the voice from here and beyond
This last weekend was Turtle Hills Beltane, in Northern Maryland. I flew into DC on Tuesday night and proceeded to have a whirlwind evening of philosophical discussions, divinity debates, interviews for “The Union” Project (a film festival project by Paula Toviessi on Spirituality and Sexuality), tasty Pho (complete with bad Vietnamese wedding photos between da Neighbor and I), and curling up with someone I love dearly to pass out.
The next morning was lava-bannana-bread (what happens when the bannana bread won’t harden up and instead is molten hot but still must be eaten for the gods of tasty bread demand it). It was good talks. It was friends meeting friends. Then woosh and off to Beltane with BrooklynFinn- where it was decided that nothing says “Sacred Sex” like Lady Gaga. Its true.
At camp I was blown away- they had been able to get me 8 suspension frames for my 16 attendees for my pre-con “On Wings of Desire: Aerial Ropes from the Ground on Up”. We were sold out for the intensive, and we arranged the space into a giant octogram with an altar. Day one was basic ties, basic lifting, basic load systems… because until a group can show me they can safely lift a roller bag, they don’t get to lift a human (or risk dropping that human).
That night was bitter cold. So very bitter cold. I could not feel my feet cold. I was grateful that each day it got warmer… so warm that by the last day it was 89 degrees outside during the day and everyone else was complaining ;)
16 attendees, 14 flew, 14 made folks (in some cases themselves) fly (the 2 on each were in relationships where such was what was appropriate). We discussed magic, intention, connection, passion, possibilities, plans of how to use this work. They got homework. We had an amazing time, and I was so happy to have gotten to bond deeper with folks like Eric S, the crazy Tortonto Queers, Brian, and others through those 2 intense days.
I led two rituals. The first was a Fiber Magic Rite, where Cat Castellas brought us Willow Branches from her property, and from that was made a hoop. Ropes from TwistedMonk.com were the fibers used… and everyone got to learn how to consecrate rope, focus their will for inviting energy into their world, do different knotting and braiding techniques, and then lash together all our prayers into a giant spirit catcher. This, mixed in with me telling tales of fiber magic around the world, was amazing… especially having elder pagan community leaders like Uncle Larry tell me afterwards that they came to the rite to hear me be a bard, and were delighted to learn new stuff along the way. Having him share British Tradition Wicca uses of Cingulum with me was fantastic as well- such yum, such yum. The Spirit Catcher currently hangs out by the Labrynth- feel free to visit it if you go to Ramblewood, add your prayers as they blow through each line.
The second ritual I led was Sacred Consort. 16 or so folks showed up, as we moved mattresses outside (too hot in S/T) and made a half-circle around my space/altar. Electricity faeries made an extension cord happen, which was fantastic, and drums danced us down into ourselves. Body Soul, Talker Soul and Divine Soul danced in union to create a path opening to the other side, gold keys to enter astral safe spaces, and then off for dates with their sacred lovers… finally back to bodies and time to process or masturbate or whatever called them.
I only attended one ritual at Beltane, and have decided that outdoor group ritual is hard for me being partially deaf. I could only understand part of what was said, but gosh it looked beautiful.
Time only allowed me to attend two classes- Unbinding (Clan Tashlin) and Submissive is Not Weakness (Eric S). Both good stuff, with lots for me to chew on. I actually, I was going to go for a third class… but sat down to eat and proceeded not to move for two hours as Evan from BR, his girl, and a group of other folks at Sadists’ Lair and beyond bonded.
Yet again, my cabin crew kicked serious ass. The dinner show- Dottie making Aiden cum repeatedly while I fed him pasta- was amazing and attracted quite the audience. Such quotes as “There are starving children in Etheopia who don’t get to eat or cum” and “Now the filth on the outside matches your filth on the inside” came from my lips, and I will never look at italian sweet sausage the same way again. In fact, some of my happiest Beltane stuff was not from classes or shows or whatever, but from drinking circle stuff (which rarely involved drinking for me, except saturday night scotch and twizzlers)- deep and silly conversations around the Lair, 11/12 and cabin 1. Cabin 1 was also the site of the extended hardcore BDSM blooper real… where it was proven that cocksucking and children’s hand-turkeys go hand in hand… and that the name badge is the meanest toy in the toybag.
