Tag Archives: insight

insight, Writing

The Observational Adventure

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Remember the great writers of the most recently retired generation. The Kerouac and Thompson era. Those journalist trippers taking to the road, ( and not always the high one) making a story as they went along. The intricate weavers of an American subculture. Remnants of their lives describe eternal youth and the adventure of virility few in this day and age can experience without some hinderance. Even those books were riddled with hurdles and nay-sayers, but these writers weren’t necessarily writing with the mindset of being the voice of their generation. Instead, these creative minds were merely taking time to observe the human condition from a new perspective; brilliantly commenting on the social climate. They are the record keepers, the traveling linage of pioneers ready for change and personal breakthrough.

The karmic struggle of a writer, is to conveying a worthwhile message. Anyone can write, but few can write well enough to captivate audiences for years to come. Those literary artists stepped beyond the front stoop and took a bounding leap into the unknown. These are the characters found to be the most inspirational.

Who will be the next great writer of my generation? Who will take the open road exposing eyes to things unseen, and yet there all along. Which one will stand up with vigor and enthusiasm for the new paradigm, a master of words and action? Why will masses follow along the journey, what will make it profound and worth recommending to a friend? What is it, as a growing society, that we still need to learn and assimilate? Who is worthy of such a task? Could it be a woman?

Few know author, Joyce Johnson. She wrote the memoir “Minor Characters,” a journey of her evolution as a writer and her love affair with Jack Kerouac. Joyce, was indeed, a minor character in the underground life of some of the most recognized writers of that time. She was amoungst one of the few women allowed into the inner sanctum of those well known beatniks, Burroughs and Ginsburg. Her accounts of the time she spent learning, loving, and living in the shadows is poinant and captivating. “Minor Characters,” brings to mind the question as to how; with her writing skills, keen observation, and warrior spirit, she remained overlooked as a complimentary commentary on the day and age. Perhaps we have been so caught up in the taboo stories of fierce and flagrant men; as is common in American culture, that those softer voices have been drowned out. Just as the admired men of her time were openly defiant to the social norm, tagging along the ranks was Joyce. In a time when women were expected to get married, stay home and have babies, Joyce was expanding her mind and sexuality. Her involvement with Kerouac never turned into marriage, and though he was 12 years her senior, he highly respected her as a writer and confidant. Still, few recognize her impact on Kerouac’s musings… truely a minor character.

I took the leap into the unknown some 10 years ago now. I have traveled the open road, and talked with strangers. I have stayed in the homes of people met merely hours ago, only because it seemed like a good idea at the time. I have observed the bizarre and beautiful array of life bleeding behind closed doors. Empathy is more prevalent in my life due to scenes so heart-wrenching and real, no script could do them justice. Trickles of poetry and sketch have formed from the surreal nature of observational participation. What is it I am destined to convey?

I have been treated with love and disgust, invaded and ignored. The path has been dirty but rewarding. Perhaps the only rewards are stories. Maybe it is the ability to slip into the personal lives of others. To walk, invited into all the swells of struggle that humans desire to share, and yet feel too ashamed or isolated by, to know how to. I have been there in one way or another. Crying with strangers, sleeping with soul mates, laughing at nature, embracing the sunset. The fabric of our lives is a quilt work of words and experience, a colorful co-creation in a constant state of evolution. Each of us, without knowing, are active in our participation. The blessings of momentary meetings, the rush of brilliance shown through Truth. You may not know it, and you may never realize the silent impact you can have on a writer. I could write poems about a certain strangers’ smile. Those things may never be published, the muse may never know they were influential… and yet, words however private spill forth like a fountain of expression. A writer’s “full release.” Just as life force spills forth from every man until his death, words worth writing fill the page of eager hands. Some times in life are less inspirational than others, and still it is only a sign that the wellspring is in the process of change and revitalization.

I am on the adventure, you are each adding to the journey, the goal is unseen. The struggle is to learn how to really LIVE a life of expression and integrity. Each interaction bring to light a new concept or facet of totality and unity within our humanity. May the words of sages and wise women be a spark into the flame of greater creativity in each mortal soul. Eagerly we await a greater acceptance of our bond as humans, our Universal Minds and Hearts. Each time you read words of inspiration, contemplation, revelation and resonance, heed the message, though mass produced, it was written specifically for you at that time. There is no time in Truth, and Truth is timeless. May your soul recognize your journey no matter what time it is.

insight

Things Left Unsaid

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I think I am having a sort of identity crisis.  As I mentioned in a previous post, a belated mourning.  It’s been slowly building day by day creating a depression like I have never known before.

My life is very isolated right now.  I see one or two people on a daily basis.  Mostly I just see my grandmother, but at the same time, despite living with her, and taking care of her; I avoid her.

It is sad to see the loss of memories of some one who was so proud of her ability to retain information, to  loose a little bit more of it everyday.

Recently she asked me how my mother died (her daughter)… and I replied “Cancer.”  She responded with “what kind?”  I had to ask ” is this a quiz or do genuinely not remember?”  Her answer was shocking… she didn’t remember.

My mother passed away of ovarian cancer when I was four years old.  My family bottled their sadness and harbored their memories of her to themselves.

As a resilient and adaptable person, I just didn’t give it too much thought.  I did what people expect you to do, which is “get over it and move on.”  I had a little brother to look out for and influence.

There have been times in my life where this depression surfaces and causes me to question  where I came from, maybe what I missed out on, but people in my family have been hush hush .

