Far & Wide ...

We danced today. Far and wide. We danced.

We couldn't decide between the city and the sea, so we decided not to choose. As is often the case, the borderline sexual pleasure of Max Brenner's Italian thick hot chocolate brought us first to Union Square. What a treat, after three or four take-out trips to actually sit at the counter for the first time, and bathe in the chocolate wonderland.

Walking back to the car a few blocks up 14th Street, I had one of those encounters that can only happen in the city. This guy was hawking postcards for some comedy club, like you do, and when I politely smiled and kept walking, he yelled out, "Yeah YOU, beautiful German girl! You know you wanna come!" Just take a minute and think about how funny, and how validating that was.

To add a bit of variety to our city wanderings, we braved the confusing streets of Brooklyn, stumbling upon a lovely secluded neighborhood that almost made me feel I could live there, among the hipsters. Almost. Eventually we made our way to Coney Island, to see how the aquarium reconstruction is going post-Sandy. I was really looking forward to a Nathan's dog, but alas, they were still closed as well.

As the sun slowly began to come out, we made our way back through Brooklyn, then Staten Island, and finally back to the Parkway, so we could see the sea. It was fun, up at the Highlands lookout, to use the binoculars to see where we had just come from. (The old Astroland was clearly visible.) Then, though we really wished we could drive Sandy Hook, which is of course still closed, we made our way down to Avon.

Happy Cove was so very beautiful, as you can see. The tide was up and the water was coming over the jetty rather vociferously, so our time there was brief. We walked along the shoreline up to where the old pavilion used to be, before making our way out to 35 and the mall. We went to one of our Wednesday Movies (ie. movies that Bug can do without seeing) which this week was Beautiful Creatures, a Southern Gothic supernatural teen romance which I enjoyed waaaaaay more than I should have.

So, yeah ... far and wide. Now I'm tired. Now it's time for bed.

Cloud Atlas, Redux ...

It was another quiet, vulnerable day. My electric was still shot, which probably contributed to more than a little melancholy with regards to my absent Muse, who I've not had any meaningful contact with since the last Journey. Part of me wanted to go to the sea, to wander and feel the mad energy at the edge of the world, but I thought better of it. It would have been too much.

What I did do, though, ended up being more powerful, and actually has me filled with hope and beauty again. After hearing that Warner Bros. has delayed the Cloud Atlas dvd release until May or June, I decided to take matters into my own hands and *ahem* acquire a copy. I hadn't necessarily intended to watch the near three hour extravaganza, but I'm not surprised that I did.

After being so deliciously overwhelmed by it in the theater back in October, this second viewing was subtler and deeper, as you might expect. Since I already knew what was going on (as much as you can in a film like this, anyway) I was able to watch it differently, let it wash over me differently, and it affected me deeply, in a different way than it did in October.

What it really did, I suppose, was meet my vulnerable melancholy head on, as if to say, "It's okay to feel things deeply. It's okay to miss her. It's okay to know things you can't put into words." I'm still not ready to take on the world just yet, and I'm very glad I decided to skip the IAF salon in the city this evening (first time since July) but I feel better than I have in a few days.

And that's good enough for now.
Good night.

Shock To The System ...

Dear sweet lord, I am shot.

After that glorious day or rest and quiet yesterday, I was up at 430 this morning, to take E to work so I could have the car. In another outward display of my recent inner changes, I decided last week to return to laser hair removal treatments. My first one in over two years was at noon today.

It was so wonderful to see Allyson again, who was such a big supporter back in 2009. We talked about how our lives are different, and even though she's a Muggle, I opened up a bit about shamanism, as a way of explaining that there was more than one way to look at a dilemma she's facing.

All that being said, laser hair removal hurts. More than that, though, it really fucks up the body's electrical system. I admit I'd forgotten that part. After a treatment, I end up feeling very inner, very vulnerable, not up for loud noises or contact of any kind, really.

So I spent the rest of the day up here, for very different reasons than yesterday, while E and J worked, and E taught yet another packed yoga class. I feel dirty but I can't shower, so even though it's early, I think I'm just gonna go to bed.

The Quietest Day ...

Like the title says, it's been a long time since I had a day this quiet, this still.

E spent the day writing and returning to her Fly Lady practice. Bug spent most of a day besieged by some sort of weather induced vertigo. As for me, I barely left The Womb, putting a lot of energy into my study of The Great Work. I downloaded about a thousand pages of lore, illustrations, correspondance charts, out of print books, bibliographies and other reference materials to my iPad, instantly transforming it into the most badass Book of Shadows of all time. This, as you might imagine, made me very, very happy.

