Life sure is following it’s own course in my life.  The ups and downs though, have found themselves in synch with a symphony which I know from some other time and reference which is not quite reachable…. and so in that way I am like my grandmother who forgets things.

Today my grandfather died… my aunt, his daughter only died a little less than a month ago… I lost my mother when I was 4, in January of 85, on her mothers birthday…

My family speaks so blatantly through their Spirit, that it seems silly any of them would have sadness…toward Death.

Especially when it is a long, drawn out process…. but they really, the sadness they have, is regret.

Things not done, or said.  Wanting more, choosing to give less.  Asserting Life that did not include those who no longer Live with Us.

This is hard for people.  This is a life transition which holds so much weight.  We weigh out our years and experiences with people.  We weigh ourselves in our present moment and see impact of past…. we want more.

And today, my partner, in a (I think funny way???) asked me if I should get my head checked out.

Death has been a part of my life since before I was old enough to go to Kindergarten.

My most significant point of reference for life, was wiped off the Earth.  My Mother.

I have spent the last 28 years in Reflection, Contemplation, Observation, Critique, Judgment, Assessment and Theory to try and understand some sort of Pattern or Reason to this Malady.

Perhaps you are asking about all the words with capitals, but they have been anthropomorphized by my Experience and therefore Attributes vs. Abstracts.

I have met these Attributes, and I have concluded that Love is Essential.

It is when we are able to see HOW and WHY of any one or thing that Effects Us personally… as to the greater Wisdom.

How does one Create?  One learns how things work and why; their personal influence and it’s Overall Effect on Vision…

Things change.

In my sense of crazy, the voices have gotten stronger…

The premonitions have become more vivid…

People will  tell me to stay off drugs, or to get back on my meds, or to take the tin foil hat off… or whatever…

The voices I have, are of my family on the other side of the veil.

I now have four strong voices in my head…

My mother, who exacerbates my inclinations toward cussing… and loves to love in a sort of crass way… she likes affection, and I fight her.  She also has guided my writing hands for as long as I have chosen to take up writing… which was taught to me by my grandmother, her mother, whose mother (my great grandmother) was a teacher.  My mother also bonds me to her siblings, which other than deep dedication to the understanding, I am like ALL of them in SOME way… I could be seen as reclusive, but also a world Bridger of sorts. My mother set me up to be a world bridger.

My Brother.  My best friend and comrade of youth.  How we tatteled and told so… but he speaks to me through music, as it was a bond, he also tattles through my writing of certain things… and he comes to my dreams in every age of face possible to the incarnation he had in this time.  He was the first death that came through one of my visions.  He showed me something that I would have to be prematurely aware of in order to be able to represent him through my family in their pain… but also to be with them through their pain and NOT be a nutcase.

January of last year, my gramps fell ill… my aunt who had been living at her elderly parents home, was having special treatment for her condition in Denver, 100 miles away.

My cell phone wasn’t working, and neither was the wifi on my computer.  I was about 200 miles away in a rural residential area.  My car was “broken” and I was off grid for a week staying with friends… not really sure what the Universe wanted next.

I picked up a loose WiFi signal from some neighbors and had an hour of internet… I checked my messages and one from my dad said my Grandfather was put in the hospital… I immediately panicked for my Grandma… she is one of the greatest Loves of my life…and for so many reasons.

I had to get my car fixed… some guys who do meth gave it a radiator flush and some other help… I still left with my car smoking and acting funny, only to find out the radiator cap had been left off the car…

I got back into town… my grandma at the hospital with him.. and no one to let the dog out back at her house.

I camped out.  She needed someone there.  I went to her house, and let her dog out, and for the next four months I slept in the same bed as my grandma.  In my grandpas spot, just so she didn’t feel alone,

Sorry to say, but my rather celibate lifestyle and my penchant for sleep masturbation brought an end to that nonsense… I mean I was 31… waking up to MYSELF doing this, with my grams, just a couple feet away on the same mattress, that probably never saw her and her husband knocking’ boots.

Perhaps people just let things slide in the olden days, but I was not okay with it… so the task of cleaning the basement of my aunts hoarding came into play, in order to find a modicum of liberation.

