Do, be, do, be...

"The problem with our country is that we seem to be more concerned with what people do for a living than who they are." -Uncle Snooky

So I'm having a bit of an identity...crisis? I'm not sure that's the proper word or even term though as it reeks of dramatic overtones. The feeling I'm attempting to describe is more like a gentle gnawing akin to when you're trying to remember something, its on the tip of your tongue but your brain hasn't made that connection just yet. And it's fucking annoying.

While watching a tv show last night there was a scene in which the "master" says to the student something along the lines of "you're nearly at the completion of your mission. As you know, it is vital that you review where you began, why you began and what you've accomplished in the duration." This exchange (obviously) stood out to me.

When I made the decision to leave New York, I wasn't sure where that choice would leave me job wise and I now find myself shrouded in conflicting thoughts musing to myself about what it all means. I agree with my uncles statement above, and yet for the entire duration of my participation as a working being, I always took the utmost pride in my job. I wore whatever the title was as some sort of accolade to my existence. Yes, it's very much an ego thing but I felt proud with each proclamation: "I am a counselor/teacher/biologist/personaltrainer/makeup artist/bartender" I've had 1 job in 20 years that I did not immerse myself in wholly. 1 job that I didn't love in some capacity. 1 job that was, just a job. It lasted 2 months and I loathed every moment I spent there.

With no means of consistent income since late September, I've had numerous voices from various sources advise me that a job can just be a job and to just get one. And then there are the other voices from various sources proclaiming that when you love what you do, it's not work at all. #ilovemyjob #followyourheart Along with the fact that I suppose I've been spoiled to some degree. The amount of money I've earned per hour has risen successively with every single job I've held. Until now.

Venus goes direct today. She has been retrograde since December 21st and frankly I'm a bit surprised I was able to gain employment at all while she sat in her corner prompting everything she rules- love and money, or more aptly value, be reviewed. And as life would have it, just as she takes her first steps forward in every beings life once again, Mars has collided with my own natal Venus and Pluto. An orgasmic threesome that will play together until July. The fruits of which I will take great pleasure in birthing.

I want to devour my cake. What the fuck is the point of having something you cannot consume? Or rather be consumed by? I'm thinking it's all a matter of balance or temperance and that kinda feels like it'll be a theme this year.

I grew up in a household where my father owned (still does) his own business. He insisted on doing it all himself and has never hired employees. He loves what he does and perhaps that notion has been my strongest guide in shaping the way I navigate my life. Yet if one were to review our family life growing up, he was absent from many vacations and school functions as work nearly always took precedence. While I can't wait for the day that I hold a job I'm passionate about, that doesn't feel like work, I'm also becoming aware of the need for balance. My entire world doesn't need to revolve around my career.

Along with all of these feelings, I'm at a point where I'm trying to figure out how to reintegrate the facets of myself that have laid dormant while still maintaining what I've invested in for the past 10 years. I don't want to stop doing makeup. Yet solely doing makeup isn't fulfilling enough. For now, I suppose I'm off to a start of some kind. I'm working in an animal hospital 3 days a week leaving the other 4 open for freelance work. Tomorrow I'm shooting a lookbook with a photographer whose work I genuinely like and I'm hoping that this will possibly be the beginning of establishing myself in the SF commercial scene.

Career wise, this is all fantastic and lovely but it brings me back to my uncles statement and a scene from August 2010 floods my head. I am sitting on the futon in my living room and my two friends are sitting on the couch opposite me. "You're the caterpillar in Alice in Wonderland. Who are you?", states my twin. And there it is. The best answer I can muster up is that I am love. A malleable energy that shifts and shapes itself into what it needs to be at the given moment. A healer. A kaleidoscope of possibilities to those with vision. A flood of darkness to those afraid of their shadow. Welcome back to orbit Venus.

Cricket

"Now you HAVE to be like a statue with a smile. You're a rock in the water. Okay?" She smiled with her tiny fingers cupping my face, eyes serious as could be for few moments before throwing her little arms around my neck.

