Dangerous Combinations

Day 9: A Fairytale for the Lunar Eclipse

beneaththehalfmoon — Fri, 24 May 2013 14:42:00 -0400

” My blood I give to my sweetheart. We two are one.”

The thing about fairytales is that they aren’t always sweet. There’s always a dark undertone, a lesson to be learned. Even in love there is a lesson. Especially in love there is a lesson. Honey jars can be made and broken, blood can be dripped on symbols of our ancestors, but if it’s not true and of free will in the end it only causes tears. Love is universal, it cannot be confined or twisted, it cannot be made into what you want it to be. Love is separate and whole at once, it is all encompassing. Love is free.

Day 8: Storytelling

beneaththehalfmoon — Thu, 23 May 2013 04:57:15 -0400

Two versions. One with music, one silent. The top has “Frost Waltz” by Kevin MacLeod added to it. The bottom is silent.

Day 7: Queen of Nothing, Queen of Everything, Queen of Hearts

beneaththehalfmoon — Wed, 22 May 2013 22:10:00 -0400

“They always say time changes things, but you actually have to change them yourself.”
― Andy Warhol, The Philosophy of Andy Warhol

Time speeds up and slows down. It passes through sand and windstorms. It comforts us in rain and pulls us through sunshine filled days and bright moonlit nights. Time hustles. Time procrastinates. It never stops, always moving forward.

And yet there are holes. I distinctly remember being led in dream time by my grandmother. This was after she died and I was trying to understand time in a different format. I remember telling this to Dan Goldman because he was a dream traveler as well.

It started in a small home. The old woman who kept it kept coming back and forth into the dining room where I was standing. There was a grandfather clock in the room and a china cabinet. It was dark chestnut and had a doily over the top. The chairs had doilies too and I kept thinking I wasn’t in this time. She was worried that I would forget my brother. “I don’t have a brother.” I said and she looked at me shaking her head. “Of course you do, he just doesn’t live with you.” She goes back and forth preparing tea telling me my grandmother will be there in a bit. It’s early 1940’s. I can tell by the radio, the house, her hair. A few minutes goes by and she comes in. “Your grandmother called and she wants you to meet her at the library.” She’s ushering me out the door now.”I don’t know where the library is.” I protest. Again she shakes her head. “Of course you do. Now go before the storm comes!”

I look up and the clouds are rolling in. I’m confused as the sky and the world around me seems to be shifting back and forth from color to black and white. I somehow mange to make it to the library. The old woman was right. I knew where it was.

Inside there are tables, long tables of that same dark wood and the stacks are far larger than I’ve ever seen. This is the most beautifully crafted library I have ever seen. I walk up to the librarian. “I’m here to see my grandmother.” She nods and points to a table. “What is everyone studying?” I ask. There are rows and rows of people all dressed differently, noses in large beautifully scripted books. “Every religious text in the world.” She smiles. “Even the secret ones.”

My grandmother taps me on the shoulder and I give her a hug. “Why am I here? Do you have messages?” She shakes her head. “I need to show you something. It’s important because you’ll take over when it’s time.” I nod and link my arm in hers. “Great I’ve only gotten here and I already have purpose.” She laughs at me as we walk outside. The sky shifts again and this time I see what’s happening. There are time leaks, the black and white past leaking with the present. Only in this world you can see it. In ours it’s invisible to the naked eye. Fighter planes roar through the sky, invisible bullets, and visible bombs dropped. I cover my head and run through the field.

My grandmother and I stop in front of a tall fence. Women with children run towards it. Men in what looks like prison garb slam against it. People everywhere claw at it, climbing only to fall back down. I back away from it. My grandmother follows me. “You’re the only one that can climb it.” She says to me.

“Oh I don’t believe that at all.” I tell her. “What are they doing?”

She looks at me saddened. “They’re lost. They don’t know they’re dead, stuck in the war. It’s my job to make them understand that there’s more than just the fence right there. Once they understand and truly understand they are sent to the library. It’s there they can study and choose what happens next.”

A bomb drops and at the same time a mine field goes off. I start to run towards the fence and start climbing. I reach for my grandmother’s hand in a last attempt to take her with me. She shakes her head. “You’re on the right path.” She says, “now climb the rest of the fence. I’m proud of you.” I climb, I fall, I awake to another day.