Liberation kind of turned me into a bitchier bitch than I already was…

I got here, to this place, where my grandma needed SOMEONE to just BE there and DO SOMETHING with her… and I threw myself in, so hard.  We played several games of cribbage a day… an old fav of everyone in this house.  Even this was painful… all she could think of was my grandfather and his brother who had only died a year previously.  They had been her partner and opponent.  She was sad… She didn’t like the game as much, even though I was funny and we played hands that were hands neither of us had ever seen.  And, I am pretty sure she had played over  a million hands of cribbage.

I tried really hard.  I knew my aunt was a hoarder before she got there.  She had already been labeled…. While she was in Denver, I talked to her on the phone, and I told her that I believed in her, but she had to let go.  But that I would be there to help her and I had her back… all she had to do was try.

My aunt came home, and I never feel like she “REALLY” tried.  I lost my drive, and gave up on her permission.  I started to go through it anyway and throw away trash… secretly I felt like I was killing her by getting rid of the “filler” that was her material possessions, which mostly just added up in trash shat on by mice or disseminated by meal worms.

I felt like I was digging up a carcass which was pulling out her life force… and, maybe, I guess; because of her condition, I didn’t find pain in it… because I know she wasn’t living or enjoying her present life, and that which she was coveting, was just a past tainted and unattainable.

I kind of feel like I helped my aunt go… but in a very energetic way.  I read her writing and her Spirit was SO MUCH BIGGER and BEAUTIFUL than her ability to exist on this Earth with Dignity.  And that is sad… but truth.  The most honest and beautiful people on this planet, are usually physically and materially less than desirable.  Spirit works in weird ways and our treasures are not of this world… neither are we, to some degree.

The day before my aunt went, I was gifted with a vision… it told me my sister was pregnant with a girl (maybe 2 or 3?) and that my aunt would go.  My sister called me the next morning and I knew her news before she shared… my aunt died later that night.

Most people are not fixated on the Spirit of a person; it isn’t their point of reference for importance.   So when you see another, judgment might make you inclined to be disappointed, it is superficial…  Our Spirit is looking into other Spirits and this is why Love is the transcendent factor.

I judged my aunt for a long time.  She left my cousin, who is five years older , and like a brother to me.  She left him as a near adult, but she left him in her own mess with little to fall back on, but his own reserve and talent.

And he is a success today.  Not only in my eyes, but in the eyes of the community… but what do I wish?

I wish she would have been more honest with herself and those around her.  I wish she would have expressed her intentions.

I wish that I get to see my cousin more often and hang out.. because we get along, and have common interests and history… and we love each other.

My mother, who died when I was four, has whispered in my head, ears and heart; for a VERY LONG time, that We All Just Need To Communicate, And Then The Love Will Come…

And everyone has been fighting it… even me.  I went away from home for a dozen years because I thought I could just Mandie-fest what my family didn’t offer.  While away, I learned I was just enough like each of them, for better or worse, that there was no escape… and when need called me home I HAD TO GO.  I was representing more than myself in a sinking ship.

It’s not because no one tried… it’s just the unintentional anchors are adrift.  We raised a family of amazing, talented, and some what antisocial people.

We raised a family which is so interesting, but also so incongruent.  And that is fine.. but these voices in my head from these people no longer physically incarnate… don’t want it to end like this.  They honor All of It.  And they seem a little forceful to share it, through me….

I want to share it, because I believe it.  I think it is valid and potentially beneficial.  My family is weird and amazing.  I think we could potentially share a lot of great ideas on evolution with one another, IF we could just make the time or share the passion…  It’s what my voices want.

And these voices of my family tell me that they approve and they want to see me truck on… but how far am I willing to go, or try???  My most recent track record finds itself weak and that is a shame… I know I could do better…

Tomorrow, er today is a new day to try and formulate how that can be created.

It’s coming, can you feel it? The world is taking on a certain sense of transparency; where once there were lies buried too deep to see, unearth a disturbing truth. We all have things we have been hiding from ourselves and others for years. I am going to guess there is a very small percentage of people out there who experience telling the truth and being fully authentic in every moment.

