I speak for the weeds (a poem)

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From a matrix of sand, spewing gravel, humus, and a heartfelt explosion

of abundance

I sing unending joy. I drive, poke, peek, push

From within the ranks of green soldiers constantly mown down in an acceptance of defeat

I rise up, we rise up, diverse, tangled, fleshy, juicy, untamed

We are the voice and talents of our beloved undomesticated mother.

Living unframed, we are the wild women

shamed into invisibility or porn

Our abilities mostly unseen, our beauty defamed

We are pushed outside the acceptable window of vision

Those who purportedly seek status, perfection, power

cannot see us

We know no hierarchy

Only freedom entices us. We are the artists and purveyors of the green side of the brain

The heart of darkness of humanity has plunged us into a blind eye

plumbed the heart of being into a footnote.

Yet we embody the feminine power of birth, life,  healing, and the creative juice

Infinite shapes, textures, chemicals, potentials, striving

We remain pure, never hybridized, not studied, used, developed

Just poisoned, attacked, eliminated

We bother the perfect unity of control. We are not an image with which you can comfort yourself

We hear of the genocide of peoples

We are told of the extermination of animals

The endangerment of species

Yet here we live, wild

in the perfection of multiplicity

An infinite expression of life force

We are the motion inside of you

The water that feeds you

The medicine that heals you

We are the voice of love from your mother

The mother you never embrace, thank, or appreciate. Your toes have not wriggled near our roots and the worms for so long.

Yet our contact would restore you to balance and bring you peace and health.

I speak for the weeds, whose passionate expression of indomitable life cannot be crushed

Remember, gardener.

What are you growing? Who are you helping? What are you creating?

We are here to help.

 

Anomalisa, childhood, and the fading of wonder

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Dearest readers,

Yesterday I was listening to an attempt to explain why time seems to speed up as we grow older. When we are young children, an afternoon stretches out for an eternity, whether or not we are enjoying ourselves. A summer break from school contains the perspective of endless freedom and joy. Why is it that the impression of the passage of time, which, while only a convention invented by humans for humans in the third dimension, changes so much as we age?

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My personal impression and belief is that the closer we each are to high frequency energies and unity, which is the typical condition of early childhood but also of great wisdom and spirituality, the more timeless our experience of life becomes. I believe that artists, musicians, creatives, gardeners, empaths, and sensitives of all disciplines are more easily able to enter this zone of timelessness so prized in great works of art.

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I also once read that the convention of the clock or universal time was created because the powers that be realized that certain areas on the globe experienced faster or slower experiences of reality. In other words, zones such as sacred sites (cathedrals, mountains, pyramids, Druidic stone structures, cave paintings, etc.) and those living near these sites would experience a slowing down of time.

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The high energy frequencies of these sites are the reason for which time and time again, humans would build sacred burial mounds, churches and other places of worship on these nodes, lay lines, and portals. I wonder if people who live near these places of pure energy experience longer life, more wonder, creativity in their lives? One could imagine that people vibrating at a higher frequency would be drawn to such sites. In the United States, places such as Mount Shasta, Mount Ida, Sedona, are among the high frequency sites.

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In contrast, places where there has been much war, death, and devastation, I would venture to imagine that time goes by faster. The Earth retains a memory of all that has occurred at each site. Fortunately, we are currently experiencing a cleansing of the planet. Gaia has chosen to heal herself, and as she raises her frequency, so has humanity begun this process of cleansing.

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As we begin to heal, we also long to slow down and to live more simply. When we do slow down, it becomes easier to look inward and to reconnect to our imagination, intuition, and to our connection to the planet, one another, and to our highest versions. A simple life is conducive to a state of wonder. As we move from living in our heads to healing our emotional bodies and returning to our hearts, our senses open as well. The sychronicities that artists, sensitives, and the spiritually awake have always seen will become visible to everyone. It is really about paying attention and knowing that everything we perceive in the so-called “outside” world is conscious and speaking to us.

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This childlike sense of wonder that our current society beats out of us in a very intentional manner from such an early age is key to our happiness. As we each learn to deeply love our self and to see every other being and thing as alive, conscious, and connected to our self, the beauty of the world, of humanity will become apparent to us again. Instead of judging and constantly criticizing self and others, we will feel joy and remember that we are all creators of realities. Knowing we are powerful and that we create our lives from within at each moment is a great generator of wonder. Instead of living as victims in a world that goes against most of our innate beliefs about life, we can now choose and take responsibility for our experiences of reality every day.

timeless

The movie “Anomalisa”, directed by Spike Jonze and written by Charlie Kaufman (director of my favorite film, “Being John Malkovich”), is a great example of how we live in our heads, how we allow our adult self to be controlled and brainwashed by the illusion of a societal vision of reality, and how wonder brings life back into full color.

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In the film, all of the characters are very realistic animated puppets. Unlike in “Being John Malkovich”, where real people manipulate one another like puppets, and where the puppets in the film have strings, the situation in “Anomalisa” is more enigmatic. There is no duality between “reality” and “fiction”. The entire reality is composed of puppets. In Kaufman’s artistic reality, puppetry is very symbolic of how we live co-dependent lives as victims and manipulators. We live in separation from self and see others as a source of joy, wonder, pleasure, energy…whatever it is we feel we lack to be whole, sovereign beings. Both films are very philosophical but can be enjoyed on various levels.

