Decipher the Cipher of Life aka Stranger than Fiction

Yet again I am trying to downsize and further compartmentalize my life. Shed some of that heavy weight that no longer serves me. It’s hard to do because it requires me to dig into my past and this time it went to an even weirder zone.

Did you ever see that movie “Stranger Than Fiction” with Will Ferrell?  If not, you should and then maybe you will get the same sensation about your own life, especially if you are the artistic or wordy type.

Basically, today I got the sincere feeling I have been writing my life out, before I actually live it… or something to that degree.  I can look at a piece of writing and know when and why I was writing it at the time, but the way I write things is subconsciously coded language.  I don’t know how or why this happens specifically, but I have some assumptions.

The thing about all of this is, I haven’t had a bad life, over all.  I’ve had a rudimentary amount of pain in comparison to other people.  My family is full of good people who tried their best to offer what they could within their means, and probably unbeknownst to me, went above and beyond when needed.

So all I can do is ask myself  “What the actual fuck?”

I am going to admit that most of my journals are a massive spiritual battle. It has been that way as far back as I have recorded my life.  The journaling started around age 12, but I can go back to certain creations done in Elementary School and see a depth that is or was seen as some what abnormal for a kid that age.

“She is five- going on thirty five.” My grandma would say when I was little.  I wanted to sit at the adult table.  I wanted to converse.  I had questions and quips beyond my years.  Spirit has been speaking to me forever.

Now perhaps this is just the byproduct of losing a parent at a young age and the feeling that I had to grow up quickly to compensate. Maybe I was just born this way.   Who knows?   I do know that I drove my mother crazy when I was just a small child.  Enough so, for her to strip me down to basically nothing and leave me on the front stoop with the old adage “If you don’t want to be here, you are going to leave the way you came in.”  Naked and shivering.

It’s okay.  My aunt lived a couple of blocks away, and my mom would call her and tell her to come pick me up.  She would come over, packed with some over-sized clothing that belonged to my cousin.  She would wrap me up and take me back to her place until the whole thing calmed down.

Once my dad said, “If your mom was still alive, you would probably be at each others throat.”  Sometimes I feel like I am getting that experience with my grandma.  It isn’t a “hate” or loathing issue… it’s just this weird temperament that arises out of our idiosyncrasies and difference in ideologies.  It’s the byproduct of being stubborn and bull headed while still having the best intentions in love.

A stranger once told me “It’s easier to paint yourself into a corner than it is to write yourself out of a box.”  That has stuck with me for over a decade.  I wasn’t quite sure what it meant, but today, I think I got it.

It goes back to Abracadabra. A spell or incantation using the ABC’s.  This is why writing and words are magical.  This is how words hold a vibration that can influence the reality we live in… it’s the way you can send prayers or well wishes or destroy a life in a single breath.

My family can be traced back to the Druids on my Mother’s Father’s side.  There is some witchery in the blood, and that blood still courses through my veins.  I don’t purposely perform rituals or magik; I have a feeling there are a lot of us who don’t.  We settle on titles like “artist” or “writer” or “musician.”   We feel and feed on an indescribable power that fuels our creative spirit.   Words will almost magically manifest on the page without too much work.  We feel born knowing the Muses.  At least, this is how it has always been for me.

I haven’t had to try too hard in creative ways.  “It just comes to me.”

I don’t profess this as any sort of braggart, in fact, in this moment I am questioning all of it.  My family is a mixed up match of “tight lipped” and deceased, I don’t know where I can go to discuss this openly, so I leave it here for you, my few but beautiful readers.   I am realizing that I need to figure out a way to console myself.  Feel free to send suggestions.

“The calm before the storm” is over. I know it and I feel it with a force that is hard to describe. As I read through these papers and place them in a new container, I am god smacked..  I’ve predicted future patterns in my life with no intention of doing so; in alignment with that, the writing has predicted patterns of humanity and what would be worth our attention.  This leads me back a post I made about a week ago in regard to purpose and being a dreamer.  In this moment, I want nothing more than someone I could share the depth of this with, but I don’t have that someone, which is a reoccurring theme in my  personal writing that I rarely share.