Honestly, I don't have much else to say. I feel rested. I miss The Muse acutely. Etc etc etc.

Good night.

Another Night, Another Show ...

After a return-to-form Saturday morning with Bug (in other words, after trying to be good for a few weeks, we got bagels) followed by an afternoon out with E (shopping for colored jeans and a sassy-bitch-shiny-red-faux-leather purse) BA and I had another gig this evening.

Unfortunately, it was only a few blocks from where our gig was last night, was not well promoted, and it was raining, so only two people showed up. Honestly, I barely minded. After all the recent drama that has been percolating in our local incestuous new age community, we really needed to have a gig that was just the two of us. Honestly, even if no one had showed, we were going to sit and play in the empty room.

The two people who did come, a young married couple, seemed to really connect with what we were doing, and we sang and played our asses off, and told stories, and it was exactly what we needed. Do I prefer playing for bigger crowds? Of course I do! Who doesn't?! But this had its own charms, and I was grateful for it.

BA & Mark invited me to a cafe across the street afterwards, sort of as a do over from last night's diner experience. So I had an alright hot chocolate (Max Brenner's has totally spoiled me!) while they had dinner, and we all got to talk freely about what's been going on. Mark is still the quietest guy I've ever met, but I do make him laugh, and that is always encouraging.

My shoulder doesn't actually hurt too bad right now, as there was no reason to play loudly this time. Still, I wouldn't turn Nancy or Kimma away if they were local and willing. I am sooooo spoiled.

Alright. Enough. A bit of reading then bed, and a (hopefully) quiet day tomorrow.

Kirtan Needs More Of These Things ...

"Le rêve est une seconde vie." (The dream is a second life.) - Gérard de Nerval

It would have been Edward Gorey's birthday today. He was a madman who wore fur coats, collected cats and was equally obsessed with ballet & pop culture. I read his books and my insides do strange and wonderful things. On some level, I'd like to think he would have approved of a day that began waking up from a dream full of hot sex with a gorgeous male tv star, moved along to an afternoon drowning in glam rock, new wave & cabaret (Roxy, old Eno, new Duran Duran, Meow Meow), which morphed into Alexander McQueen, French surrealism, Trent Reznor's new album (totally crushing on his wife's voice!) and Cirque Du Soleil having a performance in the city on my birthday. Now to see if The Muse is going to be able to go ...

After my private afternoon reverie, I am half surprised I didn't show up to tonight's gig in a feather boa and wearing too much eyeliner! I think kirtan needs more of these things! Nevertheless, it was time for our monthly community jam at the bikran studio, so once again I stood outside in the flurries, like the diva I am, while everyone else set things up. The upside of this is getting hugs and attention from all the friends and fans as they are coming in. To be clear, there is no downside to this. The gig itself was alright. Well attended. But one of our participants decided to bring a tambourine, which I will tell you he does not know how to play. Still, he was the loudest thing in the room, and singlehandedly torpedoed three chants. The other four had their moments, and there were prasad brownies, but my other Thai massage expert is still in Thailnd, so my shoulder hurts like hell right about now.

Four of us went to the diner afterwards, which was again alright, if not great. But at least I didn't have to cook dinner at 11pm with a bum shoulder. Now I'm home, and it's just now hitting me ... I might not have had the feather boa, but in a room full of yoga people, I definitely had more eyeliner on than anyone in the room! There is hope for a kirtan / glam mashup yet!!!

Good night, my dears. May we all dream of gorgeous tv stars.

Proud ...

I am quietly proud of myself right now. Very proud. I hope you don't mind.

After years of waiting, after changing my life utterly, I reunited with my old guitarist this evening. Yes, THAT one. From the band with the initials CG. If you're reading this blog, I've probably told you the tale.

I did a lot of thinking today, as I was waiting for him to arrive. He gave me ample time for this, as he was four hours late. (Some things never change.) How many times have I asked myself, "How do I play the drums now, after all this time away, after all that's happened?" Tonight I got my answer.

Though he's seen me a few times since 2009, it's been awhile. And since I never stay the same for very long, if you disappear from my life for almost two years, there will undoubtedly be vertigo when you return, as you try to figure me out. He was trying to hide it, but it was there.

I was fine with that. I expected it. What I didn't expect was my reaction to him.

He pulled out his new guitar, this flashy new fretless harp guitar contraption that he was given as an endorser for this new guitar company, and started to play. We had agreed not to look backwards, not to play our old material, so he began to play some things he'd been working on.

