Friday, August 14, 2015

conversation with depression

Depression is not an illness.  It is a way of organizing information.  There is not even objective meaning of "depression"; but rather a series of "symptoms" some, none or any of which can be involved.  Rather than lock people into some specious diagnosis, we could better look at what is going on in their lives and respond accordingly.
 
 
No matter your predispositions to this or that response to overbearing stress, much more generally useful than (legally prescribed or illicitly self-medicated) system skewing drugs would be learning better coping strategies.
 
For one:  Focusing on satisfying personal experience rather than looping into the pain of resignation and blame
 
Eventually, perhaps, the "scientists" will discover that correlation is not causation and the brain/body/soul is a fully interactive system. The brain activity associated with depression is the brain going through its processes to tell you what is happening with your system. The brain activity will change as you change.
 
challenge to depression
 
It's not my fault.
It's not my responsibility.
It's the world I live in.
I need to find a way to live in it comfortably.
 
Not the world "we" live in; the world "I" live in. We each have our own. It is the ecostructure which informs our programming.
 
It is not my fault: I did not create this world. I was born into it. It is the given to which I respond.
 
It is not my responsibility: It follows its own rules, not mine. I have no way to control, but can only interact. I have my own responsibility, which is to learn to develop and use my own resources, to take care of myself, to perform the roles that are mine, which will expand this world to include my own self-definitions.
 
To find ways in which to live comfortably in my world, even if they may (or may not) include a great deal of discomfort, is about finding the ways to express my true essence in joy and grace. It is pure waste to syphon off my energy into self-blame, self-excoriation, self-punishment. By focussing that energy into living comfortably in my world, I am allowing myself to emerge and expand and energize into ideas and actions that fulfill both me and those affected by the ripples.
 
I am talking about challenging depression, which to a large extent seems to be based on feelings of guilt and inadequacy.
 
My world is the world that I was born and continue to evolve from, the given background of everything/everyone/everymoment that affects and effects the way I come to understand who I am by contrast and comparison. It is the world of the social culture, the emotional relationships, the physical environment, the airwaves and lightwaves, the nutritional components of the foods I have learned to take in, the mass media and the personal conversations, the rules of conduct both written and unwritten, the pressures and erosions and movements that have formed my underlying assumptions and the structures in which they are housed.
 
What I am suggesting here in my challenge is exactly what you speak of as magick -- letting go of the old illusory order and recreating the self to encourage new metaprogramming which will be both freeing and expanding in a self-chosen direction.
 
If you do not like the space in which you dwell and move out or change it/your perspective of it, you first must understand that this is a space which you can leave or change, and where it is that you would better go/what changes you would better devise. What is the "symptom" and what the "problem"? I am saying the symptom is simply a misunderstanding of the placement of image and background; the problem is the denigration of the self.
 
We can not move out of the all pervasive background. We cannot control it. We can interact with it to create a better fit all the way around.
 
It (that is not your responsibility) is the world of everything that exists before, ahead, around you that has helped to create your mindset, your basic and consequent programming, your take on who you are and your place in that world. It is NOT your responsibility (my responsibility). It is not my fault. It IS my world. My responsibility, my need, in order to be the person who is ME, who fulfills my roles for the good of my life and ultimately the lives I affect, is to find ways to live in my world more comfortably. No contradiction. No victimization, rather a breaking away from victimization. The world is not fate to be mine -- it is the background for which I am the image.
 
I feel I am not communicating. Let me try from another entry point.
 
Have you ever been seriously depressed? I don't mean tragically unhappy, but that irrational paralysis that keeps you from being able to bear the thought of doing, being, continuing.
 
What is that thoughtstream, that blaring punishment just behind your eyes? What is that voice saying?
 
"You're fat! You're lazy! Stupid! Incompetent! Selfish! Nobody likes you! You're not worth dirt! You are committing the greatest possible sin just by existing. The world would be better off without you; and you would be better off without the world."
 