Rituals for D/s was a packed house of 30+ at 10am, which blew me away, as most other classes had around 10 folks. The lunch disucssion for sex workers, was, well… not what I hoped it would be. It was booked opposite a staff meeting, and at least 5 of those folks at that meeting would have been good to have there.
And then of course, there was the Steampunk Ball. I debuted… The Toy. The Toy is me in a full encasement zentai suit, industrial kneepads, leather buckle corset and creepy-ass goggles with no skin showing as a wind-up doll thing. I was dragged on stage in a red encasement sack, stood up, and danced in the sack- before revealing the creepiness that is The Toy.
I learned thatThe Toy has very little vision. VERY little. I can not see a face as a distinct face until 1.5 inches away. I also learned that two layers of spandex with no space between leads to moderate hypoxia- whoops! Luckily we got the zipper open in back and all was fine, no dead doll Lee :) But I was informed after the show that I am indeed a creepy creepy Toy.
Other fun and highlights:
-Taxi driver flirting
-Acquiring tons of spices from Auntie Arwyn’s, my favorite spice lady (who I usually stock up from at Arisia)
-Not killing a guy for not being Wintersong (Wintersong is allowed to fuck with my neck ink, very few others are… I resisted stabbing random human on vendors row, go me!)
-Showing the Labrynth to the Toronto Queers and then swinging on the swingset
-Shaving a Mohawk for Aiden
-BrooklynnFinn and I helping Aiden earn his fag card (now complete with Our Father prayers)
-Sitting around and being bitchy with Cabin 1 friends
-Late night Mystic v Philosopher showdowns and bonding
-Random deep conversations
-Bottomless pot of vegetarian chili
-Dancing with Ben and Aiden at the ball (such hotness)
-(while we are both swaying back and forth) Him: “Are you singing Jonathan Colten in your head”; Me: “Nope, I’m imagining we are both cabbages.”
Sunday hugs and kisses, love abounding, trying to sort out how to spend more time with deep friends of mine… then off to Cleveland.
Where I now sit, reflecting.
I love Beltane. Such yum.
10 March 2010
A Piece to Ponder…
> Self = “Work for yourself.”
> Wisdom = “And see that Self is everywhere.”
> Compassion = “Work for your Self.”
Each layer we are, we come to understand we are…
4 March 2010
When The Dam Broke
4 March 2010
Lord of Perversions
3 March 2010
Thoughts on Energy
> Negative energy: Doesn’t make much sense to me, as energy just is. However,
> energy in the wrong place, too much, too little, blocked flow, energy that
> explodes out of a triggered complex, that is what I would think of as
> things to get cleaned of.
This appeared in my inbox today, in context of discussing “negative energy.”
Thank you magical inbox.
I have used for years the language of “getting rid of negative energy” while simultaneously sitting with the truth in my core that there is “no such thing as bad energy”- that all energy is useful in some way, somewhere. Shit can become compost with which we grow a garden.
I recently made an intense decision. I few years ago I might have said I made a bad choice, but the reality is I made a decision that allowed me to move forward in my life carrying less hatred at circumstances, less suffering, than I might have otherwise. I was given a gift to go somewhere I may never go again, and in doing so glimpse the beauty of that gift for what it is. I am grateful for what I was given, even if today the choice I made then would not be the decision I would make today.
This does not make the decision I made a bad one. Just not the one I would make today.
