Create Your Own Adventure

A few weeks ago I had a weekend free of obligations. No chores, no visits with friends, no meet-up with like-minded writers – simply me and my space. My first reaction was to strip down naked and run around my fledgling apartment bellowing, “WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!” The sense of expanding freedom lifted my spirits to where I wanted to flame on and SOAR.

But soar where? Where would I go? What would I do?

Quickly my sense of freedom morphed into a daunting sense of dread. I had to do something, right? I couldn’t have a day free and simply not accomplish anything. Productivity was in order! I needed to embrace that Effort Engine and chug-chug-choo-choo to something wonderful or I’d feel guilty!

Whoa there, Nelly. Who said it had to be productive? Why not just get your ass out of the house?

So I did. For one day I pretended my life was one of those Choose Your Own Adventure books. Want to explore that cave — turn to page 23. Say yes to the handsome man offering you coffee — turn to page 17. Save the dragon from the army horde — turn to page 5. I changed my perspective from Getting Shit Done, to “How many cool experiences can I rack up today?”

I did some journal writing at my favourite coffee shop. I treated myself to an awesome lunch of awesomeness (with bacon!). I walked spontaneously into a salon where they were able to fit me in for a much needed hair cut and then I walked out thirty minutes later lighter on my feet. I knitted in public. When the day was slowly drawing to a close, I found myself at the neighborhood pub having a pint and a devilish dessert (regardless of the fact I didn’t finish my dinner. What would mother think??). Jotting some last thoughts in my journal, a bell went off in my head.

*Ding!*

“Create your own adventure,” I wrote, “don’t wait for someone to offer you one.”

How amazingly simple. So simple, we tend to forget it in this age of RIGHT THE FUCK NOW and TWEET ALL THE THINGS and FB POKE ALL THE FRIENDS. The best way to connect to the World is to disconnect. I had conversations with real people in real reality. I interacted. I watched birds bouncing around for muffin crumbs. I laughed with a nearby toddler. I smiled at the sun. I thanked the Gods for a truly satisfying day and the delicious stout I was drinking.

Lately that has become my motto. I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if it’s partly due to one of my best friends dying back in October and then having my 42nd birthday. One could call it a Mid-Life Crisis, but I don’t believe it’s anything that shallow. I’m not dating a younger man or driving suped up classic muscle car. I believe the PTB (Powers That Be) are reminding me how fucking lucky I am to have a body that works, a mind that’s still sharp, a heart that’s strong, and a sense of child-like wonder and play that has not diminished over the years. Lift is too short to simply sit around and wait for someone to offer you an amazing experience. You have the power to create it all on your own.

So go do it.

Make the Change

“You didn’t want paradise, you didn’t want hell. So you got what you wanted. Nothing changed. If you had to choose, which would you prefer? Peace or Freedom?”

This was a line from one of my favorite TV show’s season finale. The episode was deep and heart-wrenching as two brothers try to stop the apocalypse they unwittingly started. I’ve been a fan since the series premiere and thanks to it’s grungy, dark, witty, and supernatural flavor, it helped take away the pangs of no more vampire slayer and her broody ex-boyfriend.

The words hit home and I realized just how much I could relate to the character arguing behind the wheel of his cherry sweet 1967 Chevy Impala. He didn’t want to be Heaven’s bitch. He didn’t want to be Hell’s hound. So, his traveling companion told it to him like it is. “Nothing changed.” Somber and sobering.

I was reminded how often I would gripe, “WHEN I get a better job…..” or “WHEN I can pay off all my bills…” or “WHEN I move into a nicer place….” or ….”everything will be better and I’ll be happier.” Well, guess what? Not gonna happen. I need to choose to be happier NOW. If not, “nothing’s changed”. Yes, all those other things will assist in alleviating stress and contribute to a more perky Mutant, but I have a choice. I can choose to let that shit go and just live in the moment or I can live in the future with my spankin’ Delorian and wonder when I’ll be satisfied.

Also, like the character, I refuse to be anyone’s bitch. Even if that means to my own self-delusions to what being spiritual or happy or successful are. I won’t be my own bitch. Peace or Freedom?

I’d choose Freedom.

How Can I Care?

What do you do when you don’t have the motivation, let alone the care, to do what you love?