That is the world I am talking about. The world that gave you these ideas in the first place. That world in which you fit only most uncomfortably. Yet, it is the only world you know. It is the world that formed your knowledge, your permitted ways of knowing. It is all the rules and structure that have given form to your life. It is that harsh word from a stranger that you didn't understand, and how mom made you feel and dad had scared you, and the sly look as a schoolmate whispers into another's ear, a look aimed at you. Or, hell, it could be hell. It could be the people dropping dead around you, and what could you possibly do to make up for surviving. It could be a sacred promise you made to a dying friend that could never be fulfilled. It could be rape; it could be terrifying violence. But you got it wrong. You blamed yourself. And the reasons you got it wrong go back to that world, not to you.

Saturday, August 8, 2015

8/8/15

Exercise
 
 
Walk this expansive garden with me.
Don’t talk.
Don’t take up your thoughts
wondering what to say.
Breathe.
Walk freely.
Air out and in.
Imagine.
This magnificent garden,
colours alive.
What do you see, smell, sense?
Who is this you with senses,
with imagination,
with me
in this garden?
Who would you be, what would you do,
if time and space were infinite?
Don’t talk.
Imagine.
Walk.
Breathe.
 
 
 
politics
 
 
infinite regression of change and resistance
multi-rhythmed rhyme
singing into the winds of change
to move their vector more in line
with where we wish to arrive
 
 
 
astral vision
 
 
Mystery mists of history holy lightening heightening sky.
Desirous anticipation.
Early pinks ascend from eerie violets.
Sun’s lifting eye twinkles like a happy kitten,
tummy exposed for adoration.
Omens, prophecy, hope for enduring happy returns,
quests beyond horizons now observed.
(without gravity, how can we fall ... or love?)
Aching for stars, planets, infinite,
silent assent that means all is promised.
I touch a cosmic peak,
breathless at such altitude.
 
 
 
Generation
 
 
Infinite, eternal, these are words,
maps to definitions, not what is.
Creation never ends, never begins again,
not repetition but reflection.
Legends and runes.  Ritual regression.
Significant omens.
Ravens forsake flocks, ranges skewed.
 
In primordial recesses of a sigh
trembling hearts enact a pact of solitude,
invent machinations of separation,
journey through despair.
Sovereign brains evolve, adapt to dangers;
patterns that evoke anger, fear.
Scanning eyes, ears, nostrils
filter through parameters,
call out Warning!  Warning!
far too often, far too loud.
There is no guide, no authority,
none but me, repeatedly mirrored.
Each step, each succession
undertaken
in idiosyncratic interpretation.
What will become of all these "I"s
staring through, demanding
retribution, bare, raw justice?
Respectable explanation.
Rigorous notation.
Scores, codes, clocks, keystones.
Laws and theories developed to describe
thin segment of encompassment
accessible to sense and reason.
 
Early morning of soft savannah
wakens to cloud and mist.
Waft of tranquil distillation
soothing startled breasts --
Ripples quietly express
infinitely regressing
first cause
last effect.
 
 
 
I Have a Secret
(remind me when I flail)
 
 
Relinquish distorted burdens, proddings,
guilts detached from sticky past beyond.
As much as change is, permanence exists
as measured landscape.
Stories still stir primal wonder.
Hopes, wishes, aspirations, familiar allies
to focus change, focus mind within changes.
On reflection,
certainties of youth
acquire a different truth.
Re-direction creates a different view.
Revealed feelings new to introspection.
Not what you expected.
Different cues
mix into different moods.
There are infinite paths to imagine.
So many worlds – divergent time.
A kiss may awaken a queen
or set a crone to dreaming
or be seen as defilement of that most
pernicious kind.
Where we arrive, what bliss we find
outside the reach of simple limb extension
is not about up and down retention
or spiral twines.
Your eyes draw me,
they fill in the lines
with infinite perspective.
We breathe in expansive comprehension,
exhale,
design a widened sky to fly --
more beauty to infuse.
 
 
 
8/8
 
 
truth is not narrow
it is infinite
the narrow way
is fear's, or merely a tunnel
on the way to truth
 
find a quiet place
relax
let your mind drift and wander
fall into infinite awareness
take a leisurely stroll through
what feels good, right, beautiful
engage?
 
Beyond stratosphere,
infinite bliss,
the whole of the real.
Daring to explore pleasure, infinite awareness.
Leisurely share what feels genial, good, light.
 
