an evening appointment to get my hair all chopped off by Tattoo'd Bear. The last time he touched my head was in November, at one of the buzzcuts, bbq, bootblack fundraisers for the sex scholarship. Since then, I was dealing with 3 months of sleep dep, then moving and a winter of being sick. A thick mop of heavy hair appeared and it drove me crazy. It so needed to go. I opted to do something different than a buzz this time. It's still grabbeable, but very short. Kinda shredded. Low maintenance. Just the way I like it. And it was so good to see him. I missed that man.
Last night, with windows wide open and the fans going, I watched a couple movies about Pollock, one being a documentary. Sir happened to rent them from netflix and then loaned them to me when he was done.
Auxugen picked up a couple tickets for a SIFF film that we'll check out today - Adam and Steve.
What a meandering, slow entry. Kind of like my weekend. That's it for now. I've written more, but decided it needs an entry all it's own. I'll throw it here at some point. See you later.
Thursday, May 26, 2005
Well...
...I've been sitting on something since late Tuesday morning.
What is it?
Now...don't laugh at me.
It's...contentment. Calm and contentment.
Just writing the words and feeling what's inside is so much that I'm about to cry.
Good tears.
Joyous tears.
Intimate tears.
When I wrote screw mu that morning I was in a mood. I woke up angry. I was afraid to lose myself.
The night before, Monday night, as I settled under the covers...old hurts settled in my heart. In the past, I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep. I mean, a broken heart doesn't let you sleep. It doesn't let me sleep. Those were the times I'd take nyquil or benedryl (in the past) or now...Ambien. You see, I'm very protective of my sleep. Territorial. Don't mess with it. Not for anything.
As this hurt flooded in about 11 pm I became discouraged. I considered taking Ambien. For some reason I made the decision to sit with what I was feeling. I've done that during the day, but not at bedtime. The sleep thing, remember?
Well...I fell asleep.
Tuesday morning, I woke. I became ornery. I spouted off.
I had an appointment with the shrink about an hour after I'd written my blog entry. I decided to print it out and bring it to my session. You see, I was angry with him. A part of me figured that maybe I could get a rise out of him if I read my piece. I mean, I'm attacking the thing that's very important in his life. More critically and honestly, I was fighting with myself.
In his office I plopped down on his couch, kicked off my shoes, and sat with one leg under the other.
I mentioned I had read his dharma talk. Agreed with it. Saw why it related. Then I went off on and picked apart one paragraph in his piece. Just one.
From there I read screw mu.
He listened.
After I was through...I looked at him.
He said he agreed with everything I wrote.
Yeah, it kinda took the wind out of my sails.
Apparently, buddhism, or maybe I should say zen buddhism, is the transition between songs. The contentment and calm is what allows us to step through life and go from one moment (including all its emotions) to the next. The difference, according to him, is to learn how to be in each emotion without hiding in that emotion. It goes back to the idea of not staying stuck in one place.
Not hiding in the emotion. Don't use it as a defense or a safety net. Just go through it as if I were driving cross country, engaging with the everchanging landscape through my window.
Okay...that makes total sense to me. And I can see how...even if I thought I could throw out the spiritual...how it would be healthy in a psychological aspect. Because of old stuff, certain buttons get pushed. That's where I'm most sensitive. Hyper-sensitive. Even when it's not about me, because something familiar exists in the incident or word...it'll set me off in some way.
So with work, I've become aware of when those times happen. And with more work I am learning to not let it power over me. Instead, walk through the flying daggers. I may get sliced and diced. But if I stay in the room...I'm a goner for sure.
When I was through talking with the shrink, I laid down on the couch. I was tired.
After a bit, I said:
"Last night I felt the hurt before going to bed and chose to sit with it knowing it may keep me awake.
I fell asleep in the grief."
Pause.
Whoa.
I continued..."Huh. I didn't say I fell asleep in spite of the grief. Instead...I fell asleep in the grief."
Wow.