For about a month now I’ve been feeling sluggish and uninspired to do any sort of writing whatsoever. Yes, I’m sure the lack of updates to this blog is glaringly obvious I am having some issues. There are many things I should be blogging about: my recent turn around the sun, my plundering of yarn stores, my Beltane experience with added drama llamas. And yet, I don’t. I himm, I haw, I cringe, and then reach for a pure distraction. Oh look. Laundry. Gee, I think it’s time I re-organized my tribble-sprouting yarn stash. How about I do uninteresting Facebook statuses? Sorry, did you say something? I was dressing up my virtual pet named “Elphie” on Petville.

Gah.

Even at this moment of ticka-tacka-typing I am struggling (or as Mr. Gaiman eloquently puts it, “trudging through fog”) to get the words out because it feels like a chore. Not in the “Every Writer Must Write Every Day Even If It Sucks” or the lame ass excuse of “I must await the arrival of my MUSE.” It’s more than that. It feels like much of the things I love to do, I simply don’t care anymore. I’d rather float and waft about barely touching the surface of anything of substance.

My heart is simply not in it.

And that scares the shit out of me. I have always been lead by my heart and tempered by my brain’s common sense. To attend a Beltane festival and simply not get into it, to want to write and simply get all flaky because it’s a burden isn’t like me at all. Granted, the moment I stop loving to Dance, now THAT is when I would seriously consider my mental status.

Knitting is a wonderful distraction from writing. I’m still creating something, but it’s for me and I’m always proud with how far my skills have come since I started this little hobby just over a year ago. Writing is different. I do it for me and for others. I’ve been doing it longer and I’m much more critical of myself.

So rather than blog or ink out short stories, I knit and watch movies. I want to change that. But to change it I need to figure why my heart has been so squished and stressed and wounded as of late.

Self-awareness can be a bitch sometimes.

An End of a Decade

The first birthday card of the year arrived in the mail four days early. My first guess as I reached into the cavernous mail box, fingers searching for the small envelope was, “Ah, must be Mom.”

I was mistaken. Ripping it open right there in the driveway, I was pleasantly surprised to be gifted with a lovely homemade card with beaded accents. Within was “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” stamped in a calming teal ink. Hand-written was, “Best Wishes From The Audubon Society.”

How very, very cool. I’ve only been an official member for less than a month and the kind birding fanatics remembered my birthday. Even before my own mother. *chuckles*

It occurred to me this morning, as I poured my very dark, very rich, and very caffeinated coffee into my Cedars mug, that today is the last day of my 30′s. Not simply the last day of a year, but the final day of a decade.

Whoa.

My pre-java-jolted brain wheeled from the significance of just how much time has past. Ten years of learning, stumbling, growing, hurting, loving, and coming into one’s own. I started my 30th year in pure Wonder Woman fashion — literally. Red, blue, white, and yellow streamers decorated my old apartment as Seasons 1 and 2 of the TV show played in the background. One friend brought a specially made WW cake, while another brought his muchly coveted Bennie Berry Juice. The party was filled with friends from all aspects of my life: childhood, dance club, wiccan, and other. I loved introducing them to each other and sitting back to watch the freaky geek sparks fly. The evening eventually ended up at the EMBERS where my dancing friends partied with me until I was the last one standing.

Thirty feels like so long ago. My third decade was when I became an ordained Priestess, loved three men, and watched my father die of prostate cancer. I nourished fledgling friendships and had two of them crash and burn before the decade was out. I made tons of mistakes, but was also gifted with just as many revelations. I wrote first drafts of four novels. I ballroom danced. I got corporately laid off three times and fired once. Now I am curious where my new career will take hold. I learned it was okay to be honest and to say “No”. I learned who my real friends are. I learned that all the rebirths I’ve done from the ashes is not a punishment but what I am meant to do to be who I am. I gained weight and lost it and gained a little of it back. I grew hips on this once stick-straight body and grew my hair long. I reveled in being a redhead and embraced my inner geek. My sass has grown sharper and my heart stronger. I’ve learned I can be tough when the need calls for it, and be compassionate when others won’t. I’ve learned what I am and what I’m not and have accepted both. All of this in just my third decade of life.

Forty will be awesome. There will be burning, there will be flames, there will be a Firebird spreading her wings; soaring over her old shell as she shines vibrantly in all that she is. And there may even be a margarita or three. Whatever this decade brings, I will not shy from it, I will not cower. I will look it proudly in the eyes and say, “Let’s rock.”