Infinite muse lit lanterns take wing,
illuminate eternity.
Cells disperse out from infinite regression,
demand expanding territory,
redefinition, delineation, demarcation.
All the places of possibility
open to scrying eyes.
I am the universe of time and space

awaiting birth.

Tuesday, July 7, 2015

belated - Kala Snowflower

I just oh so late learned of Kala/ Ix'chel Neve's passing
My heart is drowning in tears
My eyes search for her blessing

https://om2317.wordpress.com/2013/07/06/enchanting-for-kala-snowflower/

Nuit Report: weekly astrology Feb 27-Mar 6: Full Moon in Virgo. Matters of "Ultimate Concern".

I dedicate this Nuit Report to the memory of Ix'chel Neve. A bright beacon of Love and Light in this world, who continues to open hearts and inspire even as she has transitioned to the other side. A free spirit, poet, and Sister who's openness and shared experience has been unutterably beautiful. We have collectively received a great gift in her, just by her existence on this plane, and she will be terribly missed by many. 

This week we have several aspects and events that invite us to strongly consider matters of “Ultimate Concern”. Venus makes strong contacts with the ongoing (and culminating) Uranus-Pluto square. We are called to ask ourselves what it is that we truly value—what will matter in the end when we question the meaning of our lives? Do we live in a manner that aligns us with what we truly hold with love, beauty, and value? 

The Full Moon at 14 degrees Virgo conjuncts Black Moon Lilith thurs March 5. This asks us to become integrated (or into integrity) with our passion, instincts and sexuality, connecting it with our sense of spirituality, love, and intelligence. We are invited to be more whole, more free. Why are we alive? If today was the last day, what would you most want to make sure that you did? Said? Felt? Loved? Experienced? 

“Do not be afraid.
The God is passionate.
The Goddess compassionate.
In Death prepare to live again
Come Spring."

excerpt from "Change"
Ix'chel Jaguar, October 2014. (C. 2014 , Michelle Neve)”
Michelle wrote poetry for over 40 years starting at the age of 7. She left 17 books in digital form spanning the years from 1997-2014 (as well as more in handwritten form). Here are selections from some her many poems. As of this writing her books are being edited and will be self-published in the early summer."
http://michelleneve.net/poetry/

Kala Joy reading Poetry at Beards of Valenccio - Aug 2013
Published on Mar 4, 2015
Kala Joy Neve (aka Ix'chel Jaguar) reading her own poetry at the Beards of Valenccio Art Salon on Aug 16, 2013. The 3 pieces she reads are In the Center, Wasp Dreams, and Cancer.

Directions from dreamtime:

Go to the same address
then down 1,000 stories.

Going back to the Beginning
before the beginning
when Nothing had a name

but everything had voices
for singing,

stumble upon a boy
alone in the forest
playing guitar
revealing such intimacies
you can only
watch sideways
hidden among leaves
as the music
takes you into
his whole.

Then run
deeper and through a violet door
between pine and stripped oak
and enter a gingerbread house
of lovers no longer in cages
where at birth they were welcomed
by a witch so hungry to eat
sweet innocence
but children can be tricky
so for thirty years
she's been slow cooking
on the flame
and the children are grown now
yet linger among the cookie crumbs,
holding hands, awaiting
the main course
and dancing circles
around the oven.

Then open the door slowly
and enter through
the hot embers,
clinging to your robes,
your conical hat burning away.
Skin and fat bubble
and burst, juices flow,
basted in your blood
made savory.
Through particalized eyes
watch as the Children
of Light wipe you from
their lips with kisses.

Back again
to the beginning.

There was a flute
and a mermaid playing
and her lover praising
her Beauty.
And everyone took turns
sitting on a golden ball
that bloomed petals
while each Buddha beamed
and miles away
a single voice
balanced on a precipice
not realizing
he was smiling
as he fell over the edge
scattering coins.
(c) Kala Snowflower

 

ENCHANTING (FOR KALA SNOWFLOWER)

Enchanting
(for Kala Snowflower)
Magical child, the world awaits you.
Not just this place,
any world you care to grace,
relate to, turn your lovely face to.
“We love you”
sing the winds, the seas,
the creatures large and small.
“We love you always”
Swing of exultation into the night;
you turn it to charming revelry.
Play that haunting melody.
It moves you
into a chance to name your trance,
to name us all
as we, before your eyes,
the skies will dance for you,
will open wide their hearts of stars.
Sparkling through the dark,
Shining into day.
You play.
All of creation joins voice to your song,
creating worlds of joy.

