Rehearsal #2 By The Sea ...

After the merciful breaking of the weather yesterday, the blue sky and clean air returned with a vengeance today.  Fortunately for me, I got to spend most of my day near my paradise by the sea.

The Lisa & Icarus Project had its second rehearsal at Yoga Basin today, and not surprisingly, it built on the energy of our first session, and then deepened.  What a fascinating sound we make!

We reviewed last week's pieces, then played a few new ones, bringing us to nine overall, which should be perfect for the show.  A running order even began to reveal itself, which is always nice.

I think the thing I liked the most, though, is the banter and ease of communication between pieces.  Whether sharing poetry or telling family stories or geeking out over The Neverending Story, this is how friendship seeds are planted.

You can't force or manufacture this sort of thing, so it's a real blessing when it happens.  I hope very much that the great energy we are cultivating comes through in our performance.  I think it will.

After we wrapped up, I headed down to Avon for some much needed grounding.  Since Thursday night's meltdown, I've been running, keeping busy, trying to keep my mind off of the ouchie stuff.

Putting my chair down in Happy Cove, with those afore mentioned blue skies, I was finally able to stop running, to stop moving, as the healing energy of my threshold place washed over me.

It was so beautiful I couldn't even read.  (Though I did daydream about my Muse quite a bit.)  I just sat there and watched the waves and the birds and the kids playing near the jetty.

Several hours passed like minutes, and after a walk down to the pavilion and up Patriot Lane, I headed out.  E called from Spring Farm and I pulled over so we could talk about day one of her adventure.

As the sun set, I drove back up through all the sea towns, and stopped for dinner at The Windmill.  I continue to be amazed at how easy it is for me to walk through the world now, at how strong I feel.  Sometimes.

I felt bad getting home so late, as Bug and I were supposed to watch David Tennant's Hamlet, but when I am out and moving on days like this, it's hard to get me home.  Especially when I already felt like I was home.


Frog & Toad Are Friends ...

Feeling extraordinarily relaxed, after a lovely evening out with Bug, the kind of time we used to spend years ago, when we were young and maybe a bit freer but not altogether different than we are now.

We treated ourselves to an evening at Palisades Center.  We ate.  We went to the Mac store.  We went to the arcade and played racing games and shooting games and ski-ball and air hockey.  We lived.

Amidst the flashing lights and commerce and junk food, we talked about getting older, about half a life spent in each other's company.  You thought 2009 felt like a long time ago?  Try 1993 ...

Wrapping up at B&N, walking back to the car through the deserted mall, we knew we had just done something important, reconnected in a way that was long overdue.  Frog and Toad are Friends, indeed!

Much love must be sent to E, who took me for a walk around Packanack Lake even though she needed to leave for Spring Farm, and who right now is sleeping far from home.  Get ready for your big weekend, Pal-o.


Nothing I Haven't Said Before ...

'Twas another bad day.  Feeling lost and center-less.
A long shamanic session will do that to you.
Nothing to see here.  Nothing at all.


The Continuing Adventures of Threshold Jones ...

For the third Wednesday in a row, the mist was heavy at the sea.  I had hoped for blue skies, but this was much better, a beginning and ending intertwined.

I heard whispers in the wind, speaking to me of alchemy, and of staying a student even after (maybe especially after) I become a teacher.

After several days of this unpleasant and unwanted heat and humidity, the 20 degree drop was most welcome, as was the baptism at the edge of the jetty.  Brrrrr.

Dinner along the banks of Sylvan Lake was lovely, and the walk around it afterward straddled two worlds.  So wonderful, to keep discovering new corners of paradise.

May is immanent, and the crowds will be returning, and the deep quiet at the edge of the world will be coming to an end.  I imagine I will be quite different when it returns.

PS - As for the title of this entry, don't try to figure it out.  Only Karate Jones would understand ...


A Bad Day ...

By far the worst day, emotionally, for me in weeks.  Not sure what triggered it.  Just missing her terribly, and feeling lost with regards to this latest regeneration.  What place is there in the world for someone like me, who has made the choices I've made?

Winter feels so very far away.


An Anam Cara Birthday ...

Today was a day of movement, and a day of celebration.

Since I haven't been sleeping, it was easy to be up to take E to work for 7 so I could have Rose for the day.  After stopping back home and having breakfast with Bug (and lingering a bit too long on the computer) I headed back out to do some birthday shopping.

Stopping at the 'Bucks turned into a longer proposition, as I sat with E during her break and ended up telling The Icarus Story to Katherine, who continues to nod politely as the unique details of my life continue to trickle out.  What must my life look like from the outside ...

I made my way out to Micro Center, the "Big Choice" of computer stores (ten points for Gryffindor if you get that reference) for a laptop bag, and absolutely loved being able to get Bug's opinion right there on my iPad.  Occasionally it's fun being one of the cool kids.

Driving my usual road to Paramus, up 80 to Hackensack, picking up 17 over by National Wholesale, I had My Chem playing, feeling free, just enjoying moving.  I stopped for lunch at Paramus Park, then went to B&N for awhile and found the two books I was looking for.

Finding music was a bit more difficult, and I was reminded very unhappily about how much I miss Tower Records.  As it was, I ended up having to go to Best Buy, of all places, which made me feel all slimy inside.  Still, it was for a birthday, so exceptions must be made.

I picked E up from work, and we went to Willowbrook for an early prequel celebration, which we actually did on my birthday as well, if I remember correctly.  We had a little snack (she had the Bell, I had a pretzel) and made a space then went back to the house to wait for Bug.

Right before she was going to open presents, P called to spread birthday cheer, which was lovely.  It wasn't even my birthday, yet these are the sorts of days the absences hit hardest.  They talked for awhile, and it was such a positive thing for E.  Bravo!  Huzzah!

She seemed to really like the cards and presents, and after hugging and tenderness, we headed back out to Paramus to see the African Cats movie.  After last year's flick, our expectations were high and this exceeded them.  So amazing to step into such a different world!

When the movie was over, E was tired and wanted to call it an early night.  After listening to her new Lady Gaga disc on the ride home, we settled in and declared birthday number two of 2011 a success!  Such a privilege, Pal-o, to share yet another of these days with you.


Easter ...

Easter has never really had any draw for me, aside from a bit of chocolate.  Don't get me wrong, the Bunny is cute, but even so, if the need for more floppy ears in my life were to appear, I'd probably head straight to Beatrix Potter.  In my old life (well, two lives ago, now) Easter was one of those obligation days, where I would have to go to the ancestral home and endure all that went with that.  Even magickally speaking, Ostara represents the beginning of Spring, which for me means the end of winter, and you know how well that sits with me.  So yeah ... kind of a non starter.