Queen of everything. Queen of nothing. Queen of hearts.

“It’s being here now that’s important. There’s no past and there’s no future. Time is a very misleading thing. All there is ever, is the now. We can gain experience from the past, but we can’t relive it; and we can hope for the future, but we don’t know if there is one.”
― George Harrison

Day 6: Silent Film

beneaththehalfmoon — Tue, 21 May 2013 04:27:51 -0400

Day 5: A Gathering of Friends

beneaththehalfmoon — Tue, 21 May 2013 04:24:00 -0400

Let us celebrate the occasion with wine and sweet words. - Plautus

The guests trickled in until the lights were dim and the heat rose. They filled out postcards and drank champagne, whiskey, and plum wine until the wee hours of the night. We were grateful to have those so close to us there. Chinese lanterns and art framed the walls. The perfect evening.

These are the moments you remember when you wake up the next morning and raise your face to the light. Sipping lattes that taste like caramel with a friend you met by chance so many years ago. “Let’s make them all jealous.” was one of the first things you ever said to her and the same thing you said as you snapped a picture of your morning caffeine affair.

These are the moments you find beauty in everything. From coins given at intimate parties, to charming conversations in tiny kitchens. I want to love everyone.

Photo of me and Melissa by Steve Prue.

Day 4: Excogitation & Recognition

beneaththehalfmoon — Sat, 18 May 2013 11:01:00 -0400

Art is to me the glorification of the human spirit, and as such it is the cultural documentation of the time in which it is produced. -Hans Hofmann

Andy and I sit in his studio talking Andy Warhol and the Beat generation. He shows me a poem he’s written and asks me to read it aloud. I know it’s to see if I read it the same as he’s written it. The moment the words spill from my lips I know I’ve gotten the rhythm from his head. He’s giving me messages for my birthday and I know this moment in time is important. I ask him if I can film it. We’ve just watched Jonas Mekus
As I was Moving Ahead, Occasionally I saw Brief Glimpses of Beauty. Both of us have tears in our eyes.

“As a kid I would have hated this but as I get older it makes so much sense.” I agree with him. I’ve never thought of doing video journaling but I’m increasingly interested in documentation. It used to be I documented to prove I existed. Those days have changed. Now I believe in capturing moments of beauty and rawness. I believe in capturing time in a nonlinear art form. I’m interested in documenting a moment from all the senses.

I think about using space the way John Cage used silence in his compositions. As I think about these things I know when I settle in to work for the evening I’ll just open up and channel.

“The first question I ask myself when something doesn’t seem to be beautiful is why do I feel it’s not beautiful? And very shortly you discover there is no reason.” ― John Cage

Walking down the streets in Brooklyn I’m looking for beauty. I look too hard and become discouraged. A moment later I see an old church, small purple flowers placed by the door. I snap a shot, a moment later I look at the image. A small beam of light shoots through the photograph invisible to the naked eye but caught in a moment of clarity and captured on film.

Day 3: Quasi-stellar Radio Source

beneaththehalfmoon — Fri, 17 May 2013 11:33:55 -0400

God gave us the gift of life; it is up to us to give ourselves the gift of living well.-Voltaire

I turned 34 today, more sand down the neck of the hourglass, more minutes passing through time. I scribbled onto a piece of paper at midnight. “I love you.” it said and I kissed the blank white with red. I asked for love letters, to be written, to someone, to anyone because all I wanted was a ripple effect of light pouring in.

The quantity of radiant energy may be calculated by integrating radiant flux (or power) with respect to time and, like all forms of energy, its SI unit is the joule. The term is used particularly when radiation is emitted by a source into the surrounding environment. Radiant energy may be visible or invisible to the human eye.

And there was. So many people wrote love letters, to me, significant others, their pets, themselves. It couldn’t have been better. Last year I sat on grass by myself in the park. I was tired, sad, and stressed. I vowed to break cycles yet later recreated them. I pulled one card. One question, “What will the energy be like for the next year?” The Tower. It wasn’t lying.

This year I placed my cards on a hotel table next to my tiny Ganesha’s at a party I was working. Once again I pulled one card. The Queen of Wands. Later Gabrielle and I sat down for a drink. “I keep thinking Princess of Wands for you.” We laughed.