The impact of that statement hit me hard. Not only was I learning to not run from my stuff during the day, but at bedtime...I let it be.
I fell asleep in the grief.
I wasn't fighting it.
From there...silence settled thick. He remained quiet, out of my line of vision.
I remained quiet. Again, I felt the heaviness of the silence. This weight isn't a cumbersome weight. It's comforting. Warm. And this time...it went one step further.
It came to a place where I didn't know where the silence began and where I ended. I had morphed with the air and the energy and couldn't distinguish one from the other.
The music came on and our session ended. I didn't move, nor did I speak. Quiet...
After a while I forced myself to get up. And then burst into tears because I knew what I had felt.
Turning toward the shrink, I said "the last time I felt this was about 15 years ago, at the ocean, sitting on the rocks. I smelled the salt, I felt the spray and I sat. At some point I didn't know where the ocean began and I ended. It was oneness. I've never forgotten it."
I cried some more and said I didn't want it to end.
The shrink sat.
Quietly he said "welcome home X (insert my first name here)".
"Welcome home X".
I've silently repeated those words to myself over and over in the last couple days.
Each time, I close my eyes for a second and feel it fill my heart.
My breathing is deeper.
So much has happened since that session on Tuesday. My heart has hurt. I've been excited. I'm hungrier for play, fucking, beatings, painting, connections. I've gone through a plethora of emotions.
Anger.
Disgust.
Anxiety.
So happy I could cry.
And yet...underneath there is a delicate yet substantial thread connecting me to and through all of this.
This thread is delicate because I can see it will take diligence to keep weaving it through my fabric. That's where the work comes in.
And I'm home.
Home.
...I've been sitting on something since late Tuesday morning.
What is it?
Now...don't laugh at me.
It's...contentment. Calm and contentment.
Just writing the words and feeling what's inside is so much that I'm about to cry.
Good tears.
Joyous tears.
Intimate tears.
When I wrote screw mu that morning I was in a mood. I woke up angry. I was afraid to lose myself.
The night before, Monday night, as I settled under the covers...old hurts settled in my heart. In the past, I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep. I mean, a broken heart doesn't let you sleep. It doesn't let me sleep. Those were the times I'd take nyquil or benedryl (in the past) or now...Ambien. You see, I'm very protective of my sleep. Territorial. Don't mess with it. Not for anything.
As this hurt flooded in about 11 pm I became discouraged. I considered taking Ambien. For some reason I made the decision to sit with what I was feeling. I've done that during the day, but not at bedtime. The sleep thing, remember?
Well...I fell asleep.
Tuesday morning, I woke. I became ornery. I spouted off.
I had an appointment with the shrink about an hour after I'd written my blog entry. I decided to print it out and bring it to my session. You see, I was angry with him. A part of me figured that maybe I could get a rise out of him if I read my piece. I mean, I'm attacking the thing that's very important in his life. More critically and honestly, I was fighting with myself.
In his office I plopped down on his couch, kicked off my shoes, and sat with one leg under the other.
I mentioned I had read his dharma talk. Agreed with it. Saw why it related. Then I went off on and picked apart one paragraph in his piece. Just one.
From there I read screw mu.
He listened.
After I was through...I looked at him.
He said he agreed with everything I wrote.
Yeah, it kinda took the wind out of my sails.
Apparently, buddhism, or maybe I should say zen buddhism, is the transition between songs. The contentment and calm is what allows us to step through life and go from one moment (including all its emotions) to the next. The difference, according to him, is to learn how to be in each emotion without hiding in that emotion. It goes back to the idea of not staying stuck in one place.
Not hiding in the emotion. Don't use it as a defense or a safety net. Just go through it as if I were driving cross country, engaging with the everchanging landscape through my window.
Okay...that makes total sense to me. And I can see how...even if I thought I could throw out the spiritual...how it would be healthy in a psychological aspect. Because of old stuff, certain buttons get pushed. That's where I'm most sensitive. Hyper-sensitive. Even when it's not about me, because something familiar exists in the incident or word...it'll set me off in some way.