The same is true of energy. There is energy that does not serve me, just as there are choices that do not serve me. Today. Today I might want to encourage more focus, another day I might want to encourage more opportunities, others more growth. Today I am not encouraging more variety of opportunities in my life. Really, I’m feeling a tad overwhelmed in the blessings the world has given me, but thank you. Today, this energy we call “variety of opportunities” can go elsewhere, to those who want it. That does not, in ANY way, make variety of opportunities bad, or bad for me, or negative… just not what serves me today, in my choices today. Today I invite in strength, stamina, clear vision, beauty, love, passion, focus, openness, heart, clarity of communication, firmness, comfort, and more.
This weekend I invited in adventure, love, secrecy, bliss, visions, connection, re-feuling, and perspective. I got them, in spades. By letting go of my pre-conceived notions around certain types of bliss, the bliss arrived at my door. By letting go of the energy it takes to hide some of my truths, they came out and were understood in new to me language. By letting go of my fear of abandonment, pain and betrayal, I was able to sit there for those in pain, and to reflect back into my life those qualities that serve me. Today.
This weekend I danced in piss bliss. I moaned at the top of my lungs. I cried in a circle of lovers and they did not stop or flee.
This weekend I held a friends hand. I felt tears on my lips. I saw clarity between breaths. My heart and throat breathed as one.
This weekend I laughed out loud. I kissed drag queens, old friends, and dear allies in my journey of life. I breathed in new hope. I fell in love with myself again, laying on my back after a ritual and realizing my gifts are such a blessing.
In the past I’ve been mad at myself for how hyper analytical I can be. Yesterday, my doctor beamed, saying what praise my psychiatrist had spoken of me. She (the psych) had apparently said I was a complex case, one of the more complex she had ever met, and was pleased I had developed all the systems I have to be the productive, passionate person I was. That she felt my intelligence was one of my greatest assets, and my ability to clearly articulate my challenges in life made me a pleasure to spend time with. Wow. Ok, it also came with a strong request to have me stop seeing my councilor and others unqualified for my case, but still, wow.
So I breathe in, and think, in the example of negative energy. My intelligence, my analysis skills, they are a gift. There can also be too much of a good thing. In a dark room I watch myself fade away.
I see stars, rows of stars that caress across her hips. She lays next to me, then my head in her lap. Somewhere across the sky two beautiful men make love at my feet, lips to lips to toes to hearts shining. I doubt in myself, whether laying in a starry field is the right choice. I should be part of the world, I debate. I should, I should, I…
We get nowhere with shoulds. Shoulds do not stick. I am comfortable here. I will dance with the stars until they are done. I will watch the visions unfold like scrolls from the walls as their moans erupt. I lay and I take it all in. I breathe in beauty. I breathe in hope. I breathe out joy, and soon am back- wrapped in their arms, and on my way out the door after revelations of friendship.
Elves and demons dancing together. I am lit up with memory.
Hiding so much of myself has created layers between me and the world. This does not mean I will pour forth my darkness out of a spout from my lips to flood your heart, listening world. It just means I don’t hide. There is a difference. There is energy and power in secrets, but I can keep my truths and secrets alike without carrying a vault around me. I am vaulted, a high ceiling, and in my echoing chambers the words of your prayers scream to the heavens, a whisper is raised up high. You do not need to know all the truths of my high walls, the meanings of ancient tongues etched there, to appreciate it is a place of God.
I am doing an online Feri course, my responses to lesson #1 thus far, as posted to the list
So, I was having challenges with both the notion of “negative energy” (as I rambled about before) and the notion of evil, in the email’d homework for lesson #1.
I then decided to see if the book from veedub (Dustbunnies Big damn handbook volume 1) had anything further, and gosh, did it.
In Making Kala, specifically, it had her chant:
“Hekate, Kali Ma, Lady of the Three Roads and the Spaces Between,
Take my sorrows and turn them into coals for Hestia’s fire.
Holy Mother, purify me in spirit, in thought, in feeling, in action.”
She then discusses the idea of Shower Kala, of instead of working with a cup, to work with hands in a heart-shape over the chest.
In both, is the idea that Making Kala is not over until *after* urination post-rite. That every act of excretion is a sacred act, as is eating and sex.