I see in this moment that this specific loneliness is a representation of that spiritual battle.  We are all looking for connection in various ways.  I believe in Creation, I believe that Creation will not be out done.  I know I can’t out-create Creation.  That knowing can be overwhelming, like “why even try?” not to mention the clutter!  I make and make and make a mess and an abundance of stuff that may end up at a thrift store or a landfill.   I’ve carried paper around, weighing many many pounds over thousands of miles for what?

This moment.

This is the moment it all shifts.  I might not see the evidence of it immediately so I will leave room for it to shift as quickly as it wants to.

While going through things I stumbled on a good-bye note from a woman named Cecily Monk.  I didn’t know her well, or for very long but I really liked her personality.  She felt like a person that I would have had a long friendship with if we would have had more time together.

Anyway, when she left Keystone, Colorado I was at work and she left a note.

 

The last line is quite potent; “…and remember the journey of self discovery comes not in seeing new landscapes, but in having new eyes.”  So obviously she was a fan of Proust, or one of her teachers had the actual quote “The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.” on a motivational poster or something.

I like that she added the word “self” and “journey” because the timing is perfect for today.  Journey vs Voyage is appropriate because I perceive a Journey to be far more relaxed than a Voyage.  Voyage makes me think of a specific conquest, for which I have had none up until this point.  The actual Proust quote takes on a deeper meaning when I rehash my words and see that in fact, I have been on a Voyage but I didn’t know it.  And I have had conquest but I didn’t acknowledge it.

It all comes down to love and forgiveness. And this is going to be so hard because there is a lot of bad shit happening in the world right now.  But just like I am finding illumination in my own writing, we are going to find illumination in just how fucked up humanity has been by bringing it to light.

Today I wanted to get rid of EVERYTHING.  I was feeling oppressed at how much garbage we consume and throw away.  I was overwhelmed by the massive pressure of pain that is the human condition.  I wished I wasn’t part of it because there is no easy solution and by the looks of it, it’s only going to get worse.  I thought about all the mundane stuff we do on any given day just to maintain a “standard” of living.  I thought about all the people who loath the work they do just for a paycheck.

I kept thinking, and thinking about all the stuff I can not stand.  How disappointing all of our entertainment is because it’s coded and getting increasingly ominous in content. I thought about how my creative spirit has been lost because I can’t imagine things getting better and I am sick of rehashing this old script that we are being fed on the daily.  Believe it or not, I believe this rumination to be a good sign.  My art and dreams and writing tell me so.  We really are dancing on the tip of a needle right now.

As I dug through this box the skies turned dark outside.  A while letter the rain came pounding down in sheets.  I laughed out loud and asked if this was a baptism and as I went to shut the screen door the water was falling so fierce that it was splashing out of the rain gutters.  In the few seconds it took me to move the block in front of the door (which is actually a heavy concrete lawn statue of a sleeping man wearing a sombrero) I was soaked and a bit elated.

This isn’t over, though.   I had just begun this excavation and there were more treasures to dig up, so this is only a taste of what that was.  To a certain degree I’ve been pulled into my own mystery.  I am sure it is appropriate timing as next month I will turn thirty-eight.  My life has been amazing, it’s hard not to think it’s a shame that I have felt so heavy through all of it.  Even in times of levity, the gravity of reality has kept me solid and grounded.  Luckily people like that about me, but if they didn’t it wouldn’t really matter because it feels unchangeable.

Last night I re-watched Eternal Sunshine of the the Spotless Mind for the second time, since the first time years ago when it came out on video.  I saw it with new eyes, but I knew the story and when I watched it the story came flooding back.  Looking through my life in writing produces the same feeling.  (Another topic I could probably go to length writing about, but not right now.)