So with work, I've become aware of when those times happen. And with more work I am learning to not let it power over me. Instead, walk through the flying daggers. I may get sliced and diced. But if I stay in the room...I'm a goner for sure.
When I was through talking with the shrink, I laid down on the couch. I was tired.
After a bit, I said:
"Last night I felt the hurt before going to bed and chose to sit with it knowing it may keep me awake.
I fell asleep in the grief."
Pause.
Whoa.
I continued..."Huh. I didn't say I fell asleep in spite of the grief. Instead...I fell asleep in the grief."
Wow.
The impact of that statement hit me hard. Not only was I learning to not run from my stuff during the day, but at bedtime...I let it be.
I fell asleep in the grief.
I wasn't fighting it.
From there...silence settled thick. He remained quiet, out of my line of vision.
I remained quiet. Again, I felt the heaviness of the silence. This weight isn't a cumbersome weight. It's comforting. Warm. And this time...it went one step further.
It came to a place where I didn't know where the silence began and where I ended. I had morphed with the air and the energy and couldn't distinguish one from the other.
The music came on and our session ended. I didn't move, nor did I speak. Quiet...
After a while I forced myself to get up. And then burst into tears because I knew what I had felt.
Turning toward the shrink, I said "the last time I felt this was about 15 years ago, at the ocean, sitting on the rocks. I smelled the salt, I felt the spray and I sat. At some point I didn't know where the ocean began and I ended. It was oneness. I've never forgotten it."
I cried some more and said I didn't want it to end.
The shrink sat.
Quietly he said "welcome home X (insert my first name here)".
"Welcome home X".
I've silently repeated those words to myself over and over in the last couple days.
Each time, I close my eyes for a second and feel it fill my heart.
My breathing is deeper.
So much has happened since that session on Tuesday. My heart has hurt. I've been excited. I'm hungrier for play, fucking, beatings, painting, connections. I've gone through a plethora of emotions.
Anger.
Disgust.
Anxiety.
So happy I could cry.
And yet...underneath there is a delicate yet substantial thread connecting me to and through all of this.
This thread is delicate because I can see it will take diligence to keep weaving it through my fabric. That's where the work comes in.
And I'm home.
Home.
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
Want to know about the paintings I submitted to the juried art show?
I didn't want to talk about them before...well...all I can chalk it up to is some kind of superstition or something. Now it's okay. You see, the gallery is supposed to have mailed out the yea or nay letters today.
My longtime readers will know how I feel about erotic art. The attempt to categorize eroticism in all aspects of our lives really gets my goat. But I also knew I'd remain open to whatever felt right. I haven't submitted work for the Seattle Erotic Art Festival. It's not a permanent no, but a no for now. Yet when this opportunity presented itself and Drub asked me...and after his question haunted me for a few days, I knew I had to do it, regardless of the label 'erotic art show'.
I'm not sure if I'll get accepted. My work is very different than what they carry. These pieces are not figurative and are very painterly. They are 3 small (8x10 & 9x12) paintings of Sir's St. Andrew's Cross. One is fairly representational. The second one is less realistic and the third one, although not fully abstracted, much more blown apart than the second. The titles? Respectively, "Not My Father's Crucifix 1..2...3". I have slides, but don't have jpegs yet. Otherwise I'd show you.
We'll see what happens. I really like these little pieces. A lot. And for me, although I chose those particular paintings (subject matter) in response to the show, what is erotic for me is the painting. The marks. The color.
With each passing day I've discovered a new sensation - a desire to have my paintings accepted in the show. We'll see, won't we?
I'll keep you posted.
I didn't want to talk about them before...well...all I can chalk it up to is some kind of superstition or something. Now it's okay. You see, the gallery is supposed to have mailed out the yea or nay letters today.
