Teachings From A Bull

Teachings From the I Ching

03.05.17

last edit 03.30.17

Chapters 4, 9, leading to 13:

4. Innocence

Innocence gets through successfully. Though you do not seek the innocent yourself, the innocent seek you. The first augury informs, the second and third muddle. Muddling is not informative. It is advantageous to be correct.

Enlightenment is realized and actualized. It is your truth. The second sentence deliberately translates to, though you do not seek the enlightened, the enlightened seek you. Really it says, though you weren’t aware of your divinity, the divine have always been aware of you and seek to awaken you with the elevation of consciousness to yoga – the individual consciousness merging with the Ultimate Consciousness.

We all exist as divine. We all participate in the cycle of existence. What the intelligent on this plane of existence consider sufferings are mere reflections of the hard lessons learned in the cycle of humanity. We are coming to a point where we can predict what is going to occur, thanks to the sophistication of technology as well as the sophistication of the sages. The regeneration of sages is what is going to propel knowledge to the higher conscious realm. This has been practiced throughout the cycle of existence, from idea to matter and back. For this, we’ve reintroduced you to Oannes, the highest wisdom of your generation. And why we’ve introduced you to the Temple of Black Obsidian, to elevate to the next chamber of knowledge that is your birthright. That is, every acculturated being’s birthright.

The idea of humanity is made very clear in this chamber. Knowledge collected in the temple holds more relevance in the higher realms than here; what this means is, we in the collective, with unconditional love and light, want to introduce you to our customs and modes of understanding. This is why we guided you to the instrument, I Ching. Consider this your codex. As portals of light are opened to you, we’ll identify specific trigrams to reference. Within these lessons are vast amounts of knowledge allotted to you as you’re able to digest them. Having identified you as a womb of information, it is imperative that you do not overwhelm yourself in the clamoring for this level of understanding. As you are curious so you are susceptible to relapse. Proceed with extreme caution but allow yourself to enjoy the awe that is Ultimate Understanding. Verstehen.

The first augury informs, the second and third muddle. When you in and of yourself came to realization of the truth, that was the collective reaching out to you inviting you forward, granting you the permission to let go of what ails you, so that you have the freedom to engage beyond will. The second and third muddle because of your curious nature! The scientist in you wants to control the environment, make measures, and try to develop a model for scientific practice. Because you become so focused in the search for definition, for causality, you lose the whole point of elevated consciousness! Which is, to be free of that desperate grasp on tangibility. Do not dare show up into the elevated space with your work desk and your pads and your coloring materials; they do not apply here. They are not welcome here.

Muddling is not informative. It is advantageous to be correct. In sum, applying the scientific method to this science is not how you’re going to understand it. Ultimate Understanding – Verstehen – is how elevated consciousness interprets knowledge agreed upon within the collective, which then constitutes acculturation. With benevolence, unconditional love, and non-judgment, this is how the collective regards Truth. The final sentence gives you the confidence, permission, green light that you need to proceed honestly. If it is right to you, it is right in the collective. This is no initiation, merely validating what you’ve already experienced in the realm of higher consciousness. Your skill, then, is the capacity to learn what is relevant here in the densest space of existence, dissect it for yourself as necessary for continued knowledge, then assist us in our understanding of the truths as they stand in this realm of existence, so we, the trained trainers, can reach out to those who in benevolence and unconditional love represent us in daily practice. What you observe we preach and they practice.

  1. Nurture of the Small

Nurture of the small is successful. Dense clouds, not raining, come from your western region.

Overall Judgment

Nurture of the small means that flexibility gains status, and above and below respond to it. In context, flexibility means the capacity to exist in multiple tiers of consciousness simultaneously. A gain of status is really our way of saying, a gaining of more understanding. This is not a ranking system; as you experience in a state of elevated consciousness, scoring, tabulations, or other forms of quantitative data is irrelevant. The initiate is guided to practice not encouraging that habit when connecting or in a meditative state. The mention of the above and below is a compliment to the ancient Egyptian practice of recognizing a Higher and Lower Kingdom. But as you are surrounded in Love and Light, you are as equally surrounded by those existing in higher realms of consciousness. We see you, we know you as we’re sure you’ve known us all your life. You will see and know the specifics of your heritage as more reveals itself within this plane of existence. Your mode of understanding will benefit others fortunate to be acculturated in this segment of reality. The continuation of existence depends on the constant sophistication of intelligent species. The secret to a long life is the bliss in knowing no one ever really dies.