I have noticed that over the past year with the passing of my grandpa and my aunt, that my grandmother’s mental hard drive is crashing.

My dad remarried when I was 8 and he had a daughter with his new wife.  That half sister of mine is married now and had a baby this year.  My step mom is a very active participant in their lives.

My full blooded brother died in 2006, and that was the first time I felt the pangs of losing what I know to be a part of myself, and the living memory of a mother who didn’t stay too long.

The things most girls want to grow up and be are a good wife and mother… but not me.
I feel a huge rift in even contemplating that life because it feels so distant to me.

Where do I come from, why do I feel such sadness? Will it ever get better?

I don’t know the word “mom.”  Even when I say it out loud it sounds foreign and awkward.  How could I ever be that which I do not truly understand.  I find jealousy at how easily “mom” rolls off the tongue for everyone else.

I hate that my sister gets to use it with such frequent consistency. It never felt right to call my stepmom anything but her first name.

I live in a world full of moms, and daughters, and because of my past I don’t feel like I fit in at times.  I wish I could conquer this void.

It recently came to my attention how Disney movies often run a program in their scripts that kills off the mother figure leading the main characters to be highly vulnerable to influences of say, a witch in disguise.  And I wonder if I run in manic directions because I don’t have a mom to run to.

I am well aware of the benefits of a good hug, the oxytocin and the bonding, but I don’t hug or touch anyone very often because it too, feels foreign.

My grandma use to hold me and comb her fingers through my hair, but now she is frail, and when I do hug her, I feel that I may break her.  This breaks my heart a little more each time.

Love to me is synonymous with sadness and loss, and I am not sure how to remedy that physical and mental reaction.  I enjoy being alone because most people just don’t understand how deep this program runs.  I can tell disappointment in others when I don’t say “I love you” in return.

I am not close with my mothers brothers, I don’t really know anyone she grew up with.  And in that I fear that when my grandma passes that I will have little to validate my existence outside of my own creations.  This sadness is so strong lately that I don’t want to create much, mostly because I don’t feel like I have many people to share it with.

It all feels sort of pointless.  And since I am not out for fame or fortune, I wonder for who does any of this benefit?

Recently because of Robin Williams death, people have been more vocal about their depression and sadness.  And I believe it’s a great topic for discussion, but I find that when people realize how depressed a person is, they find a conflict of caring and repulsion.  No one likes hanging out with a Debbie Downer all the time.

This is another reason I am reclusive at times.  I just don’t have the energy to be happy or funny all the time.  I don’t enjoy how worn out I can feel from pretending.

So I don’t pretend.  But is taking its toll on me, and it saddens my grandma, which turns into a cycle of us throwing sadness back and forth.

This is no way to live, and no way to die.  I wish I knew a way out of this cycle.

insight

Where is the sacred trust?

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Let me be honest.  (HA! Like I am not giving forth such honest thoughts each time I publically publish… and also  secretly script…)

I am experiencing death on new levels that bring such uncomforting; they become almost unexplainable.

No one wants to openly talk about this… so I think alone, about it… and it tears me up.

I feel left alone in so much emotional turmoil and question,  so much so that kind condolences mean nothing.

Maybe this is a simple “depression.”

But is depression ever simple… ?

I see within myself a sense of being, which does not resonate to my Higher Will.  Nor does it resonate with my positive productive being.  It is what I would call worry some.

This malady is partial Spiritual Crisis and partial sad bystander  complex.

Imagine you have 10 years of technology running on compatible programs; and each burns themselves out with no way to archive or save the data….

This is the human reality I am living.

I am like the new android tablet you got last year that held a certain amount of transferable data from your last android…. and everything  else is early windows on hard drive that is crashing…

I know what I am now, but what I come from has  spotty presence of research toward beginnings.

Perhaps all this is just a belated mourning.  But I feel like I am losing parts of myself to lost stories never told and redefinition means a new program, and I am resistant.

It is like Alzheimer’s by proxy, or imagination in over drive creating a melt down.

This is not good.  There is no easy remedy because there are too many questions and no room for submission.

Nature is the only remedy.

insight

The Twisted Dichotomy of Body Image

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Why is it, that when I feel bad about my body image, my girl friends are the first to tell me I am beautiful, vibrant, and powerful; and my guy friends will say, ” yeah, I know that feeling. It sucks.”

Men interested in being my lover, will respond much like my girl friends.  Combating my personal displeasure with compliments.

The other day, my friend Brandon and  I were talking on the phone for an hour and a half.  We spoke about dating and sexual relationships that we have had.

He recently met a girl through the internet dating app, Tinder.

I expressed a desire to get laid, but not in that willy nilly way that unaware people often do, by lowering their personal standards.  And  yet I see my own oxymoron by feeling I have already lowered my standards by “letting myself go.” Feeling sick of my body lends me no courage to be naked with anyone, strangers and myself included.

He told me to “just do it!”  And when I explained I feel fat and gross, he said “that sucks.”

Perhaps it is my idealism getting out of control, but I want my male friends to respond with the same compassion as my female friends.  I want my male friends to reassert that they find beauty in me… even if I will have a hard time swallowing it in the moment.

Now, just maybe that is too much to ask.

Our society has been brainwashed by unreasonable expectations.  The thigh gap, a flat stomach, no extra pounds to be found; ignoring how those traits aren’t always heredity or healthy in how they are acquired.

Brandon’s mother Trish, who is a friend of mine, admitted that she unknowingly at the time, raised her sons to be “fatist.”

