Almost Midnight (Who Are You Now?)

Over there, You! The Un-evolved!
Hurry up it's almost midnight-
Don't go too far, it's almost here
- the New Year Door's alight

Cast your spells
Take off your hat
And surrender to what calls-
The wicked,
war torn,
the careful clown
- if you hear it then it's yours

You broken, weary,
December spent,
you tired of the darkness-
The time has come
to bury ghosts
And surrender
to your softness

You and me
and I
and We
All we want is newness
For skins to shed
For fun in bed
And cash enough for coffee

And so we come
And so we dance
And so we kiss at twelve

And bitten nails
And timid tails
Into this trickiness we delve

So, Unevolved!
Come, one.
Come, all!
Be hopeful.

We're almost there-
We've come so far-
- thankful,
For this graceless fall

Welcome to New-ness

I am ready for my life to change. My clothes are in a pile, living in limbo between drawers, a suitcase and a busy floor. This place that was once so solidly my home is a transient station between movements.

My visa arrived today. It announces that I am to marry US citizen Salvatore Francesco Interlandi within 90 of my arrival into the United States of America. I am immigrating. I am marrying. I am shifting my axis completely.

This new arrival is my rebirth. My name and earthly coordinates change come Wednesday. A life begins. Skin is shed. Fear is replaced with love and I am still myself but even more fully as I step into the ultimate unknown; it is foreign yet totally in alignment with the hopes and dreams of my authentic self as lover, adventurer and artist. I have never felt more fully supported by the universe in a decision.

No longer am I slave to spiritual expectation. My enlightenment is unfolding in the smallest and silliest of ways. The comings together are a paradox of hilarity and gluttonous ease. It is simple and efficient in its unfolding. Alongside the laborious paper work that allows my border crossing is a self-acceptance that once I arrive I both pick up where I left of and completely start over.

I embrace the anxiety that comes with being on the cusp of everything I have ever wanted.

"But Charlie, don't forget what happened to the man who suddenly got everything he always wanted. " –Willy Wonka

"What Happened?” –Charlie Bucket

"He lived happily ever after." -Willy Wonka.

The Belly of the Wave

Yesterday a great friend remarked in a tone that perfectly balanced trust and anguish, "I just never know what to do when my life is put in a blender like this". All at once she was forced to move due to unsafe conditions in her rented apartment, during the middle of exams, a week before starting a new job, all the while awaiting the birth of her friend's second baby at which she is committed to being the birth partner...

Forever cosmically connected and closely mirroring her hopeful chaos, I too stare at the multi-coloured metaphorical cocktail (mine is definitely spiked!) my life is sure to produce in the coming weeks. Facing the brightly lit interrogation rooms promised by US immigration services, relocation to one of the biggest and craziest cities in the world, a surrendering of the personal and professional safety net, and of course... the biggest and boldest shift- marriage.

What is this silence right before the roar of the crowd? The pinprick the first star makes in the dark blue as sky shifts to night? The pause before the inhale, the morning stretch before day comes rushing in, the taste the tongue reaches for as you inhale the aroma of a freshly baked loaf... I am living in the almost-there. In the almost here. So focused on the future, asking questions of what is to become of me- it's all I can do to remember to sleep and eat; all the while knowing that soon I'll be "there" and once I am I'll find myself in selfish moments wishing I was "here" in the safe silence before everything was different.

So forever it becomes about Now. The sacred promise of change means that this will never be again, while This is all there is. But I decided quite a while ago that although I will always lean heavily on my wisdom, hoping to live it more and more each day- I am a human in the tumult of constant shift. I pray and run and let my dreams dance wildly, and as it does, the clock chimes when it feels like it and sometimes I hear it and sometimes I don't.

Bound to my little life, I embrace the worry and the anxious feelings in my tummy. I forgive the crazy makers in my mind and give gratitude for the righteousness that seems to order the chaos. Because what my friend really meant was "I hope I like the taste of this when the blender has finished blending". Me too!

But for now I getting lost in the whirr of the blades and do my best to prepare my palate for what could be a very interesting concoction..

Wise Ones

During a recent writing assignment I had to write two letters to myself: one from 80 year old me, and one from 8 year old me. The funny part is, they were almost identical in their content! They both urged the importance of fun and play, and they both warned of the dangers of stasis and over analysis.

The answers are clear: go to bed earlier, embrace your day, eat well, move your body, align yourself with people and situations that feel good, work hard, don’t worry so much, live simply, explore, feed your bliss, be kind, be patient, make love not war, don’t over indulge in computers and television, practice gratitude, drink water, be good to the earth, take care of yourself like you are your own child, play, try scary things, question limits, listen more, spend a little time alone every day, call your grandparents on Sundays, keep a clean home, floss, stretch, sing, dance, spend $20 on a bottle of wine once a week rather than $10 on a bottle every day, hope for things, find and follow your personal mythology, spend time in nature, don’t drive too fast…

Like a moody teenager yelling “I KNOW!” to their well meaning mother, we act out and selectively forget this intuitive truth when days and minds get busy and for whatever reason we let the pile of dirty clothes grow in the corner of the room. We know what feels good and what does not. Like endorphins flowing through the body after a long run, life endorphins pump just as hard when taxes are complete or a spontaneous solitary walk finds us just a little more able to be where we are.