I was feeling particularly bad this morning, as this particular Easter had been shaping up to be something different.  Before The Muse and I split up, she had offered to include me in her Easter observances.  After that night at Saint Patrick's over Christmas, we had had several talks about the stories of her tradition, and about her connection to those Old Gods, and she thought I would enjoy seeing them played out in their native setting.  Having no beef with actual Christians and their tales, I had been looking forward to it.  But like so much else these last two months ...

I put in four hours at the desk at the 'Seed, saved mercifully from my melancholy by Sister Sunshine, who thought her class was at 11 instead of 12, and who then sat and kept me company and talked about books and libraries and kirtan and Asbury Park and the like.  When 1215 rolled around and I counted in her class, I couldn't get out of there fast enough.  Luckily E was waiting outside in the car, after her own morning working at the 'Bucks, and we proceeded to revisit an old memory, and in doing so, told another chapter in our developing Anam Cara story.

It was at the Eagle Rock Diner two Easters ago that E told me that Jyoti had died.  When I think about who we were that day, and who we were with, and all that has happened since, I can't believe it was only two years ago.  So much living.  So much growing.  I had never been to Avon.  I had zero personal connection to Starseed.  I didn't know The Muse or That Dear Boy and barely knew Nancy.  My first regeneration was not even a fully formed thought, and the thought that there could ever be a second one would be heresy.  How could 2009 feel so far away?

Eagle Rock 2011 started out with melancholy, as is my way, as I lamented those who were gone from my life, who I miss every single day.  Eventually, though, E and I found a groove, and made one of those Temporary Autonomous Zones that used to be such a hallmark of my salons.  We started talking about the realest of things, going to deep places and understanding subtleties and nuances that might elude us on a regular day.  We reflected on our changed relationship, and shared how happy we both are with it.  We planted seeds, and made promises, and it was good.

We laughed until we cried when she started drawing on the placemat.  (An old chestnut she hasn't indulged in a long while.)  We were in something, and we knew it as it was happening, and we didn't want to walk away from it.  But like Elmo at Christmas, you can't have these things every day, all the time.  So we closed the circle and made our way back to Montclair, so I could pick up the other car, and so she could head down to Monmouth County.  I went home, and the rest of the day was quiet, and I had all the time in the world to reflect on what I've gained and lost.


Flame Shift #35 ...

... was a dud.

Sorry, but it's true.

#34 was a dud too, so much so that I just realized I never wrote about it here.  The whole sitting in one place for 24 hours and doing devotional work thing obviously is a big weakness for me right now.  Yet I persist.  It's what I do.

The funny thing is that I found a groove about an hour after the Shift ended.  The last few hours have actually had a fair bit of inspiration embedded within them, learning about Sir Francis Bacon and the Rosicrucians, listening to Simone play Bach, etc.

I am SO not punk rock.
Except when I am.

Embrace contradictions.


Good Music, Marvelous Company ...

I'm a little over four hours into Flame Shift #35, and I have a song running through my head and a spring in my step.  This afternoon, after several months of attempts and cancellations and whatnot, I finally met up with Lisa Brodrick to see if we could make some kirtan magick.

Oh my.  Did we ever ...

I got to Yoga Basin a little late, closer to 130, and when Reggie saw the new me, she assured me that we would talk "when you guys are finished".  She then introduced me to Lisa, who seemed quiet but lovely, and a few other people who were all sitting and having tea.

They invited me to sit with them, and I started telling stories, as I often do, while nursing a Moroccan mint with agave concoction.  We talked about Bhagavan Das, and bits of my drumming and musical history leaked into the tale, as they often do.  'Twas a very nice beginning.

Lisa and I made our way into the main studio space and started talking as we set up.  Once we played our first tune, and slowly relaxed into the sound we were making, we began opening up and started getting into real things : yoga and shamanism and magick and the like.

Dear god, her voice was beautiful, achingly so, and the sound of it put me in a real state.  What an amazing way to meet someone for the first time, to hear the true sound that they make!  I do hope that my drumming wasn't quite as revealing, though, considering the state of my life & heart.

We played three or four tunes, continuing to talk and share between takes, our confidence growing with each note.  By the time we got to our last tune for the afternoon, which came from the Hawaiian kahuna tradition, we were really starting to feel each other's flow.

Something clicked during this last piece, though, something amazing.  The voice and the guitar and the drum understood each other, as if they had made some sort of agreement.  When it was over, ten or so minutes later, we both looked at each other and knew.

For lack of a better phrase, we had just become a "band".

Reggie had been listening the whole time, of course, and was quite pleased that her instinct of bringing us together was spot on.  There were hugs and kisses all 'round as we packed up and made plans for next week's rehearsal.  The gig is Saturday May 7th, which I am now looking very forward to.

After Lisa left, Reggie invited me back into the studio so she could ask all of the questions that everyone asks these days.  We then proceeded to have one of those wonderful discussions that I've had so many times this last 18 months or so, when an acquaintance becomes a friend.

Normally Yoga Basin is a thriving, busy place, and as ringmaster, Reggie's mind is usually in three places at once.  This was the first time I've really gotten to stretch out with her, and we talked about everything : my transition, Anam Cara, the Muse, my shamanic work, etc ...

She got it, all of it, on that level that I always hope for but don't always get.  She was very adamant that I seemed healthier and more powerful, both physically and energetically, and that I need to own the fact that I have a real opportunity to shine now, however the story eventually ends up.

As I was leaving, she told me I was adorable and gifted me with a lovely blue and grey alpaca scarf.  Walking back to the car, the bone grey sky in stark contrast to how light I was feeling, I thanked The Lady for another opportunity to connect with new people in a new space.

It goes without saying that it is not possible for me to be that close to Avon without stopping for a visit.  Driving the ten minutes or so up the road, it felt, more than it ever has, that I lived there.  Turning onto Sylvania, I had that future sensation I get sometimes.  It was wondrous.

I parked Rose and did my usual rounds, out to Happy Cove and up onto the jetty, then south along the shoreline to the pavilion and back up the boardwalk.  Still light on my feet from the good music and marvelous company, I didn't want to leave.  Ohhhhh, how I didn't want to leave.