Back home I answered emails and edited photographs. Earlier in the day I had skyped with my friend Warren wearing a slip and a crown. Everything was perfect. Everything was right. Ride On.

I’m absolutely in love with this picture Bystarlight.org sent me for my birthday. Thank you sweet one. This is exactly how I feel right now.

“I’m a little pencil in the hand of a writing God, who is sending a love letter to the world.” ― Mother Teresa

Day 2: Changing the Frequency

beneaththehalfmoon — Wed, 15 May 2013 22:34:10 -0400

“I’ll never forget the day Marilyn and I were walking around New York City, just having a stroll on a nice day. She loved New York because no one bothered her there like they did in Hollywood, she could put on her plain-jane clothes and no one would notice her. She loved that. So as we we’re walking down Broadway, she turns to me and says ‘Do you want to see me become her?’ I didn’t know what she meant but I just said ‘Yes’- and then I saw it. I don’t know how to explain what she did because it was so very subtle, but she turned something on within herself that was almost like magic. And suddenly cars were slowing and people were turning their heads and stopping to stare. They were recognizing that this was Marilyn Monroe as if she pulled off a mask or something, even though a second ago nobody noticed her. I had never seen anything like it before.” - Amy Greene, wife of Marilyn’s personal photographer Milton Greene

And so it was, a flick of the switch and it happened.There was no chanting or ritual. There was no veil, only a tiny switch inside that suddenly flipped on.

It was beautiful, luminescent, the light described in a conversation. It lit up in a dark velvety sky and I knew it was mine.

If my instagram were an oracle it’d be telling me I’m going to fall in love and get married to Big Boy. This makes me laugh for no reason. Here’s to waving goodbye to thirty three and saying hello to thirty four.

In honor of my birthday I am asking you to do one thing: Write a love letter. Write it to anyone, it doesn’t have to be me, write it to yourself even. Just write a love letter and send it.

Day 1: A Shift in the Paradigm

beneaththehalfmoon — Tue, 14 May 2013 17:23:07 -0400

Bury me on my feet, I have spent my entire life on my knees.

The words settled into my bones and seeped into my veins. My hands were their hands, their wounds were my wounds. We played out scenes repeated like broken records and collected the reflections of others until the the eclipses came.

In the beginning there was Kam and he was the great sun king. He was madly in love with his sister Shon, the moon. Shon was shy in nature and unsure of her feelings for her brother and the relationship. She avoided confrontation by only coming out at night while he slept. But one night Shon stayed up and caught up with his sister. Darkness covered the land and some say they fought and some say they loved and from that union the Gypsy race was born.

This time though Shon eclipsed Kam. This ritual would bring endings upon certain aspects of one’s life, a Taurus solar eclipse brings up issues of self-worth and values. I had wondered which aspect days before and by the 9th I knew. My friend Taylor Mead passed the day before. He had left NYC after being evicted from his home of over thirty years. He died in Denver in the home of his niece. In Taylor’s death another piece of New York that I moved here for died with it. I had tried to build a home and yet I always felt like an outsider looking in. There is an old saying that any Gypsy that stops their travels to settle curses not only themselves but those who come after them as well. I felt both cursed and settled. As I zipped up my sequins and headed out to a diamond event I knew things were about to change. Yelena greeted me at the door with champagne, chocolate, and kisses. I looked around at the familiar territory and felt blessed. Whether parts of my life were cursed or not I have always been blessed in friendship. Kate took photographs as the glamorous poured through the doors. Lauren and I sat on the couch talking life, love, and literature. As the night went on Lauren and I made our way down the streets for a quiet dinner and popped into a shop laughing hysterically along the way. We bought matching snake rings and took photos by the door. As opposed to my morning gloom, I was now feeling grateful for my life in NYC, but I still wondered if it was my home.

Photo by Mario Tama

The Gadjo called me at midnight. He came bearing messages and his voice was a welcome interlude between painting and packing. Sometimes I will call him Shiva but tonight he was Gadjo, a word meaning non Gypsy but still one can be called by the Whirling Wind. I told him about Taylor and a strange time capsule Taylor seemed to be a part of. After we fell into a conversation shifting the paradigm of my ancestors and my own dusty roads. As the moon hovered over her brother a new life was beginning, a bit of honey slathered over age old wounds.