There were a few inspired moments, but it was clear that he'd only recent gotten the instrument, which has two necks and requires an amended playing style. He is still a world class player, of course, but honestly ... there were no songs, no extended ideas I could contribute anything to.

Now, here's why I am proud of myself.

In my old life, I would have just started playing anyway. I would have used all of my drums and cymbals and clattered around with brio in an attempt to make something happen. But there I was, same instrument, same old room, same collaborator, and I couldn't even think of doing that.

I chose silence.

I sat there quietly, and let him struggle. I played for maybe fifteen minutes total, out of two hours. Since returning to music in 2011, my mantra has been play what the music requires. This music, in its unfinished state, required silence. So that's what I played. It seemed to unnerve him.

Also, and I will not lie about this, getting closer to Beth Ann and building our musical and personal connection, definitely had an effect on my actions and reactions this evening. There is such a girl power vibe that BA and I have when we play, and that obviously was not there this evening, with this man who essentially lives in his own head. This is not a small thing.

Right as he was leaving, around 1030, Jason called, and I got to give him a quick update of what had just happened. His enthusiastic response was a perfect compliment to my own knowing, that one really cannot go backwards in life. Not after all I've seen and done.

Will T and I play again? I'm not sure. We say we will, but is there enough motivation : for him to play with someone he doesn't know anymore, who doesn't play like the person he thought he knew, or for me, to sit and essentially watch Picasso try to give birth to musical Cubism, while wishing I was sitting with my new musical BFF, talking and laughing and making people cry?

In four years of this new life, from coming to The Lady, to all the coming outs and ebbing and flowing, I'm not sure there has been a single event that showed me just how much I've changed. And I met it, head on, with intention, and didn't flinch.

I am quietly proud of myself right now. Very proud. I hope you don't mind.

A Birthday / A Wednesday ...

It was The Muse's birthday today. I'm so very glad she was born, so I could find her and meet her again, but sometimes I get impatient. This comic strip sums things up quite handily ...

In the meantime, it was also a Wednesday, so it was time to zoom! E and I were both so bored with our lives and routines last week that we simply had to do something different. I hesitantly suggested the Wadsworth Atheneum up in Hartford, and was pleasantly surprised when she went for it.

The drive up the Saw Mill / 684 / 84 was pleasant enough, and downtown Hartford was more impressive than we expected, a fine mix of modern and federalist architecture. Parking was simple and cheap and we were on our way.

If the museum exterior was impressive, then the interior, though not overly large, was even moreso. Starting off with a nice collection of Italian Baroque paintings (with a Turner hidden in the corner), we then made our way into the main three story chamber, which featured a great surprise ... a Chagall I hadn't seen before!

Honestly, it was all house's money from here.

I enjoyed seeing a few new Picassos, and their collection of Hudson River school canvases, over five dozen, was as impressive and inspiring as I'd hoped.

As the afternoon continued on, and we started to get a bit tired as the sun began to set, we made our way through a few more galleries and open spaces, before heading back out into the wind. Once again, Hartford had a good vibe, and I look forward to returning there one day.

The remainder of the evening was uneventful, with dinner, a stop at a B&N and a walk around a fancy, Short Hills type mall. We got home a bit later than we'd have liked, but all in all, 'twas a good day, drinking in the beauty of great art.

I just wish I could show The Muse things like this.

A Step In The Right Direction ...

Not that this was terribly difficult, but today was quite a bit nicer than yesterday. From my friend Delia's lovely invitation to visit the Met to look at Degas together, to my rediscovery of Pablo Neruda, to my chocolate cupcake with yet another ballet book (?!?!?) it was a quiet, healing day. I still feel pretty tender / sensitive / vulnerable, but this was a step in the right direction.

A fresh, first time adventure tomorrow. Good night.

Dancing Before Bed ...

I am so grateful for this book.

I remembered it a few hours ago, but couldn't remember if I had it and lost it in library 1.0, or if it was somewhere up here in the din of library 2.0. At first I couldn't find it, but when it turned up, it was the unquestioned highlight of the day. I don't even know why I had a book about ballet, since I've only recently become consumed by it, but I'm so glad that I did, as the rest of the day was as useless as you would guess it would be.

And now, with these beautiful images in my head, I'll call it a day.

The 12th House of Endings ...

I waited to write this. If I wrote it last night, I would have scared you.

Y'see ... I'm strongly considering stepping down, and leaving the shamanic program at the 'Seed.

I have run the gamut of emotions in the last 18 hours, from despair to resignation to anger to guilt to loneliness to probably a few I'm not even acknowledging.

It has long been established that management does not have my back. The longer it goes on, though, the more negative (both subtly and overtly) it is getting.

