Contemplating Death Isn't All Bad

Try as I might, I cannot seem to evade deep blues and shadowy blacks.  I have yet to identify a particular cycle, but it does come in waves.  Sometimes I get pulled down so deep that the thought of leaving forever visits and revisits and plays out in a variety of scenarios, both tragic and comedic.  I'm not entirely convinced that this is a bad thing.  I'm forced to face my mortality, and face it, I do.  As the years have passed and depression has become a familiar caller, I have found that my ruminations on death have always ended in a stronger will to live.  Perhaps, my fear of what others think has been my saving grace.  Usually, I end my suicidal fantasies with a realization of how pathetic it would be to be found dead by my own hand.  I do not want to leave this world remembered for committing such a tragic act, it's far too humiliating.  That said, when I'm floundering in such dark despair, it's all too easy for me to revisit the option.  It's wishful thinking, truly, the most extreme choice amongst many to alleviate my gnawing pain.  My other recurring thought when the weighty friend visits, is to run away to the countryside.  There, I would find a semi-remote cabin and hole up with my guitar and other instruments and spend my days playing music, gardening and tending goats.  Right now, I have to say, that sounds positively blissful.  As for creative motivation, usually when I'm depressed, my creative energy is too drained to be of any good, but occasionally, it brings me to a level of inspiration unparalleled by that of my "normal" emotional states.  Most often I produce interesting visual art, because, my voice tends to get stoppered and my words cinched.  

I bring all this up right now because, I'm currently wallowing in a vat of my own self-pity, disappointment, and seemingly uncontrollable chemical imbalances.  I had a vision of the above picture and I decided that a candid discussion on the subject was called for.  The truth is, I love and appreciate my ability to swing so fantastically upon the emotional pendulum.  It teaches me very valuable lessons.  However, I do hope that as time nudges me along, I will be able to have longer spells of equilibrium, thus allowing me to better realize my potential.  After all, one day my fear of being found floating in a river or cold in bed because I dove too far into unknowns, may not be enough to keep me coming back.  I shudder at the thought.  

(Don't worry folks, I have a counseling appointment this week.)

Multiple Solitude? Alone-together?

Maybe it's not alone-together, it's more like isolated-and-lonely-together.  Stop and think about it.  When was the last time you actually LOOKED a stranger in the eyes, even when you really wanted to look?  No, you averted your eyes as soon as their gaze grazed you.  When was the last time someone offered to help you, to REALLY help you, when you were suffering, and I mean someone who wasn't your family member or really good friend?  No, they just stood there watching.  We're afraid of seeing one another, we're afraid of letting our guards down and of making the commitment to live life from the heart, to make real sacrifices for one another.  We are a world of beings playing out a disillusioned and moderate tragedy.  In love we temper ourselves, in politics we whine, in dreams we may fly, only to crash upon waking.  We cheapen our passions by consuming fantasies sold to us in an attempt to make us forget that we have the capacity to create so much of the world we live in.  Economics, nation states, religions; what a strange and convoluted, illusory real game of life, which man has so foolishly entangled himself in.  Even I play in this mummer's farce and I see beyond the veil of all this stupidity.  We really make things more difficult than they need to be.  We love a challenge, but would rather lay fallow and dead as we struggle.  Where is the fire of life?  Where is the passion of our hearts?  We second guess our every move, we over-analyze our choices, then idolize those who leap off the edge and land well, but it can't be us who jump.  We have no trust for others, because in our inability to accept our own role in the pain of our lives, we carry anger and blame and shame and all that crap which closes us off from real connections.  Authenticity is not a city we visit often.  We're suffocating under layers of player paint and the dung-masks of dogma.  Why do I shush myself when I was to sing-scream in the middle of the grocery store?  Why do I stop myself from dancing down the street while caressing the gentle hands of my fellow pedestrians?  I stop, I shush, because, no longer a child, my spirit has been suppressed by the dehydrated, blank, and catatonic despair of a population choked by the chains of the Meta-parent, the ultimate authority, be it God or Science or the State, that allows us to say, "It's not my fault!"  It is our fault!  We created this, we continue to create this, and we have the capacity to change it.  

