my friend JFP was informing me yet again of the 'art as healing' process yesterday (THANK U).
though ji has come a long way there are still many strewn-about bits of body, mind, soul, spirit health that could be more healthy--more-than-too-often i distract myself with externals in attempts to gloss over these aspects or begin to heal them, but not to persist.
the one thing that i seem to "get right" and "do right" is to create (there's no WRONG way to do this, see.) and it seems to solve/heal what ails me a little bit more each time.
seeing as i have a long way to go in order to feel a state of balance, though, it can feel like i am making no progress. or going backwards. or just plain going through the motions.
"not so," i was serendipitously reminded. somewhere in the back of my mind and path the art as healing jag really affected me. perhaps it was upon reading rollo may. perhaps it was upon witnessing jane goodall and the tenderness and intellect she used, both natural gifts, in her right livelihood.
it's pretty much a given that in my life, if and/or when i find my significant other, he will have to have achieved sainthood or be in line for such a great honor, because he will have to be patient, and somewhat blind to 3 dimensions. he'll need to see into this glass-art prism. he'll probably also have to have witnessed and conquered eclipses, and/or the ark of the covenent, not necessarily in that order.
knowing this makes the journey easier. for a while i was getting distracted with pursuing a co-conspirator in this journey but--i don't think it's that type o' party, folks.
"the artist's way" by julia cameron helped quite a bit. and the book(s) i'll write on the matter, i'm sure. i'm leaving out so many ("wild mind" and "writing down the bones" by natalie goldberg, sweet gayle brandeis' "Fruitflesh," and the like).
god's tornado and comic strip is showing me many many things as of late. and i'm listening as best as i can. head down, and such. for some time i was really digging the 'art as healing' vibe. getting the message out there to others, helping them unravel and untie, set aloose, purge, heal, recreate, rebuild.
back in the day (lights out, monitor aglow), mother used to ask, "what do you do all day? what are you doing?" friends, coworkers, concerned onlookers ask, "do you ever go home? do you ever go offline?" welp, yeah. but...marley sang, "so much things to say," you know? so little time.
constantly fighting the self-snuff urge back in the day, it set me to building all these anthills and forts and fortresses and guest houses. and word-birds. "lots of thoughts," a dear new friend told me the other night, "not much processing of them." i have to admit, from time to time i still stave off that urge. so sometimes i feel like it's my last day on earth--not always, but SOME days. as if i have a really important message to get to you, so that you, can perhaps carry the torch. perpetuate the lovestuff.
might be nice to reapply the salve to some of my wounds.
Azim Khamisa
(
who can be found at http://mp3.com/tariq
)
mentioned to me the other day during an interview that the soul can only grieve so long before it becomes a matter of diminishing returns. That, yes, introspection and grief is natural, but at some point, the soul must give back. Feed and replenish other souls. I might finally be getting to that stage (else I don't think I would have heard those words at all, see).
In "A Beautiful Mind," John Nash says, basically, 'yes, the ghosts are still with me everyday, but I no longer choose to acknowledge them or give them credence. Eventually,then, they give up. Die of starvation, as it were. '
In real life, John Nash reports that he no longer remembers his delusions (he healed himself of schizophrenia). Only faint glimmers now and then, but basicallly he has no recollection of what they were, who and how they were, when they are, and the like. I need to believe that something extraordinary is possible.
2003 might need to be the year of progress, then, eh? life, it's progressive. it moves forward, regardless. choosing to acknowledge that fact, might help me out more than a little bit.