She is Cricket. She is 3 years old and we share the same exact sun (birthday) along with the same Arian moon. 17 years ago, Crickets mom became my boss and mentor guiding me through my teenage years. I'm not sure why but I'm always surprised when people remain in my life in some capacity, and their presence always affects me in a very deep way.

The parallels of life intrigue me. Last weekend I watched both Cricket and her 5 and a half - the half is important ;) - year old brother, Spyder. They were seated, eating their dinner talking about their favorite animals when the lights flickered. I had only been there for maybe 30 mins at this point and though I adore kids, I can't even remember the last time I was responsible for little ones this young. Spyder asked me why the lights had flickered and as he did so, they went out completely for about 10 seconds before turning on again briefly. Both kids immediately moved closer to me freaked, asking what was happening. I held Cricket on my left hip and Spyder with my right hand and we searched for a flashlight and candles. Of course, they went out again.



Spyder successfully remembered where a flashlight was and I tried to alleviate their fear of the dark through shadow puppets and talking about why they were afraid. Intriguingly enough, my own most potent moment of discussing fear of the dark that has remained in my brain, happened with their mom 12 years ago. We were driving slowly through a forest in Yosemite at night when she slowed the car to a stop and turned off the headlights. Screams came from some of the other teens in the van with me but she had created a teaching moment and opened the door for discussion. We sat in that van in the pitch blackness of the forest for at least 10 minutes talking about senses and what made something immediately scary just because you couldn't see it. I found myself tailoring that conversation for her little ones that night. They slept in the dark, right? I reminded Spyder about the days before electricity existed and his affirming that fact helped to soothe his sister as well.

By the time the lights came on, their fear had diminished. We had found a headlamp that Cricket insisted on wearing while Spyder played with one of those light up circus toys. They both love kitties and each pretended they were one of my kittens, jumping on my shoulders. When it was time for bed, we all danced and sang to a barnyard song book. Spyder climbed into his top bunk and as I kneeled in front Cricket she spoke those words above to me before I laid her in bed. The potent wisdom of a sleepy 3 year old.

Shamanic Soliloquy

With each inhalation, the colors increased in saturation, expanding into waves that resembled a rainbow ocean around me. The curtains slowly parted and dots of brilliant violet light swiftly dancing around each other in no apparent order swam through darkness as an opening in a forest came into view. This meadowy riverbank was lush, astoundingly vibrant and spiced with scents that only nature is capable of providing. My eyes inhaled every shade of green I've ever seen and some hues I didn't even know existed. Purple and orange and yellow wild flowers speckled the ground and dandelion globes glowed while mountains framed the sky. My first step out of my skin was met with soft earth and warm grass. Walking beside the river, I swung my left foot into it every few yards until I just had to drink it. The clarity of the water was unparalleled to anything I've ever seen or felt or tasted before. My entire being began to crave the feeling that only my feet had experienced. I bathed in the river and made my way through the unkempt overgrowth to a giant Oak and laid on a grassy patch beneath it. Sunbeams peeked through the leaves and the breeze kissed me head to toe whispering secrets only she knows. There were no sounds to alert me, but I felt him coming.

I opened my eyes, sat up and waited. The top of his head came into view in the distance as he too walked along the river. The closer he got, the warmer I grew and as more of his being came into my view, tears began to stream down my face. The corners of my mouth jumped up and I felt my breath quicken. He beamed so brightly, so purely, so perfectly. His beauty absolutely overwhelmed me. Warmth transformed to heat which began to creep steadily, filling me head to toe. I looked down at myself to again find every single piece zipping around dancing excitedly.

He turned and made his way through the path to me and I saw his own dancing violet dots pulsating as his grin met mine. His eyes I don't feel I have the vocabulary to describe in entirety. All I can say is that they are bright and wide and warm and loving and comforting and they are home. I have lived inside them many, many times before this. He took my hand to stand me up, wrapping me inside of him the moment I had fully risen. With each breath and each beat our combined light brightened. This seemed to excite the birds as they sang and danced in the air and branches above us. The breeze returned to join the birds singing her song and the tree gently bowed, gifting his shoulder with a leaf. For hours we danced, we swam, we played and did as we always do. We loved.

