Shaken and Stirred, One Rebel Soul, Please

Wind torments this lonely valley
Exhales and rattles tender bones
And creaks the timber, tree, and soul

Moan low the howl of wildness
Catch fire and spread the fever high
Burn these bones to dust


I miss the passion of my soul. I miss the need to call out to the wind, to let my voice mix and mingle with its force and travel far through canyon walls, echoes heard in foreign lands that bear seed and sun and pools of life. I miss the need to reach out and touch, to trigger tempests in seas of tranquility; of mediocrity; of stagnant, barnacled slumber. I want to stir the ground beneath, and feel the swell of storms of dirt as lightning sparks from finger tips. I want to create the revolution; through me, new life is borne.

I have been watching a documentary on the history of jazz. Though I am not a big jazz fan myself, I enjoy learning about how different forms of music have unfolded, as well as who were the channels who brought in paradigms of thought and expression previously unheard of. I admire the beings who are brave enough to hear and heed the creative voices others would deem as crazy. I admire the artists who are brave enough to stand alone, and through sheer gravity of will they bend the fabric of time and space around them.

I am blown away by Miles Davis. This was a cat who, drowning so deep in the love affair with heroine, sold his horn and became a pimp to bankroll his addiction. And yet, in a moment of clarity, he decided to break the affair off. Alone, he went to his father's house, locked himself in a room, and for seven days danced with the demon of addiction until he came out clean. No help, no meds to temper the rage. Just a cold turkey decision and an empty room away from all who could derail his train. And then, much later in his career, he was offered a recording contract at Columbia...a major move that sent him mainstream. The problem? He was stuck in a contract with a lesser label for four more records. His solution? He went into the studio and cranked out four albums in two days. TWO DAYS. His mind made up, his force of spirit on fire, he pulled out of his head and heart a stream of brilliance that filled the depths of four albums. No retakes, no corrections. Who does that?

That is what I want for myself. I want to bite so deep into the flesh of life that its blood transforms my essence. I want to call out and be heard, to shake the ground with a power that sets all squeally vermin of night and shadow running for the rocks they crawled out from. I want to be the revolution, to grow my toes into the earth and, thus rooted, let reality know that I am here to stay.

Rattle my bones in winds of fierceness; the chimes, deafening, will call and sing forever.

The Search Continues...

It has been well over a year since I've written anything for this blog.

I have been in a rut, to say the least. I think I gave up on the thought that I had anything left to say. It certainly hasn't been that I've not felt passion, nor has it been that I've had no new ideas stewing within this head of mine. And yet, the inkwell has been dry. Even now, I struggle to put words on this page, struggle to see my expression as anything more than a forced exercise meant to coax out some form of creativity from my silenced soul.

But coax it out, I must. I have lost myself, dear readers...lost myself to an inadequate perception of who I was and who I am, lost myself to a disease that keeps me in constant pain. I gave all my power away to belief systems too small for me and also to individuals, whom I love dearly, yet who do not know or, sadly, are too selfish to care about who I am. It's my fault; I made them, the people and the beliefs, my world. I loved them and clung to them as a child does her favorite doll...problem is, I made them bigger than I am, which is silly, since this is MY world and I am Goddess here. And now, upon awakening from this dark dream, I am weary of self destructive doubt. My blog, originally called "The Search" to document my search for the man of my dreams, has turned into a bigger, and more juicy, search. It is time to reclaim myself.

So, who am I? You know, I've shut down so fully that I've lost interest in so many things. As a child I loved drawing, and writing, and astronomy, and psychic phenomenon, and magic. I spent a summer, when I was nineteen, working at a small airport and snagging a few flying lessons. I was, for a time, a "healer", and got involved as a massage therapist and colon hydrotherapist. I was interested in psychology and dream work. I pondered different dimensions and realms of reality. I did estate planning, machine shop work, fix-n-flips when the housing market was good...I laid a mean tile, baby! I sold retail, had my own businesses, studied medieval history in college, pondered going to seminary...as a matter of fact, as a girl in my late teens, I could go through the college course book and had a hard time picking a major because I wanted to do and be EVERYTHING. And now I sit on a couch and play Candy Crush for hours. What happened to me?

So, its time for a new search. I DID find a lovely man to enjoy time with, but I fear that I have grown old and boring and I am, still, terribly unfulfilled. Its time to rediscover life, to tell this stupid disease of Rheumatoid Arthritis that it can no longer have me, and to plunge back into the daylight, one hobbled footfall at a time. I'm not dead yet; a little rougher around the seams, perhaps. But I am still here and still breathing. Let's see what happens.