I mean, to be totally authentic is not an easy task when you have been brought up to buy into both the program of “being honest,” and “keeping a smile on your face.” These things to me, seem in direct conflict of one another.

Websites like Facebook have opened the flood gates for potential pity parties catalyzed by vague statements made in a status up date. Facebook is one of the first places people go to vent out their angst. They realize they can get some acknowledgment for their struggles. Commiserate over children, whine about traffic, or confess a crush.

But you never see any one say, “I beat the shit out of my kids today. I hate that I did. I am having a hard time right now, I could use some help. Can any one offer me therapy, or some assistance. I am having a very tough time coping with this alone. And the kids don’t deserve it. I need the help of my community.”

or how about, “I have fallen back into destructive behavior and substance abuse. I could really use the support of close friends right now.”

We talk about the disease, but we rarely discuss how we got there. Then when things pop up, it’s like they came out of the blue…but even discontent has a birthday.

We shield ourselves behind the most smiley pictures and phrases we have. We keep up the illusion of 24/7 joy. We want Joy so badly. We want her to fill our hearts in every moment… In our hearts we feel this would be an ideal reality.

So in the cyber world we construct a design that allows us to do just that. Create an illusion. A place where every picture is funny, beautiful, or adorable. And status updates are smart, provocative and sometimes depressingly honest.

People think they know everything about us because they watch every video we post… but does every body read ever note in the notebook? Or do they just read the ones they are tagged in. Narcissism is the blindness that keeps us from seeing the truth between the lines and pictures.

For instance, I have left a hearty online trail of my angst, but I don’t think too many people read it. It is “depressing” and it has nothing to do with you….No tags.

It does have something to do with you, though. Do you ever feel pain or discontent? Then you may know what I am talking about, and you may realized you never admitted to yourself, your own struggle with it.

I don’t think you can harness that joy without first confronting and tackling the dark part that continues to pull your view from the light.

Personally, I only remember moments where I was happier than others. But few of them were consecutive. I have never had a phenomenal month of Joy.

My whole life has been a struggle with the dark side. Trace my writing back to it’s beginnings of child like journals and thoughts too big for the child writing in the journal.

October 17, 1995

I stare into this open abyss and for all I know, it’s nothing. Just a blank spot in the future, waiting to be filled.

But as time ticks on, pictures fill that black emptiness.

The pictures are vague and fuzzy at first. But they keep coming and they get more clear and focused.

My friends and family are there, but no one sticks out the most. I can’t think of their names and the faces are all too familiar.

I look on amazed and bewildered at this sight.

It is so real, but something is wrong, or maybe something is missing.

All of a sudden this picture passes quickly, soaring past my face. It brings tears to my eyes. It has hit a nerve.

No, it’s not right. You’re there.

But WHO exactly are you? A ghost? A spirit or a devil of some sort?

It is scaring me. I more I think about you, the less I know about myself.

It is so confusing.

STOP…

Slow down. The pictures have stopped now and the tears have stopped.

I am alone once again staring into that open black abyss.

Still waiting to be filled once more.

I started out knowing myself but I left barely knowing who I am or where I belong.

_______________________________________________________________________________

I wrote that on page 63 of my first real journal started in January of 1993.

From the earliest point in time, that I can remember. I can recall feeling disassociated from my peers and my family. I have felt the struggle of loneliness creep deep with in me. I refuse to call it depression.

In my youth I had big dreams of doing big things, like acting in movies and sharing the TV screen with Comedy’s Greatest.

I thought, it would make me feel less lonely being around all of those other misfits that find themselves in the lime light. I am sure have the potential still, but I realize now that the only reason I REALLY wanted any sort of lime light at all, is because secretly I want to be better than “you and you and YOU.”

I still think about the mistreatment in my youth, the “third wheel Syndrome,” the taunts of being “weird,” or

“freak.” Not having friends to play with at recess and opting for picking up trash or grading papers for the teacher. Or maybe the lectures about how peers feel like I “talk down” to them. A feeling of not being able to do ANYTHING right, and the consequence being extreme dissatisfaction.

In my adulthood I get along better with plants and animals, small children and old people…. peers, eh peers still leave me a bit confused.