He sat against the trunk of the Oak and I climbed onto his lap. Face to face, we spoke and he told me what I already knew."I'm not ready yet." I smiled. "Of course you're not. Nor am I." He smiled and we began to laugh at each other. The sun was setting painting the sky with clementine and pink. He gathered wood from beneath the tree and I gathered water from the river. Digging a shallow circle surrounding the kindling, I left enough space for us to lay down within if we wished and drenched it to keep the fire contained. With a stick in his hand touching the one in mine, we set the fire ablaze. As the sky grew darker, the fire grew warmer and we laid for hours watching the flames. The moon rose and everything seemed to awaken once again. The fire had flooded my eyes with orange and now glancing around they indulged in hues of indigo. We sat up to face each other and as I took in the newly painted surroundings he took my hand and held it open towards him. In my palm he placed a conch shell and smiled. He kissed my lips, my nose, my cheeks, each eye lid and my forehead lingering at every spot for a few seconds. His head then rested upon my chest and he fell asleep, fingers intertwined with mine. I fell into the rhythm of our breaths as I watched the moon continue her journey before surrendering to sleep as well.

Theta

My dreams were so incredibly vivid last night that 12 hours after waking, I can still smell them. (Insert giant grin here)

After writing about song and dance something didn't sit right with me. It still doesn't but I'll let it bubble until it completely boils. Last night I came across an article on my facebook feed discussing the types of brain waves and how to manipulate your own through use of sound. Of course with sound literally on my mind, I had to read it. They included youtube videos demonstrating those waves that generate a lower frequency thereby either inducing sleep, or dreams or dreamless sleep- whatever state you wish to choose. So I dabbled. I've been dreaming heavily, but only remember snippets upon waking. While I'm certain there's a beginning I don't recall, and an end that was cut short by choice as it was time to wake up, there were 4 very detailed "scenes". I remember the lighting, the feel on my skin, the scent, the taste, emotions, peoples faces, words spoken to me, words I spoke, shapes, colors...e v e r y t h i n g. I have been yearning for this! Needless to say I will of course partake tonight as well.

Sound was also presented to me today by way of a spirit animal and now that I'm writing this, I realize the last time this animal came to visit, all the animals present in my dream last night were there at that time too. Along with the fact that the last time I had a dream as vivid as I had last night, (s)he, showed up right afterwards. Sound and patterns...what is a song but an audible pattern of some sort? Today I was given very clear instructions to sing loudly and boldly.


January 7th
Utilize the veil when you wish to sail.

Song & Dance

A bird doesn't sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song.

The more I move, the dancer within just seems to channel herself. I found myself stretching up onto my toes and twisting and twirling as I worked the other night. I found myself possibly too delighted in disturbing the early morning silence as my boots rhythmically clicked away at the pavement while walking to the train for a shoot. In the kitchen cooking, I found myself tap dancing a routine I learned in 1996 and performing pirouettes in triplicate as I waited for the water to boil. Dance has been in my blood since birth.

Though there are moments in time where I exist as a chatterbox, flexing my vocal chords is still something I struggle with. How does a being who is fluid in movement learn to utilize that same capacity for fluidity into sound? How does a dancer learn to sing? I played the flute for a time. I still may be able to read music if I tried. I played bells and I sang in choir when I was younger; our group of 5 even won an all city competition. I have always had an ear for sound. I can match a note I hear on a keyboard with ease but when it comes to producing my own sound I often struggle.

Yesterday I remembered being knocked in the throat while playing football and though it rendered my throat somewhat damaged momentarily, my movement was what mattered. I was swift and caught the ball. Movement, at first glance seemed to supersede sound in importance. Whales came to mind earlier yesterday before the football memory and they very much sing and vocalize. Yet their voice is also a means for echolocation, much like the bats I saw feeding later in the day. Their sound is what guides their movements. As a dancer, is my dance actually my song? Perhaps as my voice has become so silent externally, it's become mostly internal and there isn't really a need to learn to "sing" at all...