She admits now that in her youth, she would constantly harp out loud about strangers and even her husbands fat, and their need to lose weight.

For her, I believe this is a byproduct of living in Southern California, home of unreasonable aesthetic expectation.  Land of hopefuls wanting acting roles, and modeling gigs.

I have never been a skinny Minnie, and I admit, I too have been “fatist.”  Not so much about other people, but for myself.  When asked my greatest fear, I would respond, “getting fat.”

I would say I have an average middle American body.  I can still see my private parts despite my belly pooch, and my boobs stick out further than the pooch.  So that’s good, right?

In the last three years of living rather sedentary while taking care of my grandmother, that pooch has become more defined, and this scares the shit out of me.  I can’t find a pair of jeans that will fit appropriately over my thick thighs and my ghetto booty.  I find myself at the brink, of fat.

I recollect the quote, “If you want to know how you’ll feel tomorrow, pay attention to what you are thinking today;  If you want to know why you feel the way you do today, pay attention to what you were thinking about yesterday.”

It’s like the body has a 24 hours process time to manifest thoughts into physical proof.

Have you ever spent the day obsessing on a pimple, telling yourself “My skin is suck a wreck!”  Only to wake up the next day to find the condition has gotten worse?

I have.

There is much to say about loving and appreciating oneself.

The first thing I can say, however, is we are not taught to appreciate ourselves or our adaptability.  We live in a society  that seeks stable permanence and actively believes “pain is gain.”

We are taught to seek external praise and appreciation, and in return we are not taught to believe it.  Only to skeptically accept it.  No wonder people feel so unfulfilled.

Some of my previous responses to the compliment, “You look pretty.”

“No, I don’t.”   Denial

“Ohhhhhhkay…” Sarcasm

“Whatever.”  Brush off

“So what do you want to eat later?”  Change the subject

*Blank stare, silence, walk away*  Avoidance

“Uhh, if you find cows pretty.”  Self Deprication

How hard is it to just say, “Thank you”?  Really hard.

How hard is it to say, ” Damn straight!  Thank you!” ?  Damn near impossible.

No wonder our male friends find hesitation in complimenting.  We find far more negative responses toward kindness and appreciation than we do positive responses.  That’s got to get old and tiresome.  And for me, it has.

There is a resurgence of people who want to celebrate the divine feminine.  Most of them are considered “new age hippie types.”

The Dove company has created an ad campaign attempting to get women to see their true inner beauty, while selling soap and body products.  Needless to say, I am skeptical of their real agenda.

Advertisers don’t advertise because they genuinely care about making people feel better or live better.  They advertise to sell products and illusionary life styles.  They advertise to make money.

A tried and true method of advertising to make money is to either make people feel worse about themselves for not using a specific product, or to give a false sense of security that is held in place by using a specific product.

People in advertisements are paid.  Most likely paid actors.  There have been Vegan actors in McDonalds commercials; “rehabilitated” fat women with low self esteems staring in Jenny Craig ads.

It’s all an illusion.

Personally my confidence and esteem don’t come from any product I can buy.  I see through the illusion of advertising, and my confidence comes from within my skin.

My confidence on a daily basis lays on the contingency of how my hair, body and skin look to me at the time.  Whether or not I can pull my outfit together, or if my hair will curl, or if I can cover up my blemishes with out exacerbating my flakey broken out skin.

At the end of the day, the only products that will help, are wholesome natural foods.  Not make up or clothing, or weight loss pills..

I, like many women, cave at times to the illusion of advertising.  Hoping for a quick fix and a boost of instant gratification.

If I become more aware of myself and the situation, I see that I should be able to muster up my own instant gratification.

I am alive, I am mobile and malleable.

I am not advertisement “perfection,” but I am, the perfect me.  The one and only, (at least so far as I know in this dimension).

If I am able to breathe, move and think; then I am able to change and adapt.  Adaptability becomes illusive when we keep ourselves boxed into who we think we are.   The walls of illusion are permanence.

I have had the blessing of living many different lives in this one life time.  My body and mind have adapted to each newness, not always in my perception as “positive,” but adaptable change nonetheless.

Most of the changes I’ve deemed  “negative” have been a byproduct of negative self talk.  A gut reaction that is usually in the vein of denial; sarcasm, self deprecation, avoidance or ignoring.

We ALL want to feel good about ourselves and each other, but the programs we’ve been fitted with support competition and comparison.

We are not taught to look in the mirror and see the positive.  We are taught to focus on the flaws and then to unabashedly pick at them; to confirm what we see with negative self talk.  Only then do we walk away feeling shitty; full of self doubt ready to be shared amongst humanity like contamination.

We know we don’t like how it feels and yet we don’t know how to eradicate the problem.

I am reminded of a viral video called “Jessica’s Affirmations.”  The cute little curly haired blonde girl standing on the counter top in her bathroom, in front of the mirror.

“I love my hair, I love my mother, I love my sisters…”

” I can do anything. I can do anything good.  I can do anything better!”

That video went viral not only because it is cute, but because it was the actions of a Master.  It was how we all wish we could be, but what we do not allow ourselves; the freedom to be, based off of a life time of stored apprehensions and self loathing.

We accept little Jessica, positively affirming because four year olds are cute and they don’t have the same acquired emotional baggage as an adult.

We laugh and cheer her on because we’ve lost some hope for ourselves, but we can believe in a child.  A child like that, is bound to “do” or “be” somebody, someday.