My longtime readers will know how I feel about erotic art. The attempt to categorize eroticism in all aspects of our lives really gets my goat. But I also knew I'd remain open to whatever felt right. I haven't submitted work for the Seattle Erotic Art Festival. It's not a permanent no, but a no for now. Yet when this opportunity presented itself and Drub asked me...and after his question haunted me for a few days, I knew I had to do it, regardless of the label 'erotic art show'.
I'm not sure if I'll get accepted. My work is very different than what they carry. These pieces are not figurative and are very painterly. They are 3 small (8x10 & 9x12) paintings of Sir's St. Andrew's Cross. One is fairly representational. The second one is less realistic and the third one, although not fully abstracted, much more blown apart than the second. The titles? Respectively, "Not My Father's Crucifix 1..2...3". I have slides, but don't have jpegs yet. Otherwise I'd show you.
We'll see what happens. I really like these little pieces. A lot. And for me, although I chose those particular paintings (subject matter) in response to the show, what is erotic for me is the painting. The marks. The color.
With each passing day I've discovered a new sensation - a desire to have my paintings accepted in the show. We'll see, won't we?
I'll keep you posted.
It's Wednesday!!!!
And first...exciting news! I know you've all been waiting for this. Don't deny it. You've been on pins and needles for months..and months. I can see it in your eyes.
Well you don't have to wait any longer. It's here...and it's opened. Finally!!!
Yes folks, Central Cinema is finally open!!!!
Oh...did I forget to mention that maybe this would only interest Seattle folks?
Oops. Sorry.
Okay, okay. So I'm the one who's excited. Would you like to know how long I've wished for a small movie theater that not only served food but brought it to you during the film? At least 15 years. And someone had the idea to do it here in town. Actually, it's only about 3 blocks from work. That means only 11 blocks from my house. And they also offer sofa style seating. Ohhhhh. And once a month they'll do queer flicks. Ohhhhh.
Here is some info on Central Cinema. Yes. I am jazzed. Check it out.
Now here is Rob Brezsny's Freewill Astrology for the week.
Last on my list for now is a beaut. Mark Morford rants about the glitz behind the Star Wars hoopla.
He writes:
"Here goes: Thank the great Sith Lord above that the massive computer-driven marketing hellbeast that is the overblown "Star Wars" epic is finally over.
There I said it. Can we agree? Because the truth is, this most bloated of megamovie franchises hasn't been a certifiable cultural phenom, something to get truly excited about, for over 25 years. Admit it now, get it over with, move on to pretty happy things like puppies and porn and sunshine."
Oh yeah...I'm down with it.
And he continues with 13 reasons to celebrate the...well there's no way I can say it any better...so as he said:
"Here, then, are 13 reasons to celebrate the end of the cute, overblown SW monster. Reasons for normal people to get back to caring about decent movies with subtle dialogue and true character development and nuanced plot lines not revolving around a monochromatic good/evil dialectic executed by barely emotive cartoon characters who have somehow been brainwashed into thinking they're making art. Admit these now, get it over with, move on to happy things like wine and sex and pleasures that have absolutely zero to do with whooshing lightsabers. OK?"
Want more? Dive into May The Force Please Go Away.
And first...exciting news! I know you've all been waiting for this. Don't deny it. You've been on pins and needles for months..and months. I can see it in your eyes.
Well you don't have to wait any longer. It's here...and it's opened. Finally!!!
Yes folks, Central Cinema is finally open!!!!
Oh...did I forget to mention that maybe this would only interest Seattle folks?
Oops. Sorry.
Okay, okay. So I'm the one who's excited. Would you like to know how long I've wished for a small movie theater that not only served food but brought it to you during the film? At least 15 years. And someone had the idea to do it here in town. Actually, it's only about 3 blocks from work. That means only 11 blocks from my house. And they also offer sofa style seating. Ohhhhh. And once a month they'll do queer flicks. Ohhhhh.
Here is some info on Central Cinema. Yes. I am jazzed. Check it out.
Now here is Rob Brezsny's Freewill Astrology for the week.