I did have a Flame Shift to get to, though, so I said my goodbyes and drove up Ocean Ave, through the usual towns, the usual daydreams.  I stopped at Cake Bake & Roll for a cookie and cupcake, and drove through Pier Village while thinking about a recurring dream I've been having, before giving thanks one more time and heading home.

Well, my other home, anyway ...


Going Slow ...

It would seem that saying yes to everything does have one small price to pay.  I woke up this morning with a slight cold, achy, dizzy, a little stuffed up.  Luckily, during a nice chat with Amy this morning, she offered to cover the desk tonight, since she was set to teach both classes anyway.  This took a weight off the day, which I very much needed.

Fighting off a fair bit of anxiety, I was able to go slow and rest and get some things done.  From watching Game of Thrones to doing research for my pilgrimage, from taking a quick trip out for meds to going with E over to our old stream around the corner (even slightly ill, sitting still is not for me), the day felt open, gentle, and eventually the anxiety faded.

Back down to the sea tomorrow, and a long awaited rehearsal ...


Saying Yes To Everything ...

When you see mist, step into it.  When you see a path you've never walked before, past 100 year old houses, park the car and get on with it.  When you see a lighthouse you've never been inside before, climb it.  Vigorously.  When you meet a possible new shamanic ally and he asks you what your name is, say it proudly.  (Icarus seems to have acquired an exclamation point when I write it.  Icarus!  Yeah ... )  When the opportunity arises to walk and walk and walk, for miles and miles and miles, along the shoreline, over a big bridge, up and over exit ramps that were not meant for pedestrians, don't ask how you're going to get back to the car.  When the sky turns red and you think you can't bear the beauty of it, keep looking.  Don't turn away.  And if you can, remember how you felt, so you can tell the people in your life, especially those not physically present, what it was like to say yes to everything, at least for one day.


On The Move, Out In The World ...

After only sleeping four hours, I was up at eight, easing into the day.  By eleven, it was time to leave for my doctor appointment, driving the nice back roads over hill and dale and down into the swamp.  I love to daydream on that ride.

My time with Doctor Lisa was lovely as always.  Just as with Jason last week, she was incredibly supportive of the decisions I have made.  She understood why I cut my hair, why I've paused, why the Icarus identity is very important.

I am very fortunate that I can tell this woman anything.  Because of her own woo woo background, I was able to relate this crossroads to my shamanic work and really be heard.  I was even able to talk about The Muse, and the shifts in my relationships.  Her insights were very helpful.

I left feeling even stronger in my convictions that I am doing the right thing.  She agrees I am paying a high price, but also agrees it is a necessary one.  Neither of us knows how the story will unwind, but just like Jason, she advised me not to be in too much of a rush to find out.

Instead of going right home, E and I drove North and had a lovely time at Paramus Park, yet another place I had not been in eighteen months.  (Malls were places I avoided at all costs.)  I am not ashamed to admit how much I am loving being out in the world again.

After stopping home for a few minutes, I was back out to the 'Seed for my evening desk shift.  Tuesdays continue to be like a tomb there, with only three students over two classes.  I sure hope we make it Autumn, for all the seeds I'm planting to ripen.


I Hid From The World Today ...

I just re-read that last entry, and part of me feels a little bad for posting it.  It was very raw, and very honest, and I'm not sure if maybe it should have gone in a private journal, if I actually kept a private journal, that is.  In fact, I almost erased it, and thought I might put something a bit less incendiary up.  The more I thought about it, though, I came to understand that if I did that, I might as well erase the whole damn blog.  This is who I am right now, and though I may never read these words again, and though I feel bad inflicting my darkness on those who kindly read these messages in a virtual bottle, I think I HAVE to get it all down fresh, without fear.

I'm not ashamed to say that I hid from the world today.  I slept late.  I stayed in my pajamas 'til noon.  I didn't take Amy's call congratulating me for last night.  I watched The Doctor and continued to understand him on a subterranean level.  E & I walked around Packanack Lake (unquestionably the highlight of the day).  I got further into the iPad, which continues to feel like a game changer.  I made grilled cheese for dinner, and continued to be amazed at the 1,001 places where there are little holes in my life.  (She adored my grilled cheese sandwiches.)  I think I may go read for a bit, and then declare another day over.  Mercifully.


I Understand The Darkness ...

The very first words on the inside flap of Sandra Ingerman's Awakening To The Spirit World, the first book we are assigning for the Starseed Institute for Shamanic Studies are The word shaman means "the one who sees in the dark."  Indeed, living in the dark as I do, I find I am able to see.  Quite well, in fact.  I suppose that means I am not a complete hypocrite for accepting a leadership role in our program.  Nevertheless, days like today make me question what right I have to do this work, to present myself as someone who knows something.  I am a hot mess, and it amazes me that no one can see it.

I do my work.  I show up.  I smile.  Magick is easy for me, so I push my buttons and tell my self effacing jokes and play my role.  But I don't enjoy myself anymore.  Shamanism is supposed to be a lonely art, but I am tired of being lonely.  Yes, the work is important, of course, but as I've gotten older, I've found that it is the people you love, the people you do the work with, that matter more than anything.  For two very different reasons, I am two down in that category in just the last few months, and at this point, I'll be surprised if Jason lasts the first year of the Institute before beginning his retirement.

I have responsibilities, and I will meet them.  But it would be nice to love what I do, to find the joy I once had, when we were all there making a difference together, then having salons and talking about it all.  I remember after the last Journey, back in January, texting back and forth with my Muse, four or five times at least, about how amazed she was that her drumming could play even a small part in people having such transformative experiences.  I was so proud of her, how she dove into the work head first, with such wonder and awe.  Having her there next to me made me feel like I could move heaven and earth.

Tonight, once again, there was only one chair behind my altarspace.  I tried to recreate the sound and feeling of our two frame drums dancing together, and failed miserably.  Jason and I talked about it gently after the event.  I say gently because he knows how lost I am, and wants to guide me to do my best but knows how fragile I am right now.  All this power I have ... all this ability ... I flew into the sun and didn't die, for fuck's sake!  And yet, the gaping holes in the places where she used to live (and where he used to live, for that matter) are resistant to my power, my ability.

I am stronger than ever.  I am being beaten to shit and I refuse to go down.  But what good is all of that if you have to lock bits of yourself away, if you can only help people from afar because letting them too close hurts too much?  Whether it is temporary or permanent, I am Icarus now, and I understand the darkness.  I guess this'll make me a hell of a shaman one day, but the price is high.  I can't unsee what I've seen, and I am getting ready to lead a bunch of eager seekers down this road.  Do I tell them they'll have to endure loss, of friends and lovers and maybe their very sense of self?  How can I?

