Musings on the root of personal beliefs

You are a thirteen-year-old girl. You don't believe in God, but you believe in music. You believe in it because it soothes your pain. Your little teenage heart was broken because you were abandoned, stranded in emotional exile by those who professed nothing but love for you.

**

How can I explain to you that all of the pain and beauty of existence begins and ends in every moment?

*

I am a woman and I am a man.
Divinity exists within me and could not exist without me.

*

My own path to spiritual awakening

*

I found my spirit in the blanketing glow of moonlight in my middle school bedroom
In the rustling of leaves in the trees at a state park
In the warm flickering of a single votive

*

I am a solitary practitioner

*

Crying to the moon.
Listening to the leaves.
Reading the streaks of shooting stars under the skies of Napa Valley
Dwarfed by the fairy tale fjords of Norway

*

When I think of my spirituality I think of tears and blood, moonlight and crashing waves, fjords and mountains and luminescent clouds in Norway, eating mushrooms and asking for rain to play in and getting it, synchronicity, dreams with foresight, shooting stars and the beating of bats wings, LSD on Long Island and the sky filling my mind, transcending space and time and life and death and worry, visions of a past life in the sediment of my cup of tea, chaos and freedom and purposeful puposelessness, no coincidences, understanding, compassion, silence, chemistry, wordless prayer.

*

Lots and lots of tears have aroused the divine in me.

**

Nothing has to be perfect but sometimes it is.

Third Time is the Charm

Barely a year ago I had been traveling to Prospect Park with one of my spiritual colleagues to romp among the greenery for the afternoon. My companion introduced me to the healer; apparently they had met many times before. The healer remained silent for full duration of his ride, although the girl he was traveling with spoke briefly. They disembarked prior to our stop. My companion explained to me that he is a spiritual healer who can usually be found around Union Square. All one need do to find him is say his name. I wrote his name down in the notebook I carried with me, but did not retain it in my memory for more than a few days. I have since lost track of the notebook, though I know it is somewhere among my many identical notebooks. 

I saw him a second time sometime this past summer getting off a train at Union Square.

This morning I had a brief encounter with the healer on the L train. He boarded at Lorimer and started dancing in place. I recognized him immediately. He is a striking figure, perhaps 6'5", with a playful smile and rosy face, topped with a mop of dirty blond locks. He wore a pair of worn khakis on the back of one leg was painted "Healing is the new black" or something to that effect (I hadn't slept so my memory is failing me now). I tried my hardest not to stare at him though I could not suppress my intrigue. He continued to dance a little bit as we passed under the East River, and manipulated the energy in the air with hand gestures. I recognized what he was doing immediately because the last time I had tripped it was revealed to me that such a thing was not only possible but absurdly simple as well. We shared a smile and respectful nod of the head a few times, then he started talking to me. I removed my headphones, and realized he was asking me a question about the prayer beads I wore around my neck. We spoke briefly of how each bead represents a different sacred mantra, and how it might do subway riders some good to recite them. We shared a laugh. Before he exited at Third Avenue, he pressed his hands together before his sternum and bowed his head in peace and farewell. I return his nod and was left the rest of the day with a feeling of much needed recognition.  

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some accounting

Tally of things lost Halloween weekend:
3 compact flash cards
$20
1 nug
some liver tissue
some brain cells
some dignity
some stomach acid
something else I haven't realized yet?

Tally of things gained Halloween weekend:
a hangover
enlightenment
caution
a box of popsicles
numerous bruises

Why I hate Halloween and shall never entertain the idea of having fun on it again

1. The parties I went to were major busts.
2. I got so wasted I, a) lost my camera bag which had 3 FULL memory cards in it (but managed to hang on to my camera which is better but I'm still pissed... that was 300+ pictures!); b) deserted a friend for stupid reasons; c) fell down in the street on my way home, almost on my head if my shoulder hadn't broken the fall, which is still bruised and sore; and d) was so hungover I couldn't get out of bed until 4pm, then threw up all the water I had drank.
3. This is not the first time shit like this has happened on Halloween.

autochthonous

au·toch·tho·nous /ɔˈtɒkθənəs/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[aw-tok-thuh-nuhs] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation –adjective

1.	pertaining to autochthons; aboriginal; indigenous (opposed to heterochthonous).

2.	Pathology. a. found in the part of the body in which it originates, as a cancerous lesion. b. found in a locality in which it originates, as an infectious disease.

3.	Psychology. of or pertaining to ideas that arise independently of the individual's own train of thought and seem instead to have some alien or external agency as their source.

4.	Geology. (of rocks, minerals, etc.) formed in the region where found. Compare allochthonous.

mirror mirror

The green queen on the scene tell me what you mean it wasn't halloween anymore
Two times two was four, in and out this door, that door, more, more, and i am sore


In the early hours of the morning I danced with some handsome red devils
And a blackbird with gelded feathers perched nearby to watch our whirling

* * * ( (( 0*)) * * *

I can draw on the Universe

Last night I drew another map of the universe. This time I found mirrors and a black hole. The titans were still there, of course. There were a few handsome devils and at least one devilish woman.


We sought and found the Green Man, but when I tried to put him in my pocket, he disappeared. Now I have to spend the day trying to find out where he got to. I know he's not lost.