I have written about emotional baggage a lot over the years.  How we carry it with us though it no longer serves our best interests.  Baggage can become it’s own addiction.  Emotional hoarding.  Or emotional masochism.  Tearing and picking at ourselves when we look in the mirror, and hating ourselves for it long down the line.  Unknowingly adopting attitudes and belief systems that support self abuse and self suppression.

How cool it seems, to be to appear coy, withdrawn and disinterested.  Emotionally caving to a pervasive belief that “IF it SEEMS too good to be true, it probably IS.”   The old adage, “Don’t get your hopes up.”

So we have stopped hoping so much .  We redirect our energy in to squelching our own excitement for fear it will all fall through, and fall apart.  We become accustomed to mundane.  Thinking magic only happens to beautiful, wealthy movers and shakers.

But not for us, normal, average people.

Most people just want to fit in; to not feel left out.  And in that, they compromise their own unique magic, mystique and specialness.  No one wants to stand out too much, fearing that if they do, they’ll be made fun of or isolated.

So we throw ourselves into any sort of conformity and find ourselves still feeling wanting, and dissatisfied.

Would I feel perfect if I weighed 125 pounds?  I don’t know, I’ve never been there.

Do I think I would feel better about myself?  Probably, there are a lot of clothes a girl my size should not wear, that 125 lb me would love to strut around in.  But I know even that would not be enough.

To not worry about my weight, or how I look would inevitably trade off into some other mental fixation, whether it would be the process of maintenance, or perfecting other issues I find with myself.

For each thing we fixate or obsess about, and then remedy; there are three new concerns that are ready to take its place.  Let’s face it, we all want to be, do and enjoy more than we allow ourselves.  It can turn into a stew of self regulation.

“I can’t eat that.”

“I can’t go there.”

“I can’t do that.”

Really?  Is there a force field keeping you from it?

We create our own mental force fields.  We reinforce them with our negative affirmations and synthesized mental stresses.

Why do we do this?

A fear of unconditional love seems to me, to be the culprit.

There is a lot of talk about a need for self love, unconditionally.  However, our society has such distorted views of love to begin with.  It is a struggle to know exactly how love, especially unconditional love, feels.

We mistake lust for love; liking for love, abuse for love, restriction for love, and jealousy for love.

I like the adaptation on the golden rule, ” Treat others the way you want to be treated,” into ” Treat yourself the way you would have others treat you.”

Meaning to me, why would we shit talk ourselves, if we hate the idea of others shit talking us?

We dive head first into self deprecation almost as if to beat others to the punch.  It is an overused modality in stand up comedy.  To be the first one to talk down about ourselves in order to shelter our hearts and egos from the disaster of the potential observations of our fellow humans.

In so doing, we ignore the fact that EVERYONE has their own special set of insecurities and fixations.  We ignore that everyone is capable of  self effacing grandiose

Each one of us is the center of our own universe, and under the microscope of our own insecurity we are blinded to the peripheral view that deep down there is nothing extremely different about anyone, unless we deem them that credit as an individual.

We all struggle with fear and self doubt.  We isolate ourselves in the illusion that everyone is better or more adaptable, or magical than the “I” who stares in the mirror.

Everyone is taking an individual path leading to the same place.  That place is the understanding of infinite self love.

We want to love and be loved, we just don’t know how to do it, find it, or feel it.  We are not programed for easy acceptance of it.

When I try to imagine what self love looks and feels like, I think it comes with the appreciation of waking up alive everyday.  Looking in the mirror and saying “Hey Beautiful, I love you!  Today is going to be a great day because you are in it!”

It is the self encouragement to be courageous and do what is best for the self, because we all want the best, but we have horrible role models and frankly, we don’t feel like we deserve it.

There is a common misconception that we have to earn what we deserve.  That there are some illusive hoops we have to jump through in order to prove to someone outside of ourselves that we are worthy.

Each of us are born with the gift of life.  Within that gift we are ENTITLED love.  Some of us start with really rough beginnings which makes that path to Love a bit more rocky.  Especially loss or abuse in the formative years before self awareness comes to play.

These can be amazing learning curves that catalyze the question of what love, actually is, and how it is asking to be expressed.

Learning curves can be amazing teachers that show us what Love is not, and how to recognize it through feeling and reflection.

Sadly though, those same learning curves can also lead to a life time of turmoil and self doubt.  Extra long term baggage.  It is easy for some people to get caught in the eddy of victimhood.  To swirl in an endless circle of self effacing pain.

“No one likes me.”

“I’ll never find love.”

” No one will ever love me.”

“Nothing ever works out for me.”

“I am a failure at life.”

“I am shit.”

“I am ugly and fat.”

“I hate myself.”

“I am so fucked up, no one will ever want to be with me.”

“It’s just the way I am.”

“Nothing will ever change.”

Most of that is spoken through the unhealed wounds of childhood.  The broken inner child whose faith in Love was derailed before it had a chance to mature.

These are the sins of our forefathers and the examples set by our foremothers.

There are people in this world very aware of these facts and products of our history.  These are the people actively seeking to remedy hundreds if not thousands of years of passed down self hating logic.  These are the people seeking to teach the next generation a more positive and fruitful way of living and loving.  I think they will succeed.

As a whole, humanity is sick of oppression both internal and external. We WANT to see the magic in ourselves and each other.  We want to thrive together with out the insanity of comparative competition.  We want to live without the fear of loving ourselves and each other.