I do wish someone had told me, though.


Dipping My Toe Into The Future ...

It's raining very hard on my roof, up here in The Womb.  It's never been a soothing sound to me, nor the thunder, nor the lightning with its bright flashes of Fire in the sky.  But I've never wanted control over the weather.  Too much responsibility for a mad improviser like me.

It was a full day, dipping my toe into the future, yet trying not think about tomorrow.  I visited E's Starbucks for the first time, incognito as Icarus of course, and really liked the vibe.  Katherine may come to the Shamanic Journey, which will be nice if it happens.

My dear N gifted me this afternoon with several profound comments elsewhere on this blog, which meant the world to me.  She also threw a card for me, from Uncle Al's Thoth Deck, which has me thinking of the crossroads I find myself living in a whole new way.

After leaving it in the box for two days, I finally dove into the world of my iPad today.  What an amazing tool, tailor made for my shamanic and magickal work!  It will take some time before I can really dance with the interface, but it will come, and it will be worth it.

Despite this dreadful weather, I ran out to B&N this evening, specifically to pick up a copy of Tron Legacy, which we then watched.  Just as the first time I saw it in the theater over the winter, I was deeply inspired by the resonance (and implications) relating to what I am developing.

Tomorrow is going to be a VERY long day.  Fourteen hours at the 'Seed, with only a short break for a meal.  It would all be so much more palatable if That Dear Boy and my Muse were there.  As it stands, I will just have to try and direct all this power I am amassing towards some positive end.

"Yearning and deep longing, the feeling that accompanies the sense of separation, is not quite Wish.  Yearning goes one way - towards what we somehow feel we have lost. or we're missing, or that isn't there.  Wish goes two ways.  Something like, Wish sometimes finds itself being wished back."

- Robert Fripp


An Acute Friday ...

It was a VERY long, VERY difficult day today.  Why is the ache so acute some days?  Why do I keep having to sit with it?  Dear god, I know becoming a shaman is supposed to be hard, but FUCKING OW already!!!  I mean, the iPad is STILL in the box!!!

Thank goodness for E, who stepped up and took me to Packanack Lake and to Corrado's and made an Anam Cara space.  Our relationship is so different now, and I don't think anyone really gets it, to be honest, but that's alright.  We know we're on the right road.

My stomach is rumbling at me, payment for the rather unhealthy Nathan's dogs I boiled for dinner tonight.  There's so much I should do, but I am getting tired, and the couch is looking mighty inviting.  I think I'll just watch Smallville and call it a day.


It Was An Intense Day ...

My session with Jason went to the heart of my recent changes, and gave me the strongest indication yet that I have done the right thing, becoming Icarus.  He likened this latest chapter in my transformation to when he and Jyoti took on spiritual names and became "Jason & Jyoti".  He reiterated, as he did two weeks ago, that I should be in no rush to go back to what I was doing, to who I was becoming, and that instead I need to take advantage of the increase in power I have been feeling and the new way that people are seeing me.  When I told him I intended to do so, but that I felt like I've given up a lot to get here, he told me, quite forcefully, that becoming Icarus is part of my work, and that the path I had been on took me as far as it could, and that I should not look back.  Scary, scary stuff.  Thank The Lady I have a teacher like Jason that I can really go deep with.

When we wrapped up around 530, I went to the 'Seed and did some karma kleaning with Sister Sunshine.  We had our usual fun time and witty banter (and now she wants to go to Columcille) and got the chandra and office and halls nice and spiffy.  I was actually feeling quite strong when I bumped into The Muse, and thus engaged her in talking for a minute or two, which was as frustrating as it was interesting.  With our next circle, a Shamanic Journey, coming up on Sunday, it's hard not to think about how much I miss her presence (and her drumming) in that space.  Maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to get her to come back for the May Healing Circle, before my three month hiatus.  I know you're thinking I should move on, Gentle Reader, but it just doesn't feel right to do so, to let go of that space that we created.  Something is holding me back.  I need to see that through.

Just as I was shutting down the office, I got into a long discussion with Meredith, who runs the holistic lighting business down the hall (in our old office space, actually).  We've become fast friends these last few months, since around Bhagavan Das I think, and she was just as surprised at my new appearance as everyone else.  Since she understands the woo woo, we talked about what I was doing in terms of the work of the South and West, and she was a great sounding board.  With a near empty fridge, I had to stop at the A&P on the way home, and bought myself some rather unhealthy things.  (That's what you get for going to store after not eating for close to nine hours!)  Dinner was tasty, around 1030pm, and then I told E and J the stories of the day.  After all of this, I did not even have the energy to unwrap my new iPad, which arrived today.  Must get to that soon.


Another Day In The Mist ...

Yesterday was not worth writing about, so rather than boring you with a third straight lackluster entry (it would've been about cleaning the bedroom, another long talk with Amy and a SUPER quiet night at the 'Seed) I took the day off.

Today was Wednesday.  It started off slowly, negatively, and didn't really get going 'til mid afternoon, but the mist was everywhere and Rose (our Prius) pretty much drives herself at this point, until she is parked on Ocean Avenue.

Stopping at Sandy Hook on the way down (since they didn't bother having anyone in the toll gate on such a grey day) was a nice treat, as the Bay and the Lighthouse and Officer's Row were all completely consumed by the cloud wall.  It was amazing how bad the visibility was.

Even though it wasn't raining hard, there must have been some pretty serious storms further out to sea, as the water coming in over the jetty at Happy Cover was far beyond the usual high tide.  I got a bit daring, trying to get that second shot above, and paid for it by getting submerged up to my calf.

Me being me, the cold didn't bother me, but squishing around for the rest of the day did get a bit tiresome.  Walking along the shoreline as it started to get dark, the mist began to fade and the sky got really interesting.  I'm really fond of the light and shadow in pics five through seven.

Being at Avon every week, having it become home, means that I come as I am, and sometimes just being there doesn't make it all better.  The loneliness and melancholy don't go away.  If anything, I often think about how much I want to share it all with her.

But however I feel, whoever I am, it is a place of great power and possibility, and all I can do is have faith in the meta-sigil I cast back at the Winter Solstice, in the fact that everything I've seen in my more-than-dreams can and will come to pass.


This Way Lies Madness (Is That A Bad Thing?) ...

'Tis almost one in the morning, and yet it is stubbornly still a sticky and unpleasant seventy degrees.  I know this is supposed to be a one day aberration, but I would have thought it might be cooler by now.