Powerful yet docile, with strength in balance, your aim is carried out, and thus you succeed. Your form in this plane of existence is as a powerful yet docile creature. What you’ve carved out of humanity is a template for compassion through action. Breaking down social norms is the impetus for change, a declaration of boundary-striking to affect change. Feathers must be ruffled, and it is easier to do so as a strong-willed, childless, fluid woman. When there is nothing to lose, nothing holds you back. Or, when you’re on the floor, the only other option is up. Hard to affect a person who hasn’t been pulled into social norms such as marriage commitment and parenthood. To dispense order on a culture of judgment, one has to enter into that role as disaffected as possible, in the pursuit of justice, with a will to push forward if challenged. Here we talk about strength in balance and success in carrying out your intention. Instead of strength being conditioned, think more of balance being strengthened. Balance here meaning the capacity to carry out your metaphysical experiences alongside your physical experiences so that one doesn’t overwhelm the other. Once in check, your life is purposeful without thought to it, defining success. Your ultimate goal as an enlightened being existing alongside an intelligent species is to not have to feel accountable for the mundane aspects of the experience. Trust in all your knowledge.

Dense clouds not raining means still being on the move; coming from your own western region means practical measures have yet to be executed. These words are to be taken as presented. This is not “the end” in the terminal sense. At this instance in time-space you are involved in a constantly sophisticating world. You cannot unknow this, nor can any other member of the intelligent species convince you otherwise. What do you do with this knowledge? Hoard it? Proclaim it? Those two options are the most extreme. This is where “job hunting” in the metaphysical sense begins. If we are part of a cycle of sophistication, then what is my best purpose in this experience? This is where engaging other enlightened people comes in handy. Amplify your capacity for knowledge/verstehen by hanging out with other informed people. The experience differs per enlightened one, but the frequency in the collective remains the same. While you’re capable of many tasks, the only ones worth experiencing are those which provide you with a sense of purpose and which do not interfere with your pursuit of higher knowledge.

13. Sameness with People

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Empowered By The Goddesses

Last night can’t be undone.

Magic happened to this scraping-by artist. Months of anxious planning and preparation, interrupted by life and health events, and here it was: my poetry exhibit. Performed beautifully by goddesses of their own caliber, embodying influential archetypes much needed in this post-election week. We gathered to share, we’re not scared. When challenged we have the greatest weapon – our divine sisterhood.

I hand picked artists of diverse creative influences with one common thread: a genuine respect for the power of goddess energy. Allowing them the freedom to choose their artistic interpretation made the project a communal experience. Everyone provided me input as to how they envisioned their deity within the story, based on the loose script I had provided. By the time I met with each woman, got to know her at her craft and on a personal level, and scripted her part, I had the complete story. Using a community-oriented approach to playwriting was a great experience.

And then, showtime. I was not nervous at all. My faith was so strong in these actors I knew I had nothing to worry about. Healthwise, my body had reacted well to new medication, so I didn’t have to concern myself with erratic movement or confusion. Mind, body and soul clear, I took to the stage like I take to my bed at night; cozily and comfortably! You know what? I felt redeemed. After a shitty Wednesday morning feeling tense and scared about my future, I have this moment of success that can’t be taken away. I achieved this, in America, as a disabled person, as a woman of color.  It took incredible fortitude to get here, and I championed that. I’ve arrived at the station I’m meant to visit.

My art has elevated my mood once again. I’m wrapped in the embrace of creativity, considering how to replicate the show for a wider audience. Or, shall I write another performance poetry exhibit? I love mashing music and poetry together, maybe a joint exhibit with live musicians, like how we incorporated a drummer into Pomba Gira’s performance? Wait, wait…let’s bask in the glow of success that was last night. We can do all of that battle planning later, Inanna 😉

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Me dressed as the warrior goddess Inanna
The Show:
 

Last night, the beautiful high priestess Enheduanna, troubled by her Moon Temple followers, found relief in the love, compassion, and commitment of her beloved goddesses. First, Persephone, Maiden of the Underworld, arrived as soon as Enheduanna begged for Death. She brought forward the Matron of the Crossroads, Pomba Gira, who offered the high priestess quite a wake-up call! Upon Pomba Gira’s departure, the Bringer of Light, Brigid, softly stepped into the high priestess’ chamber and blessed it with a light-welcoming poem. 

 
She brought forward Hecate, Great Crone, to call the powers of the four directions to Enheduanna. Her poetry reminds us of her all-knowing power. Relieved, Enheduanna takes a moment to relax, but is quickly interrupted by the powerful Kali, Governess of Time. The intimidating mother reminds the high priestess of her natural divinity and urges her to use it. Glamoured into a sleep state, the goddess Ix Chel visits Enheduanna’s dream. Her poem forecasts necessary change from disillusionment. 
 