Deep down we want what is best for everyone.

Ubuntu.

insight

Grasping for Beauty

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I made a mistake today.  I did something that I had purposefully been avoiding, knowing if I did it, it would make my head spin and send me out of control emotionally.  But I went ahead and did it anyway.

I weighed myself.

I didn’t really need to do it.  I can look at myself with or without a mirror, and tell with certainty, shit ain’t right.  But I did it anyway, as some sort of sick confirmation of my misery.

Over the last 3 years I have lived the most stagnant life I have ever had the privilege of living.  I take care of my 87 year old grandmother.  And though I love her dearly, my chosen obligation has absolutely derailed my previous life styles.

I spend 90 percent of my time at home within easy reach of my grandmother.  And the small luxuries of my previous lives that I have maintained are drinking heady beers, and eating amazing home cooked food.

My weight wouldn’t matter as much if those were not the only two little bliss factors in my life.

I am use to being quite social, active, and involved in mentally and physically engaging activities.  I am use to working hard, and playing hard, metabolizing both alcohol and experience.

Instead I have become well versed in Netflix, and drinking alone.  Not drinking to get drunk, mind you.  Drinking because I love beer.

Today is day 5 of not drinking.  My body is going through a disgusting skin detox.

I stood naked before my shower, looking in the mirror, muttering to myself, “I really shouldn’t weigh myself.  It is a bad idea.”

I responded by pulling the scale out of the cabinet. Stepping up, looking down.  Which led to crying.

I know that concepts of beauty are not entirely tied into how much a person weighs.  Beauty is a thing from within, that is sometimes  evident without.  I do not feel beautiful on either side of the coin.  I have been strategically hiding behind costumes in order to play a role of comfort and confidence.

I have seen myself be physically content with my body before, and it is the best feeling EVER!  Why?  Because it becomes one less thing to worry about on a day to day basis.  When I am happy with my physical appearance, I feel more capable of handing other aspects of living.  No one likes the girl who is constantly worried about how she looks because she doesn’t have the confidence to radiate.

Facing the truth of how my body has morphed over the last 3 years, happened about a month ago.  I stood to a challenge and went to an comedy open mic.  I recorded my set.  The set wasn’t bad at all, but  I couldn’t get over how my once toned arms, radiated white like big wings on a bird.  They seem huge.

I use to joke that women need great girl friends that will let them know when they start to get back fat.  I haven’t had any girl friends around lately to remind me of my appearance.  I mean what do I have to look good for when I am at home with an elderly lady 90% of the time?

The hardest part of all of this, is realizing that how I look and feel is a byproduct of me not being in the right place for me.  The situation has muddled my once sharp brain, into a reclusive and miserable person.  I don’t like it at all.  It is hard to radiate beauty when feeling so despondent and under inspired.

I am facing the fact, that the time is drawing near to leave.  I have to go.

I love my grandma with all of my heart, and I want to see her be safe and healthy, but at what cost?

I have cost my own health and well being to be with her in some respite.

People treat me like I am doing some sort of martyrdom in this experience.  But I do not feel like a martyr.  I feel that I haven’t done as well as I could or should have.  And that feeling isn’t getting any better. I wouldn’t be surprised if all this gain has something to do with the massive amounts of cortisol I am undoubtedly producing within my stagnant stress barrier.

I have become so stuck, I am not sure what direction to go to get out of it.  I just know I need to move, and shift, and stretch, and run far, far away from the anchor I have bound myself to.

I would love to spend a month with raw foodies, with active, patient lives.  I would like to take the time to reprogram my neuroplasticity into a vibe more along where my heart sings.

I feel inclined to run back to other versions of my past, while truly desiring to make something new and redefined for myself.  But I don’t know where to go, I don’t know who to ask.  And maybe I won’t, until I just get out of the parameter I have found myself choosing to be stuck inside.

I want to feel beauty, and beautiful.  I want to radiate more than I ever have before.  I want to make something happen, or be apart of what is happening.  A feeling that would be in juxtaposition of how the last three years have felt like, waiting.

I am too young to be waiting on death, and that is the place I have been.

I know I can’t wait on health and wellness to find me.  And I know I can’t wait for myself to just get over what I am feeling.

I know I need a change both inside and out.

insight, Writing

Where Are Our Heros?

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Who do you look up to?  Why?  What endearing or respectful qualities does this person carry, worthy of being a hero?  Do you, yourself also harness these qualities, or do you envy them and worship them in others, whilst not embracing them into yourself?

Let me tell you about my Hero.

Now I am not a religious person.  I do not buy into secular doctrine presented through Churches or religious organization.  I have spent some hours in the bible, and at Bible College.  I have continued my research into spirituality and faith through my own accord and intuition.

My hero is whatever the embodiment of Christ Consciousness is.  And let me tell you, he ain’t no hippie dippy Jesus.

Take a moment to check out this video, to see Christ Consciousness in action.

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Notice these guys and their sense of humor regarding all the useless trends out there.  AND then notice the authentic looks of surprise and humility of the participants in Making Homeless People Smile, WORLDWIDE.

This video makes me cry every time, because it is genuine.  And it mentally takes me back to a time in my life when I was 19.

I was attending Manhattan Christian College in Manhattan, Kansas.  Just a Podunk school of about 500 students directly across from Kansas State University campus.

Now I only attended MCC for a semester.  I left with a 0.0 GPA, because I stopped going to classes in order to fulfill what I felt to be actual work from the level of Christ Consciousness.

