Be Me

I’m me, myself, and I no matter where I try to hide, and one resounding message from Himself is always to BE myself. Don’t try to hide that smirk, don’t try to force my life down a path that sucks my soul, don’t avoid the things that go bump in the night or the darkness of my soul. All of that shit is me too.

Be me.

Don’t try to avoid things that scare me because those things are the things I need to learn. Fear is my friend. Fear is a teacher, but fear isn’t to be wallowed in. Fear can be harnessed. Fear is an energy and if I learn to use my fear, that wild careening energy, rather than letting it use me, I’ll be unstoppable.

Be me.

Do be there FOR HIM. Do be there for MY PARTNER. Do take time out for ME. Do devotion work. Do leave offerings for Everyone who inspires, helps, and sometimes just because They’re Loki’s LOVES. Do write. Do love my family. Do walk away from people who are not supportive. Do sink into the Otherness every day, but do realize I have this body and this life and Mundania needs me too.

There is nothing I cannot do so long as I don’t exhaust myself trying to hide my essence.

Be me. Be His. Be Mine. Be Ours.

Writing: Pulling on the Other Side – The Need for Creativity

The Need for Creativity

I write because I have the need for creativity. There is a strong desire in me to pull the thoughts from my brain out, turn them around, examine them, and then spill them onto paper for others. Sometimes the thoughts are there raging, searching for the paper, and other times I have to coax them out of the corners of my mind like shivering scared animals. Sometimes I write as devotion and sometimes I write because I just have the desire, the burn, but no matter what I am writing I am always writing for me too because when you break me down I am words.

That’s why I identify with Silver Tongue. I AM WORDS. I may not have the tact to wield them well at all times, but they’re there.

When I talk about writing I talk about me because I’m in the mix. The ideas are mine, even when they’re building on other ideas I’ve seen and read anything that comes out of my brain is revamped and remixed with a piece of my soul in it. Even when it’s bad it’s mine. When it’s good it’s mine. There’s nothing of my words that aren’t filtered through me at least a little bit. Sometimes I write something and don’t really believe it or it feels like it came from somewhere or someone else, even though it is filtered through me, and then I feel more like I’m pulling on the other side-pulling on the spirit realm or that place where all ideas hang out in a hazy fog like the Greeks of Old imagined. Perfect ideas just waiting to be discovered, downloaded, into our primitive brain. And that is an act of adoration of the divine for me-when I have the chills as I write and realize I’m writing something that for me, at least, is an unrevealed Truth of the universe. There are times when I write and I feel I’ve tapped into GOD or a god or something bigger than myself.

I write because I must and I write because I want to and I write because my life wouldn’t be the same without it. I write for people when I love them. I write for my Gods because I love them. When I write, especially for someone, it is an act of love, and quite often this goes unregistered on Mundania, in the real world, and it’s seen as a self indulgence and an act of self centered mental masturbation, but

I write because my core being has words swirling in it.

Tortured Artist Syndrome

The other day I read an article that talked about what I like to term “tortured artist syndrome.” I dislike the idea that all artists must live tortured miserable lives to produce good art. In a way it almost makes art seem shallow like it isn’t a vital part of dynamic living, which isn’t the case at all. Art IS my life. Creating-with words or color-is necessary to my ability to function. If I don’t create I am miserable. I literally have experienced the opposite of tortured artist syndrome. I am a tortured citizen of mundania when I do nothing but live my life day to day not letting loose all of the ideas that flood my mind while I’m say…doing the dishes or driving to the grocery store. Whether I do anything with them or not the ideas are there. They build up. They have to get free somehow. I literally write stories in my mind even when I don’t write them down, and then they’re lost. Not every story floating in my head is fantastic, but sometimes I get one that just won’t quit and that one has to find the paper or drive me crazy till it does.

Where does this idea that art must be fueled by misery come from? Okay, there are probably great historical answers available about the origins of the idea, but I really think a large chunk of it comes from the fact that to live and breathe art of any variety many artists have made the choice to sacrifice, live poor, for their art. The very idea of being Bohemian-basically throwing it all away to submerge yourself into the poor life of an artist, living a life full of creativity and love come what may, is a great representation of this. To be an artist is to be poor, and to be poor is to deal with far greater stressors than someone who has chosen a different more profitable trek in life. And to consciously be poor? To know by your actions that unless your art really takes off you will always be poor and potentially die with only the satisfaction that you lived a creative life? I think, when it gets hard and the dark patches come, say when you find yourself sleeping on a floor for year or three or when you find yourself juggling meals with survival in mind while you’re buying pens and paper…that’s when the idea of a tortured artist becomes a reality.

Some of our most beloved artists lived life this way. Monet did. The difference? While he was living with other artists and begging money from family so he could spend just one more year painting, just one more year fighting for recognition before he would cave-give up-go into the family business-he was in a society that seemed to value art more than we do now in many ways. Even though it wasn’t something his family supported-the painting-Monet was living in a time when patronizing the arts was at least a relevant concept. There is very little support for the arts here in our place and time. The idea of funding an artist-supporting an artist-being a patron of the arts- is far more foreign than it was in the past, and the whole idea of the tortured artist was around a hundred years ago. Two even.

