Dream Interpretation, Day 2

So I wake up this morning with a few scribbles to write of my dreaming in the night prior. Awakened, but with eyes closed, I realized that the revelation was “myself as vampire”.

I wrote in long hand,

Laziness/Envy/ Demand
want the most tender parts
of you to bend/expose/extend
the neck the main bridge from the Crown to the Coeur

Desire dilates the pupils to watch the damage in its wake
abandoned to weakness and impairment
there is less life force in the corpse.

There’s no apparent personal glug to gain in this sucking/suction.
The elliptical WONTNESS of personal Risk, Faith in higher intelligences, or
extended Labor to dis/re/cover a new life from one’s own blood
attracts many flies to Decay, Envy and Pathos.

(ok, ok this is my second draft of what I scribbled this morning)

…still I am upset with this gift at the doorstep.
“Bbuuuutt I don’t WAAANNNAA be the Vampire!
I’m a Princess and a Ballerina Dancer!”

What does it mean when one sees shadows
against the white walls in the room or the sides of a house?

The reflection of S/self are grotesque and otherwise growing
out of one’s sense of blindness to dimness,
darkness, disownment, disengagement, diaspora,
delineating the dungeons of one’s making through
narrow halls of thinking and shallow spaces for breathing
in the first Curse to leave His sight.

Admist the low-hanging fruits on the Tree of Knowledge.

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Listening as Reading: Tell me a Story

It’s been a change of pace listening to two different works in audio format,  This past week, I have been juggling Alan Brennert’s Honolulu story and Dr. e’s The Beginner’s Guide to Dream Interpretation.  The marathon listening to the story of the war brides who came to Hawaii to work and create lives on the plantations required me to carry the heartbreak they suffered as a legacy.  It is mind blowing how resilient Spirit has shown itself over the course of human evolution and revolution. 

For the dreamers, writers and researchers who feel haunted and hunted down to live out this historical page from Hawaiian history, I am deeply indebted.  Their stories and lessons for us are very much alive with those who midwife them and those of us who had been uninitiated until present.  While in the milieu of historical fiction it occurs to me that the spectrum of linear time scrunches like a sheet of paper headed towards the wastebasket.  The world of the imagination expands and contracts within our minds. I am again humbled by this responsibility. 

If you haven’t heard of Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Jungian analyst and storyteller/poet, I would wholeheartedly recommend giving her a try.  I have purchased many selections from www.soundstrue.com where they honor her and other healers/teachers to share community through audio projects. This particular title was ordered from the Marin County Free Library. It was great but one has to be prepared for the occasional disc or track that gets stuck until I fast forward to the next. The high circulation of shared library materials sometimes compromises its quality in its library’s lifetime. But I digress.

I love how her voice places balm on my soul. Her words and vocals as instrument are pitch perfect.  Known in  popular circles for her bestseller, Women Who Run with Wolves she has been for me an elder who inspires and creates holy spaces in my mind where constricted thoughts and shallow breathing sometimes stagnate.

if you have ever considered another way to relate to your self as Spirit and Story, track your dreams as given to you. Having been raised by a superstitious mother who dreams prophetic, I always wondered when I would come into these such possessions. Well, I have begun digging around and researching my interest in the other half of my life spent dreaming dreams imaged by the Dream Weaver and the Unconscious. In the confidence of confessions and aesthetic transparency, I want to share the process as much as I can with the humility that every one of us sees different projections when faced with the blank screen, canvas, page. I am sitting with you and facing down my doubting demons and voices from the well.

It has taken me almost forty years to accept the paradox for every beauty and its beast. I have gold and treasures I long to share with you in hospitality and for my sense of sanity in this agreed space and time. But these goods are hard won. They keep me constant in the mirror’s reflection of darkness, Mystery of Source and self.

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“Women write words on paper”, Honolulu by Alan Brennert

The above title was a recommendation by a fellow friend and colleague to listen to on CD/Book format. I have it on my mp3 player and on discs for the car rides to work. The radio in my thirteen year old Ford is so dated that the security sticker on the library CD’s keep it from playing in the system.

Yes, admittedly, I am slow to the technology movement that makes our equipment multitask.

I am still adjusting to the voice of Ali Ahn who narrates the unabridged version of Honolulu. The door of historical fiction opens chambers into my heart deftly and like a practiced lover I surrender quickly in its hands.

The story begins with a Korean daughter named “Regrettable” who thinks that the shape of her nose is why her mother treats her with so much unkindness…I have just started in the section where Regret learns that the scratching inked characters on the paper lead to another world of meaning and wonder when her older brother reads to her a torn page found on the ground. As a girl of marriageable age, Regret will not be considered worth educating at the early turn of the twentieth century Korea under Japanese imperialism.