This summer I did a rite at an event called Dark Odyssey in Maryland, where I had individuals ball up into an energetic seed that which did not serve them any more, but might serve the world in some way. I have always been baffled at the word “dirty” as meaning “bad” in our culture. Dirt is that in which seeds grow, possibilities take place.
Thus, in my reading of the exercise, what is being asked of me at least is to take the energy that is not serving me, and in the water transform it into that which can serve me and the Work I do, or, if it can not, to lay it at Hestia’s feet as coal to fire up the hearth of universal love and potential.
It was also very useful to me to know that this work was once done with a raw egg instead of a visualized egg. The idea of consumption in this way makes more sense to my brain for some reason.
I am still unable to do the HA prayer, however, due to my personal notions on the word evil. I agree with the concept of the prayer, but as in all humans, certain words illicit certain reactions from me… and good and evil are two of those words for me. I can rationally replace “evil” with “that which does not serve the Work I do for those I serve and my own true journey of my being in all its parts” and “good” with “that which serves the Work I do for those I serve and my own true journey of my being in all its parts” but gosh, thats a mouthful.
In addition, I am uncertain at the following ideas as well for the HA prayer:
“You are the highest, best and most perfect part of me” – if the three souls of our being-ness are each of value, and all must be heard/in balance to be able to be aligned, and so many folk seem to poo-poo the power of the Talker (who is also the Listener)- why are we lifting up the Godself on this pedestal? I concur with the notion that the Godself is our connection to the conduit of the divine, and that we are each divine. But that it is the best and most perfect part of me? Sometimes it would seem that all 3 souls have perfection within them, and only with all three working together can I acheive my highest, best, most perfect self.
As a fabulously queer human, I’m also a tad off on “all 3 souls are straight within me” – when honey, so not true. Thus, I’m using the term aligned.
So yeah, just a few thoughts and uncertainties I am chewing on today, having sat down to do the first lesson’s homework round 1 yesterday and found that though agree with the concept of each, the language is off for my personal use. I agree that acknowledging my Godself, my Talker and my fetch, and making each aware of the other, is important for a daily practice. I agree that taking energy that is not serving us and processing it so it can serve us in our Work in this world is really bloody important. I agree that asking for what my fully integrated and aligned selves know to be best, over my rational mind’s perceptions of what I might need, is also important.
The rest, I’m uncertain on. Thoughts on re-writing all prayers to serve our lexicons? Is it important in these practices to say specific things, or do specific activities?
24 February 2010
Add your sorrow to the coals…
Walk between the worlds, bravely down the candle road.
The light will lead you deep into your core.
Move into the center, add your sorrow to the coals
with incense rising, steady as a prayer.
Though the heart is heavy as the dance is burning down,
may you raise your eyes and never bow your head.
We are not alone.
-SJ Tucker, “Come to the Labrynth”
Friends are in pain. Ends of relationships, ends of lives, turnings of pages lost between the lines of a life so well planned. I breathe in, center, breathe out, send them love. Across the world and a prayer away I send my love to those living in situations of domestic violence tonight, to those who do not have enough food, for those huddled around fires in the cold.
23 February 2010
Repeating Circles
I find I am repeating circles again. Before time was like a spiral, stepping in and out of the timeline like a song, looking back fondly. But no, I’ve been here before, and it was not from stepping sideways. Ripples, bubbles in the timeline. Kisses on the stars and goat eyes staring back. Gold and reds painting a sky before me.
Its hard to breathe in the sky between skies, the time between times. I find myself foregoing breath, taking to the water instead. Gills open up, and I stare out beyond the killing room, beyond the patterns, and breathing in this beautiful thing called the dark.
You are whispers in the open sky
You are hope writ upon clay tablets
You are unbaked, unpreserved
You can rot and mold and die
I see him before me. Heavy hooves shake the plane, gold slitted eyes stare back. He smirks, and strides ahead through the mud.
