Category Archives: Writing

Interwoven

Renaissance (n.)

“great period of revival of classical-based art and learning in Europe that began in the fourteenth century,” 1840, from French renaissance des lettres, from Old French renaissance, literally “rebirth,” usually in a spiritual sense, from renastre “grow anew” (of plants), “be reborn” (Modern French renaître), from Vulgar Latin *renascere, from Latin renasci “be born again, rise again, reappear, be renewed,” from re- “again” (see re-) + nasci “be born” (Old Latin gnasci, from PIE root *gene- “give birth, beget”).An earlier term for it was revival of learning (1785). In general usage, with a lower-case r-, “a revival” of anything that has long been in decay or disuse (especially of learning, literature, art), it is attested from 1872. Renaissance man is first recorded 1906.

 

I like the parts of this etymology that says “grow anew” or to be “born again” , “reappear.”I like it because it is true, time is not linear and more and more these days we are allowed to reconnect with deep soul kin… essentially elongating our interaction through these different wave lengths and time lines.

I am living this now and I want to share some of it with you.  Obviously my series about My Best Friend(‘s Journey)  is some of the amazing proof of this reality.

My creativity is expressed in many ways: these blogs, the journals, the scraps, the paintings, the music and the spoken word I can’t contain.  So much content with context.

I wanted to create a post with all the links to the music up to now because my creative collaborator Alessandro Muresu is some sort of vibration soul mate born on another continent.   He is precious to me because he brings out the best in what I struggle with in experiment AND his passion bleeds through his work, for whatever reason he also found me a compatible collaborator and what happens through sound files is soothing for us both.  Feeling old and familiar, but new and extraordinary.

I shall not build it up too much more.

Preface-  All of these sound qualities have a drone, which is the specialty of Ale.  I am the chaos that interferes but can also create soothing.  Ale brings all of the balance in composition.  My success’ are accidental.  I am sloppy but focused. I have no idea what I am doing, but I love manipulating sound.  My voice is a tool to those ends.  These are posted from earliest to most recent.  I invite you to listen to the evolution of it over all and to visit the rest of Alessandro’s Archive of Wonder.

If you don’t want to listen to all of them, pick one for now out of what you are drawn to.  It’s probably the right one for you in the moment.

Listen to Yourself

FTC Part 1

 

FTC Part 2

Squeaky Floor

Save

Ode (To Us)

173 Part 1

173 Part 2

173 Part 3

173 part 4

177

Karibu

Recording 21

Rudiments

Recording 15

 

*Credits to my late Grandfather Edward Lee Chapman for the heading photo in this post.  He really had an eye for light and shadow.

 

 

 

 

 

Time is Up

Tonight will I cough out a diamond that has been sitting in a compression chamber affixed at the back of my throat.

Tonight I will release the tension behind my eyes and near my shoulder that has grown sore as I cultivated such treasure inside of my own space.

This expulsion will not be gentle.  It will not be graceful. It will be messy, it will be hard.

It will be worth it.

 

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The Coronation.

For what felt like life times, she wept. Almost swept away by her own tears.

The crowd finally dispersed, confused.

The coronation was like none they had seen before.

Her tears were not in vain.

They were unsure of their newfound power; intimidated of themselves for the first time.

It was an awkward spectacle at first, until each one found their rhythm.

Tonight her tears were not the sobbing sort of times past.

When They realized She saw Them, they were again pulled into the rhythm and beat of their inherent hearts harmonic nature.

Suddenly all the colors became more vivid- an unexpected additive to such unfolding.

For the first time she felt willing to dance, and in that moment for the first time asked.

Each knowing the strength of their own thread in this divine tapestry.

It was a lovely pattern they chose to weave.

 

 

Crush

crush (v.)

mid-14c., “smash, shatter, break into fragments or small particles; force down and bruise by heavy weight,” also figuratively, “overpower, subdue,” from Old French cruissir (Modern French écraser), variant of croissir “to gnash (teeth), crash, smash, break,” which is perhaps from Frankish *krostjan “to gnash” (cognates: Gothic kriustan, Old Swedish krysta “to gnash”).

Figurative sense of “to humiliate, demoralize” is by c. 1600. Related: Crushedcrushing; crusher. Italian crosciare, Catalan cruxir, Spanish crujirare “to crack” are Germanic loan-words.

crush (n.)

1590s, “act of crushing, a violent collision or rushing together,” from crush (v.). Meaning “thick crowd” is from 1806. Sense of “person one is infatuated with” is first recorded 1884, U.S. slang; to have a crush on (someone) is by 1903.