Friday, July 3, 2015

meandering around June 2015






Love bequeathed from when that passion,
that energy
defined me.


Dark urban streets
Yes, lamplight
Garish commercial lights
Traffic lights, head, tail,
mechanical commands.
But here, outside clear designation,
lightless, solitary, unnoticed.
Brave circuitous walk, forward
in quest of inspiration or fantastic
display.
Fun as sparkly spirit, chaotic amusement
within any mystery,
forbidden challenge.
Subways, bridges, city bones upon which
to drum, to explore
rhythm and blues.
Magic shimmers dimension upon dimension
without pause for delineation – so our eyes
must compensate, strain for context to ears’
ecstasy.
No flowers border soft frames of
child reminiscence.
Birds of prey, strong of eyes and claws,
fly in battle formation.
Damp birth at sunrise,
smell of fog, haze of summer.
Glass breaks, cuts, shouts
awareness.  Sand endures,
silently aware.


Specificity
Clear, imprecise imagery
Surreal in context, part
of a grander scenario.


7/3/15




Our physical dependencies require
interaction with our environment --
no option to survive inert, alone.

We can profoundly love
creatures of other species;
hate and vilify creatures of our own
divisive minds.


7/1/15




truth is not narrow
it is infinite
the narrow way
is fear's, or merely a tunnel
on the way to truth




Turning together
attention spun
whole of cloth woven in
pretty patterns we approve,
jump in like rainbow puddles.
Humanity is cruelty.
Enforcing God's Grand Plan.
Which God demands?
Such brutal sacrifice
to prove to continue, to
command.  Mechanized paradise.
Steps locked in painful numbing.
Dance rather than flail or
be damned.


6/30/15




merry meet, merry relation as query of council.
shamanic revelry dance into clarity, ecstasy of
celebration.
dazzle, delight, derive concordance
within, all through, waves and particular memes,
oracular voices sift dreams, demands, most valued wishes.
drunk, spirit soused, sodden with song’s soar and dive,
ever reviving,
all-ways finds thriving a reach to release.
soft warm rays, rain of lotus petal purity enriches
fragrant earth.
notice, dustmote whispers, sleek new leaves, scents sublime.
there is more fortune than fear, more leisure than pain.
breath of gaiety, pleasure’s refrain lifts eyes, minds, hands.
Listen.  Hear our sound measures.  Reverberate serene eternal
Peace
Touch grace
Crave and Be Blessed
Crave and wander, invoking hallow’s spell
Passion
Ease
Attention
Care
Essence


6/26/15



Obdurate iteration blinks
light to dark; dark to light.
Well past numb regard; far too familiar
(overplayed) to take seriously.
Explore the joke, jocular exercise of mind
and heart within aghast backdrop.


Ever eternally, some elegant precipice
just at the edge of view


Purposeless circumstance
wears and weakens
eclipse’s focus


6/24/15




Struggling
to self-explain.
No, not War of all within all.
Not blind crawl for tactile sight.
Rising, tentative, toward expected
light, bit of coded color by breeze
of odor, by siren sound, pain to distract,
puzzles to attract,
thunder to scatter.
Self-explain raindrop rainbows,
magical shine surrounds,
persistence of promise to
astound.
Ignorant destiny, porous well
absorbs atmospheric poisons to seep,
leech, become sacred secrets hidden
tunneling sand.  Revered through ages,
weaknesses disguised as imperatives
to succeed.



We hate those we learn to disrespect
every day.


When the pain of others gives you too much
suffering to enjoy.


That simple feral core.
Is it yours as well?
Called id, shadow, hell
or more than fearful mortal coil,
Sensual essence, what is.
Cellmates teach by example, survive
tricks of trade, consensual filing down.
Grasp fair gossip – useful lies, sly advice;
naught to trust but all contribute truth.
So much to persuade this tide of youth,
that stealthy commerce, dependent on
confidant guesses, crafting assurance.