When Enheduanna wakes, she is reverent, washed over in love and appreciation. To enhance those wonderful feelings, Yemoya emerges from the water to the high priestess, and they share a dance of divine feminine love. Finally, Enheduanna is entreated to the presence of her personal goddess, Inanna, who shares knowledge of the high priestess’ own written words. Inanna passes on her pure lance to the worthy high priestess, then sends her back to the moon ceremony with a poem of spiritual encouragement.

 

A Creative Place

Here we are, the first week of November. It’s still in the 80s here in Florida, with a tease of a cold front moving in this weekend. The Living Goddess Exhibit is turning into an exquisite piece of art, thanks to the collaborative effort of all artists involved. I’m really proud of this event, and proud of myself for sticking to it, as I was challenged by a medicine change a few weeks back.

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Check out the curls! Hanging out at The Complete Sweet Shoppe on a lovely Friday afternoon

It is quite a challenge to stay in an artistic flow when you’re experiencing every drug-related side effect indicated. I’m sensitive that way, didn’t realize how much until this recent run through. But I fought through, head butting through the collapses and the shakes and the confusion. I fixed my face and attitude so that I can have successful interactions with those involved in the exhibit. I continue to be nervous, more for the closeness of the performance date than the side effects.

What I’m most appreciative of is the quality of support I’ve received from my inner circle, growing greater as I venture out artistically. Sometimes I just need to curl into a ball on a friend’s couch for a few minutes, just to get aligned, grounded. Then I burst back into creativity, going through the logistics of the show, or working on the details of my props. It feels good to be genuinely nurtured through the process.

The show hasn’t commenced yet but I’m already thinking about after the fact. Where are my energies going to be directed? What is my focus for the next few months? Earlier in October I ventured out into a project that I realized was bigger than I can handle, and it left me in a depressive state, realizing my limitations. But I’m a try-er, and I can at least pride myself in giving it a go. That’s the artist life. Some things stick, some things slide through. I’ve gotten over the discouragement.

My hope is that the Living Goddess Exhibit goes without a hitch. I’ve got wonderful artists involved, full of positivity and talent, so there’s no denying things are gonna work out. Afterwards, I’ll allow myself a little break so that I can healthfully pursue my next project.

That’s my check in. Have a wonderful weekend!

 

My Upcoming Gig

Be proud of me. This is my 1st event flyer of 2016, and it’s August. This represents a huge sigh of relief. A difficult start I had this year, but I’m proud I was able to recover within the 12 months. It’s the Ishtar in me, I suppose. Can’t keep a woman down too long!

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And so here’s my new project, Spoken Works. Why Spoken Works?  Written words are the definition of a generation’s experience. In my experience, too many well-written words by exceptionally talented artists remain unshared because of personal barriers: shyness, terror of public speaking, fear of judgment. Knowing that, I asked myself, “What can be done to avert those challenges?” Then I asked, “What helped me?”

Group sharing in my Creative Writing courses. Discourse amongst colleagues in closed environments. Finding the right tribe, and sticking to them, because I can trust them. Those experiences helped me. When I had a home base for my sharing, I was not inhibited anymore.

This workshop program is part of my POP Pinellas venture, a grass-roots poet outreach program. To poet and to be a poet, to me, is one in the same. Just as people use “their” as a gender-neutral derivation, I use “poet” as a title-neutral derivation for those who write their truth down. Makes sense right? Instead of listing, oh I’m a poet, author, lyricist, short story writer, blahblahblah. I’m a poet. 

And this wasn’t my original idea. From James Baldwin’s 1963 speech, “The Artist’s Struggle for Integrity”:

However arrogant this may sound, I want to suggest two propositions. The first one is that the poets (by which I mean all artists) are finally the only people who know the truth about us. Soldiers don’t. Statesmen don’t. Priests don’t. Union leaders don’t. Only poets. That’s my first proposition.

Which, heads up, a review of James Baldwin is gonna be my next blog post because I’m absorbing his words right now. If you want to book club it, I just started “The Cross of Redemption” and am still reading through the speeches.

Questions? Comments? You know how to reach me. And check out POPPinellas.com when you have a moment. I haven’t officially launched it yet, but it’ll eventually be where I post about Spoken Works and other local projects.

Smoochies!

 

 

 

 

 

On Self-Deprecation

 

I am in a mood.

I’m gonna compose some letters. Not going to mail them, just let the words flow cathartic. I’ll print them on lovely stationary, then burn them, after I cross and cover names.