 

According to etymology the use and context of the word “crush” is relatively new in relation to relationships.  When looking at the greater concept of the word, we see why “a crush” is called “a crush” at time in life when hormones are racing and our experience of ourselves and the world is limited.

We crush ourselves through our mental/ emotional states as we ponder and yearn, only to meet rejection perceived as devastation.

At thirty-eight and still single, I still get infatuation, however my ability to navigate the world and my own emotional reality allow me to avoid crushes.  I am too old for “crushes.” I know better.

This doesn’t stop me from occasionally roaming down Memory Lane as I rekindle those first rudimentary feelings of euphoria.  I think the older I get, the less euphoria I experience.  The thing about a “crush” when you are juvenile, is the newness of feeling in a multidimensional way that is beyond the norm. It messes with the psyche and the heart and the pattern of life before the feeling.  Life simply feels more full of tangible sensation when one is fixated on a beloved.

I guess these days, I get that through my animals, minus the sexual attraction.

In the past, a crush was always someone who caught my eye physically with traits I couldn’t identify.  That would be a starting point for finding the best parts of that person.  Unless they went out of their way to do me wrong, I would realize they “just weren’t that into me” and I would continue to love them from afar without expectation.  That is the best possible ending for a crush in my opinion… I could never imagine it working out; I am sure eventually I would be seen as intolerable.

As I get older, I wonder “Do single men my age even find me attractive superficially?  Will I always be one of those people you have to get a deeper feeling for, to appreciate?  Am I still as intimidating to people as I was proclaimed to be 10-20 years ago?”

I don’t know.  I don’t ask.  I am afraid of the honest answers in that realm, but I am dying to ask; at times I reserve myself out of the comfort of others.  It’s easier to be alone and not think about those things.  It’s easier to walk around naked in front of animals as I change from shower towel to everyday clothes.   I have no reason to think about my sexuality or what my relation to men has to with being naked or living life.  I’ve consciously and incrementally shut off a “valve” of sorts.

Today I caught the eye of one of the butchers at the grocery store.  He is a really nice looking fella.  When our eyes met, I just right-quick fixed my eyes forward as I continued my excursion except I slipped and I looked back, and he looked back at me.  I kind of close mouth smiled.  It was innocuous. It made me feel curious but not curious enough to make a fool of myself or visit the counter to pretend to be interested in items that I didn’t intend to buy in order to do something as cliche as look for a wedding ring on a butcher ( who probably wouldn’t be wearing a ring anyway, if he is at all up on safety protocol.)

At this age it’s easier just to abide by the fact that most people are taken, and I had to learn that the hard way… not the hardest way, but a hard way; Do nothing wrong but flirt with the wrong guy- get labeled a home wrecker.

Back in the day they would say if you were looking for a date- put two nice steaks and a bottle of wine in your grocery cart and wander around until you find someone you want to talk to.  I wonder if that worked for anyone.  Kinda sounds creepy to me.

I’ve attempted to follow up on body language with people who seem to be attracted to me… but it’s been a disaster and just like my attempts at flirting and the exploration of internet dating soooo very long ago, the results are not encouraging- I’ve given up, on following up.

This is a great topic for me to write about ad nauseam  because it’s one of those things I just stuff down into the crawl space of life experiences and I use my age to avoid examining it or going back to the worst parts of being crushed.   I am sure I am not the only one.

The Sacred Flame and The Hearth

Once upon a time our hearts were actually inside of ourselves.  Now you may say, “Our hearts ARE inside of ourselves.”  And you would be only partially correct.

We do have our internal, biological hearts and we must- in order to live this physical, biological life.  However, our heart, isn’t just some blood pumping organ and it wouldn’t be immortalized so poetically if that was it’s only purpose.

The heart is the cross roads of the body and the spirit that lives within the body, pumping life force miles a day through the blood.

“The Sacred Heart”

“Bless Your Heart”

“Home is Where the Heart is.”

“Heartfelt”

“Hearth”

There is an undeniable feeling when something “hits you in the heart”  or perhaps you feel “heart sick”.

Over time these emotional connotations calcify into biological dis-ease/discomfort/ illness.  The ability to transform becomes the chaotic output we experience as dissonance.  Healing is eliminated to the unseen end of a broad spectrum.  Life becomes cold, the hearth is empty or piled with coal.

You can say you “love” all day.  But where is your spark?  Do you even acknowledge your Hearth? Do you know your Sacred Flame?

The Hearth is the the middle ground cross road.  The Sacred Heart/ Flame is the inner eye, yet another cross roads of perceptions- leading further north the the crown which acts as a beacon to the Ever After and All That Is.