Today was another very slow day.  Other than talking to Amy this afternoon (about a few unsettling things) and watching the last three episodes of Enterprise this evening, I mostly kept to myself.

For some reason, far above and beyond the shared name, I keep being drawn back to that Icarus Project website I mentioned a few entries ago.  I'm not ready to define it, but there is a deep resonance.

The length of time between yawns is decreasing.  Time to be released, then.


Back On The Slow Path ...

Somehow, I am still awake.  I'm honestly not sure how.

After that last entry, I wasn't able to get to sleep until after 4am, and so went to the 'Seed on roughly 2 & 1/2 hours of sleep.  My shift was shorter today, mercifully, as SSYTT meant there was no 2pm class, so I was able to leave as soon as the noon class was settled.

Relations with my Muse seemed to take a teeny tiny step in a positive direction today, as she actually came down to the office, and we spoke a few sentences, instead of the recent monosyllabic grunts.  She even smiled as she was leaving.  It's nothing to get excited about, really, but ...

By the time I got home around 1pm, it was all I could do to stay awake through lunch, before I crashed utterly up here on the couch for a few hours.  I can honestly say that since getting up around 5, I have not done a blessed thing worth writing about.

It's been hard coming back to earth today.  In telling bits of the story of last night, both to E and J and snippets of it to a few people at work this morning, I was able to remember what an altered space we created, and being back on the slow path was very challenging.

Ahhhh ... there we go.  I'm starting to get blinky.  To the couch, then!


A Mythic Day, A Mythic Life ...

"Everything at a distance turns into poetry: distant mountains, distant people, distant events ; all become Romantic."  -  Novalis

I saw that quote this evening at a stunning exhibit at the Met, Rooms With A View : The Open Window in the 19th Century.  It brought to mind my recent preoccupation with living a mythic life, with elevating the things we do and turning our days and nights into the stuff of story, the stuff of legend.

When the time comes to look back on it, I won't actually have to try that hard to mythologize this day.  Even as I was living it, one foot in front of the other, there was something going on, a looseness, a sizzle in the air, which culminated with ... well, I'm getting ahead of myself.

This morning started off with the usual sturm und drang.  I hadn't slept well, and I was missing her, and it was 9am and I was honestly trying to figure out how I was going to spend the next 15 hours or so before it would be okay to go to bed again.  Not good.  Not good at all.

A random mailing list email from the Met reminded me that I hadn't yet seen Cezanne's Card Players exhibit, which is set to close in a few weeks.  I started to think about how very much I would love to go to the Met, where I'd not been since that magickal day with Phillie in mid January.

With money being what it is, and having just dodged a serious financial bullet a few days ago, there didn't seem to be any way to justify the cost of driving in, parking, admission (since I still haven't renewed my membership).  It seemed like an idle fancy, and I tried to let it go.

About half an hour later, another seemingly random bit of wandering around the Crimethinc site reminded me that the NYC Anarchist Book Fair was today.  Alright now.  Two things I really wanted to do.  The Fires were burning.  This is so rare in these days of longing.  I had to make it work.

It's a funny thing, making it work.  Sometimes, you just have take action, do something, throw your hat over the proverbial fence and GO, even if you don't quite know how to deal with the consequences.  At least I do.  And so, at 130, I was driving along Route 80, feeling free.

The Mighty Hudson was lovely, and from minute one, I was really enjoying driving in The City, which is weird coming from me.  The West Side Highway, crossing town via 96th and the Park, down Fifth to park under the Met.  It felt like a dance.  Just like that magickal night back at Christmas ...

Walking across Central Park at 3 o'clock on a gorgeous Spring afternoon was such a joy, even for a Winter kid like me.  The people were out, walking and biking and playing games and it felt like a macro T.A.Z. in the green oasis at the heart of our mad 21st century.

Picking up the C outside the Science Museum on 81st, I headed downtown, surer of my steps underground than I ever remember being.  I wasn't even deterred by the garbled voice on the speaker saying something about construction and missed stops.  Just keep moving.  Take action.  Go.

Coming up into the sun again on West 4th St., I wasn't sure which direction Washington Square Park was, so I just guessed.  No stress.  No thinking.  Just instinct.  I ended up being right, and eventually found myself standing outside of Judson Memorial Church, right across from the park.

There were strange people lingering on the steps.  This must be the place, I thought.  Making my way inside, it was packed full of all sorts of people, punks and radical queers and dreadlocked activists and the occasional person (like me, I suppose) who didn't look like the target demographic.

There were tables set up with literature and information, mostly peopled by smiling folks who seemed like they wanted to prove that not all anarchists are bomb throwing miscreants.  (Not that there is anything wrong with miscreants.  Or ne'er-do-wells, for that matter.)  It was a great vibe.

I did a few circles around the room, talking to people, picking up a few zines and stickers and a marvelous looking book by Ursula K. Leguin.  I was a little disappointed that the Crimethinc people weren't there, as I wanted to talk with them.  Another time, I suppose.

There was no radical magick presence, which surprised me, though there was a group called The Icarus Project (which stopped me in my tracks, as you might imagine) and which talked a bit about shamanism while taking a fresh look at mental illness.  They were good people.  I liked them a lot.

I was starting to get a bit hungry, and wanted to have enough time for a decent length Met exploration, so I headed out a little after 5.  Walking through Washington Square Park, where I had somehow never been, was just delightful, another T.A.Z. this time on a neighborhood level.

There were people congregating in small groups playing music.  There was a guy doing a giant sand mandala.  There were people dancing and playing competitive hacky sack, of all things.  There was a beautiful woman who looked just like my Muse (who I knew for a fact was in Montclair).  Sigh.

Before allowing any melancholy to take root, I kept moving, along West 4th to Broadway to Astor, to the 6 all the way back up to 86th and Lexington, one block from the best hot dog stand in the world, Papaya King.  It'd been so long since I'd been there.  I had three.  Joyously.

The walk down 3rd Avenue to 79th was gentle, as evening began to settle in over the great City, which I continued to love, strangely.  Arriving back at the Met a little after 6, I knew I wasn't going to have one of my epic visits, but that was alright.  Just being there would be enough.

Taking my usual route, from Greece & Rome through 20th Century, saying hello to Dionysus and the Elements in the European Sculpture Court (which had the same jazz trio playing as the afore-mentioned day with P) then through the French Period rooms before passing through Byzantium and back to the stairs.