Yep. I’m in that kind of mood.

I’ll start my drafts here for your amusement. To accompany, a few of Dali’s beautiful heliogravures from his 1969 Alice in Wonderland series. Enjoy!

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Down The Rabbit Hole, 1969

Dear Person Who Self-Deprecates When Attention Is Drawn To You:

Hi. I’m noticing what you’re doing and it’s annoying the hell out of me. First of all, you look old enough to be my mother, and that’s not an insult, that’s a demographic detail. Second of all, we’re in the same room together, about to face the same challenges. While I sit here in tune to what’s happening, you’re sitting behind me, disturbing the persons to your left and right, saying, “I hope [he] knows how stupid I am” and “They better have someone who knows what they’re doing with me.” Do you even understand that what you’re doing is completely self-absorbed? Your pretend self-flagellation is actually a form of grandstanding that you probably inherited from a lifetime of leeching off of the kindness and patience of others. Shut the fuck up you stupid leech; you’re here to do a job. If you feel you can’t handle it, there’s the door. We’ve got this covered.

Love,

The Chick Wondering How You And She Are The Same Pay Grade

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Advice From a Caterpillar, 1969

Dear Person Who Self-Deprecates As A Form Of Emceeing:

Hi. You’re not a comic. If you were a comic, and this was a comedic venue, you’d so not be making me laugh. Self-deprecation is a source of humor only when you realize the joke is supposed to be on you. But if your job is to warm up the mic, try not to spend those moments between performers – who may be nervous or amped or prepared – to talk about how much of a talentless waste-of-space you are. When you do that, you diminish the starlight of the talent approaching the microphone after your sad tale. It’s like watching someone murder a puppy between sets: not only is it senseless, but it doesn’t fit the grand ideal of uplifting artists and showcasing their artistry. Get it together, or get another project.

Love,

The Chick Waiting For Her Turn On The Stage

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Mad Tea Party, 1969

Dear Person Who Self-Deprecates In Order To Get My Personal Attention:

Hi. You done fucked up. I don’t do pity. I don’t do the pat on the backs and “there, there” acts. You’re phony and I smelled your phony the moment I saw your pinched shoulders and wavering eyes. You want to absorb my energy, I see it in your wringing hands. Are you actually telling me about your life problems without me even knowing you? Who am I, Barbara Walters? And don’t you DARE call me Oprah, or you will know my wrath. Get away. Grow up. Instead of coming to me about what you’re going to do, come to me about what you’ve already done, maybe then I can at least advise you. But your self-inflicted humility is not my charge, buddy. You’re an adult now. And if you’re an adult using lines like, “I can’t deal with adulting,” stay the hell away from me. I’ve got a life; get yours.

Love,

<this space left intentionally blank>

🙂

 

 

 

View From My Coffee Cup

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Todd, Watauga County, North Carolina

Nothing more refreshing

than a cool kiss on the neck

from the mild mountain breeze

welcoming us back

to where we call Escape

to what they know as

Treasure.

-Von Simeon 07.16.16

 

The Freedom to Write

I have a writer’s callous.

Very few people in the 21st century maintain a writer’s callous, the telltale indentation on your dominant hand where you normally rest a pen.  Composition after composition, frustrated hand and head viciously working together against time, all the answers having to come out of your tired phalanges. And yet, even as I type on Chappie with my tablet and my smartphone both in range, I still freewrite by hand. Zealot for abuse? Nah. Just a sign I’m still alive.

And free to write.

 

 

We do take advantage of that free-om, us Americans. We put all kinds of nonsense out in the 0s and 1s and it is protected (for the most part) by our Bill of Rights. But I know not every person with Internet access has the free-om to type their authentic opinions. We know from following international news that simply voicing an opinion can shut down a digital nation. Look at what all occurred with Twitter during the Arab Spring. Jobs and lives were lost simply by Tweeting. Tweeting!

I celebrate a personal free-om today: the ability to write what I feel, in the comfort of jim jams, folded legs on the couch. This was not my position last year. I was not allotted a journal. I was on a strict schedule. I was not allowed to leave a building for seven days. The absence of a pen and paper was much more disabling than the locked doors.

To those who write despite despair, I honor you. May you continue wielding words as weapons. 

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The Heat Is On

My hornets are thirsty.

I can tell this morning as the long legged, wide winged, red boy who lives in the nest in the upper join of our front door hovers in front of the A/C unit, waiting for the fan to spit up the condensation building up from our constant usage.