It started out as a birthday trip to Kansas City, Missouri.  I had a bunch of birthday money, and my new best friend, Natasha, in tow.  We hoped to get into an 18 and over club.  We hoped to push the boundary on this new level of perceived freedom, being away from home for the first time.  Pushing boundaries.

I rented a hotel room, we called a cab… and we went into the city for fun.

The night never really panned out as we planned.  Early into the evening we were kidnapped by our cab driver… who was from foreign country.  And maybe things got a little weird because we were pretending to be something we weren’t… we were playing roles in this new city.

We never made it to a club.  We did however walk around town on this Friday night… and I saw something I had never really seen before…lots and lots of homeless people, and lots and lots of young drunk student types.  And in this situation of newness, I was witness to yet another thing I was not prepared to see.  Those young drunk students, being incredibly mean, rude, disrespectful and inhumane to the homeless population.

I was shocked and disgusted.  I had my own experiences with bullying, but this was like watching some sort of sick torture.

Students purposely spilling soda on sitting homeless beggars.  One young (I hesitate to use the word man) maliciously kicked a homeless vet’s hat, which was sitting on the ground full of change.  The snickering fools walking off as the Vet scrambled across the sidewalk to gather his lost money.

In that moment, some thing flickered inside of me, and in a warm rush it is as though I stepped aside in my own body, and the Spirit of something Bigger came into my heart.  It was as though my consciousness had blacked out, and been replaced by the voice and Spirit of Christ.

First thing I knew was, these people need to eat.  They need some food.  I have money.  There is a pizza shop.  I can feed them.

So I walk up to a pizza shop window called By The Slice.  The guy behind the window is named Jude.  Hey Jude.

With confidence, I ask Jude for two large pizzas.

“We don’t sell whole pies here.  We only sell by the slice.”

“Well, I am gonna need two whole pizzas.”

“It’s going to be pretty expensive.”

“I don’t really care, there are some homeless people out here that need to eat.  I need two pizza’s and a large Mountain Dew.”

Jude smiles, while shaking his head.  He tells me it will be a couple minutes before the next pie is out, and he proceeds to ring me up for $91.11.  Damn most expensive pizza’s I have ever paid for.  But whatever, it was birthday money… and what was I going to do?  Probably buy an over priced t-shirt from Ambercrombie, just because it says “Wyoming” across the front?  Yeah, probably.  An Ambercrombie shirt is about as useful as planking.

While all this is happening, Natasha is in the run around of my journey while following what ever this Celestial Whim was.

I got the pizzas and walked back to the two Vet’s  who had their change kicked around.  I stood above them with the boxes of pizza.

“Would you like some pizza?”  I ask.  I am confronted with looks of horror and skepticism.

“Don’t tease us.”  One responds.

“I am not teasing.  Would you like some pizza?”  I open the box and one of the men pulls a piece out, and hands it to the fellow next to him, and shuts the lid to the box.

“You can take more than that… you can take as much as you want.”  I open the box again, and let them take out two pieces each.

The man who had not yet said anything now looks at me with tears in his eyes, and asks “Are you mad at me?”

And in this moment, I know he is not talking to ME, but to the Spirit within me in that moment.  That warm Spirit which was taking over, while I stepped aside and outside above myself, watched and listened as the words “No, I am not mad at you…I love you.”  pour from my lips.  Something I, myself, would NOT have said.  He begins to cry.

I connected with this man’s eyes. I saw his soul and he saw my sacred heart.  I continued down the road, looking for the desolate hovering in corners.  I shared what I have to give.  Few people asked for money, which I did not give, because the goal was to make sure people were fed and monetary charity is not my style.

This all happened in September of 1999.  I had only been at school a few weeks… but this trip changed my life, and it changed me.   School to learn who Christ was, no longer seemed like the real way to experience what that love and compassion are.  I felt stifled living in a bubble of people who tout a title called Christian… but would only actually do service in community a couple times of year.  Helping people seemed like it should be a daily exercise in spiritual growth and development.

The college had some strict rules on leaving campus.  So I lied, and told them I was signing out on the weekend to visit family.  Really I was renting hotel rooms on credit, and using the money I made at the Christian radio station I worked at, to buy bread, peanut butter and jelly; bags of chips, juice boxes, cookies and packages of granola, plastic sammie bags, brown paper lunch sacks and napkins.

Then I would drive it all to Kansas City, and stay for the weekend walking around alone down town, looking for people to feed.  I never felt like I was in any risk of danger, because I was certain whatever was working through me is INVINCIBLE!   It was a huge practice in sacrifice and faith.  It has been from that point on in life that I knew I was to live in Service to Humanity.

I probably took six trips to KC that semester.  One of the excursions a young man, about my age was curious as to what I was doing and why.  And it created the most beautiful dialog, because to him, it made sense.  And in that moment of it making sense, he wanted to give everything he had in order to help.

“Should I give them my money?” He asked.

“I don’t give money.  I will buy something for some one if they express need, however.  I think that charity through money is like trying to build a garden without getting your hands dirty.  It is easy to just give some one some money, and then they go off and buy beer or drugs… you just send them off on their way.  But when you feed a person, or take them to buy something they need, then you are actually participating in service.  You are sharing soul space.”

“Have you ever had anyone be mad at you for not giving them money?”

“Yes.  And I don’t care.  If they get mad they obviously didn’t want what I have to offer.  I can’t offer everything to everybody, but I can share what I do have and try to share it wisely.”