The Cezanne exhibit was exactly as I'd figured, small, yet tremendously focused.  It was nice to see more examples of what I've always thought of as Cezanne's "peasant" paintings, which feel different than his landscapes and still lifes to me.  I waved to The Soulful Peasant (my title) and imagined him smiling, softly.

Heading back to the Lehmann Wing, to say hello to the wayward Chagall that they hide back there, I was lured downstairs to the Guitar Heroes exhibit, which was nice if not spectacular.  Retracing my steps, which I never like doing, I made my way upstairs to Rooms With A View, which started this whole amazing day.

The work of Caspar David Friedrich was featured, as was that of his contemporary and friend Georg Friedrich Kersting.  Kersting's canvases, as well as a few by Adolph Menzel really stood out for me, as prime examples of works that focus on light and silence and unfulfilled longing.  I would be drawn to these, of course.

After pulling myself away from all of those windows, all of those parallel worlds, I made my way past the Poussins and Rembrandts to the American Wing.  The sunset in the Engelhard Court was the best I've ever seen (pic #1 above).  There was such a mystery in the space, site of many important meetings over the years.

As I was making my way through the period rooms, I received a text from Julia, my dear and long standing friend, who I last saw back in January, in the afore-mentioned Engelhard Court, on the now thrice mentioned day with P.  I had texted her a bit earlier, to say hello and that I was thinking of her.

What hadn't really occurred to me was that she might actually be in the City, and that she might actually want to see me.  So when she wrote that she was around the corner with her boyfriend and that they were coming in to find me, I froze.  Think about it ...

She didn't know anything about my heartbreak, about my change in appearance, about my pause.  I had been wandering alone all day, comfortable with my solitude and invisibility.  As much as I care for her, was I really willing to change the channel on my day so drastically?

It's Julia.  Of course I was.  I told her to meet me in my office, at the southeast corner of the Temple of Dendur, and I made peace with not getting to see Jeanne or Vincent or Versaiiles or the Shaker room.  I waited quietly, wondering exactly how I was going to explain everything in the short time before closing.

She couldn't find me at first, considering what she was looking for.  When we locked eyes, I couldn't tell if she was happy or sad or confused or worried or what.  Probably all of the above.  She introduced me to Chris, and we all sat down.  Me being me, I started telling stories.

We riffed and shared for close to a half hour, before the Gestapo began clearing the space.  I figured it would be another short visit like last time, and that we might catch up again some other time.  They surprised me when they invited me back to her apartment, just a short walk away on 96th and Madison Avenue.

Accepting the invite felt like a return to my vibe earlier in the day, of saying yes to serendipity, of letting go of preconceived ideas and just going with it.  The walk up 5th was a continuation of the talking and storytelling (with a stop to take pic #2 above, of the sidewalk at 91st Street).  I knew I was exactly where I needed to be.

The sixth floor apartment was small but very homey, with bright yellow walls in the kitchen.  I was reintroduced to one roommate, Sara, who I'd met years ago at a gig in Princeton, when she and Julia were still in high school.  I also met Sara's boyfriend Lee, and another roommate Kat.  Good vibes all 'round.

What was interesting to learn is that apparently Julia talks about me all the time, and that they all knew my story, who I was, what I was about (at least up til these very recent times) before I ever walked in the door.  I think it was Sara who said something to the effect of, "I can't believe you're actually here."  Wow.  Mindfuck.

We all crowded around their kitchen table, and by god, it was another salon, only this time with me as the guest in someone else's space.  I kept trying to steer the focus away from me, but they all kept asking me questions, about shamanism and magick and the loss of my Muse.

I trusted them, even though it's still hard for me to own the fact that people seem to want to hear my stories.  Julia knows that I don't love being the center of attention, or being put on a pedestal, but she kept making the point that they all wanted me there, and that they were inspired by how I live my life.

Honestly, I was just as inspired by them.   They were all so wise and grounded, for a group whose average age is 23.  Knowing Julia since she's 14, I continue to be amazed at her strength, and her grace.  It doesn't surprise me at all the type of tribe she has surrounded herself with.

In true salon fashion, suddenly it was after 1am, and I was 16 blocks from my car with an hour drive after that and I had to get up for work at 630.  Also in true salon fashion, it took awhile to actually make it to the door, a robust ten feet away.  No one really wanted the night to end.

These things only have a meaning because of their impermanence, though.  We live fully, we open our hearts to grace, then we have to move on, so the next miracle can occur.  And so, there was much hugging, and Sara made me promise that I would return, so we could do it all again one day.  What an easy promise to make.

Julia walked me to the door, and we had one last big hug, and I thanked her for the gift of her friendship and this amazing evening.  It is part of my story now, just like the Bear Mountain Barbecue, or The Inn at Avon, or the Robert Fripp concert, or the St. Patrick's / Rockefeller Tree night, or the Solstice Salon or the now quad-mentioned Met day with That Dear Boy.

Despite my sadness and longing, despite the re-evaluation of my transformation, I am very blessed, to have such an amazing story to tell.  (All of those chapters above, they all happened in only the last six months!)  As I turned to walk down the stairs, and Julia and I shared one more meaningful glance, I knew what had just happened, and that no one can ever take it from me.

Walking down Madison Avenue in the middle of the night was amazing.  So full of wonder and mystery, a fitting end to my day of falling in love with The City again.  I couldn't help but take one last picture of The Met, with nary a soul or car in sight.  Such silence, such peace, if one knows where to look.

Now it's after 3 and I am wide awake, melodies from Danger Days still in my head after the VERY LOUD drive home.  I honestly don't know how I'm going to get up in a few hours, but it doesn't matter. Today I lived.  Today was magick.  Tomorrow will be what it is, but today ... today was absolute perfection.

"Alas, even though I am already old, I am only a beginner.  However, I am beginning to understand, if I may say so; I believe I do understand." - Paul Cezanne


My Least Favorite Sort of Day ...

Home, stillness, most of it alone ... you know the drill by now.

I spent most of the morning in a stupor of longing, which mercifully subsided a bit when I discovered a new biography of Austin Spare, and the extensive writings of Manly P. Hall on the Philosophical Research Society site (which I'm planning to download to my iPad when it gets here).

In the afternoon, I had a long discussion with Amy, about stepping even deeper into the inner workings of the 'Seed.  Nothing I can share just yet, but between what's been developing with the Institute and now this, September looks like it's going to be very interesting.