Graceful Swans

beneaththehalfmoon — Thu, 02 May 2013 11:06:13 -0400

“Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.” ― Anonymous, Holy Bible: King James Version

Whisper the secrets of the wind. Tell me in hushed tones why I carry my Grandmother’s ashes in a small ornate container in my small beaded bag with the tarot. Show me the magpies that perch on the trees and call from Blackwell Island. Spring has crept in and with it an incredible enchantment.

I wrapped coins in my hair and picked up the ends of the velvet dress to rush down the roads I know well. Every morning I walk one of three places. I’m predictable in that aspect, a true Taurus trait. The days have been filled with beauty despite the harsh aspects of the Scorpio moon eclipse. I made it through relatively unscathed and open to possibility.

I found myself posting a lot of images. There’s so much to see if only just for a moment. You turn your head, blink your eyes and there’s a snap shot. I’m grateful for these moments and the ability to capture them. My memory isn’t the best these days, and a photographic reminder that a place and time existed are necessary. Every time Holly and I used to click the button on the camera we’d whisper “We were here. We existed.” We knew we came with expiration dates. We knew one day all that would remain would be faded photographs in a time forgotten. We’d become a romantic’s ideal of what was.

Between the documentation I piece together a work of art, a magical hoodoo cabinet. There are many secrets ingrained in that cabinet as well. In the evenings I adorn my body and snap photographs. I do it to document gifts. I do it to rearrange my thought patterns so I can go back to painting and working metal with fresh eyes. I’m not sure anyone understands how much time I spend alone or how much I need it.

I want to give you pieces of the past in present form. I want to show you the hidden treasures of the streets.

The Shoes of The Fisherman's Wife Are Some Jive Ass Slippers

beneaththehalfmoon — Sat, 27 Apr 2013 10:00:44 -0400

“Oh damn it all blues.
Screwed to the melting frozen walk of dared-to-embrace stone…” -Charles Mingus

I painted the quote in black acrylic paint. It wasn’t meant for walls and probably washable. I painted it so I would feel like it had some semblance of a home. I was afraid I’d live there forever and knew somehow if I didn’t get myself straightened out I would. We had these orange chairs that this lady I met on the street had given me. They were from the 70’s and orange. I both hated and loved them at the same time. I loved them because in a nice apartment they’d be bohemian chic but in my apartment with holes in the walls and stucco ceilings, with iron burns on the floor, and broken diamond shaped mirrors it meant I was poor. I was beyond poor, I was poverty stricken. I lived on the dead end street that was too quiet for even the police. I had a card table that I placed an Austrian tablecloth over and a small radio on top. I wanted art on the walls but the walls were too ugly. I had one small table I adored. I placed candles and plants on it’s tiers.

I fell in love with Mingus and the soundtrack to Buffalo 66 and on Sundays would sit on the stoops with the old men talking while their wives dressed for church. They’d offer me coffee and tell me this was “church.” I loved every moment. There was no beauty in poverty but there was beauty in life. There was beauty in sharing stories because these moments were free and they meant something. I started to collect their stories. I started going from stoop to stoop. The neighborhood would take care of you if you opened yourself up to it. Those days were filled with the most magic.

It’s Spring now in NYC and I’m going back into my Mingus days. I used to brew a pot of coffee and sit at the table writing and listening to that small radio.

Every morning I still wake early and brew a small pot of coffee. Now I check my phone and turn on the computer. My morning rituals have changed from journaling freehand to checking business emails and making lists. It’s still hand to mouth but it’s shifting. Every morning I walk to Roosevelt Island. It’s one of my rituals, after coffee, before painting. There’s magic in the air again. I just interviewed for a dream job and I’m finishing a piece that has once again broken my own boundaries in art.

I met a child of Oya a week or so ago. She gave me nine pennies and blessing. I found a key on the ground the other day. The moment I saw the tiny rusted key I knew it was special. It could have been missed walking over the bridge and into the city but I looked down at just the right moment. I picked it up and put it away. That evening I met Toni, a 79 year old battling two kinds of cancer. She told me she’s been around the block. She’s seen it all. “I’ve hung out with celebrities and those that eventually become them. Come back around here and we’ll go out for coffee.” A message came through as I was walking away. “Check your email. I just sent you something important.”

And so the story begins.