I can’t even figure out what I want out of myself, because for the longest time my only motivation was to be accepted by others, and when that didn’t work; I worked at being better than others. And when I realized that the conventional constructs of school and work pit us against one another anyway; to get better or more efficient production. I stepped out of the game.

I use to think I was going to take all the talents I have and do something AWESOME and AMAZING and worth RECOGNITION from all those people who were mean to me, or left me out. I would SHOW THEM I was more than just a freak with no shoes wearing thrift store throw backs.

Everyone wants to be somebody, someday. So I started on my adventure dead set against marriage and children so that I could do that thing that would blow every bodies mind, and make them wish they knew me better. That they had helped participate in making me SO EFFING GREAT.

I wanted you to have your babies and dream about MY life. To find envy in the freak you use to call some sort of obnoxious enigma.

My motivation to do and be better, never came from loving myself. It came from a place of proving to others that they should love me, and in turn, perhaps I could finally know what it was like to love myself.

If you say “Mandie, conjure up now, in your mind the feeling of love. The excitement of communion!”

I would honestly struggle. I have a hard time getting excited about things, I have had too many experiences of loose lips, sinking ships.

Most of the things I have gotten excited about, and mentioned to people in my life; have fallen through. Then I am left to the descriptions of failure, and stagnation.

Few people know these things about me.

I move around a lot. If I stay anywhere long enough people catch on that my perceived high energy is a rouse for how low I actually feel inside. I at times avoid communion with those who say they love me, to be alone or around strangers. I don’t want to bring others down, and secretly I want to talk my issue to death. I want to kill this feeling of detachment and replace it with love.

Despite it all, I continue to learn lessons, which I hope to pass on to others, and I do. However it does not console this void.

I wonder if everyone feels this way and just hides it from themselves by filling it with relationships and children and nice houses. Working the conventional ladder hoping one day it will all settle into that feeling of utter connectedness.

Honestly, I feel this struggle is our direct feeling of disconnect from Source. We miss the feeling of being connected to God or the Universe, the distractions from it are so plentiful. The possible connectors should be endless. I see the face of creation in the earth, and rarely does it bring a smile, mostly it exacerbates my desire to cry.

I don’t want to put on the happy face anymore. It isn’t real. I want to smile when I genuinely feel something worth smiling about. I have been more vocal about this feeling lately because it feels like it is getting out of control. I had friend I have known for about 5 years say, “Wow, I never knew that about you, I had no idea.” That’s because I am a fine actor.

You know that ball in the throat feeling you get just before you cry? Imagine feeling that to some degree every moment of every day for as long as you remember. That is just one ailment of this malady. I can’t remember a time with out it, therefore I can’t imagine not feeling it. Replacing it with a lightness. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if it just went away for a week…. if then I could possibly get a jump start on continuing on with lightness in my chest.

I have been ready for a life with out pain for a long time. In the mean time I try to connect as many dots as I can, to try and harness a way around it. I know that the first step is to be brutally honest with it. You can live a very creative and melancholy life, and get by, but there will always exist this self inflicted issue.

I think to myself, “If only I had people around me who constantly lift me up, and send along the encouragement that I give them. If only for a while it was all about me.”

And I have had spurts of that, but inevitably I push them away or isolate myself.

Someone with a stronger Ego could make this happen every day if they wished, but I excuse myself from imposing on anyone. And I complain to myself that “no one REALLY knows me.”

Relationships start and quickly end when I realize I have so much internalized detachment that I couldn’t possibly let some one try to love me. I have nothing really to give back, except the fear of being seen for what I really am; lost and confused, somewhat scattered, still after all these years.

Fiona Apple said it best “He knows I’m a mess, he don’t wanna clean up.”

I am trying to clean up my own mess, but the loneliness makes it easy to regress to places more familiar. Spaces of inferiority, spitting in the faces of authority, and refusing what is seen as “best for others.”

Ideally I work all this out, around loving people. Who can remind me of the best parts of myself when my focus turns inward to my failings. Ideally all that love starts a chain reaction of positive feeling that I can easily rope in again when I can’t find a friend to hold me.