While all of this was going on, I was doing a bit of surgery on Meabh, my Dell netbook, who has been quite neglected since the arrival of Uonaidh, my Macbook Pro, back in September.  I'm even thinking about installing Ubuntu (an open source OS) to streamline her operations.  We'll see.

This entry is boring. This day was boring.  Enough, then.


The Institute Takes Shape ...

It was a very busy day, a very big day, a very draining day, so I will try to cover a lot of ground quickly.  Please forgive me for not lingering as long as each of these things deserve.

My lunch meeting with Jason & Amy at Raymond's was very productive, and laid further groundwork for the new Starseed Institute For Shamanic Studies.  We talked business, nuts and bolts, and set the first half of the dates, through February 2012.

After the meeting, I actually stayed with Amy in the office for a bit, helping out with some of the computer and printer problems she was having.  By the time I got home a little after four, it was just enough time to have lunch and head right back to the 'Seed.

For some reason, running into The Muse this evening sent me into a tailspin, much worse than it did on Sunday.  While trying my best to respect her need for space and distance, I can't help but admit how silly this feels, pretending we barely know each other.

Coming home, just like Tuesday, there was visiting already in progress.  N was giving E a Thai massage, and after a brief time up in The Womb, I came down for a PBT meal and time spending.  (Once again, missing That Boy.)  I felt like I talked too much, but the others assured me I was alright.

Enough for one day.  Bed.


Reliable As The Most Steadfast Friend ...

It was not the most relaxing of days at the sea.  There was fear in the air, which tends to have quite a large appetite, and its favorite dish is joy.  I can beat myself up 'til the end of time with if only I hadn't heard the phone ring when the landlord called about the sprinkler foolishness, but it's what it represents that is more telling than the actual thing.  Too much fear.  Not enough grounding.

Still, despite that, the day rolled on.  A fine new breakfast at The Preakness Restaurant before shoving off, followed by stops at Point Pleasant & Manasquan (where I finally traded out that post modern book about the guy who steals rare books, and got a book about Ireland instead).  Then the drive through Spring Lake and Belmar, as the clouds rolled in, was beautiful as always.

Avon did its Avon thing, as reliable as the most steadfast friend.  Time in Happy Cove, and up on the jetty and over by the pavilion and along the edge of the sea as the sun began to set, slowly.  A bit of time at the Perfect Perk yielded a wonderful surprise : The Dear Boy has a blog!  I read and commented while nursing my mint chamomile, and thought of our last Reiki share, and loved and missed him, as is my way.

After the usual Chinese dinner, it was time for one more walk out to Happy Cove, in the dark of the only  just recently New Moon.  There was mystery, and there were stars, and I missed her, and it was time to go home.


An Afternoon In The Mist / An Impromptu Salon ...

For a few hours, in the cold and inhospitability of a rainy afternoon at the Palisades, grace visited through the mist.  Sitting under the covered pavilion near the Alpine Boat Basin, just past old Mrs. Kearny's Tavern, I sat in silence and found myself at a threshold place.  Almost effortlessly, a poem made itself available to me, and I stepped into its embrace.  I wrote about what I saw, about what I've been feeling, mixing this world with the Other in a way that will make total sense to anyone who has lived through my trials, but will hopefully be universal to anyone who hasn't.  It's one of my favorites.  I hope you like it.

There is a fine mist in the distance
above the water
obscuring Tarrytown
Obscuring my future
compelling me to live
only in this moment
This universe
This absence
She’s not here
though I would show her that mist
those waves
this universe I inhabit
Out there
there’s a world outside of ... 
l o n g i n g
A world outside of transformation
I would go there
and I would bring her with me
On a ship to the West
through the mist
Past Tír na nÓg
to the birthplace of stories
It is still cold here
in this universe I inhabit
So I keep moving
To keep warm
to hold the space
to be of use
I imagine those are red berries in the distance
though they are probably just buds that
like me
thought it was their time to shine
Like a beacon
so she wouldn’t have to be
afraid of the dark anymore
Instead I tap the word
in Morse Code
and cross the threshold into the mist
Where I will wait for Spring to bloom
for the wheel to turn
for the Fire that will make me
whole again
Words by Icarus
04.05.11 - 141pm

After a sad last visit to one of my favorite bookstores (Borders in Fort Lee, another victim of the Borders purge) it was time to head home and have a quick lunch before running right back out to work at the 'Seed.    It was a quiet night, which allowed time to tell the story of my pause to Harsha, Susan and Eric, who were all supportive, and who all surprised me by once again letting me know that I have been missed.  Upon my return home, it was a welcome surprise to see that Katherine was still over.  E had cooked dinner for her birthday and we sang and had cake and somehow, after all this time away, an impromptu salon occurred.  It was strange for me to step back into that space, but everyone seemed to enjoy themselves.

'Twas a surprisingly full day.  Now it's time to rest.


Resting ...

After these last few entries, after these last few days of living that led to these entries, nothing much happened today.  A long chat with Amy.  A walk around Packanack Lake.  A triple feature of Enterprise.  I did download the new Peter Murphy single, which I am rather smitten with, but really, I'm going to give myself, and you dear reader, a break today.  More tomorrow, I'm sure ...


And So I Persist ...

I do not like Mondays, but not for the reasons which most people share.  For me, a Monday is the loneliest day, the one day when no one is around, when I have no responsibilities at work or with the community.  In my days of loving and needing solitude, which seem so long ago now, I would crave Mondays, but that was someone else, not me.  As emotional and exhausting as yesterday was, you'd think I would actually welcome this quiet time, but no ... I don't.

Yesterday was my first full day back to work since everything changed, exactly one month before.  I knew going in that I would see her, and in fact we interacted four separate times.  We said hello, and I wished her a happy birthday (another Fire, like me) but the most intense bits were when we didn't say anything.  A look, especially for people who knew each other as well as we did, can speak much louder than words.  Three times this happened, and each time, it was difficult to hold, and even more difficult to look away.

We had about fifty students spread among the four classes, which meant lots of surprised friends and acquaintances, who were seeing me for the first time in four weeks.  Some people I told the Cliff Notes version of recent events, some just hugged me and said they were happy I was back, and I spent the day feeling very loved, but also very drained.  By the time the last class rolled around, complete with a major problem in MindBody, I was in serious need of distraction.

Lunch at Eagle Rock didn't help.  Reading Anathem didn't help.  Even one of my treasured Barnes & Noble evenings didn't help.  I wandered around with a basket full of books, read bits of Gibson & Stephenson & Wendell Berry & Seamus Heaney and couldn't bring myself to care enough about any of them to bring one home.  That's how you know it's bad : when a bibliophile comes home from a gigantic bookstore empty handed.