January 6th
I was a dancer all along

Interception

Lazy day. Thoughts of movement and sound. Watching football and reminiscing. It used to be my favorite game to play. I still remember getting knocked in the throat by the point of the ball as I intercepted it while playing at my first job as a sports camp counselor. The wind was temporarily knocked out of me, but I had succeeded in fucking their game up. In middle school I loved nothing more than playing with the boys after school and dragging them into the mud. Meanwhile they were all too scared of hurting "the girl" to tackle me. Movement and sound...I watched bats feeding at dusk today.


January 5th
I can't wait to have a bed to make and lie in.

Windcrafters unite

"I have this really weird connection to the wind."
My heart jumped.
"What's your spirit animal?",she asked after sharing her wind stories. As I shared my understanding of the difference between totems and guides, a raccoon appeared outside the car and we both laughed.

Last night was freezing by SF standards yet I felt so warm. I've had several "best" friends over the course of my life and it's never been an adjective I've used loosely. Much like spirit animals, some friends are temporary guides and others, the "best" ones, seem to be with you for life. They're like the pieces of yourself you love the most and everything you admire in a person that you don't necessarily embody but want to all rolled into one.

As I sat across from the woman whom I had been tied to at the hip from 13 to 17, everything had changed and yet nothing had changed. We hadn't really spoken in a few years and have probably seen each other no more than 20 times since we graduated high school many moons ago. Yet there was no getting to know each other again, no need to redevelop any bond, just a pure flow of her to me and me to her. We only spent a few hours together but that time had a sacred quality to it leaving me feeling refreshed. It was a nice reminder that I still have non-blood family here too. And as I mentally scroll through the various friendships I've had over the years that are no longer, I realized this one has lasted for 20 years and that makes me unbelievably happy.


January 4th 1pm
And then I realized it was her. She was in the wind.

Expression of Self

It was just about 2 years ago that I sat in front of the camera and froze, nearly paralyzed. The room was silent after several minutes of fussing around about lighting and the silence along with the feeling of 3 pairs of eyes focused on me ignited a bit of a panic attack. Of course my reactions are generally held within so I sat, still, glancing over at the only pair of eyes I found comfort in. The silence felt heavier as the moments passed and I just couldn't give what they all wanted. The idea behind all of this was an attempt to help me restart my youtube channel and the video clip was being shot professionally. When I recorded I was always alone. I set the camera how I wanted. I lit myself and the room how I wanted. If I fucked up in speech, I'd start over without the pressure of other people standing around waiting. It was something that was mine wholly and had a homegrown feel whereas this felt like a huge production and just felt wrong.



Growing up my mom used to joke that if I ever went missing she'd have no shortage of photos to show the police. This was before the digital age, when film reigned. As the internet was born to us common folks and community sites popped up left and right, my own digital imagery was born as well through fuzzy webcams and eventually my first digital camera. Somehow I stumbled upon Photoshop and spent hours playing creating designs, layouts, ads, flyers etc for myself and friends. Long before "selfie" was ever a word, I had no issues with photographing myself and using that image as somewhat of an art piece. I loved doing it. Where my mom, who hates to have herself photographed and will fight it at any cost throwing her hands across her face, views it as narcissism, I always used to view it as a celebration of oneself and the various ways that self can be manipulated. In fact, "selfies" were my therapy and artistic expression after chemo. Selfies were how I first learned to hone any kind of skill set with makeup and lighting.

In conversation with a friend a few weeks ago about blogging, she showed me her site, explained how her stats had slowly grown and asked me for my opinion and any advice. I told her that she was missing. She shares what she likes and other peoples creations giving people a sense of her style, but she is nowhere to be found in her blog. As I ran that end of year statigram thing for Instagram last week, I was shocked that all my "top 5" photos were of myself. Back in the days of Migente, Collegeclub, MySpace, Livejournal and even Youtube, I had no qualms about posting photos of myself yet in recent years for whatever reason I became extremely uncomfortable with who I was and only shared myself through photos on rare occasions - which though the viewer may have not known, were emotionally driven for me and I cherished for one reason or another. Though I won't begin youtube again until I have the means to produce to my standards, I must again become comfortable with myself and my presence. Which has been slowly happening in ways I never explored before thanks to a very trusted soul.