Should an Artist say, “I’m sorry”?

This post will be irrelevant as the fifteen seconds of drama has long past via internet / pop culture time, yet I still feel it needs to be said. When Amanda Palmer tweeted last month the story of Evelyn Evelyn, the reaction was positive. Unfortunately, when it was revealed that the conjoined twins were a fictional duo with a fictional backstory created by Amanda and Jason, everything exploded spectacularly.

Every fan had an opinion. Some raged it was heartless, thoughtless, and downright inhumane to exploit the conjoined twin community, as well as, abuse victims with their tragic story. It even went as far as to accuse Amanda of promoting “ableism”. Others would not accept an “I’m sorry if I have offended” from Amanda claiming she should just dump the three year long project all together. Yet there were quite a few, me included, who supported her right as an artist to create, to provoke, and to open our eyes. People being how people are, even fans started gnashing at each other claiming Amanda should apologize, while others firmly stood their ground declaring that she doesn’t have to.

For the record — she did. When one says, “I apologize,” it is a way to relate to the other person’s feelings, acknowledging it, but without taking on their issues as your responsibility. However, when one says, “I’m sorry,” you are taking on the hurt person’s issues as your fault. Amanda did this and for many, it wasn’t good enough. My opinion? That’s their problem, not hers.

Also for the record — many in the disabled community defended Amanda’s artistic view and were not offended in the least. They are actually looking forward to the CD and performances. If they are not offended, then why should I? I will not speak for them because they can speak for themselves.

Being an artist is tricky. You will never appease all your fans all the time. Some will be shocked or offended if you take your art into a new, shiny direction — a direction they are uncomfortable with. An artist is not one who cranks out the same muse every. single. time. If they did, then it’s NOT art. It’s regurgitated drek to appease consumers. For example: Duran Duran is without a doubt my most favorite and loved band of all time. I love their music and their personalities; however, not every CD they’ve put out has been fantastic. “Rio” and “Astronaut” is their best work, in my opinion. Yet when I didn’t like “Red Carpet Massacre”, I didn’t toss in the towel or demand they apologize for not meeting my fanatic standards. I simply shelved the CD with a “No iPod for you!” Simple as that.

Artists are human and they will not always hit a home run with their art and THAT SHOULD BE OKAY. No one should expect them to apologize just because a story of theirs didn’t merit, or a song wasn’t as melodious, or a painting was too intense. Art is not meant to be wrapped up in a safe, politicly correct bow for our protection. It is supposed to express, expose, and explode.

With that in mind, below is my response in Amanda Fucking Palmer’s blog.

Hello Amanda,

I am not a fan, but I am an observer. Before a year ago, I didn’t even know who you were and since then I’ve followed your tweets, read a few bloggy posts, and was treated to be in the audience of one of your online parties. Through all that I can honestly say this — I don’t like your music, but you as an individual impresses the hell out me. Odd, eh? That I would come to appreciate and enjoy and respect an artist following her passion and bliss, yet not like the art she produces because it’s not my cuppa? LOL! Yeah, I’m weird that way. I see Hearts and yours is full, intelligent, messy, heavy, uplifting, cranky, explosive, and brassy. You are authentically YOU and there not many people in this world who can put that up on their fancy fireplace mantle. Sure, there are times you stumble, say “Oh FUCK!” *cough* the current Evelyn Evelyn fiasco *cough*, but you learn from it and move on. Naysayers can simply stay in the corner and grumble as you continue to bounce around with your paintbrush of vivid colours, creating the art you wish to express.

Regarding E.E., as you are new to me, I honestly thought the story was true. That was until I saw the photo and observed some details which made me go, “Aaaaaah, this is not was it appears to be”. I even listened to one of the tracks and thought, “Wow, puberty was tough on that one twin, her voice is SO LOW.” *insert tongue into cheek* I got it. I was not offended, but I admit I was a bit disappointed the conjoined twins did not exist. That they really are not getting their big break. That was a bummer.

But, I’m still here.

Love, Embrace, Frolic, and continue to Do What You Do, Amanda. I came over here from Mr. Gaiman’s camp and I don’t plan on running away screaming. I shall just sit back and continue to enjoy the person Who Is Amanda Palmer.