There is a coda to all of this, a silver lining, if you will.  After a bit of a false start, the PBT had it's regular New Moon Reiki Share this evening.  I had just written to N & P in the afternoon, directing them here to this blog, and was of course very happy with their supportive, loving responses.  Even with their own busy lives, fraught with challenges and difficulties, they love me enough to encourage me and wish the best for me.  What else can one ask for in a chosen family?

After the Share itself, during which I tried a few new magick tricks, N headed to bed (after a big day of woo woo) and the remaining four of us stayed up chatting until after 1am.  (Eastern, that is.  For The Dear Boy it was only 10ish!)  We all connected so deeply, more than at any time since he left.  You could almost taste the chocolate cake, and if I closed my eyes, I could almost see him down at the kitchen table, sitting to my right, smiling.

Such a gift, times like that.  It also makes me miss him all the more, which then leads to missing her, and missing the life we were building, the salons, the drumming, the grilled cheese sandwiches, the hours of talking and connecting.  Am I fool for holding these spaces, for dreaming of better days to come?  What else can I do?  It's not like I can just let it all go.  I can't unsee what I've seen.  And so I persist, a day at a time, an hour at a time, a breath at a time, until the wheel turns my way again.


A New Focus on the Work of the West ...

The first time I went around the shamanic medicine wheel, during my first year of study and practice, the key word in the West was discernment.  Every move I made, every person I shared my life and story with, was filtered through this very important (though underused) concept.  As everything shifted under my feet, this was very, very useful.

Seventeen months in, and I'm back in the West, only now the key word is invisibility.  With the way my life had been heading, I didn't think this would be a concept I would be immersing myself in.  I was on a track towards a very public life.  I was going to live large, under the lights, and who knows ... I may yet.  But not now.  Certainly not now.

I had been making myself sick over my appointment with Jason (which was postponed from Thursday) as I just didn't know how he would take the news of my pause.  Truth be told, when he answered the door and saw my changed appearance, he was more than a little surprised.  As we started talking, though, it was my turn to be surprised.

He was adamant that I have not failed, that I have nothing to be ashamed of.  Though I mentioned it in passing in my last entry, he was the one who pointed out the importance of exploring invisibility when one is on the shamanic path.  If I think about it, I suppose this is related to our Western axiom of To Know, To Dare, To Will, To Be Silent.

As much as I had been preparing myself for a more razzle dazzle, rock and roll existence, there is no denying the potency of metaphorically buzzing in, setting things on Fire and disappearing before anyone realizes you are there.  Before, all eyes were on me, for good and ill.  Now, no eyes are on me, and I need to make the most of that while I can.

He cautioned me to not be in a rush to end this important period in my life, my Icarus period.  When I told him I was thinking at least nine months to a year, he was very pleased.  This will give me time to continue to recover, to depart for my wanderings and return, and kick off the new Institute in the Fall, all before having to face the scrutiny again.

It's still very difficult, looking in the mirror, or going to the library and knowing that no one sees who I really am anymore.  But then I remind myself, very few people saw it before anyway, and now, there is this unexpected benefit, this unexpected quiet.  I never knew how much I was relying on my shields to keep me safe, until I didn't need them anymore.  

I am paying a very high price to return to the work of the West, just as I am paying a high price being involved with shamanism in general.  But I am a lifer, that much is clear, and maybe, just maybe, there is something about what I am doing that will bring my life back to where I thought it was going to go.  Maybe, just maybe, she'll be there when I arrive.


On Some Parallel Earth ...

All day I have been feeling cynical, pessimistic.  Maybe because it was April Fool's Day, which for some reason has always annoyed me.  Maybe it's because I cut my hair off yesterday and I am processing the reasons and ramifications of my drift back towards invisibility.  Maybe it's just because I am lonely.  I don't know.

Just within the last few minutes, though, a metaphorical beam of moonlight passed through the windows up here in The Womb, and the vague scent of peace, if not quite hopefulness, entered.  Liam O'Flynn played the uiliieann pipes and I thought of my upcoming travels, where sadness & longing will be so near, yet so far away.

It was an interview on oprah.com, of all places, that really stirred me up.  Maria Shriver spoke with the poet Mary Oliver, who I've always meant to read but never have, and I was reminded, as I am periodically, that I am a poet, and that poets have special powers.  We can dance with words, and in dancing, create new worlds.

If I were to create a new world, it would be a world where I was loved, instead of admired, for my authenticity.  It would be a world where I could burn brightly without having to give up my solitude, where how I looked yesterday morning would be met with as much indifference as how I looked this morning.

My science fiction mind never lets me get far away from concepts like multiverses, and parallel earths.  I'd like to think that on one of those earths, I didn't need to pause my transformation after seventeen months.  I'd also like to think that on one of those earths, I never had to transform in the first place.  Wouldn't that be something?

For now, though, on this earth, I have work to do, a broken heart to mend, and very little strength for the daily grind of being both hero and punching bag.  What an unfamiliar feeling it was this evening to walk through the grocery store, and through the mall, completely unnoticed. After seventeen months of stink-eye, it was a revelation.

Maybe with some of this newfound quiet, I should get back to the business of changing the world, of being creator and destroyer.  Or maybe I should just read John O'Donohue, or Donald Hall, or Mary Oliver, and put one word, one foot, one breath, in front of the other.  Either way, maybe I'll be too occupied to notice how much I miss her.


How Does The Story End ...

I began a poem, roughly six weeks ago now, called My Icarus Moment.  It was a rumination on the Icarus myth, of course, imagining what might happen if the titular hero did not die after straying too close to the Fire.  Though I saw, even then, resonance with this story in my own life, I never dreamed I would become Icarus so soon, or that I would fall so hard.

After taking some time away from the poem, I have returned to writing it, a bit each day, as a way to find out how the story ends.  This new blog is an extension of that idea.  I've changed everything : new email & blogger account, new browser, new colours and textures ... new everything.  This feels appropriate, as even my sense of who I am seems fluid now.

If you've made the move here with me, or if you find me along the way, welcome.  I am reminded of the first words that my Previous Regeneration wrote on the shimmery, ephemeral canvas of this parallel dimension, on April 17th 2002 : Hello there / Beginnings are difficult things / I hope I find a voice in here that is worth the virtual space I am taking up / Maybe we'll find out together.

Maybe we will.