“To be woke” doesn’t mean to be falling head over heals in MDMA love over everything.  Nor does it mean to be knee deep in historical controversy without any attachment to Source/Spirit.

You become a different sort of conduit of perception when you are woke, because your heart helps process the mind with assistance through Spirit.  The entire biological and spiritual mental systems attach to the greater All as it aggregates information that seeks to know Truth.

That is it.

Truth has proven that it has been divided.  Truth has shown how that division has expressed itself on the micro and Macro.  We represent all of it from top to bottom, free will is each of us choosing a direction; simply put acknowledge the hearts and cross roads and act on the high road, or not.  Maybe there will be another time for you to re-evaluate in the future?

What is the cross road?  Left. Right.  Forward.

What determines outcome?  Intention.  Perspective. Adaptability.

There is no “One” cross road.  We encounter them daily to some degree.

Choose wisely.  Listen to your Hearts.

 

 

 

Tartaria

The walls were fortress’.  The arches were acoustic accouterments that swirled cells, existing as portals from one world to another.  Each room an infinite expanse of healing in balance of light and shadow.

The colorful windows served to display the various vibrations that emanate from colored light.  The steeples reached toward Heaven, and the exchange of energy between those points, transformed the ever existent Source illumination.

Source Illumination isn’t just a “light”. Or an “idea” – It is the electricity that powered our world and animated our Spirit.

They knew the priceless nature of Infinite Energy.

Where once we built physical structure to connect, the wiping of our history requires we reflect and remember, only to realize that we are being refined as those points of light. Those Cosmic Connections.  Star Children. Descendants of Tartaria.

The choice now- is to augment inorganically, or to organically augment.  They are not the same.  We’ve had the tools all along.  Thankfully there are those that still remember.

#Tartaria #StarCities #OrganicTechnology #Spirit

My Best Friend’s Journey: Maggie

I don’t remember the exact year that Maggie came into my life.  She was a childhood dog.  I think I must have been nine or ten; My first child hood dog Pepper, was reaching up there in age and I suppose my parents thought it was a good idea to bring in another dog so the death transition wasn’t too traumatic for young children who had their mother die.

There is no way I would ever be thinking about this if it wasn’t for the here and now, and the timeless nature of things.

Okay, so, Maggie was a Brittany Spaniel my folks picked up from the local shelter.  She was young and energetic… she really liked to jump up on people, which is an “unwanted behavior”.  I was at an age where I had to perform chores for an allowance, and one of those chores was picking up dog shit.  I would try and have fun with Maggie as I cleaned up the dog yard.  One of the things I would do is try and get her to not jump up on me, that is like dog 101.

Maggie didn’t have a super long life.  She died in my New Kids On the Block blanket, it was my prized possession about the time she came into our life.   It seemed right she passed on in it.

I didn’t realize that I have been working with her too.  I never thought of her as “my dog.”  I wasn’t allowed to even if I wanted to.  She was a “family dog.”  I think so that my brother and I didn’t argue about such nuance.   I’ve literally been picking up animal poop  in some capacity for the last 28 years.  You only do that stuff for true friends, and in return, a true friend will try and make that as easy on you as possible if they see you struggle with it.

Maggie knew that I thought picking up crap was horrible,  but I think she also sensed my magic and imagination tied to the desire to try and make a miserable task bearable. True durability of connection.

When I was a kid, I wanted an animal of my own SO BAD!  I wanted something that was my own that I loved deeply.  When I finally was able to do that the situation was so weird.

I rescued a meat rabbit from the neighbors.  They had hired me to feed their animals  while they were out of town and I fell for one of their rabbits. So my dad built a hutch and I was able to have this Hunny Bunny.  She was reddish, and had black accent and this little bald mole spot above and to the side of her right eye.  It was that spot that made me want her.

Our relationship didn’t work out. She definitely needed more attention, and she had to sleep outside in the hutch all of the time.  It isn’t the way I would treat a bunny.  But my parents were more about having domestic “outside” animals and rules for things like that.  I wanted to cuddle with furballs.

I don’t remember how I handled Maggie dying in my blanket on the couch.  I remember telling my dad that the rabbit was getting vicious and we needed to send it back to nature so we let her go down by a pond near our house… where I didn’t think she would last very long.  And that is what we did… we gave her back to nature.

I now see Hunny in Quantum Dream Cat. So this story isn’t going to stop.  If animals are here to assist us in being elevated humans, I am full on board.  I am listening.

Again I will say, I am so full of love right now.  This is quite the experience.