Add to this the fact that I have totally lost the clubhouse with regards to my team, one of whom openly contradicted me at every turn last night (and managed to use the wrong pronoun in front of a room full of 25 people) and I don't know if I've ever felt more lonely doing this work.

The ceremony itself was extremely lacking, despite the amazing attendance. The drumming journey went on far too long, 28 minutes, as the afore mentioned team member still used all four herbs per person despite the largeness of the crowd.  (That would be like one person trying to give full body reiki treatments on a night like that.)

Then, when we switched, the rattling was not up to it's usual standard (I'm being generous here) and after only ten minutes, I was getting looks of "Are you done yet?" as I was trying to create my three sigils. I ended up rushing number three, but somehow number one, IMAGINATION, came through amazingly. Like a cross between a ballet dancer and someone flying to the stars.

The talking bit at the end was just as contentious as at the beginning, more a sparring session than a safe space. After the ceremony, The Muse left almost immediately, after something bubbled up for her during the journey that almost triggered a panic attack (which I will feel terrible for if the awful vibe in the room contributed to) so I didn't even get to ground with her as we'd originally planned.

I packed up. I came home. I was shellshocked. I still am. This beautiful thing was given to me by Jason, and though the numbers would tell you otherwise, it is dying. And it's happening on my watch. Because the person above me doesn't support & protect me. Because the people next to me don't have my back. I know I have ceremonies booked through August, and I already was planning on not renewing past that, but now ... I don't even know how I'm going to face leading next month's Fire.

When I woke up this morning, there was something in my horoscope about the 12th House of Endings. I know all of this coming up is part of The Great Work, of course. But can I, should I, walk away? I may or may not be doing good for the people who come, but I know I'm doing harm to myself.

So much to think about.

The Great Wizard Jenkins ...

"How many names do you use?"
"Enough to guarantee my freedom."

- from Howl's Moving Castle

I do not remember a day so quiet, so still, so free of drama and noise. All day, it was like I existed outside of time and space, in a sweet smelling oubliette, lit perfectly, filled with music and inspiration and still more quiet. Other than a nice long connection / breakfast with Bug to start the day, and dinner / Howl's Moving Castle with everyone in the early evening, I didn't leave The Womb. And it was grand. More than grand. It was essential.

In a busy life, full of change, days like this are rare.
Best to live fully in them when they do come around.

Good night.

Roiling ...

What comes first : the chicken or the egg?

Oldest question in the book. But is my stagnant, roiling vibe causing things to be strained downstairs, or am I stagnant and roiling because things are strained downstairs?

It's probably somewhere in the middle.

Whatever the case may be, I'm tired. I want to tell you about the lovely 45 minute talk BA and I had in the Starbucks parking lot, and how good I felt after spending the afternoon getting glammed and pampered at my salon (though I wish I'd had a gig, to show off my fab hair) but I am just spent.

So I will go lay down, and dream that tomorrow will be better.

Moving / Talking / Sharing ...

Sweet mercy! I did not stop moving / talking / sharing today!

The only quiet bit was the morning, where I sat in The Womb, enraptured by Meow Meow (who is playing the Lincoln Center penthouse right after my birthday) before getting inspired by a new band called inc, who are playing at Le Poisson Rouge on Tuesday. Is it any wonder why I dream of the city, all the time???

I got a bit of a late start heading out to Jason's, due to car sharing foolishness, but whether it's from 2-4 or 3-5, we are in a very special new groove, my dear teacher and I. Removed from the nuts and bolts of  teaching me the medicine wheel, our sessions have a looseness now, a subtler yet deeper sharing that we are both very pleased about.

(This bit is so cool that it gets its own paragraph : before we started our session, we got tickets to see the Charles Lloyd Quartet perform in a few weeks ... wait for it ... at the Temple of Dendur! Heh. That is all.)

From Montclair, I raced home to have a quick bite, ahead of some time with Beth Ann up here in The Womb. We've been so busy performing (and dealing with drama) that we haven't made time to rehearse, to explore, to just be together quietly in a room, in forever. We talk on the phone almost every day, and our friendship / heart connection has never been stronger, but still ... we need to play.

What's so beautiful, and miraculous, to me is how deeply I've come to love the music we make together. I still don't go around listening to other people's kirtan, but ours has started to feel like a tender, warm, necessary bubble that I can live inside, a girl power fantasia of ecstatic sound that transcends genre or language or orthodoxy.

Sitting up here, playing for no one but ourselves, trying new things, trusting each other ... I couldn't have imagined, even two months ago, that we'd have found this place together. We love performing, of course, but we are remembering that this quiet time is the source of what we do, and will be returning to it on a more regular basis. In fact, we may be doing some recording up here sooner than later ...