Day 40: Adrey Rig

beneaththehalfmoon — Wed, 03 Apr 2013 02:23:00 -0400

There are such things as false truths and honest lies. - Gypsy Proverb

I spent the early parts of the morning traveling by train and driving through country roads. I was expecting something major to happen. It was day 40. Instead I fell asleep, over and over again I tumbled into the dream time. I couldn’t remember any of them.

In between sleep we prepared for Easter, making baskets and cups filled with chocolates. My father and I watched movies. I forgot what it’s like to have a tv. I forgot what it’s like to watch more than Robert Johnson documentaries. This time I was at peace.

And then night came and I could barely keep my eyes open. I used to call my parents house the fairy house. I swore it was built on a fairy mound because whenever I’m there, my eyes become droopy and I fall into what feels like an endless slumber. I turned off the light and looked at the time. This was strange, not my normal night hour. My head hit the pillow and the dream began.

I was staying at a man I’m friendly with but barely know’s house. We are trying to find some time together to talk. We both really want to sit together on the couch but the house is filled with children neither of know and so our time is divided by trying to take care of these kids and find out where they came from. We give each other glances and share small beautiful moments in minutes. We decide to go outside and go to a flea market. I’m helping him pick out antiques, a teapot and some candlesticks. There is a box filled with jewelry and I’m poking through it with a child hanging off me. We go back to the house to find out it has flooded with muddy water and leaves. I try to float on a mattress to get to the stairs so I can get to him but can’t as I have to make sure the kids are ok. Then I realize I’m supposed to be teaching a class with Sherene at a hotel in the Caribean. The door to the hotel was stuck so I pull out my key but see someone sneak in as I’m away from the door. There were kids in the room and they were trying to steal our stuff. I pushed them down on the ground and held them there by a scaring them with my commanding voice while someone called the cops. Some of the kids were trying to act like they weren’t afraid but I didn’t care. Sherene stood in the doorway shocked.

I woke up exactly one hour after I had gone to sleep to see my bedroom door open and a shadowy figure standing in the room. Day 40 had finally shown itself.

Onwards I go.

We are all wanderers on this earth. Our hearts are full of wonder, and our souls are deep with dreams.- Gypsy Proverb

Confession:
At first I was upset nothing huge happened but the few days after were incredible. I feel free.

Oracle:

Dreams darlings, dreams…

Body:
walking, tea, chocolate

Sacrifice:

working for sleep

Relinquish:
Fear of strange shadowy spirits coming into my bedroom.

Inspiration/Gods:
The gingerbread house, fairytales

Oddities:
Well you know, the spirit walking into my bedroom.

Structure:
None.

Day 39: Tatcho Ezid

beneaththehalfmoon — Tue, 02 Apr 2013 02:15:14 -0400

“Surely every one realizes, at some point along the way, that he is capable of living a far better life than the one he has chosen.”
― Henry Miller, Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymus Bosch

Emily and I settled into our seats for Indian food as Christmas lights and chili peppers blinked and flashed around us. It had been a long time and we both admitted to not getting out much unless it was work related. “What happened to all of us?” She asked.

I couldn’t give her an answer but I was okay with it. I tend to travel roads alone. We have certain schedules we get into, certain lapses where the void seems to seep in and suck out our memory of time. But I’ll remember this night. It’s night 39 and I’m wondering what 40 will bring. I’ll be traveling back to MA for Day 40. I know I won’t sleep much because I’m traveling but I know I feel lighter emotionally. Emily says this is the best I’ve looked in months.

“I can’t go back to yesterday because I was a different person then.” ― Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

Confession:
I’m getting stressed about work again. Ah the joys of being a freelancer.

Oracle:
My mind is starting to act like one, mostly in dreams.

Body:
tea, walking

Sacrifice:

Internets for painting.

Relinquish:
Guilt for feeling good.

Inspiration/Gods:
The night.

Oddities:
None really.

Structure:
Emails and sketches. It will be like this until I travel. Yes you’ve heard it before but I finished them.