There the offering. There the blood and pain. There my hope set aside and orders fall from another time, another circle, onto my tongue. I am an operator of a heavy machine. Somewhere the echo of an author who claims not to be a vessel… better to work, than to be minted.
I bend my back before him. He looks at the feast before him. Bugs. Bugs beneath his hoof.
Flies swarm and I can taste his cum in the air, her firm breasts standing erect against the ravages of time and denial.
I can flip between them, these two goat-legged ones. One stands over a cube, lady of the north, children of a thousand hungry mouths. Her tits are weaned dry, wrinkled and in pain. She glows green. He on the other hand is erect, timeless and timely. He is both genders, he lives in human heartbeats and breaths. He is here, now, on this earth. She waits in the cave, for those who seek her wisdom.
Pause. I feel a claw on my shoulder and know with a smile the rage of the open sand planes. The laughter rakes through me, and I know I still have work here. I rot and yet this meat still has work. So much work. Perfect work, beautiful Work, no matter where I might flee from it.
Somewhere Mama’s message echoes back. Gender transition? Doesn’t matter, get on with it, get it out of the way, get back to the Work. I open up my eyes and it is writ there upon my pelt. Job change? Doesn’t matter, get on with it, get it out of the way, get back to the Work. Wherever I go the Work will be there, for me to do. I pull at the collar, go back to being comfortably owned after my tantrum.
I am the perfect beast for this labor.
In my imperfections I am beautifully carved for needs done, now, by those who use me. Mama leases me out, jobs need done, and I am not a Delorian as was proposed earlier today. I am not a rare show-car. I am a high powered work machine, even if my oil needs changed more often than most. I will bear the work, for it is what needs done.
It seems cartoonish. All the concerns. The gold paint on white. The tears and hallway screams. Its just another adjustment. Life is full of one more adjustments. And with each one, I fill another role. I twist and contort, I grow to match the wrinkles and gray I was meant for. I age into me, mature into the work, pick up another file and go. Energetic social worker, awe inspiring wonder maker, medicine man for a strange and curious tribe.
Between human and lover I find this thing called me, and he is a beauty. He can do this work.
Even in repeating circles, I pick up the thing left behind from last time, try again. Run the level one more time, this time with precision to notice what was not noticed before. Do it better. Do it again. Better does not mean the highest score. It is a prayer to do the Work as the work needs done. And sometimes it needs done in pain and fetid suffering. Sometimes we learn and acquire and grow and become able to understand by stepping sideways. Step sideways, peer back in.
A whole world becomes a flat surface, two dimensions become aware of three. I dream of four, of six, of a coiling serpent that laps up the heart of love and becomes manifest within me.
22 February 2010
Through the Mire
15 February 2010
Lupercalia, when the Dam Broke.
I admit, I want to be a grumpy old man when it comes to the event I just attended called Lupercalia. I wanted, when I signed up to teach at a kink conference in Edmonton, Alberta to be able to say afterward “yes, they tried, but really… Lupercalia without Bull Pizzle flaggelation?” I wanted to be able to bitch about flying to north Canada in February.
Why? Because there is a part of me that wants to be a grumpy old man. Who believes so strongly in the power of storytelling that he is fueled by bitterness and snarkiness from time to time. I don’t necessarily like that about myself, but I am aware that the grumpy old man is in there that says “back in my day” when someone will listen. He was so convinced he would get new stories for his “I lead such a tough life” file that I swear on certain bad days doesn’t exist, that I layer up with false humility and play off as me being so enlightened…
He went back into his hole with a hungry belly, for this weekend blew me away.
The grumpy old man in my scull was so convinced he was right on Friday- a toga party, a BDSM 101 class that mentioned practices that were far from 101… but saturday opened wide and my world shifted. My entire world shifted.
This weekend I had delicious brain sex with Dylan, an amazingly spiritual and passionate man who I sat around and had deep connections on faith and wisdom and babylon 5. I opened up into the smile and laughter of his wife B whose hat I won in the silent auction. I got to lock lips with one of the event producers and feel like a small creature next to him.