What is a grown up person?  Is there such a thing as an adult, really?  I wonder, because it seems that we humans so badly need to create stories that keep us as children.  Not the children of loving parents who encourage us to dream and breathe and grow, but of parents who tyrannically control our every move and keep us from becoming beautifully independent, wise souls.  Why, as we age, do we let our lives become dross, colorless, and defeated?  Why do we so mindlessly devour the bland food of our romanceless culture decade after decade?  Why do we continue to rise only to our lowest of dreams?  Our world will stone, tar and feather, hang, or burn a person who lives an authentic life, and then make them heroes in their death.  What kind of necromantic story are we writing for ourselves?  If we cannot live in the ecstasy that the full spectrum of our capabilities as humans offers, what the hell is the point of bothering to exist? 

As we grow, as we age, we should find ourselves more alive, better able to express ourselves, more capable of manifesting our dreams, more inspired and clear.  We can only become such wise elders if we spiral through life's ups and downs, without allowing ourselves to stagnate and fester in one place for too long.  Our society, unfortunately, encourages this bogginess, and does not like it when we free ourselves from the sinkholes of despair.  When we know our own power, we cannot be controlled.

I demand a life of PASSION!  I take my life back from the mass boredom of everyday life and from the stranglehold of "power over".  I invite you to join me in creating a life you can truly love.  I invite you to join me in healing our multiple solitude, by remembering to play and gaze into the eyes of strangers.  I invite you to join me in trusting and giving generously and forgiving imperfections.  I invite you to join me in following our hearts and in shedding the garments of the false "authorities" found in government, religion, families, and other social institutions that have been built upon the fear of real freedom.  I invite you to join me in reclaiming the real magic of life and death and remembering the expansiveness of every last cell of our wildest dreams!

So Be It!

And I Let Go...

In my exhaustion, the fighting in my heart and mind subsides.  I give all the trying to the Mystery, I surrender it all to... what is it?  Fate or Destiny?  My breath feels clearer as I give in and crumble under the pressure.  The phoenix and the tower, explosion and destruction, sacrifice and incineration, these give way to fertile ground.  Even as I write, I create and destroy.  I choose the words that will live in this composition and those that will die or perhaps never have a chance at being included this time around.  My life is no different.  There are little pieces that fit into the puzzle, while other parts slough off to become pieces of something else.  In this moment I feel helpless as a new born babe.  Have I died and returned a new creature?  I've plunged into the depths of Persephone's domain, down into the dungeons of Hecate, I've sucked the blood fruit of a sizzling death.  This has been my descent.  Now, I take pause.  I stop to retrieve my articles shed, to reattach my very flesh and make my journey back.  I humbly hope and pray for new love, new warmth, and a new hearth, a new home for my heart.  

Faerie Bones

I found these faerie bones (come on, we all know that's what it is!) on my way to work today.  I love the dynamism in it!  I wonder what he was like alive...

Death is Awaiting!

Recently, I've pulled the Death card from a number of tarot and oracle decks for readings on various questions. When one pulls a recurring card, it becomes a strong indication that the card's message must be heeded. Contrary to popular belief, the Death card does not usually signify physical death. It does, however, imply an ending and a beginning of something major in one's life. It makes perfect sense that I have been visited by this Grim Reaper lately. I am undergoing a major transformation in my life. The Phoenix has burned and is rising from the ashes. The old is slipping away, the new inching in. Due to changes I've made in my life, my spirit, my psyche, I can no longer live the life I've been living. It must die. Composting, fermenting, incubating, sprouting... this is the phase I am now beginning. More specifically, I have been called to live a creative life, one where my self-expression is the modus operandi to my healing, my happiness, and my freedom. This artist's life is not just about me, it's also about sharing my gifts with the world... allowing those 'Waters of Life' to flow into the heart's of others. I can no longer be stingy with my voice, my music, or my visions. If I didn't let my old life of resistance, avoidance, and fear give way, I would eventually die. This may sound melodramatic, but it's very true. My old life was slowly suffocating me. Now, I choose this death, to choose new life. Now, I embrace the call of my heart, to uplift myself, to uplift all our relations. My creative dreams made real, are my offering to you, in honor of your innate wonderousness.

Aho, Mitakuya Oyasin (All My Relations)