Day 38: Paramicha

beneaththehalfmoon — Sun, 31 Mar 2013 23:37:56 -0400

“I used to be Snow White, but I drifted.” ― Mae West

I use to read a lot of fairy tales. It started with Snow White and Rose Red. I wanted to be a princess and then I didn’t. I loved the Billy Goats Gruff because of the troll under the bridge. I was angry at Red Riding Hood because the wolf and Hunter roles should have been switched. And so it went on and on but really I just wanted to live in a house on chicken feet. I would have been nice to the dog, and oiled the gate. I couldn’t quite understand why all the bad characters had such wonderful things. And so I set foot into the forest where I fell into a minor sleep.

In the clearing of the woods, passed the moss and the lady slipper flowers there stood a house. The house changed over dreams but this one was beautiful. This one was white and clean and has a fountain out front. An old woman stepped out and beckoned me towards her. There were many lovely girls in long white dresses and flowing hair running about the garden. I wanted desperately to live there but understood if I did I would never be able to come back. I shook my head and ran back through the forest back into my family’s arms. I tried to find the house again in dreams and waking hours. I never saw it or the woman again.

“…remember that the danger that is most to be feared is never the danger we are most afraid of.” ― Andrew Lang, The Red Fairy Book

Confession:
I still look for that house in the forest sometimes.

Oracle:
Cardinals

Body:
tea, walking

Sacrifice:

Chats in favor of work.

Relinquish:
The idea that everything has to be beautiful all the time.

Inspiration/Gods:
Fairy tales

Oddities:
Burroughs painting wants his frame

Structure:
Emails and sketches. It will be like this until I travel.

Day 37: Mishdoshium

beneaththehalfmoon — Sun, 31 Mar 2013 00:52:12 -0400

I went down to the crossroad
fell down on my knees
I went down to the crossroad
fell down on my knees - Robert Johnson “Crossroad Blues”

My Godfather once told me “Always put your trust in the Orishas and not into a human being. Humans will hurt you whether they mean to or not, but Orisha will always guide and protect. “

I am a hija de Eleggua. His children are known to be scrupulous and intelligent. They can sell the impossible if allowed to speak and oh can they speak. Children of Eleggua are talkers. They incline to the corruption, the mischief, the swindle and the intrigue of other tricksters which ensures the success in their life. They are generally happy with a high sex drive who naturally seem to get away with things that the rest of the world wouldn’t even dream about doing. The children of Eleggua are deemed “lucky” in life and although they do like a bit of trickery they are also loyal and protective to those they see as their own.

If Eleggua were represented by the tarot he’d be the Magician and the Devil. As far as totem animals think of your tricksters and shapeshifters. Coyote, raven, snakes and other trickster animals. Rottweilers and Doberman Pinchers.These aren’t traditional animals associated with him but many totems recur when I touch the hands of other children.

Areas of Influence: Messages and all communications, crossroads, doorways (physical and spiritual), keys, sex, cemetery gates, children and protection - Tribe of the Sun

Standin’ at the crossroad, i tried to flag a ride
Didn’t nobody semm to know me, everybody pass me by
Mmmm, the sun goin’ down, boy, dark gon’ catch me here
Oooo, eeee, boy, dark gon’ catch me here

I had this dream once that Burroughs was the Devil and wanted to cut a deal. I’d work both sides and in return he’d give me a shark skin suit and a fedora with a red feather in it. We shook hands at the crossroads and parted ways as the dust kicked up at dusk. Burroughs was gone and I had my suit and fedora the small red feather pointing up. Eleggua, Papa Legba, guardian of the crossroads, keeper of doors and keys and destiny. I’m yours to keep.

Confession:
I don’t want to work on anything I just want to plaaaaayyyyyy.

Oracle:
Focusing on the Hierophant (still the same)

Body:
Walking, tea

Sacrifice:

Didn’t go to Roosevelt Island because I had to get things done.

Relinquish:
Guilt for not finishing my list of doom.

Inspiration/Gods:
Eleggua

Oddities:
Not sure if there were any.

Structure:
Emails and sketches.

Day 36: Nongipen

beneaththehalfmoon — Sat, 30 Mar 2013 22:18:03 -0400

From my rotting body, flowers shall grow and I am in them and that is eternity. - Edvard Munch

I have been thinking about the body as a whole, and I mean whole as body, mind, spirit whole. I started this 40 days to understand the darker parts of myself and why they sometimes take over. I think what I’ve come to understand is that sometimes they have to. The term “Everything happens for a reason.” gets thrown around a lot but for good reason. I’m understanding karma and time. Time is on my mind a lot these days.