Religion is made of givens – science of mights.


How say this feeling?
Unreality, hypnosis memory,
numb tingle not of body nor mind.
Descending on breeze of dark dissolve,
no thing dependable
for consciousness to cling.
Always wandering fantasies outside
my window frame, awed in transit,
without resistance,
sans value.  Blind air open
to interpretation, to shady willow,
gargoyle gate.


Song of Sun and Earth
Driving beat of nature’s grand
choreography


6/19/15




fine, be a "hawk"
go to war with the other hawks
in a hawk war stadium
kill each other off
to cheering crowds
all the blood and glory you so
badly crave


6/6/15




people who like fear can find plenty to amuse them
people who like hate can find plenty to amuse them
fear and hate are not issues, merely distracting amusements
Make Peace The Issue
find your way
enjoy




do we?
live like undead slaves?
do we only move as directed,
never dance freely in a whirling wind
never touch finger to foreign finger for
a thrill of acceptance?
never sing from music assimilated within
from all the painful days swirled among
excitement of release?
do we not breathe and inhale odors
strange and calling to arcane desire?
do we not express, even if in catechized
expletion?
do we not wander, unsure but willing to
be amazed?
do we not wonder if a chance not taken
would return and ask again if we are ready
or wonder if we can become that well
of wishes swimming merrily, bubbling up
to burst, disperse, revise, make us wiser
in our ascent?


6/5/15




How does one act an age?
Expressive movement seed to tree
old tree creaking in midnight wind
mountain craggy and abiding
stars in transition -- novitiation.
Or soliloquy, interweaving dialog between
montage of generations?
Maybe we act out one age or another
Daughter  Sister  Mother  in relation.
Or still against a whirl of dust and cloud
act not aloud; feel internally ebb/flow eternity
act of evocation


6/4/15




Justification for application of pain
Clamor for humiliation


Images that stay.  Music that accompanies
a day’s melange of duties.
Reminisced fragrance of roses,
variegated reds, outside, below,
some neighbor’s garden.


Abundant hate for all,
exceptions few, on occasion,
who amuse for the moment,
or over and over.

People exhausted – too much,
everyday never stops
no time to feel ... real.
Apocalypse, final judgment,
let it arrive, may none survive
to uncleanse the earth, death of
procreation, provocation to inflict
infection.
No sin, no power of remorse.
No predetermined course.
Responsibility a form of guilt.
And the guilty must pay, retribution.
Ruined life to ruined life until generations
cease.
Couldn’t we be friendlier, reach out in peace?
And risk ridicule, rejection, painful oppression
under gun, stealthy eyes.




6/3/15




As in unprotected wild, darling of parasites,
insidious predators within.
Siphoning lifeforce for a livelihood.
Eating pitilessly, weakening, diseased so no
noble foe dare deign to coup de grace.
Spat upon as spoiled goods despite
or because of inability to self-defend,
ignorance of innocence.
Slut without inebriance of sin.
Send from us, condemn harlots of fate.
Hate starts here
-- fear of contagion.



Poetry is part of the pattern of who I am.


And the sky.
And the breeze
wrinkling the trees.
And the red-pink-blue of sunset, so late
these endless evenings.  Spring, they say.
Dreams of younger days.
Terrified because no safe world awaits,
gives continuity.
A girl reminiscent of lilacs.
Sweet, subtle, succulent,
velvet and blue like secret sky scape.
Her awed adoration feels true.  A symbol
of innocence strutting so valiant, so brave.
Never to know or be known a moment more.
Awakening forever such sweet sorrow.
From what might have been if dreams could be covers
for transposition, doorways that might be forever closed
from that opening path beyond.
Apprehended by vision so vivid.
Breath and bone hold séance, decide how to align.
The background sounds, worries stuffed down to allow
flights of sanity to perform.
Ground to stand when ephemeral wings fail,
dissolve to clay.
“Who are you?” the stranger peers with glassy eye.
Hurry on, heedless of direction.  Bemused feet waver,
push off, rise.
And the sky.