“That makes a lot of sense.”  And when he walked away, I felt certain his heart had been stirred.

Over the years my service has changed shape and form.  But it is the lesson of Christ Consciousness and the Righteous power that we have through harnessing It, which can create a landslide of change in fairly short period of time.

If you believe you live a life of righteous service, and yet you have never felt the Infinite Power of True Selfless Love… you have been living in a delusion, and perhaps you should step outside of your comfort zone for a while.  There is nothing wrong with Humility and there is nothing wrong with getting dirty every once in a while.  Selfless service is rarely a neat and tidy procedure; but I guarantee that afterward you will feel lighter and with a new sense of strength and purpose.

Art, insight, Writing

Reasons Active Un-involvement Is Better Than Activism

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Are you the type of person who gets upset and fired up about injustice in the world?

Are you the type of person who will join a cause in order to put your hands in the pot of injustice; in order to stir the contents, and hope the stew comes out better than when you first involved yourself?

Do you throw yourself head first into “causes” which seem to only de-evolve and leave you with a bruised head and ego?

Then maybe you should take a step back and look at so called “activism.”

Activism is in direct relation to Polarity. Activism rarely has any real solutions… rather it is a vehicle for sharing information and through that information polarizing people by bringing smaller groups together, and isolating others through conflict.

Do I believe in Human Rights and Free Will? Yes.
Do I believe Activist groups are really looking out for the greater good? Not really.

Their intentions may seem spotless, but the fact is that they are creating a sort of black hole when it really comes to change.

Maybe you will say… “what about all those people in Egypt who are rioting… don’t you think that is activism?”

Well no, I don’t… I actually see it as Active Un-Involvement.

People who are willing to say “fuck going to work, fuck going to the store, fuck this system! We are gonna rally in the streets and stop the machine by stopping participation with the expectations of our keepers.” That is active un-involvement.

The first reason this is better than activism, is because the only real way to beat any system, is to remove yourself from it. To live life as is right by your heart vs what the mainstream says.

The solution is not to start an “anti” campaign. Anti-campaigns only create more conflict by saying “this thing over here is bad.” By creating an anti-campaign you are actually still participating with the thing you do not agree with. You are not pulling yourself from participation with the other side.

A person can yell against GMO’s all day… but if they are still buying their food from a big chain grocery store… they are in direct conflict of their message.

Proof is in action, not activism. Hate GMO’s? Boycott the grocery store, build a green house and start tending your vegetables.

Invite people to eat them, or to buy starts off you…. That is Active Un-involvement, which offers a non violent active solution to an idea or system your head and heart do not agree with.

I would have to say that sincere “anti- car” cyclists are the most Active in Un-Involvement as it gets… They ride their bikes everywhere. In highly congested areas they get where they need to be faster… their calves are usually really nice, and they have found a very productive solution to staying away from the oil industry. I once had a friend like this who had ” Fuck Cars” tattooed across her calves… so while she was speeding through traffic, the drivers of cars could see her point, very clearly.

Active Un-Involvement is a way for a person to REALLY live their Truth. If you don’t agree with something, don’t buy into it. Don’t give it your energy… instead redirect your energy into the solution.

Activism, like I said, is really great for the dissemination of information… but rarely does it go much further.

Think about how much money has gone into “finding a cure for cancer,” when we have had several all along. People have been fed a placebo idea, that it is some how wrong to question alternatives and fall out of line with corrupt ideals.

People who actively un-involve themselves are free thinkers. They do not rely on a group to tell them what is right or wrong… rather they take all the information into account and think for themselves. These same people are usually very tired of falling into rank when it comes to ideas they don’t agree with, and instead of fighting back… they just drop out and create the circumstances they would like to see.

Now maybe you are reading all this, and you disagree. You think things are just fine the way they are. Or maybe you consider yourself to be an activist and this is just down right sacrilege…

Are you going to start an “anti Madge Midgely” blog? Are you going to funnel your energy into telling me I am wrong? Or are you going just blow off this article as bullshit and go right back to your campaign? Most likely you will simmer over it for a minute and move on, maybe even start your own blog about activism. And that is okay… that is your first recognition that you are capable of active un-involvement.

We don’t have to bash anyone, or any thing. We just have to educate people and allow them to think for themselves with the solution that they CAN DO ANYTHING they put their mind to, and the best way to be active is to just go and do it and see what happens.

We each choose to actively un-involve ourselves in many ways through out life… whether it is the conscious effort to not be involved in gossip, or whether it is a boycott on the Nestle’ Corp. We choose where we want to put our energy.

If you feel a massive amount of conflict in your life… look at how many mental “anti campaigns” you have running through your program. Shut them off. Redirect your mental energy into seeing why things exist the way they do, figure out what works and what doesn’t. Figure out what brings you most piece of mind and heart. Follow that, and start being active with your True Self and not the bi-polar conflict of belief without real action. Educate yourselves on Many Points of View… and then discern the Truth.

dove

insight

Well… Wasn’t that Pleasant?!?

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I don’t know about you, but I personally don’t get much joy out of shopping.

 Call me crazy, but I don’t.

Especially when it comes to BIG BOX STORES and Retail Chains.

Sadly at this point in time, I am living in a town which is a franchisee’s wet dream.  There are very few local business’ unattached to franchise or big Corp.

 A sort of sad malady if you ask me;  which makes shopping, a sort of excruciating experience.  Dare I say, a “clusterfuck”?