I was blessed with Muppetry in the forms of Anika and the return of UU church magic, and with the amazing Tillie who flew in my ropes in a transcendental muppet chakra revelation scene and muppet encasement. Yes, that does make sense.
I got to flirt, flirt so good. And when parts of the flirtation left me feeling out of sorts, people putting their feet in their mouth and gnawing- instead of my oftentimes mental script of “and THIS is why we put everything on the table from scratch, so we don’t get emotionally attached and then dropped when folks find out something they didn’t know” I stopped and breathed. I realized it really had zero to do with m. And I was able to take my frustration to fuel some amazing zingers that attracted other hot men and hilarious women who were drawn to the guy who stood up for himself and was himself, not apologizing for who he happens to be.
Though, it pausing, I see how far I need to go on that front. Just as Dylan has the habit of playing down his teaching, I have the habit of putting all my flaws up front so folks can walk away early…. things to think on.
I was blessed with the beginners ind of one amazing man and one beautiful couple, finding themselves amongst our world. I melted into a puddle of heart goo at seeing BootPig go somewhere primal and touching. I had raw hot primal unchoreographed connections with Asher and Scott, co-punching, human energy conduit stuff, and letting my tongue linger as I was pulled in tight…. yes please.
But the piece that blew me away was Edge. Arli and Edge at Lupercalia- the tales that spin off my tongue like Darmok at Julad, at Tenagra.
There are certain scenes and people that shape us in our evolution of self.
We do scenes because they get us hard/wet/get us off.
We do scenes because it is fun or because we can.
And sometimes we do scenes because it is the work of the soul and we have no other choice than to heed that call.
I can not speak for what happened for either of them, but I can speak from the front row. I can speak from my head covered, shaking the words from my lips, prayers for our blessed dead.
Edge, in his Catharsis class, offered three routes. He could bottom, he could find someone with their own network (he had to fly a few hours later), or there could be no demo. the air was tense. And then it all came to pass.
Someone very dear to the Vancouver Women’s community… and to SO many others, died unexpectedly in an airplane crash in November Her name was Catherine, and her hair hung like a silver veil around a face that told me the world of beauty I imagined… it was real. Catherine opened her home to me. Catherine inspired me. She still inspires me. I greive for my loss of a friend that was and was to be. I grieve for buds cut down. I greive… and before closed fists and screams of words I wanted to obliterate from his vile tongue that was so needed to lance the tonis from our hearts… I bore witness to greiving, I greived myself, and the tears rolled through the room.
Primal howls. I remember her. I remember her.
One of my challenges in having so much family, so much love, spread around the globe… is that I’m not there. I couldn’t bring cookies and casserole and cry on shoulders. I the case of Catherine, of Flagg, of my Grandmother Louise… I did not find out until a week later, an afterthought- because I was not there. I sit in spaces alone and try to greive, because though folks other places can get my wounds, they never called Flagg a fucker, never saw Catherine’s nervous laugh, never had my grandmother teach them how to blow bubbles in their soda or pierce their ears.
As a bard I carry the tales of my community on my tongue, and life immortal passes through the spinning of my words.
Arli and Edge, at Lupercalia. When the dam broke.
Another layer of healing took place as well, for me personally, getting to talk with Edge, truly for the first real time since his gun was in the back of my throat… but that is a tale for a different day.
For now I hold Lupercalia in my heart.
I sing the praises of Jim, Collin, and Dale. I sing the songs of Usha and Bonnie. I lift up the flat white spaces that require us to huddle together in hotel rooms and ball rooms. I toast to understanding wedding parties and easy bake ovens. I raise my voice and say that this work, this work is good. Blessed be to Faunus and Mars, to Juno, Lupercus, Lycaeus, Bacchus and Februus who watched over these workings.
For I was there… Alri and Edge, at Lupercalia. When the dam broke.
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