Fast forward to the turn of the twenty-first century where men and women as celebrity status name their offspring “Apple”, “Mason” “North”, and “George”. I find the ritual of naming and names almost meaningless in present American culture. Perhaps, it is also because I have no offspring. But if the archangels visited me with news of an immaculate conception of a baby girl, I would name her Guadalupe for the Holy Mother. It just tickles me to imagine a little Korean girl growing up in the world with a Hispanic name. Though in these Americas, Koreans came to the North and Central as well as the South American parts.

I have a passion for giftedness in girl/children and the journeys some of us undertake to obtain an education. Have you seen Barbara Streisand’s movie, Yentl? Go rent it, if your first answer was no.

Education at various times in my life has symbolized the best in human endeavors and philosophical aspirations. I am in love with the world of ideas and the players that choose to come forward as public intellectuals who pull out chairs for more to feast at the table.

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Ensename, Show Me

August will mark the third year since this blog  began in August 2010.  Upon visiting my blog, I hope readers enjoy the change of template.  It’s the WP template called Sight.  I felt that the annual refresh inspire a new look.  I like the clean typesetting.  I have shifted from once deciding that the blog site needed a brand for consistency to, now, where I want to see changes in façade and digital composition of my work products in the world. I might continue to play with the free template options to express my fancy of the moment, so stay tuned.

My posts reveal much of my growth and try-alls of living the creative life as poet and writer.    In a personal way I wanted to share with fellow writers that it is as much in the texts and in the spacious gaps that create this masterpiece we call our life.  I constantly struggle with the sustainability and interest of my owned and (dis)owned thoughts and perspectives.  This wrestling has blessed me with insights into a deeper sense of my voice and the voices that are at the gates when I sit and howl to the blank projection screen.  This creative blogging has allowed me to experience what was once only in my cerebral centers….now, the practice has laid some dirt in the center of my life.  There are vacillations and tensions about what is valuable which is carried in the mind.  I have a suspicion that the more time one spends with her practice, she will know how to better guide herself through the lanes, fences and highways.

Seeing the chronology of time on the blog has helped me rework some ideas of what was valuable of this format.  Johnny come lately is going to write a draft of her book!  I humbly submit that I have no idea what the book will cover but my intention is to include the everyday and suck marrow from bones in order to  take on a shape quite different from the one I travel in at this moment. 

To the songbirds, please sing of mornings after darkness.

 

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Full Moon is Pisces

Last night some of us were out and about looking up. The seceond full moon in August was a sight for any naked eye. The photographic eye was seeking for divine light and the Muse around Harbor Island. Great minds think alike and the audience was called and captivated by the skyline and the sighting del bella luna above. One particular appearance was stilled as an panoramic image. You will find it on http://www.gainpi.com

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Real Feelings; Poetry Stuffed

i started paying attention to the words that come by
repititions, the refrains, the recurrances and
remembering to count them when they came through the page.

“hyopcrite/hypocritical”
“happiness is essential to a life worth living”
“15”

…check, check, check as it occurred to me how
a poet must break herself against her tender heart and fling herself above of the atmosphere
with prayers of dependency and trust in the Creator and her fellow creatures.

i shed skins and bodies of a self that spoke of wisdom and poetry
when in full darkness; i dismissed
the inner princess and her pleases.
The inner child was feral when she howled from needs
too much for those around her.
The social child became disassociated with vulnerable parts
like her vagina, her dreams and her goodness.
The suspended ego did not notice life passing by
until the 41st year of mortal life.

This “i” became sad and angry and lost
in what felt like a horrible mistake
but reoccurring the same none the less.

i wanted to hold on and connect to
something/ someone in this world
to stagger the daily revolutions
until i fell on the idea that

i have failed my life and
otherwise have missed the Point.

what is left of my spirit will grow
through exposures and reflections of divinity
and it kills me to tell you how much i need you, fellow, for a fuller life.

it kills me to admit that i am dependent on
miracles,
sensitivity,
compassion,
humor,
and love in ginormous quantities.

I have all of these inside, too
I just want to share them with you
this is urgent news of spoilage and riches.

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Good Earth Teas

There is a new Fresh and Easy that opened up on the east side of town
where we went in for its grand opening and samples.

i ended up with two bags of super green teas
and a sweet and spicy black tea
in the original flavor.

the tea bag was attached to this affirmation
“Beauty gives herself to those who give her time.”
-Julia Vidmar

i am enjoying it as much as the warm flavors in the cup.
the rains will hit san diego before the mid morning
washing a path for this lunar year’s Water Dragon
in its dance and designs upon our bracing lives

May your fortunes and soon to be little ones blessed
by its mysteries and strengths in 2012!

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