I sense that things are starting to sync up for me again and I am not sure what that means.  I will probably be able to glean some knowledge from further exploration but I don’t know if I will wake up with the energy to keep on tomorrow… or if I will sit in stasis again for a while.  I’ve been practicing forgiveness for myself, and part of that is finding patience when my desires are so vast.  Giving myself time to figure things out without a strict timeline.   It isn’t easy.  It’s hard not to compare myself to other people and their obvious accomplishments.  I think “I’m just sitting on a stack of paper.”  But that “stack of paper” is the analog archive of my life experience in a very raw form.

I like to journal like I like to go bowling.  I can have a couple of drinks and do something to the best of my ability in full enjoyment even if I suck at it.  I feel fulfilled by slapdashedly swinging my dominate hand around without expectation of high results.  It’s something to do that is totally dependent on my personal attitude at the time. I don’t fear judgement because most times I keep it to myself.  If you want to bowl alone, go at 1:30 pm on a Tuesday.  The only people in there are over 60 and there aren’t many of them.  Most are there just for the bar.  Every once and a while a bold elderly man may stop by and offer tips on your game.

It’s like this blog page.  I have like eighty people who follow me.  I get very little engagement and I am fine with that.  Sometimes I just have to express myself out in the world.  When I was younger I was under the impression that I didn’t actually have a voice in the world, or that no one cared what I had to say; now I think that just the right people stumble in at just the right time, not only for me, but for themselves.  My delusions of grandeur have been over for quite some time now.

This digging and sorting is going to continue.  It has to.  Something about “getting your house in order” feels appropriate right now.  May you find patience and forgiveness in yourself, and the strength to get your own house in order.

PS.  The heading image was something my mom wrote on a piece of paper.  I don’t have much of her writing, on the other side is a poem that many people find haunting.  I am not sure if the cipher works for the poem, but if I feel like it, I might see if it does.  If it does, that would be so cool.  On my mom’s typed page it is titled “Love Poem” and instead of “he” it is “she.”  Who knows?  Everyone loves a mystery and the author is unknown.

lovep

 

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My Cat May Be A Spy

So I had a question, and went to Google (like ya do), to ask the question “Why does my cat stare at me while I sleep.?”  

I clicked the first link which led me to Quora, and I felt the page should be shared because the answers are funny and frightening.

Let’s face it, cats are funny and frightening.  This recent foray in to having feline companions in close proximity, is definitely causing me to see them in a new light.  I guess I never noticed how strange they really are.  Between them chasing shit I can’t see, the stare downs and strange reactions to my direct questions about surveillance and intelligence… I just don’t know.

Yes, my cat Quantum was being super talkative one night and every time I asked her a question she had a response, until I started asking her if she was in the CIA.  I know that sounds super crazy, but she wouldn’t talk if I brought up intelligence agencies.  Take from that what you will.

Quantum is also incredibly psychic, I can call her in my head and she will show up shortly after.  Given her random appearance in my life, I give her the benefit of the doubt.  I’d like to think she is an ally in some wicked spiritual battle and that she protects me to a certain degree, specifically when I sleep.  That also sounds crazy, but I have a pretty vivid imagination and my days don’t provide as much entertainment as I could imagine myself.

Quantum may be a double agent, though.  I haven’t figured that out yet.

Hagia Sophia!

I just posted some illuminating thoughts on FB about the Pineal Gland.  I realize I haven’t really talked about the pineal gland since my youtube was shut down seven years ago and since it is a topical item included in my current painting in process, I thought maybe I should revisit the topic.

If you don’t know about the pineal gland… GOOGLE THAT SHIT, PRONTO!

TLDR:  The Pineal Gland is “the inner eye.”  It has cones and rods just like your outer eyes.  It is sensitive to things that cross the blood-brain barrier. (B cubed.)  It is sensitive to electromagnetic pulse that is directly connected to the heart.  Symbolically it is represented by a pine cone (which may seem innocuous but profound.) Sophia. Wisdom. Sacred Heart. Empathy. Intuition. Reason. Motivation.

Let’s get down to brass tacks; There are reasons you may have never heard of or thought of the Pineal before. Perhaps your are Catholic and visited the Vatican and thought ” Why is there a giant pine cone in the middle of their courtyard?” It’s called the Pigna, Rione of Rome.  Seriously check out the images linked and the wiki link, you will glean some insights.  Here is a Catholic sight with Catholic perspective.  I am not Catholic, or any religion.  This piece of writing is unbiased and only my perception of the topic, links are to be discerned by your own connection to spirit.   Feel free to share your insights in a message or comment.