I still have a hard time being touched. A stroke on the arm feels good physically, but emotionally it will open the flood gates, and at this time and place it is not appropriate for me to cry. That’s the problem, it is never an appropriate time. I need to go to Camp Cry and wallow for a month in my own tear bath.

Be careful when you touch me, I am fragility hidden behind the illusion of a brick wall.

And my brick wall, is starting to crumble.

The planned departure rarely goes as smooth as the plan. The timing must be precise, which leaves no room for mistakes, such as empty gas tanks and misdirection.

Nearly three hours later than planned is a relatively small set back…so, is it truly a “set back” if the destination is hazy and a timed schedule, moot?

What is the point of time?

The road to Eugene screams this theme… excitement and anticipation to break free again. It’s like being sixteen again, and having the freedom to drive out of town, alone; for the first time.

The moment you pass the county line is like the first breath of freedom. The first real rush of detachment.

Detachment from the nest; experiencing for the first time, that vast sky that leads the way to new places and new ideas.

I left on my somewhat aimless journey, three hours late; finally feeling escape and release from all the ridiculous things that I had allowed to dominate my life for the past year.

All those miserable mornings, waking to go to a pizza job that bred little more than discontent and under-appreciation.

I would like to think I fulfilled my purpose in that situation; I knew it was my time to move on. I have skills to learn, this is the way.

When you drive that road away; away from people who do not contribute to your “love bucket”. Those leeches who suck your love bucket dry; causing you to wonder why you didn’t leave sooner. You ask yourself “Why you cried at all, instead of just walking away?”

But on this drive, these thoughts sort of stream out of your subconscious mind. Scenery passes by, while in your mind’s rewind you placate a time when things were shitty and you felt friendless. How despite how hard you worked, you still felt useless.

And this drive goes through personal landscapes you’ve only shared with one other person, who sits missing on this journey.

A journey of me. For me, about me; to find me.

Eugene became the scenery at about 7:45… and I was glad this drive was over. The real adventure was about to begin.

Walking up the road, holding hands, is Bluebear a dreaded urban shaman, and Tomo, his lovely dreaded Asian princess. I step from the car to walk with them, and in comparison to their delicate frames, I am a big blond giant.

My first interaction with Bluebear had been exactly two weeks ago, shortly after a rather intense situation at the pizza shop, where I had been written up for sexual harassment. Yet another reminder that paper is fiction.  I had tickets to see Sound Tribe Sector 9 and I knew that every time I went to one of their shows… life would shift shortly thereafter.  Spinning me in some new direction.

I didn’t know any one in Eugene, as I lived in Bend at the time. I didn’t know where I was going to stay or who I would meet; but I had a four day weekend, and I sure as hell was not going to think about “work.”

I found the venue, and picked up my tickets early and wandered about the town. As time grew closer to curtain, I walked the alleyways to the venue. I met up with a lovely single chick about my own age walking from a hotel. She was also headed to the show alone, and had flown in from Colorado in order to see them at this particular place. We chatted for a while until she ran into her local crew, and I went inside and grabbed a beer.

I kept running into a delightful gay man named John. After the show he wondered if I wanted to after party and offered me a mushroom chocolate. I agreed to both things and we went to a place, on what some people call the wrong side of the tracks. A place called The Rock Shop.

It seemed like a somewhat normal business, having a shady after hours thing. There were people playing music and acid sheet art framed on the walls. I grabbed a beer from the keg.

As my head began to get fungal, John had to leave. He asked if I was safe here, or if I needed anything… and enjoying the ride as I do, I told him I was fine. I expressed my appreciation for his companionship over the last few hours, and he rode his bike home.

I need to sit down, and I feel nauseous, so I sit against a wall.

A white “bro” in a lot of white clothing that is illuminated in the lights comes and sits with me. He asks if I am okay. I tell him I need a cup, I am going to puke. I proceed to fill two cups with regurgitated beer. I start to feel better, but I stay sitting.

Things start winding down and the bro in white wanders off.

Bluebear approaches in his big Blue Bear Suit. He gently says the party is ending, and that the guy who has been sitting with me is a sketchy personality. He tells me he has a safe place I can go, if I have no where to go. Much agreed, we navigate my car to his humble little house.