While this was going on, N had arrived downstairs and was giving E a massage ahead of a spontaneous PBT gathering, which we literally through together last night. It seemed like a good idea, while they were wrapping up, to go downstairs and play for them. So we closed our private circle and put our performance hats on, and ended up giving E, N and J three pieces, the equivalent of about half a show!

It was so special to play for N for the first time, and E and J could both hear the growth and depth in our sound since the last time they came to a gig. For me, it awoke in me a desire to continue to explore new avenues for performance, namely house concerts! Anything I can do to get us out of the suffocating local wellness community ...

After BA left, our time around The Table was lovely, as always. We ate. We talked. E fell asleep. We had the cake. In other words, a normal PBT evening! I really appreciated N's feedback, and understanding that this particular kirtan work should be a priority. As always, we circle the wagons, and support and listen to each other. So wonderful.

And now, more than a little hoarse, but pleased, I'm off to bed.

Bored On A Wednesday ...

It was Wednesday, and we were bored.

Sure, we had our biscuits, and drove down to the sea. There was even some spirited conversation sprinkled in. But we were bored. And going to Pier Village wasn't going to be enough to make us un-bored.

So we headed back North early (which meant navigating rush hour) and settled at the big B&N on route 17. There were soooooo many books I wanted, with only about $50 to spend, that I nearly shorted out! But I did bring home a book of fairy tales, the third Guardians book, and most importantly, a book on the folklore, archaeology and origins of European dance.

Did any of this fix the problem? What is the problem? We had a peaceful day. A quiet day. Yet there it was ... the restlessness. At least it wasn't just me, though E's is undoubtedly for different reasons.

Coming out of B&N, it was snowing lightly, and I thought of The Muse. Oh, year of unknowable things, why must you vex me so, even on a Wednesday ...

Beauty, Excellence, Dedication, Obsession ...

All day today, try as I might to be present where I was, all I could do was look forward to this evening. Because I knew we had tickets to the New York City Ballet at Lincoln Center. Beauty. Excellence. An altered state. This is the stuff my dreams are made of.

With this new membership we have, there are very cool perks, like getting to attend the dress rehearsal, the night before the premiere, free of charge. Seating was first come, first served, and after sitting up in the ceiling at Christmas, I was determined to sit lower, where the art would feel more immediate, more alive. Arriving an hour before curtain (while the pre-rehearsal rehearsal was still going on) meant some of the best seats in the house. Wow.

The performance was Balanchine's Sleeping Beauty, which was as lush and beautiful as you would expect. The dancers who played Aurora and the Lilac Fairy were particularly beautiful and full of fire, even though you could tell they were quite beat up physically. There was something very raw about attending a rehearsal, about seeing the director Peter Martins pacing around, making last minute adjustments. It was a peek into a whole other world.

I won't lie. I measure myself against performers like these. I see their dedication, their obsession, their ability to go all in, and I ask myself ... am I doing enough? Am I settling? Is greatness important enough to me to take that next step, after 31 years in music and 20 years of writing? I zoom about, chasing beauty, putting myself in the path of those at the top of their game, so I can breathe the air around those who know, in the hope that I could, in my own fields, join their number one day.

This is as good a reason as I can come up with to get out of bed every day.

Sequestered ...

Ahhhh. The Muse just surprised me with a midnight connection over text. We were both missing each other acutely today. What a wonderful way to wrap up the day.

The 2nd half of Flame Shift #67 was quiet. More than usual, I sequestered myself, unwilling to embroil myself in the various negativities swirling about downstairs.

Honestly, there's not much to say. I think I'll just read a little bit more then go to sleep. Tomorrow promises to be inspired, so I'd like to be rested for that.

Good night.

Flame Shift #67 ...

"Nothing that happens is ever forgotten, even if you can't remember it."

- from Spirited Away

That quote has been rolling around in my head and heart since Saturday afternoon. It speaks to something The Muse and I have been saying when we're together, about it feeling like we are picking up the threads of something we've done before.

It could also apply to my musical life, which continues to grow interesting side roads. I spent most of this evening traveling in the wayback machine, setting up a Bandcamp page for a band I formed in 1995, when I was 19, for an album released the following year.

I'm not a looking back sort of person, but in order to test the tracks to make sure they uploaded properly, I had to listen to the whole album, streaming on the page. It surprised me how fresh a lot of it still sounded, so many lifetimes removed.