I can hear the tablas and the sitars now. I'm on my way to an ornate feast, my newfound friends and family lighting candles, preparing my dress adorned with baubles, beads, gold, silver, brass, and starfire, their eyes wide open and receptive to light, waiting for me--newfound ingenue risen from the ashes--to arrive.
when she does you'll be the 2nd to know, 'kay?
j
though ji has come a long way there are still many strewn-about bits of body, mind, soul, spirit health that could be more healthy--more-than-too-often i distract myself with externals in attempts to gloss over these aspects or begin to heal them, but not to persist.
the one thing that i seem to "get right" and "do right" is to create (there's no WRONG way to do this, see.) and it seems to solve/heal what ails me a little bit more each time.
seeing as i have a long way to go in order to feel a state of balance, though, it can feel like i am making no progress. or going backwards. or just plain going through the motions.
"not so," i was serendipitously reminded. somewhere in the back of my mind and path the art as healing jag really affected me. perhaps it was upon reading rollo may. perhaps it was upon witnessing jane goodall and the tenderness and intellect she used, both natural gifts, in her right livelihood.
it's pretty much a given that in my life, if and/or when i find my significant other, he will have to have achieved sainthood or be in line for such a great honor, because he will have to be patient, and somewhat blind to 3 dimensions. he'll need to see into this glass-art prism. he'll probably also have to have witnessed and conquered eclipses, and/or the ark of the covenent, not necessarily in that order.
knowing this makes the journey easier. for a while i was getting distracted with pursuing a co-conspirator in this journey but--i don't think it's that type o' party, folks.
"the artist's way" by julia cameron helped quite a bit. and the book(s) i'll write on the matter, i'm sure. i'm leaving out so many ("wild mind" and "writing down the bones" by natalie goldberg, sweet gayle brandeis' "Fruitflesh," and the like).
god's tornado and comic strip is showing me many many things as of late. and i'm listening as best as i can. head down, and such. for some time i was really digging the 'art as healing' vibe. getting the message out there to others, helping them unravel and untie, set aloose, purge, heal, recreate, rebuild.
back in the day (lights out, monitor aglow), mother used to ask, "what do you do all day? what are you doing?" friends, coworkers, concerned onlookers ask, "do you ever go home? do you ever go offline?" welp, yeah. but...marley sang, "so much things to say," you know? so little time.
constantly fighting the self-snuff urge back in the day, it set me to building all these anthills and forts and fortresses and guest houses. and word-birds. "lots of thoughts," a dear new friend told me the other night, "not much processing of them." i have to admit, from time to time i still stave off that urge. so sometimes i feel like it's my last day on earth--not always, but SOME days. as if i have a really important message to get to you, so that you, can perhaps carry the torch. perpetuate the lovestuff.
might be nice to reapply the salve to some of my wounds.
Azim Khamisa
(
who can be found at http://mp3.com/tariq
)
mentioned to me the other day during an interview that the soul can only grieve so long before it becomes a matter of diminishing returns. That, yes, introspection and grief is natural, but at some point, the soul must give back. Feed and replenish other souls. I might finally be getting to that stage (else I don't think I would have heard those words at all, see).
In "A Beautiful Mind," John Nash says, basically, 'yes, the ghosts are still with me everyday, but I no longer choose to acknowledge them or give them credence. Eventually,then, they give up. Die of starvation, as it were. '
In real life, John Nash reports that he no longer remembers his delusions (he healed himself of schizophrenia). Only faint glimmers now and then, but basicallly he has no recollection of what they were, who and how they were, when they are, and the like. I need to believe that something extraordinary is possible.
2003 might need to be the year of progress, then, eh? life, it's progressive. it moves forward, regardless. choosing to acknowledge that fact, might help me out more than a little bit.
I can hear the tablas and the sitars now. I'm on my way to an ornate feast, my newfound friends and family lighting candles, preparing my dress adorned with baubles, beads, gold, silver, brass, and starfire, their eyes wide open and receptive to light, waiting for me--newfound ingenue risen from the ashes--to arrive.
when she does you'll be the 2nd to know, 'kay?
j
ginga_geezer:
my ex found Julia Cameron's book incredibly useful in sorting her life out - hard work, but it all seemed to go alright for her in the end. She dropped an unsatisfying career in new media, became a reiki healer, and it's all worked out for her.