Last on my list for now is a beaut. Mark Morford rants about the glitz behind the Star Wars hoopla.
He writes:
"Here goes: Thank the great Sith Lord above that the massive computer-driven marketing hellbeast that is the overblown "Star Wars" epic is finally over.
There I said it. Can we agree? Because the truth is, this most bloated of megamovie franchises hasn't been a certifiable cultural phenom, something to get truly excited about, for over 25 years. Admit it now, get it over with, move on to pretty happy things like puppies and porn and sunshine."
Oh yeah...I'm down with it.
And he continues with 13 reasons to celebrate the...well there's no way I can say it any better...so as he said:
"Here, then, are 13 reasons to celebrate the end of the cute, overblown SW monster. Reasons for normal people to get back to caring about decent movies with subtle dialogue and true character development and nuanced plot lines not revolving around a monochromatic good/evil dialectic executed by barely emotive cartoon characters who have somehow been brainwashed into thinking they're making art. Admit these now, get it over with, move on to happy things like wine and sex and pleasures that have absolutely zero to do with whooshing lightsabers. OK?"
Want more? Dive into May The Force Please Go Away.
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
Screw Mu.
Short work week. Monday was a comp day for the retreat. And we have the upcoming Friday and Monday off for the holiday. It's a good thing. Work is difficult to focus on and yet while at work, I have to focus. Too much to do.
Therapy is getting more to the meat of the matter...and I've noticed it's eating up a lot of energy. This morning I realized why I could never finish writing about the performance piece, Prix Fixe, I participated in at the Seattle Erotic Art Festival. The piece was all about hunger and pleasure. What I didn't know, until now, is how much hunger I had shut down to in the last few years.
This morning I woke. Filled with hunger. Wants. Desires. Screw fucking buddhism. Desire reminds me I'm alive. I refuse to give it up. Now, I do know better. It's not desire and craving that leads to so-called suffering. It's hanging on to a specific pre-conceived resolution for the desire.
Also, I've been thinking about this suffering stuff. I can see finding ways to lessen our suffering. But I believe that if we believe we can end our suffering, then that's delusional. Again, it's about being human. If we didn't suffer we wouldn't be human.
I refuse to let myself get to some placid, fully calm space. This is a biggie for me. I enjoy, crave and need to step into still waters once in a while to rejuvenate myself. But I'm not going to plop myself in a peaceful pool of mu where I'll spend my life with a sloppy smile on my face. I need to feel the highest of highs and the lowest lows. I need ecstasy and despair and rage and ripped out guts. I need electricity. Creation stems from polarizing magnetic charges. If being buddhist means I'll even out then I might as well curl up and die right now. It's about passion and life. LIFE.
I need to crank up the music as loud as it will go and hear every note. Such as...well...here's a good example...right now this instant...with Donna Summer's I Feel Love blaring on radio paradise. The treble and bass have to resonate through every fiber of my bone and marrow. Or...the smooth transition from that to Glory Box by Portishead and then to Big Bad Voodoo Daddy. Three very different songs yet they flowed one in into the other. I tasted the emotion in each. Not an appetizer, on the tip of my tongue taste...but full immersion, of course with some limitations due to equipment capability. But that's what I need to keep.
Heh. Maybe buddhism IS the smooth transition between each. Huh.
Well it doesn't matter. Not now.
Guess what? I'm ornery this morning.
Short work week. Monday was a comp day for the retreat. And we have the upcoming Friday and Monday off for the holiday. It's a good thing. Work is difficult to focus on and yet while at work, I have to focus. Too much to do.
Therapy is getting more to the meat of the matter...and I've noticed it's eating up a lot of energy. This morning I realized why I could never finish writing about the performance piece, Prix Fixe, I participated in at the Seattle Erotic Art Festival. The piece was all about hunger and pleasure. What I didn't know, until now, is how much hunger I had shut down to in the last few years.