So, I don’t think we really have tortured artists, we have an exceptionally poor creative class, and often times they turn to alcohol and other drugs to self medicate away the irritations of being poor, not because they are creative types and all creative types are this way. The image of Hemmingway drinking himself into a stupor while he wrote is one that people love to fawn over, but being an alcoholic isn’t a necessary factor in being a writer. The poor creative class shares every other problem of poverty-lack of medical care, often lack of decent food, lack of options, and quite commonly high student loan debt. I think that might also add to the “torture” of current artists. Creative people have frequently been to college and someone who has made the choice to try to make it on their art may be underemployed to try to give themselves the most vital piece of the creativity puzzle. Time.

Time is vital to creativity. Time is vital to any aspect of dynamic living, and poor people overwhelmingly have less of it than people who are financially secure. I know I’m wrong and there are exceptions to every rule, but I think creative people who were able to secure proper funding for their endeavors could easily leave behind the tortured artists mystic and live the robust lives –inside our heads and out- that we really want. Yes, there are people who have depression problems and are creative or other issues, but overwhelmingly, I think the problem of the creative class, the Bohemians, the artists is one of poverty, willful or otherwise, and the best way to obliterate the tortured artist stereotype would be for art funding to come back into fashion.

Society only benefits from art, so why are there no longer art patrons? Who doesn’t like to read? Look at beautiful sculptures and paintings? Listen to gorgeous music? Why are corporations driving these essential growth arenas of public life and not private citizens?

Okay, maybe some of this is wishful thinking. Maybe some of this is just that my own life would be infinitely easier if I had a patron to fund me. And that’s true, but, the tortured artist image would become a much smaller face of the art community, even if it persisted in myth and legend, if we weren’t all struggling so much with the day to day.

Beach Meditations: Lessons in Death

I decided this morning that I would go to the beach to meditate again. I had such a fine time earlier in the week, I thought why not? I picked out an incense for Himself (Fizzy Pop because it has glitter on the stick and why not?), pocketed a lighter, and hopped in the car with my laptop so I could work afterwards.

I got to the beach and it’s beautiful, as always, with wheeling seagulls and the surf, and sunlight glittering on sand and water. The air was actually crisp this morning after a week of melting humidity and too hot to handle heat. I left my offering to Himself and started walking.

Part way down the beach, about halfway through what I’d decided I was going to walk I found a fish. It was huge-about 20 pounds I’d say, and it was flopping on the sand. It had gotten stuck in the tide, and was drowning in the air. So, me being me, I thought I shall save you fishy fish! and the rescue mission was on. I pushed the thing, flopping and splashing me in nasty fish water and sand (before I went out to work mind you) into the surf and waited for it to swim away. It didn’t. It swam TOWARD THE BEACH. I spent 15 minutes trying to help this fish save itself and in the end watched it flop there on the beach, dying, the same as it had been when I started.

Maybe this wasn’t meant to be a lesson for me, but I walked away with one. Some people just don’t want to save themselves, and no matter how hard you work you can’t save someone who doesn’t want saving.

This is actually something I have a tendency to do though.

Oh, well…

Truth of Form or Gender on the Astral

Very rarely am I a woman on the astral plane. It happens. Sometimes I am, and when I am a woman in the astral I almost always have heightened secondary sexual characteristics-in other words I’m never really the me I can check out in the mirror. The difference could simply be my mind filtering the energies I’m interacting with-I tend to think the way some people draw comics and anime. Bold colors and strong lines. My mind could be getting my soul body’s energetically feminine energies and it decides to attribute an energetically feminine physicality to it, or possibly my mental pictures could be colorations from past lives, but either way…I am not the body I see in the mirror on the astral. Ever.

My gender on the astral speaks to a general disconnect I sometimes feel with my physical body on the mundane plane. A lot of people don’t realize from the way I write and the subjects I choose to write about that I am a woman unless I describe body parts or something that gives it away (such as the fact that I’ve birthed two children). There are days when I feel like a CIS woman, and I’m very earth mother and in touch with the world, but this was far more frequent for me when I was pregnant. These days I tend to be grumpy with my body. I don’t dislike it per se, it is what it is and so far it’s served me pretty well in all the aspects I could want a body to serve me, but sometimes it just doesn’t jive with what I think I should be seeing. I have narrowed down my disconnect from being more or less happy with my body to an increase in astral activity where I am far more often wandering around in a male body. I dream as a male, usually, as well.

There’s something to this for me-something that runs deep. I have a lot of “masculine” energy in my make up. I’ve been mulling astral gender identity over for a while because a few months ago I was having a lot of “dude” days, and the deities seem to be drawing my attention to this. During a meditation recently I was having a dude time, like I tend to, and basically got the-“Are you comfortable? Good.” vibes from Loki, kind of a …”give yourself permission to be comfortable, at the very least here” idea. Then, guess what, I got the impression that it doesn’t matter to Him either way. It’s my soul energy he’s attached to, and man/woman/or other He’s going to be there. Then He kissed me. It’s not the first time He’s kissed me on the astral as a man, and probably won’t be the last. It wasn’t particularly sexual, more of a confirmation of His intent.

My gender discomfort/confusion keeps getting tossed at me as something to at the very least think about, and it makes sense. How can I do deep work if I can’t be comfortable with myself? On the astral I’ve been starting to allow myself to be that masculine energy more and more because there is no way to do serious work if I’m in a fabricated shell there, and I certainly CAN create a feminine mask for my energy if I choose to do so. I can’t work with true universal energy if I’m not allowing my true form through, and for me it seems to actually shift. Sometimes it is a feminine energy and sometimes not, and the basic building blocks of the universe, I suspect are the same way, containing both the feminine and the masculine.