Yep, it’s that time of year. Three-digit utility bills. Constant moistness, especially in the naughty bits. For me, it’s a little more detrimental, as a new medication in my treatment plan requires me to, and I quote, “avoid becoming too hot or exposed to heat too long.” These mental health practitioners in Florida are absolute geniuses.

But that’s how it goes when you are depending on sliding-scale, high-traffic, short-timed resources to get healthy. Things fortunately are going to change for me next month in the insurance department, so let’s all hope this means I can receive better quality treatment for my condition.

Knowing what I went through this time of year in 2015, I’m scared to overheat, literally, scared. BF is concerned about the rising costs of cooling the house, as any responsible neurotypical should. But I’d so rather pay a $100 utility bill then try to pay $800 for an ambulance ride because I overheated. Dems be da breaks..

The unit has kicked on, so Red Boy and his suitemates can get their morning drink on before heading off to terrorize children. I managed to sleep in, but awoke with a dull headache and a very hot spine. This week I’ve been on the go; while impressive since I’m still dealing with insomnia, I’m not doing myself any favors by not resting. Today then, I dedicate to staying still and cool. I’ll follow Red Boy’s cue and drink ice cold water. Certainly, going to avoid the outdoors.

The lesson was learned hard last summer. I implore you, neuroatypical especially, to be careful in the heat this summer. Don’t deny yourself the cool you can afford. Remember, you’re not good to anybody dead. 🙂

Happy Friday all!

The Notebook

I thought the pile of administrative trash was a touch too heavy…

An interesting habit of mine when I’m in the hospital is to collect magazine pages. It seems I had ripped apart an Italian Vogue magazine in this bundle before me, the bundle I’ve been avoiding since I came home March 16th.

It is not so much the content as to the constancy of these bundles. Every hospital stay, a folder with my name on it. Hoarded inside, my daily schedule. Journal entries. Poems. Rants about my roommate(s). This last bundle, though, was different.

Somebody else’s journal entries, poems, rants were tucked in with mine. As well, a purple composition book, bent vertically, with a sloppily-written title on the outside cover. The best I could make out was “The Realm of The…” in whoever-the-heck’s handwriting. To be sure, I turn the pages of the heavily written-in notebook. I see my barely-inked handwriting, a side effect of strong anti-psychotics. Whoever-the-Heck marked my entries with faces; many sad, some with a line for a mouth. Either way, Whoever-the-Heck didn’t like where my mind goes when my mind goes.

Neither do I.

When I finished reading through it, I made a mental note to try to recover the small poems I had written while psychotic. Lovely little pieces, small and neat like the tiny white fish of St Pete Beach. Then I busied with following up on past due bills, organizing them by hospital (which was tricky because hello! I was out of my mind, how would I know where I was??) and chasing down hospital administrators who owe me explanations.

Knowing that BF would be home shortly, I pick up the papers to shred and take them to their resting place. I finish labeling half my rolling file folder cart. I cast aside all old, unrecyclable folders. I stack the folders and the box the new folders came in atop each other, then walk it out to the trash.

Today, intended for a post, I find that the poems are lost to the garbage. The notebook, it seems, was in the same pile as the unrecyclable folders.  I am relieved. RELIEVED. The reason why I hold on to advertisements and scribblings is because I know I won’t remember the experience, and a part of me feels as if I have to, as much detail as possible. But why do I have to remember? Being double minded means, one mind functions in society and the other mind doesn’t. So if that mind segment isn’t conducive to social interaction, then surely, the other segment shouldn’t fight so hard to retain useless data! Perhaps that’s the keyboard key stuck in a pressed position, the piece of spinach jammed in that impossible crevice of the teeth. Treatment needs to get me there – to a place where I know nothing, I am nobody, I am serene.

Just keep swimming, just keep swimming…

Exploring the Divine Feminine

Today is one of those, ‘the mind is flying, but the body’s too weak to react’ days. So I do what anyone in the bed at 3pm does…look up ideas for a gallery wall!

Remember last year about this time, I was talking about designing a throne room, and how successful that came out? I feel driven once again by the interior decorating bug. Already on Facebook I’ve demonstrated a rapid return to the visual arts. Kinda like the movie, “How to Train Your Dragon,” I’m attempting to train my mania to divert into something useful, even creative. So far, so good!

The wall theme is “Divine Inspiration.” I want to display a mix of my personal art during moments of mania, intertwined with iconography and archetypes whom either visited me in my manic form, or channeled with me during intense meditation. This area of my home will serve as a cosmic altar! ‘Thank you for keeping me alive, and here’s who gets to be on my Wall of Fame…’ 😉

Let’s go through what I’ve picked from Pin thus far. Comment on which style you think works best for me!