His house isn’t the cleanest, but it is cozy and he offers me treats I had not had in a very long time… like strawberry kombucha. Joining us was his artist friend Phabel. We ate hits of acid and languidly drew pictures and talked. Sleep came late in the morning.

When I awoke, it was to the smell of hash and the guttural coughs of Bluebear. Phabel had left. The afternoon was spent in a lazy haze of smoke and markers.

I felt tired and drained, maybe a little malnourished. As the night grew later Bluebear wanted to head back to The Rock Shop. I was not really feeling it, so I told him I would stay and nap in the car while he went in to see what was going on.

I noticed some people inside with hand drums and such. A different group than I had noticed the night before.

Too tired to think about it, I dozed off.

A couple of hours later I was awoken by knocks on my window and a bunch of chatty folk lurking around my car. I rolled down the window, and Bluebear said these people need rides; can I give them rides.

This immediately exacerbates how tired I am in the moment, and how agitated I become when people just assume I want to drive them around because I have a car. I hadn’t yet really learned how to say no, and I was thankful I had a place to stay for the night, so I did not vocally resist.

A rather loud and pushy girl gets in the front seat. She tells me her name is Bethany, and I immediately want to kick her out of my car. She is not gentle with her directions, and I personally think she calls them out too late… but whatever, right? All I have to do, is just give her a ride home, and then I will never have to see this girl again. Or so I think.

Finally everyone is out, and Bluebear and I head back to his place. I express my aggravation at his assumption I wanted to drive all over Eugene at night for a bunch of strange people who really had nothing to say to me while in my car… it just seemed weird and not cool.

Bluebear was not offended, and offered me more acid. I declined and went to sleep.

The next morning Bluebear offered me DMT. I told him I wasn’t sure what it was or what it did. So he explained it and I took a few tiny hits. I did not leave my body… but from every pore and hair follicle I could see these red and blue threads tying everything together in associations. People are cocooned in them, as are our precious objects.

The experience lasted about 5 minutes.  For five minutes we were easily immersed as those threads of life wove a blanket around us, and then it was gone. I was enticed, and contemplative.

People stop by through out the day. They come to smoke, or talk. Later in the afternoon I memorably meet two fellas from the previous evenings driving service.

I call this the day, the Universe Lied To Me.

Now you may not believe the Universe lies, but it does. In fact it will do it because it wants you somewhere, doing something, you would otherwise not choose to do for all the unappealing reasons you could possibly find. And that is why the Universe lied to me that day through Dolphin.

Now I am not real sure about dates and times, in which all of this Dream Lodge-ry became real, but this for me was in February of 2006.

I only know about the state of affairs when I showed up;  I explained how I had been written up at work, unjustly, and how I am not sure what I am going to do next, but I want to go back to nature… Dolphin says to me, looking me straight in the eyes… “You should come to Mt. Shasta, to The Dream Lodge.  Come work on our organic farm for a while.”

Well this idea sinks in. And Kaiya chimes in and feeds me lovely visions… and I know in that moment, I am going to go back to work on Tuesday, and put in my two weeks.

Kaiya and Dolphin leave when some people pick them up… and I think it is probably a good idea to trek back to Bend and sort out my affairs.

Upon returning home, I put in my notice, pay my bills ahead three months. Get rid of most of my things, put the precious stuff in the care of a friend. I find out my roommates brother is moving out west from Philly… all things proceed to wrap themselves up nicely and I leave with letter of recommendation and no idea that it is winter in Mt. Shasta.

My car is packed with camping gear, notebooks, artwork and art supplies. I only have $800.00 in cash and I close my bank account.

I assume from the Universe I am going to have a place to stay at this Lodge, and that since I will be working on their farm, there must be some sort of compensation for that.

I am imagining this fluidly functioning machine of enlightened fairies and other magical things. I basically have no idea what the fuck I am about to get into. So I start my journey, two weeks later, driving back to Bluebear in Eugene…to get some acid for the trip, and to see where it all leads.

So we are back at this beginning and now I am meeting the silent Tomo who has just arrived from Japan… and if I thought things were weird before… well this is just the tip of the iceberg.