In this current lifetime, I am up here in The Womb, 8 & 1/2 hours into Flame Shift #67. Devotional work is easy and difficult at the same time; an oasis and a crucible. Today, though, it feels like being protected by a loving mother, who is happy you've come home.

E and I went for a drive this afternoon, to try to clear my head before Shift. We drove North and West, and though the peaceful mystery vibe never did appear, it was still nice to move around. I admit, I was a bit concerned for the folks ice fishing on Greenwood Lake. It really wasn't that cold ...

It's just about time for some mid-Shift sleep. It's been a dodgy couple of days, but with glimmers of interesting possible futures. I feel very fortunate to have a life, and skills, that help me to read the tea leaves, as it were. Onward, then ...

Oven Mitts ...

Oh, I am in suuuuuch a foul mood.

Around 615 this evening, I got a text from Beth Ann, asking me if I wanted to come out and play a kirtan gig. In 45 minutes. To make a long story short, this was Friday night's gig rescheduled, which I was originally not going to be able to do because we had a Saturday gig, but the Saturday one was the one canceled under dubious circumstances.

Got all that?

Anyway, I had decided that since the weekend got all fucked up, I was just going to stay in my pajamas and take some time to myself. We had made fresh bread & biscuits in the afternoon. I was still right brained after finishing Spirited Away. But her call swayed me, and my need to get out and played took over, so after a quick shower, I put on the jazz hands and drove over.

Sweet christ, what a fucking mistake.

Apparently, since I wasn't originally going to be able to do the gig, the facilitator called up someone else, who after some confusion showed up a few minutes before I did. Now, though I admit to being a diva, I am more than capable of playing with another drummer. If they have any ability whatsoever. And ears. And taste.

This, however, was like trying to do open heart surgery with oven mitts on.

If there is no contrast possible in the music (fast/slow, loud/soft, contemplative/rocketsauce) then I find it very difficult to contribute anything. It's the tension and release that makes music interesting, and allows my particular talents to come through. When I've got someone clomping away like a rhinoceros, who I then have to keep in line, there is no subtlety, no suppleness, no beauty.

And it really got me down.

It's a lonely feeling, being on stage. When it's all going well, when that circular vibe gets going between performer and listener, it's possible to transcend the loneliness. But when it goes poorly, like tonight, all I want to do is crawl back to the hole I came out of and be done with the whole thing. So I bowed out of dinner with BA and Mark, and came back up here, where I should've stayed in the first place.

Thank god I wrote a poem this afternoon, right after posting that last entry, actually. It was inspired by a piece of music played on baritone guitar, and eventually made its way to a street corner in East Berlin. It was actually fueled by still more new music, by a group called the Portico Quartet. (I never write to music.)  Ahhhh ... it was house's money after I finished it. Too bad I wasn't bright enough not to squander it.

My First Non-Threshold Post ...

It's 1130 Saturday morning. I fell asleep on the couch last night, and missed my first time posting in the threshold hours. This will happen from time to time, I suppose.

As alluded to in the last post, I stayed up on Skype with The Dear Boy until around 330am, talking mostly about The Muse, and about delicate family relations with regards to cross country virtual Reiki shares. (I can't believe I typed that out loud.) It was lovely, but it also just highlights how far away he is, and how much I wish that weren't so.

Friday morning dawned much quicker than I would have liked, around 730am, with the snow already beginning to come down. It took until mid-afternoon for it to really get going, at least allowing Bug to get home from work / comics without too much trouble. I didn't really relax until E got home after 6, by which time it was getting dangerous, but once everyone was home, I was happy for that snow day feeling.

One thing I wasn't happy about was the yogaland / kirtan drama ramping up again, unfortunately to a new level. The studio where we were set to play tonight canceled our show prematurely, which was annoying enough, but in the same breath they admitted they weren't canceling the days' yoga classes. Only us. Needless to say, this is concerning.

There is a sickness that permeates the wellness community in that town. Instead of all pulling together, the level of dysfunction on quite regular display frankly appalls me. As unhappy as I am for the people who come to our shows, nevermind the money I'm losing this weekend, everything that is happening is valuable intel, not just about this particular studio, but about how I'd like this aspect of my career to progress moving forward.

Since last night's gig was canceled as well (that one, with the weather, was at least justified) the three of us had a quiet dinner and started watching Miyazaki's Spirited Away, which though I love all his movies, really clicked with me this time. (Kamaji is an alchemist ... I'm telling you.) Unfortunately, due to my four hour night of sleep, I started getting dopey and we had to stop halfway through.

So here it is. Saturday morning. With no gig and no plan. But there is a vibe. Maybe today can be something. We'll see ...