This morning I woke. Filled with hunger. Wants. Desires. Screw fucking buddhism. Desire reminds me I'm alive. I refuse to give it up. Now, I do know better. It's not desire and craving that leads to so-called suffering. It's hanging on to a specific pre-conceived resolution for the desire.
Also, I've been thinking about this suffering stuff. I can see finding ways to lessen our suffering. But I believe that if we believe we can end our suffering, then that's delusional. Again, it's about being human. If we didn't suffer we wouldn't be human.
I refuse to let myself get to some placid, fully calm space. This is a biggie for me. I enjoy, crave and need to step into still waters once in a while to rejuvenate myself. But I'm not going to plop myself in a peaceful pool of mu where I'll spend my life with a sloppy smile on my face. I need to feel the highest of highs and the lowest lows. I need ecstasy and despair and rage and ripped out guts. I need electricity. Creation stems from polarizing magnetic charges. If being buddhist means I'll even out then I might as well curl up and die right now. It's about passion and life. LIFE.
I need to crank up the music as loud as it will go and hear every note. Such as...well...here's a good example...right now this instant...with Donna Summer's I Feel Love blaring on radio paradise. The treble and bass have to resonate through every fiber of my bone and marrow. Or...the smooth transition from that to Glory Box by Portishead and then to Big Bad Voodoo Daddy. Three very different songs yet they flowed one in into the other. I tasted the emotion in each. Not an appetizer, on the tip of my tongue taste...but full immersion, of course with some limitations due to equipment capability. But that's what I need to keep.
Heh. Maybe buddhism IS the smooth transition between each. Huh.
Well it doesn't matter. Not now.
Guess what? I'm ornery this morning.
Monday, May 23, 2005
A while back there was a certain meme going around.
I had composed a draft...and sat on it, trying to remember things. Tonight I was reminded about this meme and so completed it.
Hmmm...while doing this, I noticed a trend. It's mostly about sex.
But then again, it's all about sex, isn't it?
I'm a simple person.
These are 10 things possibly unique to me.
1. While about 9 years old, I was playing on the second floor of a new house being built. The floors and frame were up. that's it. All of a sudden I had to pee really bad and so instead of running down the stairs, and then up the hill to my house, I jumped off the second floor onto the pile of dirt below. I landed flat on my back. Knocked the wind out of me, recovered, and then ran home to pee.
2. At 18, after being out for pizza with friends...I was stopped by a cop for weaving on the road. We were singing loudly and I was making the car dance. No booze or drugs involved. Honest. I was pulled into court to face a charge of driving to endanger. I was issued issued a public defender because I was unemployed at the time. While in one courtroom, the judge called my name in another. We thought the situation was cleared up at the end of the day, except the court clerk had left so no notations were made. I didn't find that out until the next morning when my next door neighbor (a state trooper) knocked on my door explaining there was a warrant for my arrest for nonappearance in court. It was straightened out, and in my next court appearance the judge threw out the whole case...laughing, declaring I was only under the influence of pepperoni.
3. At 20, as a nurse's aide in a retirement home, I had a heavy make out and petting session with the janitorial supervisor of a nursing home in the broom closet while his wife was just down the hall, working the same shift.
4. A job in one photo lab, during the summer I'd take off my shirt while processing film in the darkroom with a bunch of guys. They never found out. That is, not until I told them on my last day at work.
5. 7 years ago I moved 3000 miles away from a place I loved for only one reason. It was a soul thing. I knew no one, no job, no apartment. But Seattle, for some odd reason, called to me. Bellowed. Before then, the furthest west I had gone was Wyoming for vacation, 20 years earlier.
6 The beauty of a place brought on a powerful orgasm. Yes, in public. I was in in the Japanese gardens in Portland, OR and overtaken. No, no one was touching me. Not even me. Although my top at the time, standing a few feet behind me, felt my energy shift, stayed back, watched and chuckled....as I grabbed the tree next to me so my knees wouldn't cave in.
7. I was the only female to go into training with a certain gay leatherman.
8. If there's energy between the grabber and me, and they grab my hair just right, and in the perfect spot on my neck...I can cum. At times it's the kind of cum that brings me to my knees. In public or private. Just ask my hairdresser.