Serene pool, mountain clear.
Seated on sun-warmed, age-smoothed stone,
pure in replete wonder.
Seeking silence, purposeful wander through sacred
woodland allowed within civilized structured plan.
Moving consciously alone, to find quiet refuge.
Hidden, beyond foliage thicket, ambrosial vision,
blithe flowing river.
Immerse, swim, be --
perfection.

Friday, June 19, 2015

Summer Love?

Human Nature
 
 
Raging winds.
Cataclysmic connections.
A wild ride through ever disintegrating times.
Can we assimilate where we've been?
Ancient footfalls inexorably emerging into
battering rams, explosions, fiery projectiles,
grief, despair, immolation, utter destruction.
Can we feel the pull into the maelstrom,
powers rip our being into basic components,
the essence of nature?
Perhaps there was/is/will be
a time of peaceful reflection,
hoped for abundance,
shared joy and laughter,
ecstatic attainment
moving higher through an upward spiral,
feeling so good, so free, feeling so loved.
Perhaps it is just here, around an unseen corner,
ever available to those who can perceive,
let go of misperception and it's
pull of hate, push of shame.
Perhaps the only solace is in stolen moments,
the vibrant taste of summer wine,
the innocent joy of uncomplicated affection,
the pure sensuality of passionate dance.
Perhaps these will tell us,
if and when we stop to listen,
will lead us to the promised land.
 
 
 
 
Be(gin)ing
 
 
Soft Summer night.
Far drift of stars; open carless road.
Kicking up bits of stone and dust.
Saying:
I could be anyone.
I could start here.
 
What is beginning?
Aware of the first rays,
conscious aloneness.
Summer is harsh on
fragile skin, newly opened eyes.
 
They catch on eager forays,
studies in elucidation;
simple truth hidden in rules,
squalid mine-like cages, punishing
rewards that bind and itch.
Beginnings are not the point.
They are portals, not the
mystic river,
the sand so burning insubstantial,
the forest enchanted in
eider and lace.
Beginnings never warn of battle
flame or drunken dares.
They only promise vague
adventure, valiant possibilities.
 
A brief eternity before dawn,
supplicating the night sky for
solace, this soft moment before 
an unmarked road
to ride along home.
 
 
 
 
Rainbow Shop
 
 
And she sold me rainbows
shining gaily 'cross the window
windchimes in light.
And she smiled me daisies
and bursting bright blooms of summer.
And she told me, maybe,
if you're looking in
the right direction,
a miracle may grace your sight.
And I beam,
dancing
into the day.
 
 
 
 
Song of Sun and Earth
Driving beat of nature’s grand
choreography
Call for the cheer that carries carefree souls. 
Stars far from here guide our craft home. 
We've made our career a matter of energy. 
Sing of Summer surf, held close to mystery. 
Undersea caves cradle chests of gems, shining like starlight.
 
 
 
Beautiful child, enrapt in wonder
cradles a ball of ladybug colors
swaying to music, smiling to play
growing through summer's most perfect day
 
Singing to the Chorus
 
Getting warmer.
Days numbered by barbarians.
Travelers rush in to conquer.
Taken to a longer view,
tumbling through the ages ~
Sundials exchange for
binary spiders click-clock,
tabulating the enormous summary,
what has gone before.
The reality of childhood, striving creatures
pull upward from bootie straps,
scrambling for a place in the pile
near enough to top
that derision, pouring downward,
obliges them to only the fiercest of Lords.
Merry tots spend fallen pocket-change of
dollars flowing upward.
Old games reign under the big top.
Solemn children throw glass stones from circus stands,
bet on which clown will full face as disaster.
Speak in tongues of evil, o' my children.
Church Fathers swear to the blackened sky;
cold, withered Mums hope for a crust
of noblesse oblige.
Evil is the providence of Satan,
cloven-hoofed, prancing in the circle's
centerpoint, playing the pipes of Pan.
Oceans of blood boil.
Leading edges swelter, crisp into
conflagration.
In Summerland children play, frolic to
rollicking drums and reeds.
Naked under beaming Moon and starlight laughter,
merrily we act out tales well-loved by All.