My understanding of time and karma has come to this: The moment you understand what someone went through or why is karma. Your mind automatically flickers to that person or event and you know they are related. Time however is tricky. You can try to manage it, play with it, even mold it but it works in whatever way it wants. Events must happen even if you don’t want to so others can unfold. You or others must get hurt so that both of you learn a lesson or be pushed to move in another direction. Time and karma are two separate entities that are related.

Mind, body, spirit. I’m working on treating my body better, eating what I like and not worrying about weight. When I was skinny I was sick in the head. I still thought I was fat, even though I knew if I lost more weight I’d become unhealthy. I was calculating everything so I let it go. I ate what I wanted and gained the weight back. It wasn’t totally me, my body craved it. I’ve been working on thought process and pattern as well. I did some things this year I’m not proud of and frankly had no intention of doing. I’ve had to search some dark parts of myself for answers but at least I got closure. I understand ego better than I ever have, which brings me to spirit. The Whirling wind will always push forward. My spirits are talking and I have answers. These days I’m closing my eyes and listening.

“Your mind will answer most questions if you learn to relax and wait for the answer.” ― William S. Burroughs

Confession:
I suppose it’s a confession but I’m feeling so much lighter as the 40 days come to an end.

Oracle:
Focusing on the Hierophant

Body:
Walking, tea

Sacrifice:

Emails and sketches

Relinquish:
Guilt for not feeling guilty. Yeah I know, it’s ridiculous.

Inspiration/Gods:
Santisima Muerte

Oddities:
Studying the Hierophant it all makes sense.

Structure:
Emails and sketches.

I sent this to a friend whose ex swears she is doing hoodoo on her. It makes me laugh but regardless CW Stoneking is amazing.

Day 35: Nanga

beneaththehalfmoon — Fri, 29 Mar 2013 02:29:16 -0400

Photo by Melissa Dowell

“I must be a mermaid, Rango. I have no fear of depths and a great fear of shallow living.” ― Anaïs Nin

On Palm Sunday I dropped my clothing to the floor and posed naked for an audience. I’m not afraid of posing nude or letting you know my flaws. My struggle is the day to day mundane acts that feel like torture. Give me a stage, an altar, an open field, a few feathers, and some red lipstick and I will create for you a world you will never want to leave.

“She had acquired some of his gypsy ways, some of his nonchalance, his bohemian indiscipline. She had swung with him into the disorders of strewn clothes, spilled cigarette ashes, slipping into bed all dressed, falling asleep thus, indolence, timelessness…A region of chaos and moonlight. She liked it there.”― Anaïs Nin

Confession:
No matter how much self confidence I have there are days when I just check the mirror for flaws. I got naked on stage because I wanted to let that go.

Oracle:
Female cardinal outside

Body:
Getting naked and Mexican food

Sacrifice:

Work time for QT with friends I barely get to see.

Relinquish:
Guilt for not working.

Inspiration/Gods:
Love and friendship.

Oddities:
Little whispers throughout the home.

Structure:
Tried to blog.

Day 34: Sap

beneaththehalfmoon — Thu, 28 Mar 2013 12:46:20 -0400

I have been enjoying receiving my prison emails. Andrew and I made characters for each other and write overly theatrical poetic emails back and forth. They make me laugh uncontrollably an roll around on the bed. Melissa finds this relatively amusing.

I find myself getting nerved up over paintings I have to finish before I travel again. In these moments I usually gather my things and head to Blackwell Island. This time I visit the Smallpox Hospital. They’ve opened a park near the hospital and I get a little annoyed that so many people are around my sacred places. I understand tourism. I understand restoration, but I also understand history, and spiritual history at that.

I found one message in the park that rang truth. If anything these forty days in the desert have made me fearless. I don’t care how I’m seen or who I’m associated with. It seems my main struggle is within myself. I stand in front of mirrors pinching belly fat that may or may not be there. My sense of guilt rivals that of Catholics kneeling on rice. Over what? Everything and nothing and all that’s in between, but I also feel incredibly free. There’s magic in shedding skin, even if you do leave a trail.

Confession:
One day I’ll stop calling myself a bloat pig. One day. Odd thing is, I actually like myself so not quite sure why I do it.