9. Spent a full weekend, naked, locked in a cage, with a naked boy in the stacked cage above me and another boy in the cage near us. It gives a whole new meaning to sleepovers.
10. See the world through my eyes.
I had composed a draft...and sat on it, trying to remember things. Tonight I was reminded about this meme and so completed it.
Hmmm...while doing this, I noticed a trend. It's mostly about sex.
But then again, it's all about sex, isn't it?
I'm a simple person.
These are 10 things possibly unique to me.
1. While about 9 years old, I was playing on the second floor of a new house being built. The floors and frame were up. that's it. All of a sudden I had to pee really bad and so instead of running down the stairs, and then up the hill to my house, I jumped off the second floor onto the pile of dirt below. I landed flat on my back. Knocked the wind out of me, recovered, and then ran home to pee.
2. At 18, after being out for pizza with friends...I was stopped by a cop for weaving on the road. We were singing loudly and I was making the car dance. No booze or drugs involved. Honest. I was pulled into court to face a charge of driving to endanger. I was issued issued a public defender because I was unemployed at the time. While in one courtroom, the judge called my name in another. We thought the situation was cleared up at the end of the day, except the court clerk had left so no notations were made. I didn't find that out until the next morning when my next door neighbor (a state trooper) knocked on my door explaining there was a warrant for my arrest for nonappearance in court. It was straightened out, and in my next court appearance the judge threw out the whole case...laughing, declaring I was only under the influence of pepperoni.
3. At 20, as a nurse's aide in a retirement home, I had a heavy make out and petting session with the janitorial supervisor of a nursing home in the broom closet while his wife was just down the hall, working the same shift.
4. A job in one photo lab, during the summer I'd take off my shirt while processing film in the darkroom with a bunch of guys. They never found out. That is, not until I told them on my last day at work.
5. 7 years ago I moved 3000 miles away from a place I loved for only one reason. It was a soul thing. I knew no one, no job, no apartment. But Seattle, for some odd reason, called to me. Bellowed. Before then, the furthest west I had gone was Wyoming for vacation, 20 years earlier.
6 The beauty of a place brought on a powerful orgasm. Yes, in public. I was in in the Japanese gardens in Portland, OR and overtaken. No, no one was touching me. Not even me. Although my top at the time, standing a few feet behind me, felt my energy shift, stayed back, watched and chuckled....as I grabbed the tree next to me so my knees wouldn't cave in.
7. I was the only female to go into training with a certain gay leatherman.
8. If there's energy between the grabber and me, and they grab my hair just right, and in the perfect spot on my neck...I can cum. At times it's the kind of cum that brings me to my knees. In public or private. Just ask my hairdresser.
9. Spent a full weekend, naked, locked in a cage, with a naked boy in the stacked cage above me and another boy in the cage near us. It gives a whole new meaning to sleepovers.
10. See the world through my eyes.
While the office was quiet, I planned on spending the day at work. But after a couple hours, exhaustion took over and I knew I needed to go home. It's my second day of regrouping from one full workday engaging with people. All day. Good thing that most of my work is behind a computer. Otherwise, if I were in continual meetings and the development portion of our organization, I'd never finish a full week. No matter how I try to change it, it seems that regrouping is based on a 2:1 ratio. Two hours by myself for one hour of people engagement.
After resting at home a while, I headed down to Broadway. It's sunny, not too warm, and a perfect day to continue my retreat. About 4 blocks away, I heard the sounds of a lone saxophone. It was a musician on the corner of Broadway and Republican. He then belts out "On Broadway"...and I smile. It's such a New York song...and almost felt out of place. That is, until my slow mind connected with what street I was on. See? It's a good thing I wasn't crunching numbers today.