Recently I have been researching Sophia.  In Roman Catholic doctrine she represents Wisdom; The Holy Spirit, which may challenge your ideas on the Trinity as the Trinity is generally seen void of the feminine.   Sophia has an interesting story when it comes to Creation and the archetype that she has been made to represent in culture.

I don’t usually  explain my paintings, left to the observer to decipher or interpret; however this piece is pretty intentional in focus because of it’s lack of randomness.  I usually just paint as I feel fit, this painting started random and has taken on new life because the idea and spirit of Sophia keeps rising to the top of the topic list and I need to explore her and her energy.  Undoubtedly there is a reason that Hansen Robotics named their most notable and recognizable AI, Sophia.  (Let’s face it, all creators follow some sort of script and Sophia has been obscured for quite a while.)  In my opinion Sophia has been hidden for a reason and once you look into her, you may come to some of the same ideas.

Hagia Sophia! Wisdom!

As I attempt to write this piece I have to undo deletes that I didn’t authorize.

Here are the visual images and post I made to FB.

The pine cone aka the Pineal Gland is the Sacred Heart.

Most depictions of the Pine Cone are upside down. Tiny at top, and broad on the bottom, essentially a detached and dead pine cone.

The Sacred heart is represented as vibrant and thorny yet detached as well but right side up… Coniferous Pine trees are thought to be the most ancient plant genera on the planet, having existed nearly three times longer than all flowering plant species. In this idea the Pine Tree would be the Tree of Life. It bares an inedible fruit that keeps giving while the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil bares a fruit which would be succulent and consumable (perhaps to the point of sickness.)

This leads me to the life sucking reality of the Pine Beetles being a greater allegory for our current reality. Why one type of beetle? Why one type of tree? What is the tree here to teach? What is the purpose of the beetle? What is the cure? How do you perceive the process of extinction? Does it matter? How does it relate to the pineal gland?

Mind, Body, Spirit. Heart, Mind and Soul.

Protect it, it is your direct connection to Source. The pineal can vibrate with the heart syncing it’s electromagnetic pulse. “For those with eyes to see, and ears to hear.” The pineal has cones and rods just like an eye. “If it offends the eye, pluck it out.” If you disconnect or pluck out the inner eye, you lose a connection to your heart that fuels intuition, empathy and moral consciousness.

 

Are you starting to see it? Sophia is the fulcrum between mind, matter and creation with positive and protective intent.   Sophia is every mother figure killed in every Disney movie, leaving the protagonist to grapple between worlds disconnected from Source; meanwhile we are literally beat over the head to whole heartily trust in and follow men.

“Behind every good man is a woman, that is unless you erase that idea.”

Sophia’s story puts her at the helm of the beginnings of Creation.  Her input matters.  She becomes so involved in the creation that she joins it.  Immerses herself in it and in that way changes the outcome beyond unbiased observation/experimentation.  She becomes one with the experiment, she influences observation.

Whoa!  Right?

She is “The Holy Mother of All”.   When you strip away the religion, and look at Creation as experimental pioneers the whole story takes a new shape.

Recently I have been asking out for Divine inspiration,  the climate of the world has had me down and I have needed/wanted a new insight for inspiration.  I have been calling out for intervention and motivation… This is when Sophia came to call.   I was surprised at her subtlety… perhaps that is how she was buried for so long.

Obviously she is a master of patience.  I encourage you to seek her out and ask her more about herself.  Obviously we are not void of her inspiration, we just never caught her name.

 

Rumination on Creation

I have so many paints and paint brushes.  I am really good at up-cycling and experimenting. I look at, at least one of my WIP’s a day. (Works in progress.)  I think to myself “I could make that idea happen with some flicks of a brush, if I could just focus.”

Eventually I build myself up to do it, fail and improvise.  Such is life, right?

