Wearing the Cloak...it still fits

I just returned from the Day Out of Time Party. It was, for me, a mellow experience. Primarily surrounded by upper middle class matrons, I sat on the itchy grass and listened to the African drum combo, Hearling Hands, play soothing rhythms while I channeled my own healing energy into the earth.

It was an interesting experience because I really didn't know anyone, so I really didn't talk to too many people, though I did socalize.

It's been a while since I performed any sort of ritual, and sometimes I find them cheesy especially when they are have no tradition behind them. However, upon reflection, there is nothing quite like one made up fresh on demand, like bread.

We held a water ritual in which we sent our positive energy, prayers and love to a bowl of water in order to effect the water structure, via What the Bleep Do We Know. It was nice and I drew the Earth energy up through me feet, and Sky Energy down from above, mixed them together and sent it to the bolw along with 30 others. For a few moments I felt as though I had moved out of time (which was a goal), and merged my identity with the water, to become a drop in the ocean. All perspectives are one.

I was looking forward to a sip of the water from the bowl, but instead it was passed around so everyone could dip their hands and annoint themselves. I was a little disappointed, seeing as there was enough for a shot for everyone, but I made the most of the anointing, and rubbed a little into my eyes. There is no difference between inside and outside, between myself and the water, and so in the end it didn't matter, the charged water was a part of me.

Then after another short sit, I went home. I feel pretty good, though I wonder how much of it is the water, the drums and the anti-depressants. I suppose it doesn't matter the source. Feeling good is feeling good.

Hey you bums...

Have you forgotten to post? EA is still here...

Avatar of Change

I think I can feel the chemical at work in my head, reshaping who I am to be. At night there was lots of, for want of a better word, lightning as I felt fragments of myself sliding around into a new configuration.

Everyday is a new me, tied only together by the history of myself. Who would I wake up as? It was good question, and one that was there last night as I was disoriented 5 ways from Tuesday.

The evolution of myself over the last 8 years has been a strange one that has left me further from where I thought I would be. Slowly day by day, fear and negativity has crept into my life. Nature/Nurture doesn't matter as to the cause it's there. And even in the midst of a happy life with a wonderful wife, and a job, and new hobbies, interests and friends...the feeling of lacking persists. There is too much disconnect with how I view myself with how I actually am.

I should have consulted the 110 newly minted Doctors of Psychology before I put the pill in my mouth, but they look so cute. And they are yellow, so I couldn't stop thinking of the Stone's song, Mother's Little Helper...

As an update, I consulted several of them last night and they are pretty cool with it, though wary of course, of physicians over perscribing pills. They advise me not to go on anti-ADHD meds (of which I was recently diagnosed).

Last night there was no transformative feelings, but I went to bed very late and sacked out immediately, even if only for 5.5 hours or so.

So this is about the transformation in progress. As with all other things, more on this as it develops.

The Return of the Trickster

Order rules-all march to the sound of the single drummer.

Conforming constriction encircles the body and mind.

The Inner Eye witness the Soul's vast wasteland, crying out for thunder and lightning, for anything.

There is a spark of fire on the horizon. The dancing orange eye brings color to the desert

It is the Raven/Coyote brandishing the flaming brand

Look closer into the flaming metaphor

The chains are heating up, the metal is soft, one expansion is all you need

With the sound of a CLANK! you are free

A deep breath is gathered and...

The Owner rounds the corner (Right the fuck now, while I'm writing this) with job for me to work on, that I cannot refuse because though it is unauthorized, I have to do it because I'm not working on anything, and he's the fucking owner.

The Swift Foot of Control again stomps down on my chest, knocks the wind out of me and grinds me back into the mud. Rage blossoms up fueled by frustration.

The body is trapped, but the soul remains free to plot the next escape.

3 Chords and the Truth

That's what makes up Rock n' Roll. I have the 3 chords, but no rhythm yet, nor the truth. It's been ages since I've written anything other than a birthday card. Now I begin searching for The Truth. Time to leave the self and start looking outside while listening for the inner voice I have silenced for so long. Right now there is barren field, but perhaps with perseverance, there can be some new creation.