Rock on.

Some Who Wander Are Lost

Have you ever felt lost? Or have the gnawing inkling at the back of your mind that you’ve forgotten something important? Did you turn off the faucet? Was the stove left on? You drive to your daily grind knowing something is amiss but you simply cannot place your finger on it?

Welcome to my world.

I’ve been feeling exactly like this and it was all triggered, ironically, when I got laid off from my extremely stressful job over a year ago. With no stress or mundanity to distract me any more, I could feel my spirit squirming to get out from underneath the debris I allowed it to be buried under. When it broke the surface, a marvelous exhale could be heard through-out my life and then a simple, lulling question.

“How in the hell did I get here and what do I do now?”

Alright, technically that’s two questions. For months I’ve been floating aimlessly, barely skimming my dreams of becoming a published author, a respected spiritual teacher, a darn creative soul simply because I’m afraid to plug my nose and dive deep. I’m fearful of failure and, yes, I am fully aware of how unproductive that is. How will I know how successful and fulfilling my life can be if I don’t takes risks and TRY?

I never used to be like this — lazy, unsure, procrastinating. As a child and teen I always had the verve to go the extra mile and then some. I relished at a challenge and soared when I accomplished a goal. Yet the older I had become, the more I got sucked into what society and what They, Inc. declared should be my priorities: get married, buy a home, have kids, have a career, retire.

Honestly, it’s not all that it’s cracked up to be because I’ve witnessed friends divorce, lose their homes to foreclosure, get laid off, and in the process get screwed out of their retirement. THE OLD RULES NO LONGER APPLY. I know I’m not the only one who feels this way. Who feels the urge to break the outdated mold and dare to try something different. So, the time has come for new rules and personally, I want my damn drive back. No more brainless, zombie corporate jobs for me. No more of trying it “their way”. It’s time for MY WAY. I want to surge with unlimited creativity. I want to live a fulfilling, prosperous life in body, mind, and spirit. I want to seek within, find my inner divine spark, and toss a bunch of kerosene on it to get the light roaring again.

I want to have FUN. Remember that? Fun? Not sarcastic jokes, not jackass tricks, not shallow entertainment of regurgitated ideas (don’t get me started on Lady Gaga), and definitely not partying until you blackout. I’m talking about the JOY in having FUN. The JOY in doing what you do. To be able to have the biggest, silliest grin plastered on your face while you do the work of your inner flame / spark / child / caffeinated squirrel / what have you.

This is what I seek. This is what I want.

I Left It Around Here Somewhere…..

The rain started to soak through my rain “resistant” hoodie by the time I made it to the front door. Huffing underneath the cold clouds, I took pride I was able to accomplish another 2.7 miles in my morning ritual. Alright, every OTHER morning ritual. As I breathed in the wind, I felt exhilarated that I could accomplish just about anything I set my mind to today.

Inside the cozy blanket of my house, I brewed a cup of caffeinated ambrosia and began shifting through the emails. I received notice that yet another person had removed me from their Friends List. Earlier this week it was on Dreamwidth and that person was more of the dark, artistic vibe. I was cool with that, but apparently she wasn’t cool with my day to day sundries.

Today’s came from LiveJournal and whereas I was initially bummed, in the long run no harm, no foul. She was well within her rights to take me off her list because, let’s face it, she was very into writing about her shamanistic experiences. Me not so much. Our interests diverged and whereas I read her entries, I never commented. I did leave her a comment wishing her well and that I completely understood.

Then I started thinking about my blog and the entires it contains within its virtual pages. Lately, I have NOT been writing about my spirituality or shamanism because I’ve felt there’s really been nothing to write about. I feel like I’m in limbo. Not dead, mind you, I still have some amazing dreams. Why just recently I’ve experienced some with me climbing up hills, soaring / flying down hills, opening doors / portals to other realms others in my dreams are unable to to, etc. It definitely has been interesting, so why have I not been sharing?

Somehow, somewhere, I have misplaced my Voice. I want to share, but I’m conflicted as to how. In my mind, I want to manifest my blog into something truly magickal and inspiring. But unlike other blogs which have a running theme (crafty, shamanic, opinion, political, etc), I realized mine lacks one. My interests are all over place and I have several fingers in different pots. I possess no masterful expertise in simply ONE thing; just intermediate know-how in dozens.