Sometimes I stumble into perfection.  That is usually when I go with the flow and suspend judgement.   Other times I strive for a vision I am incapable of creating to par.  Art may be the one thing besides bowling and frisbee golf that I give myself leniency on. It isn’t the score or adoration… it’s the enjoyment and pay off of participation. Little fucks given and beer or wine can be invited.  Simple, adaptable and easily transparent.

Currently I am working on a piece that is well over two years old that has seen at least six treatments.  Tonight I decided to hone in on that mess.  It’s better but no where near where I want it to be.  It’s okay,  I have no desire to insert manic OCD into my works… but it does mean I will work for a while and then take another hiatus to process my next steps.

Some people train hard for art… some people just let it stew and purge when needed.  I am the latter type of artist.  The only thing gained is my pleasure and occasionally some coins in my purse.

Recently a woman contacted me because she bought one of my pieces at a car wash over a decade ago.  I simply thought that it was cool that she reached out and went on with life.

My one consistent with art is I enjoy making it.  I step into another place when I do, and as much as it is about me keeping myself calm; it is about those who love a piece and find it speaks to them.

I write the same way.   I am not trying to tie an underlying thread, it just happens that way.

Perhaps that is Sophia? Perhaps that is the Holy Spirit?

 

Dream Job

I’ve sat here for years now, slowly attempting to kill myself for no discernible reason.  The deeper I dig the less I know.  Over these past years my passions have been purged, and I am left wondering what the point of all of this is, for me, specifically.  Once upon a time I was a person who felt a strong purpose for living.  I was certain I was something special, though there was nothing outward about me that would elucidate such a theory.

I came to think of myself as one of the dreamers.  My hands were never meant to stir the pots, but my dreams were ingredients to a larger stew.  I knew I wasn’t the only Dreamer, but at times it felt like I might be.  Something like the simulation theory, there was one player, playing many parts in the same game, but the avatars seemed clueless to this fact. I was one of the few who wondered why the others couldn’t see how obvious it all was.

Some people are born into the world a sleepy eyed blank slate.  They believe everything they are taught, and they are not taught to question and so they don’t until they are forced to. Once they start to question life starts to fall apart level by level.  Red pilled.  Life will never be the same.   Some refuse the red pill, they can’t face their fear of what is on the other side of the veil.

There are those like me born with one foot on the other side of the veil, and one foot grounded in the simulation.  A delicate dance of walking a wire between worlds.  It’s hard to explain the spiritual nature of existence to those who deny the spirit even exists.  Everyone is born knowing the spirit world exists however the purity in that knowing is often sullied within the first few years of life for a variety of reasons.

It can be a long, hard road getting back to that place of knowing and experiencing the spirit, once one shuts it down or turns it off.

I could never avoid the spiritual realm.  It would come to my dreams and in my waking life.  At times I felt as if there was a bubble of protection around me, which helped substantiate my theory of some purpose.  I figured that purpose would reveal itself as something tangible at some point, however I still feel like I am in a waiting room.

I start to wonder if part of the Dream Job, is to lose all desire for this world.  “To be in the World, but not OF the World.”  These days that is exactly where I exist.  In but not of this World.  I anticipate it’s collapse as I write this.  The signs are here that something big is on the horizon.  The Dreamers have sewn the Dream, and now the Integrator’s are weaving the Dream into the Fabric of Reality.  Restitching the pattern as we’ve known it.  All we need is enough people to man the Loom.  The rest will take care of itself because Spirit is on the side of change.  The expiration date grows ever closer.

We must become sick and disgusted before anything will change and that is why it is prophesied that there will be great upheaval.  Some will riot against Creation and Spirit.  Others will riot against Death and Destruction.   The spirit that drives these entities will have no recourse but to clash in a battle to the end.  It’s already told as to what side will prevail but that knowing doesn’t stop the course of events as they were written in the Time Template so long ago. There is nothing we can do about the outcome other than pick our sides wisely, there is a point coming where there will no longer be any grey area.  No middle ground, fence riding.  Simply, Hot or Cold.  Life or Death.skullface