So, now I'm at Septieme, with a large glass of ice tea. Billie Holiday is softly serenading me. Most of the restaurant is empty. I brought a couple things to read, including the latest dharma talk my shrink gave during the last week long sesshin in March. I've received a copy for the last few years. I look forward to reading his talks and do read them through, but, unless I initiate it, we won't talk about it. I like that. No agenda on his part. About 3 days ago I realized I misplaced the newsletter and searched everywhere. Not having looked at it, I wanted to. Oddly enough, this morning he asked me if I'd read it. That question was a first. His eyes twinkled and he said he believed I'd find something of relevance.
A second copy in hand...I'll check it out in a bit.
Someone had offered s/m play to me a while back. Yesterday evening, I told this man my hunger to play is back and took him up on his offer. So we'll set up a time. A little brutality at the hands of a sadist will be a good thing. Welted and bloody would be good too. :-)
A few people have sent me wonderful emails last week in response to my adventures in the shrink's office. Thank you for your concern, but I'm not worried. Yeah, it's not easy. But I believe it's a time to rejoice. Heh. I accidently typed in 'rejuice'. Love that. Guess that works as well. Just as appropriate.
I have loads of questions but then again, I don't want to stop questioning.
I feel more alone and isolated...but I realized that the stronger I become, the more aware I am of my separateness. My discomfort comes from the newness of this awareness. I wrote once that we are all alone. What connects us to each other is the fact that we are each alone. Unique. No one fits.
Thing is, it was originally easy to whip the words off my fingers when the knowledge was in my head. Now that I'm feeling it for real...
...well...it's much more interesting. But...I do like a challenge.
Today's the 23rd. On the 25th, the gallery will send out letters, letting me know if my work has been accepted for the July show. So much for not caring. The closer I get to knowing, the more I realize I do want to be in the show. If not, I'll try again when the time is right.
After resting at home a while, I headed down to Broadway. It's sunny, not too warm, and a perfect day to continue my retreat. About 4 blocks away, I heard the sounds of a lone saxophone. It was a musician on the corner of Broadway and Republican. He then belts out "On Broadway"...and I smile. It's such a New York song...and almost felt out of place. That is, until my slow mind connected with what street I was on. See? It's a good thing I wasn't crunching numbers today.
So, now I'm at Septieme, with a large glass of ice tea. Billie Holiday is softly serenading me. Most of the restaurant is empty. I brought a couple things to read, including the latest dharma talk my shrink gave during the last week long sesshin in March. I've received a copy for the last few years. I look forward to reading his talks and do read them through, but, unless I initiate it, we won't talk about it. I like that. No agenda on his part. About 3 days ago I realized I misplaced the newsletter and searched everywhere. Not having looked at it, I wanted to. Oddly enough, this morning he asked me if I'd read it. That question was a first. His eyes twinkled and he said he believed I'd find something of relevance.
A second copy in hand...I'll check it out in a bit.
Someone had offered s/m play to me a while back. Yesterday evening, I told this man my hunger to play is back and took him up on his offer. So we'll set up a time. A little brutality at the hands of a sadist will be a good thing. Welted and bloody would be good too. :-)
A few people have sent me wonderful emails last week in response to my adventures in the shrink's office. Thank you for your concern, but I'm not worried. Yeah, it's not easy. But I believe it's a time to rejoice. Heh. I accidently typed in 'rejuice'. Love that. Guess that works as well. Just as appropriate.
I have loads of questions but then again, I don't want to stop questioning.
I feel more alone and isolated...but I realized that the stronger I become, the more aware I am of my separateness. My discomfort comes from the newness of this awareness. I wrote once that we are all alone. What connects us to each other is the fact that we are each alone. Unique. No one fits.
Thing is, it was originally easy to whip the words off my fingers when the knowledge was in my head. Now that I'm feeling it for real...
...well...it's much more interesting. But...I do like a challenge.
Today's the 23rd. On the 25th, the gallery will send out letters, letting me know if my work has been accepted for the July show. So much for not caring. The closer I get to knowing, the more I realize I do want to be in the show. If not, I'll try again when the time is right.
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