Everyone needs “their things.”  And stores are so sneaky, with their random shifting of items in the store, and changes in product packaging… They will keep you wandering aimlessly, filling your cart for hours.

It is imparetive to go in with a list and a plan… the plan is simple… KEEP IT SIMPLE!

It can be hard to keep it simple however.  Especially in the throws of such a clusterfuck.  It is best to time these things early in the week, early in the day.  

There is bound to be congestion, but usually it is the over 70 crowd and I already live with one of them. I know I can move faster and reach taller than they can…. it makes shopping a breeze on Monday mid morn… all the gray hairs slowly scooting in mobile carts around the store.  Probably look for Breck shampoo that no longer exists… or attempting to find the closest equivalent based off what they remember from TV. Which is bound to be over advertised and over priced.

I can gripe about shopping for hours and pages… I really dislike the process of handing money over to corporations who only receive it because there are very few other options, especially when their products are usually harmful but also smell nice.

Final word? Grow your own stuff… look into making your own shampoos, washes and cleaners… feel cleaner, save scrilla, and avoid the mass-holes even though you don’t find yourself in Massachusetts.

Art, insight, Writing

Why Do You Continue to Support Hollywood?

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mindMaybe it is your once a month date night with hubby or an afternoon matinee with the kids; maybe it is your child going to see the same movie over and over again… maybe you pay for Nexflix, Hulu, and Redbox in addition to regular DVD purchases.

Why do you continue to do this?

What about these stories and characters is so amazing and amusing that you set aside funds AND hours out of your day in order to somewhat sedate yourself for the time of consumption. In order to lose yourself in some one else’s fiction.

Sure, sure, sure… Entertainment makes us feel things, but so do drugs. So does internet access… it doesn’t mean it is making us more conscious or aware. It doesn’t mean we aren’t using it as a blinder to hide from ourselves and to really ignore the inspiration in the act of LIVING.

Are you REALLY LIVING when you sit there for hours on end, consuming the prefabricated dribble of those we view to be gods in their own right, by their individual re-creations of things past.

Not much is new in the entertainment/media industry. Every old classic is being reproduced… but funnier yet, all these old classics are built from archetypal stories attached to Astro-theology.

What is Astro-Theology? Well it is OUR story, in the stars, in the constellations. It is the basis for all Archetypal stories. From Osiris to Jesus all the way to the generic “Hero’s Journey,” which is the basis for much literature.

Tis’ true, there is nothing new under the sun.

Except for each and every one of YOU.

You are each the individuation of a greater creation… You are DNA; experience, nature, nurture, Consciousness, sub consciousness, ancestral influence, observation, interaction, perception, and influence.

All this potential struggle with road maps of discovery and potential conquer; and yet most choose to sell themselves short.

These days it is easy to sell out to self sedation through consumption of too much “entertainment.” And let me tell you, it isn’t just the media, entertaining all these folks.

In the mean time they are forsaking the gift they have been given to really identify themselves as a unique expression; while also accepting that they are very much the same in very generic ways, as is the rest of humanity.

Parents think it is funny when their kids emulate those “stars” they see on the big screen. They disregard the fact they are allowing their children to be manipulated and brain washed… and instead of encourage them to express their individuality, they find it funny and instead film it; adding to the idiocracy by posting those videos online.

I could be wrong, but I doubt it; when I say ” it’s gross your toddler looks like a prostitute and is dancing in such a way that seems disrespectful for an adult woman.” I mean it. And if you want to get upset about it, maybe you should look into the sexualization of children.

Watch this vid for a couple of minutes… think about this industry in which so much money goes to in order to sedate ourselves and live vicariously through stars…

It is an industry full of pain and mistreatment of people. Most people, myself included; wanted to be there at one point in time… I thought I could break it, and expose it from the inside out.

I didn’t even want fame… I would have been happy with a b-movie cult following… I just wanted an honest opportunity to express myself unencumbered. But, truly that is NOT what fame offers. Dues have to be paid to some degree… eventually if it is just money and fame you are looking for… you can get it. But it may not be honestly, and you may not love what you have become at the end of the day.

Hollywood is full of miserable people making a “living” off of faking it.

Movies do not teach people to be their own stars… No, no, no. In fact it is quite the opposite in these days of 15 minutes of fame, and going viral.

Mainstream media is asking you to sell out by tuning in and buying their shit.
You may have an image of yourself you THINK you are portraying, but at the end of the day, there is always an editor. You may not like what you seen in post production. You may be misrepresented.  And if you thought living in a small town was bad, imagine all your flaws broadcast world wide.

The entertainment industry covers itself in the illusion that a person will be able to express themselves, truly as themselves… but actors are willing pawns… what is the desire of end result?

Movies and their repetitious actors cause people to want to emulate, and relate on personal levels with actors, who many times are seemingly unreachable.

What good is that?

I want REAL, REACHABLE PEOPLE!

I am a Real and Reachable Person. I choose to influence humanity by being myself.

I don’t want to read for your plays anymore, or audition for your movies… I do not want to speak in some one else’s voice.

I want to speak mine. My truth.

My Truth wants to see what you have to offer as a unique star in this Universe, acting in the greatest loosely scripted act in his/herstory.

US! OUR INFLUENCE unencumbered by inane programs…

Start actually LIVING like the Star, You Are… and neglect the bullshit of abuse which is the core of what you probably find most entertaining…

You ARE entertaining… Figure out how to honor that and Entertain Yourselves!