Jill of All Trades here. Pleased to meet you.

Do I wish to write my blog with “Slice of Life” pieces or opinionated rants? Quirky humour or deep intellectual thinky thoughts? My day to day shamanic stumbles or my inner revelations which I’ve finally grasped? Some blogs are scholarly, others are artsy, many are hilarious, and a few are quite the hidden treasure chests only if you know where to dig.

I spoke of this limbo to a dear friend of mine and she confessed to be inflicted with the same dilemma. Where is our Voice? I laughed and being the smartass I am said, “Great. We are both experiencing metaphysical / creative laryngitis. Do they have a lozenge for that?”

We laughed.

“Do they make an app for that?,” I asked, “Perhaps turn an iPhone into a dowsing rod so we could find our misplaced Voice? Like looking for one’s car keys?” We laughed some more and, honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if some genius out there does program such a nifty tool.

In closing, I suppose all I can say is bear with me. Some days will be dreadfully dull to read my blog, yet others will surprise you as I continue to search for my individual Voice. Perhaps I left it in the icebox?

Podcast for Thought

I have a few goals this year to help instill more discipline within my character. Not that I’ve always been a scatter brain. Quite the contrary, I’ve been able to accomplish some amazing things in my lifetime because of my dedication (eg: Complete 5 years worth of Priestesshood studies within 3). However, I also know myself to be a lazy ass if I allow it.

And I’m done with allowing it.

2010 is going to mark great change, great progress because my intent is phenomenally strong.

Goal of the First — write in my blog every day to the best of my ability. I say “best of my ability” because if I am down with The Crud™, I certainly will not have the energy to ticka-tacka out a few lines of prose. Or if I’m traveling and out of town. I never bring my laptop camping, so I doubt during festival weekends I’ll be huddled in my Coppery Barn triangulating the nearest wi-fi signal.

Goal of the Second — take a photo every day. Taking one is easy, posting it falls under the caveats of previous goal.

Goal of the Third — create a daily spiritual practice and stick with it. This is a biggie. Way back in the day I used to mediate after work. Every day. Folks noticed a difference in the energy I put out (“Nothing stresses you!”) and I noticed how less my feathers were ruffled. Over the past 14 years, my daily practice has been sporadic at best. I want to change that.

What has spurred this quest for inner discipline has been a long time coming, but today during my morning walk, I got a reminder. Not an Anvil or a Clue x Four, but an affectionate whop upside the back of the head ala Gibbs style.

For the past two weeks I’ve opted to not listen to heart-thumping music while I walk, but to a podcast by T. Thorn Coyle called “Elemental Castings”. Each week (or every other week) she focuses on each element and what they represent in our lives. Today’s was about FIRE: creativity, will, intent. Her guest speaker, Mark, was a man very connected to Energy and Fire. He started his practice way back in high school with martial arts and eventually came through to the Western Esoteric magick through his studies of the Eastern philosophies. Mark quoted everything from Buddhism, to Hinduism, to the Qabbalah regarding Will. But that is not what impressed me. What caught my intention is, for being such a fiery woman to begin with, I have not harnessed the power of my Will to its fullest capacity. To be able to do work with intent, intent to bring Joy into my life. I somehow allowed myself to get sucked up into the mundane worries we all have of bills, rent, and finding a job. I’ve been performing these jobs with no Joy and with only a mere tapping into the power of my Will.

Mark then shared his daily practice, which upon hearing made me feel very, very lazy. He gets up at 4:20am every morning to do his spiritual practice, part of which includes mantra chanting for one hour and doing some working stances out underneath the sun. This does not include his three times a week nightly practice.

I need that. I’ve been feeling the strong need for that, but I have not been complying. I’ve been allowing myself to get distracted with knitting and reading and writing. Not being creative to infuse creative intent, but to keep my mind off of things I know I should be doing.

Bad Ember.

“You have two choices. You can either be a Slave or a Master,” rang through my earbuds. I sucked in my breath and listened. “You can chose to meditate for an hour or chose to waste your time watching that tv show. Your choice.” Yes. I have a choice. Quite elementary logic in thought, but in practice not so much.

So, I’ve made a choice. I choose to be a Master.

7/365

Thought of the day

Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail. –Emerson