Addition By Addition ...

You know it's a strange day when not one, but two, former bandmates contact you.

Nothing surprises me these days, less than a week into T.Y.o.U.T. The kirtan problem worked itself out overnight, with a minimum of fuss, but I gleaned useful information about all sides. (It's probably best that most people don't know how fast my mind works, and that I am constantly sizing everyone and everything up for a tactical advantage.)

My feeling had been that my outer life would change through addition by subtraction. I certainly wasn't expecting addition by addition. Yet there I was, accepting a gig in March down in Long Branch with my former (and rather attractive) collaborator Lisa, and having an hour long reconnection with my former guitarist T. Yes, that T. You remember that old story ...

I expect nothing from him. I gave that up a long time ago, long before I found success on my own. But even just the 1% chance that this time is different (and to be fair, he just got a guitar endorsement, and kinda has to produce something now) and there could actually be a new CG album in 2013 is enough to make today the strangest of days.

In the meantime, I have a life to live, a family that needs tending, a book to write, a Muse that is lonely. This is not the first curveball of T.Y.o.U.T. and it surely is not the last.

And now, to wait for That Dear Boy to pop up on Skype ...

Another Wednesday On The Road ...

'Twas another Wednesday on the road. Maybe not the most easy going Wednesday. E and I are working through a fair amount of things, of course. But in and around the metaphorical bumps in the road, we saw the usual compliment of Hudson Valley goodness. Without further ado, allow me to present this entry as a photo essay, of a February day along (and above) the great river.

I never get tired of visiting these places, of going deeper into them. I am physically tired, though, after about four miles of walking, and a surprising bout of drama that rose up around my kirtan career. I'll talk more about that tomorrow when I know more, but in true year of unknowable things fashion, there could be a sizable change in focus if things go the way they seem to be. More tomorrow.

Goodnight my dears. Happy to be providing these dispatches on a regular basis again. It feels so much lighter here, doesn't it?

All For A Cup Of Hot Chocolate ...

After a quiet but uneventful day in The Womb, whimsy was the order of the evening, as we drove to The City in the snow, all for a cup of hot chocolate. Now ... mind you, this wasn't just any hot chocolate. This was the Italian thick hot chocolate at Max Brenner's on Broadway at Union Square. Oh dear god ... it's like a melted brownie in a cup. Heaven. On. Earth.

Driving Broadway all the way down, we ended up parking at BPC, for a walk by the Hudson River, along the Esplanade to the Winter Garden. I hadn't been there in two years, since the Soundscapes concert with the previous Muse, and I quietly noted how far I've come since those dark days of early 2011. Goodness ... how many regenerations have there been since then?!?

Driving North along the West Side, we made one more detour, taking 79th through the big park, to 3rd Avenue, so I could have Papaya King. Just like the whole rest of the city, uptown was dark and quiet, even after the snow had stopped. Once again, all I could think of was how badly I want and need to experience living there, even if it's just for a year.

Every day, I ponder so many possible futures, deciding how to spend my energy, deciding where to place my intention. Every time I go there, The City blots out those other futures, and positions itself at the top of the list. So how to manifest this? What sort of bravery will be required? And how does all of this relate to the Tablet and the Stone? So many questions ...

The Tablet & The Stone ...

It was King Frost Day, an old English holiday having something to do with River Thames frost faires, and honoring the spirit of Winter, which can be both beautiful and terrible. Some say that Jack Frost, one of my Trickster relations, is connected to this King Frost. His son, perhaps. Whatever the case may be, I found the whole thing fascinating, just like Twelfth Night and the Burns Supper last month. I think I'm going to have to start celebrating these holidays next year, maybe throw a few intimate yet peculiar parties. Hmmmm ...

You can tell it was a day at home today, can't you? A whole day in The Womb lends itself to this sort of fancy. I read. I wrote. I listened. I did a tiny bit of business, but not too much. I ate smartly. I got a letter from my new advisor / mentor, officially opening the way for me to begin understanding the Tablet & the Stone. I had a brief text exchange with The Dear Boy, and an even briefer (but no less lovely) volley with The Muse. Even in just six tiny texts, we manage to talk about beauty and parallel worlds. This thing, whatever it is ... it is not meant for the mundane.

Tomorrow looks to be more of the same, as does Thursday. May that prove true.

Day Two ...

Day two is rarely as sexy as day one, but I certainly gave it a go today.

From not making the pancakes I desperately wanted (thereby honoring the planting of the "body" seed yesterday) to going on an epic three mile hike on a hidden snowy path (if you knew where this trail weaved through, you'd lose your head), the first half of the day was certainly lived intentionally.