On my birthday I vowed to myself I would write every day. I haven't posted every day, but I've written. In light of rediscovering myself and regaining comfortability with my image and presence, I'm going to post a photo every day because I'm remembering that there's nothing wrong with celebrating oneself so why the hell not? Here are the last 3 days:


January 1st 4am
exhausted


January 2nd 1pm
Those days where I paint the sky as I please


January 3rd
There's certain ways the light always plays whenever you're in my world.

Midnight musings

I weaved my way through the flailing sea of bodies splashed with light and color, shrouded in sound and sweat, dripping with sexuality. Amidst the chaos, I mused to myself how well I moved despite how much time had passed. Though I was out of shape, in some way I am now even more precise with my movements than I was before. Surveying the crowd before me, this entire scene was my definition of an absolute nightmare while in New York and I was proud to be navigating it as well as I did.

I don't know how or why I came to feel as I did living out east but much like an addict who couldn't leave home without drugs, it came to be that I rarely left home without protection. Whether that protection was a hood for my head, headphones for my ears, herbs or any combination of crystals worn in my bra or carried in my pocket, I nearly alway had a defense mechanism on me. I always trust my instincts so I know these things were necessary to balance out the energy fields around me at the time so it amused me that last night enveloped in a sea of utter revelry and chaos, I didn't feel I needed any of them.

This isn't to say I've reverted back to allowing everything into my bubble though. I suppose my bubble just feels stronger organically as it is without the need for added assistance. It's an odd paradox as my body feels more tired - unaccustomed to this environment, yet my mind and spirit are strong enough to handle it.

Sunday a guy stopped me while I was working inquiring about my sexuality and "situation". Over the course of the next few hours he stopped me every opportunity he could in an attempt to gain more insight into what I was about and to sell himself to me. "How are you satisfied sexually?" While this question would have offended me in a major way in the past, I simply retorted that it was a loaded question and not appropriate to be asking. "But this environment is a sexually charged one." Looking around, I realized that what he said was true and that statement woke me up a bit. After spending years of my life laboring away at the club, it was an aspect I suppose I had forgotten as my purpose there 9 times out of 10 was simply to make money.

His statement and questions returned to my brain as I walked around working last night after having several women make the same inquiry. And then her words echoed in my head.
"I never realized how unfulfilling it is to be with someone lacking depth."
What did it feel like exactly? Explain.
"It felt like part of me was missing. I tried to share all of myself but she just didn't get it. She couldn't. She wasn't capable, so I just stopped talking. It was unbelievably frustrating once I came to the realization. I'm so happy you're back."

Her feeling is one I haven't known for years but I remember the frustration. I remember in some way feeling bad and almost...pity? That pity kept me beside the individual in some way for years. But once I finally let that relationship go, I was more aware of the quality of connection I desired and never settled for less.

As I worked last night, the last moments of the year brought to light how much I've changed. Walking through memories in a space that held so many, I was reminded of what I want, what I need and proud that I haven't settled. Where some seek to explore and live "freely" sexually, indulging in whatever or whomever their senses are delighted by in the moment, I'm now at a point where my bubble is strong and purposeful. I have spent years purging my spirit and don't want to create astral attachments based in momentary carnal attraction. I used to scoff at religion and the idea of waiting to have sex until marriage. I still scoff at religion and don't believe in waiting until marriage but over the past few years I've realized and directly felt the sacred quality that exists when you share sexual energy with a person. As a woman, to allow a person to physically enter me means that I am also allowing their spirit, their soul, their beliefs, their desires, their fears, their emotions, their feelings, their needs to exist within me. We essentially become tied to one another in the astral realm for a time. Through the act of sex, I make space for them to exist within me. As a selfish person, that's kind of a big deal in my world as I don't have time nor energy to deal with most people's shit. I will not risk attaching myself to anyone lacking depth for momentary pleasure.

Reflecting upon my growth, I realized I'm finally gaining ground again. I feel confident and comfortable and strong in my decisions and my existence. Part of me died last year and it feels like she's finally been laid to rest. I think I'll grow quite fond of her replacement.