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The main character of “Anomalisa” is a motivational speaker, Michael Stone, from the U.K., who has come to Cincinnati, Ohio for a customer service conference. All of the other characters in the film share the same male voice (played by actor Tom Noonan), with the exception of Lisa (voice by Jennifer Jason Leigh), a young woman who ends up spending the night in Stone’s hotel room. All of the events are fairly banal. We, as viewers, sense that Stone is depressed. He lives a conventional life: he is married, has a child, and a good career. People appear to like him. Yet he feels alone, separate from the remainder of humanity. The emotional connection between Stone and life has been severed, and he lives inside his head. Which is why everyone speaks with the same voice. He cannot relate to others, differentiate people from one another, or see the beauty in the uniqueness of each person.

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Lisa, who is a customer service representative, is attending the conference with a more vivacious and charismatic friend and co-worker. Lisa seems to lack self-esteem due to scarring from an injury, which has also affected her emotional well-being. Michael and Lisa connect, and they sleep together. They discuss the meaning of the word “anomaly”, which is why Stone begins to call her Anomalisa. He begins to open his heart, to differentiate her from other people, to see her and feel her presence as alive. He begins, for a short time, to come alive himself.

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Because, like most of us, Michael is trained to see love and completeness as something outside of self which is inaccessible,  he yearns to find wonder and emotional completeness in the world. When he meets Anomalisa and her presence touches him, he sees her as an anomaly in his dull, emotionally colorless life. After they sleep together, and Lisa expresses a desire to continue the relationship beyond the spontaneous experience of that evening, her individual voice fades into the male monotone of all of the other characters in the film. As Michael Stone disconnects emotionally from his own heart and from Lisa, his sense of wonder leaves him once again.

reflection

The film is very interesting because the puppets are so very real. They move and live in a world exactly like the one that has been created for us. And this is fascinating because it shows us up front that our collective reality is in fact an illusion. It looks real, and it evokes all of the emotions we experience in the collective nightmare that has been given to us as reality. This is disturbing until we wake up and realize as Kaufman has that the world our culture has given to us is not reality.

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When we reawaken to wonder and to our true human abilities as creators and emotional beings, we can step out of our puppet skins. We can stop fooling our self, stop manipulating others to get what we think we need to be happy. We can take back our power and create beauty and emotional satisfaction in our own lives. Wonder is at our fingertips at every moment. All we need to do is slow down, stop, look, listen, and see. We live in a magnificent world, full of beautiful emotional beings. We have been taught to put up walls around our self. To protect self from others. We leave reality and we become lonely, hurt, disappointed. The monstrous world of narcissism, co-dependency, manipulation, but also of artistic creation reflected in Kaufman’s films is a wonderful mirror to help us, as human beings, to remember who we really are.

charlie kauffman

Pineal (a poem)

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In the bedrock of soft ooze

sprout the rods and cones of a ladder to Jacob’s dream

spruced upwards

gazing inwards

the hallucination of a dream left behind for too long

the yearning of a sunken volcano

a sisterhood of souls abandoned

yearning for the connection

sailing towards the energetics of a wise and warm embrace.

I am told humanity has folded its legs

tucked its head

and wound itself into the embrace of a temporary womb.

the pine cone falls from a lofty place

dropping swirling shedding

layers of forgotten dreams

shattering the brutal murder from the shards of history’s mind wipe

she lies in a tomb shrouded in moss and cobwebs

vines entangle the stone, hair, bone, twig, and flower

enwised

a new being unfolds

tentatively stretches a sticky limb

through a film once designed to hold and protect

she is reborn

looking inward

to revise the heart of humanity

 

Nightlight (a poem)

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Darkness roils.

Chokes dams and infants

a force that appears to clog opportunity

Angry, hands tied to bi-polar swing

state of emergency alternates with somnolence

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Groups sway to a chaotic yet predictable rhythm

distracted by temptation

Pulled by illusion

And then, the syrup of night

which once manifested gigantic muscular hands crushing tendon and bone

surprisingly faded to weak

without the shadow of doubt or fear to feed it.

The child awoke from a nightmare.

Comfort of light painted relief from dark terror

The absence of light was nothing but spinning, stories spun from habit

and the passive creation of real life

The awakened child knows better.

Crayon in hand

She draws the world she wants to live in.

Smiles.

Comforted by her own power.

Women and Weeds (a poem)

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Smooth army of blades upright, uniform

invaded by shapes careless

of a perfection that strives

to eliminate dissension

Furred and spiked, clingy climbers

lacy, rebellious, fleshy

climbing high above the ranks of the well-behaved soldiers

Tight, orderly brains trained to shut out the mind-well

 

Wizened fingers once knew how to pick

from endless array of plants

the perfect remedy

Yet our scientific control box has shifted woman and plant

to black or white, ugly or beautiful, beneficial or garbage

Discarded, we are weeds

Full of juice, joy, vitamins, healing powers, whispers of wisdom

If only a few are coveted

Many are valuable, unseen, untasted, unexperienced

Wasting away are the talented many

Stronger for genocidal craze

The DNA an arsenal of innate adaptation

Perfected because left alone

Left out, not boxed

Unconventional is the new beauty

Powerful is the weed

Left alone to evolve

Woman is no hybrid either

Abandoned, crushed, used, disregarded by so many

She and weed are rising, will rise together

A new glorious day beckons

in a softer, wilder, world

the feathered throat of mother spews

a web of glorious love