The evening, though, had a vibe of its own. What was just another gig for me (and I really don't mean that to sound jaded) was actually a major event for my dear Bug. As I continue to refine my engagement with shamanic practices, I gave her the opportunity to assist me for the first time.

There were a few lies in that paragraph.

She has assisted before, twice in fact, but in a much less pressured environment. (I'm sorry, but healing circles are just not as much pressure as shamanic journeys. Plus, there were other facilitators present.) And if I'm being really honest, it wasn't just another gig for me either.

Though I've been facilitating shamanic events for over two years (eight months as lead facilitator) there was a moment last night, just before the doors opened, when I felt, for lack of a better description, like a "grown up". Allow me to explain ...

With my name on the flier, and with no one else to fall back on (only one assistant, no wise old teacher, not even my usual co-workers, who I can often do without) it was a sink or swim moment. I'm happy to say I did well, and I suppose I'm not surprised, but still, it was a moment.

Bug did a marvelous job, as I thought she would (quite a bit better than I was my first time out, honestly) and it was very nice, just like when I work with The Dear Boy, to have someone in the room with me who had my back, and didn't want my job.

The ceremony itself was potent, and those who were brave enough to buck the culture and attend on Superb Owl Sunday seemed to get a lot out of it, including the studio owner, who showed a lot of faith in me, agreeing not only to book me quarterly for both shamanism and kirtan, but also gave me key access to the studio for the nights I am working. Indeed.

And now, to rest. I'm happy to say that I have no performances until Friday, and very little reason to even leave the house the next four days. Time and energy enough to dig in to all the shiny new projects that won't be shiny new projects forever. Ahhhhh.

Creating Worlds ...

I've always created worlds. Worlds I could live in when the one in front of me was lacking. Worlds of words, music and images. Worlds I wish I could share with people I love. Usually, though, these worlds are just for me, to keep the loneliness at bay. That makes it all the more special when there's a knock at the duir, and the person on the other side knows your secrets.

This evening, sitting in the corner booth at the PQ (how many amazing scenes have occurred at that diner?!) towards the end of another magickal evening together, I let The Muse read the first piece from my upcoming book of verse. It was a poem about the creation of just such a world, of endings and beginnings, set in Princeton of all places, and she understood it, as only she could.

We walked out into the lightly falling snow, just like we did after Cirque Du Soleil & the Grand Lux a few weeks ago, and just held each other. She told me that she has started to associate me with Winter & snow & nights like this, and that somewhere Neil Gaiman must be a little sad, because he was no longer her favorite writer. And I was happy. As happy as a person could be.

What a marvelous end to the best Imbolc I can ever remember. A day of such epic seed planting, of body and mind and language and hope and reinvention and mystery. Always mystery. It's Imbolc 4 for me in active service to Breo Saighead, and She is secure enough in my devotion that She has allowed Mór-ríoghain to enter the picture. This, as you might imagine, changes everything.

Sex. Death. War. Crows. Sovereignty. All useful metaphors during a year of unknowable things. Just like the Tablet and the Stone. All pointing towards further transformation, of a sort that I could scarcely imagine during these last three plus years of shamanic study. I think this is what happens when you find yourself aligned with your blood tradition, when you work with who you are instead of against it.

I live in many worlds, but the one I inhabited today is my favorite. By far.

Planting Seeds ...

To some, today is Imbolc. A day of intention, of beginnings, of the promise of light amidst the still potent darkness. A day for Bhride (or Brigid, if you will) of Kildare, of poetry, healing and smithcraft, or as I once said in a poem, of fire, ash and rebirth.

This is the ninth iteration of this blog, under different addresses and aliases, going back to April of 2002. Every once in a while, when you're me, the sheer volume of words generated becomes cumbersome, and the sack must be emptied at the side of the road.

At this moment in time, at the starting line of the year of unknowable things, I am playing with identity. I am interstitial. I am betwixt and between. I play different characters for different people. I am comfortable with the fact that there is no real me. I welcome it.

Simultaneously, I am striving for the end of ambiguity in my relations. In other words, I may be someone different to everyone I meet, to everyone I love, but what I say to you in that paradigm is true, and real. From a certain point of view.

I think it's healthy, after nearly twenty years of exploring the mysteries of this world, after nearly eleven years of blogging, after four Imbolcs of active service, to declare that today is DAY ONE. It's impossible to be stale if you don't yet know who you are.

I hope you'll stick around, and find out with me.

The Deep Breath Before The Plunge ...

This is a test, of the Q broadcasting system.
This is only a test.