For some reason we like to punish ourselves, we like to wait until the once surmountable becomes insurmountable. Running on the adrenaline of “I can’t believe I’ve gotten away with ignoring this for so long” we scramble to shove things in corners and half way handle our business to a passable degree. We all do it in some area or other of life. “I’m just not financially savvy” or “I’m more cerebral than physical”, or “I just don’t have the time”, we tell ourselves all these things and more, continuing to veil the truth that if we actually got shit done we would have a lot more time to fulfill our heart’s desires.

And isn’t that a terrifying thought?

I don't get it...

I never cease to be amazed at how much of ourselves we negotiate away for what we feel is correct behavior. Even in the tenderest of relationships there is an energetic exchange that when awareness slips, easily tumbles into negotiation territory. We want to love, support, mediate and encourage. We want to heal past hurts and forge new relationships and remain always open to ever shifting change. But there needs to be a centre to it all.

Balance and paradox are the tweedle-dee and tweedle-dumb of growth. We strive to be our own centre but never self-centered. We hear the wisdom in creating boundaries but then we try to live without fear and what are boundaries if not constructs of fear? Living on the earth to me means living with a willingness to engage with all of it, including the shit. But staying connected to the sky means that I often see the shit from miles away and cannot believe that I will inevitably embroil myself in it.

There is striving and reaching alongside release and effort-less flow. Is the inhale the easy part or the hard part? It takes just as many muscles to let go. I read recently that it is always easier to do the work than stay blocked. But we are tied to ourselves so intrinsically that our blocks are our work and our work is the expression of the block- they are as married as the pearl in the slimy oyster.

The dirt of living is the heart of living. There are fields of flowers growing across our chests with every breath. And in every need to be received is a need to give something of ourselves; there is tender intention in and amongst all our tired reasons. We are making excuses all the time for not knowing ourselves well enough. I was late because… why was I late? I am mad because… fuck you, I don’t know why but I am so leave me alone. We must dirty ourselves and face the broken terra-cotta pots of experience that line the soil in the soul of our through line, for they give breath to the fusion of water and earth and allow for new growth.

Blessings be to never understanding and always trying to. Blessings be to the paradox in the mystery of why we were given minds and hearts big enough to ask the questions but too small to handle the answers. Blessings be to the miraculous in the journey of humanness.

Here. Now.

What happens when a moment loses its potency? How do we transcend expectation and be free enough to feel our way through it as empty as it may seem? Do I have the courage to face this kind of work?

The theatre is a sacred space: a chapel where collective imagination is the god to which we pray together. We rejoice in the resonance of truth, we recognize our humanness in transcendental archetypes and come together to forgive the parts of us that are the villain and applaud the meat of us that is triumphant hero.

As actors we enter into a contract with ourselves, our colleagues, the audience and the muses of the moment. We are humans that promise to be vessels for shamanic interventions. Getting out of our own way to allow for this kind of transformation is difficult to learn and unfortunately rarely practiced with diligence and self honesty. A rare few aspire to be invisible save but the physical body that carries these messages. Most relish in the lights and the curtain call; this kind of ego-based environment does not leave much room for those that yearn to disappear in the collective landscape.

We wrestle with the impulse to win, to get it right, to be approved of. Most give in completely and a creative experience quickly turns into an energetic tantrum competition with the winner gaining the attention he/she sought but losing a part of what called them to this path in the first place. When I catch myself in this cycle of suffering I feel like a spoiled child. The artist within me retreats and cowers in the corner afraid to come out for fear of being squeezed to produce the sweet milk that powers her.

The artist within me rejects the reward based system entirely, but the human woman longs to succeed not really knowing what that would even look like. Fear of lack is the greatest destroyer of love, art and inner vibrancy. I am I enough? Is this moment enough?

How could a moment ever lose potency? It is new and full and ripe every time. Present moment-ness is the single greatest skill required to live well, on and off stage. The courage to live this way, completely open to what may be, is found where? The courage to forgive ourselves for forgetting is found where? The irony is, it is found in the present moment. Empty, full, alive or dulled down, however we feel is real and valid. It’s coming from somewhere. That is the place we must begin from at all times: wherever we are NOW.

I pray for release. I pray for the grace required to let go and be where I am. Here. Now.

Your Love

The night following your death
a fast dark storm
blew across the lake

Sending me
and a bottle of your favourite
cinnamon whisky
into the basement
awaiting Oz-like
teleportation

But it was over
As fast as it rolled in

And outside,
the rain soaked trees,
with their lightening scorched branches,
basked in the golden light
of calm and almost dusk.

I found myself alone
In the eerie still-
Amazed by the earths response
To your passing:

A cacophony,
An operatic ode to you,
A violent transformation
of energy,
turned in on itself
to become this
yellow light of peace.

And just as I started
to get the joke
You chimed in
with a zinger of your own-

A double rainbow
Shining above my tear-stained face

You were smiling,
Twice.
Upside down,
but smiling.

You were smug and sweet
up there-
It suited You.

And as I watched You
Fade into the dusty sky
I wondered aloud
“Granddad, can you hear me?”

Crack! Crack! Crack!
Hot white lightening
Shook the pink whispers
Of clouds
Beneath
Your melting, double grin.

Okay, I get it-
You will never leave me-
Us-

You are father, husband, friend
And most certainly: Granddad
Of Epic
Fairytale proportions

Happily ever after
With your love as your legacy-

Your love:
It has the power
To rip the sky open
And then sing it softly to sleep.

Welcome to Oz, Granddad.