Oracle:
The Sweet Spirits of Blackwell.

Body:
Rooibos Tea, walking

Sacrifice:

No social life. Must finish work.

Relinquish:
Bad body image.

Inspiration/Gods:
Cherries!

Oddities:
None really.

Structure:
Sketches. Forever sketches.

Day 33: Zi

beneaththehalfmoon — Tue, 26 Mar 2013 03:57:28 -0400

Um Klim Kalika-yei Namaha

I spent the morning talking of thunderstorms, magical lands, spirits, altars, and Burroughs with a man that may be of the same tribe . My love of Burroughs and storms poured through the messages.

Om Hrim Shreem Klim Adya Kalika Param Eshwari Swaha

I told him of Amma and Kali. How there’s some Kali in me. And sometimes she shows through. Sometimes a photo or a glance in the mirror is all it takes. A glimmer in the eye to know she’s there.

And then there was Shiva, beautiful Shiva.

“om tryambhakam yajamahe, sugandhim pushtivardhanam, urvarukamiva bandhanan, mrityor mukshiya maamritat.”

Come dance with me Shiva.

Confession:
I always feel like I’m doing something wrong even if it’s apparent that it’s right.

Oracle:
Ace of Pentacles, The Sun

Body:
Green Tea, walking

Sacrifice:

No social life. Must finish work.

Relinquish:
Feeling bad about focusing on work.

Inspiration/Gods:
Kali, Shiva, The thunder spirits.

Oddities:
None really.

Structure:
Sketches. Forever sketches.

Day 32: Ebyok

beneaththehalfmoon — Sat, 23 Mar 2013 23:45:00 -0400

Whenever I climb I am followed by a dog called ‘Ego’.- Friedrich Nietzsche

Cast your ego into the sea. The vast ocean will swallow it whole. I’ve been thinking a lot about ego these past few days. It started with my trip and talking with my rep, it crept in again when Andrew was sentenced, and well it trickles in from time to time as I’m sketching or writing.

This year in particular has been an odd study in ego. I’ve had a few blows, some that I wonder if they were in fact truthful or just angry outbursts, and others of pride and wonder. I try not to let my ego get to me. I try to keep it balanced and for the most part I do, again for the most part, sometimes I fail. I think generally I’m a good person who believes in my work. I’m a good person who has done some bad things.

I’ve been thinking about memory and the way we remember things. How it all comes back to our perception of how things play out, how we are always the main characters in our own lives, no matter what part we play. “How does this affect me?” I’ve been thinking long term goals and how they will play out. There’s so much going on right now I’m not quite sure which way to step. It takes me longer to so a sketch, my mind frazzled and attention scattered. This itself is a blow to the ego. This blog, does it feed my ego or allow me to connect? Possibly both? I try to keep open, I try to help others, a few times I’ve hurt someone by trying to help when I shouldn’t have.

I don’t ever feel like “I’m” doing the readings or healing when I do so. I always try to remember that there are guides there helping me to move my hands, channel energy, or read the storyboard the cards have created. My eyes always flutter and I know a piece of me is leaving so something else can come in. When I paint or write something comes in as well, it’s not always just me which is why I bow my head and hide my face when complimented. I don’t ever want to let ego get in the way of a good job. I don’t ever want to let ego keep me from my true path.

I’ve been using these forty days to document and shed skin. I’ve been using it to understand my darkness and light, why after the Tower there is The Star and after the Moon there is The Sun. It’s the balance that only Great Spirit can make us see.

One evening an old Cherokee told his grandson
about a battle that goes on inside people.

He said, “My son, the battle is between
two “wolves” inside us all.

One is Evil.
It is anger, envy, jealousy, sorrow, regret, greed,
arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies,
false pride, superiority, and ego.

The other is Good.
It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith.”

The grandson thought about it for a minute
and then asked his grandfather:
“Which wolf wins?”

The old Cherokee simply replied,
“The one you feed.”

—A Native American Metaphor

Confession:
I still fear sometimes that ego will get the best of me.

Oracle:
The mirror.

Body:
So much green tea.

Sacrifice:

Rime with people to finish work.

Relinquish:
Those same fears about ego.

Inspiration/Gods:
Ganesha

Oddities:
If you look in the mirror it will talk back.

Structure:
Emails, blogs, sketches