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Perhaps a Title Will Come To Me September 28, 2011

Posted by frostwolftfirerose in Uncategorized.
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Do others feel it?  That there seems to be a ramping up of energy that leads to a liftoff of some sort?  I am here in my little witchy cottage, and I careen through all sorts of emotions, not the least of which is Forgot Everything’s All Right (FEAR).  See, I will be able to pay October’s rent, and that’s about it.  I have food because I’ve been stocking up and I have a neighbor and a food pantry, and hopefully will be getting the food stamps in order, but I don’t have money to pay for the Nat Grid bill, the credit card, the cellphone when all these start to come due and paying.  I trust I will be able to manifest all this, but I don’t honestly know at the perspective of today, September 28, 2011.

The Work of this God is to be a joyful, wealthy, healthy, creative, solvent, abstinent, sober, lucky shaman by the river.  A playwright and screenwriter.  A counselor, a healer, a joybringer, a celebrant in all manner of life.  A forest creature in many ways as well, seeing as Pines and Oaks and Cedars are sturdy allies in my journey.  And what I see for myself is that future, which is coming on line.  But I have always sensed this gap, and I’m at the gap now.

I’m about to “jump and trust the net will appear.”

And in order to get to that place, I need to jump and be OK with the possibility that the net is not there at all, and that I will fall and fall and fall, until I land hopefully on my head and reunite with God Herself.

The journey of this past year since I ankled my legal gig has been one of coming to terms with the terminal diagnosis.  Do I have cancer? An inoperable tumor? Or maybe one of those terribly tragic diseases of slow wasting of which there is no cure.  Yes, indeed.

I am a playwright.

There you have it.  I am a playwright, and I have a difficulty in reaching audiences, and it’s partly built into me, and I’m trying to work with it, after having worked against my resistances all this time, and you know what?  I see that this life has quite a high overhead, and that for many a year that overhead took the form of ignoring or sabotaging my work.  And today I’m not doing that, but in so making the approach of putting my writing right behind my recovery, I’m also opening to the possible truth that there is no road here for me, that I’m coming to a place where the bridge is out.  But the end of this movie is not “he turns back to begin again, forced back to the vEmpire with tail between his legs.”

If it’s not Indiana Jones, it will be Thelma and Louise.  I must press forward.  If I’m not meant to be a playwright who gets audiences, and writing is acting is directing is living my life (eating, sleeping, shitting, pissing, having sex, putting a roof over my head), then not writing is not acting is not directing is not living my life is not eating, is not sleeping is not shitting is not pissing is not having sex is not putting a roof over my head.

Not writing for me: Is not existing.  And I would rather do that without the burden of having to attend to a body that would only be for cuntwork in cubicle hell working with vampires with J.D. degrees.  Been there done that, rather be dead.

My new prayer for the days is that my Godself comes into my body and is present within me.  To be radiantly self-possessed, to have all my points clean and clear.  Acceptance is the answer to all of my problems.

What other shingles can I put up to declare independence from The Man?  My recovery comes first, and my writing comes first after that, and everything else must support the two of them.

Anyone need their chart done?  Writing help?  Typing?  A dinner companion–on your dime?  I’m a cheap date and lots of fun.  Perhaps we can read some of my scripts together.  It could be delightful.  It’s time we all start to acknowledge that we need each other.

And people do need me, I know they do.  The question is, will they wake up to this fact before it’s time for me to go?

If worse comes to worst, there’s North Dakota, where my Mother and brother live.  I hope it doesn’t come to that, but if it does, it’s meant to be.  In the meantime, I have returned to a script I started years ago.

It’s my rehabilitation of The Tempest, with a Mexican sorceress (Persefoni del Cielo) who was banished from the corporatocracy 17 years previous.  It’s set on December 20, 2012, the night before the end of the Mayan Calendar in an out-of-the-way convent turned into pagan amusement park in Seagull Junction, North Dakota.  And it’s called Ambergris Mysteries, which is the name of the theme park.  Instead of a boat and a storm, it’s a train and a blizzard, and the king is a CEO of a company called Alonzo Prosper, Inc.  And Miranda/Ferdinand are now Randolfo/Ferdinand.  (There has to be a gay angle in it somewhere, why not the budding young lovers who will boldly enter a transitional phase out of the vEmpire?)  Basically I’m trying to remove the colonialism in the play and replace it with a re-embrace of the natural world.

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Face Everything And Restart September 6, 2011

Posted by frostwolftfirerose in Uncategorized.
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The moment I’ve been fearing all my life has arrived.  Ever since I embarked on this path deeper into the forest of My Frostwolf Self, I’ve been aware that I would encounter a gap.  It seems like I’m at a chasm and there was a bridge, but it’s out.  I need to somehow get across the chasm, and I don’t know if it’s going to be the sort of thing like in that Indiana Jones movie–the one where he seeks the holy grail, with Sean Connery and Alison Doody–where I have to take a step off the cliff and trust that there is an invisible bridge that will hold me as I cross the abyss.  Or if, when I step off, I just fall to my death–which I don’t really have a problem with, and I understand why that scares some people.  But I don’t really have it in me to go back to work in the vEmpire either.

It’s getting to be do or die.

Where I am now:  I’m nearing the end of my 401(k) funds, and I’m on the rolls to be called for substitute teaching with several school districts.  I’m looking into teaching online courses, and I’ve got an astrology column.  I’m open to knocking on many doors if I need to, yes, even to work retail if I have to.  It feels a tad too early for that, but still.  I don’t know that I have what it takes, but I also know that there is a place for me . . . emergent.

I’m at a point where I see the need to joyfully make offerings to the gods in the form of selling my furniture, my washer & dryer, even most of my books.  I need to be more ruthless than ever in terms of what I keep, and I have to resist the temptation to buy new things.  I don’t really have the money, I’d have to go deeper into debt actually, and I don’t want to do that.  But the thing is, all these things I have right now are homage to a ghost.  I feel like a ghost in my own life, and it’s mostly because the things I have reflect who I am leaving behind.

The gap. Where I am now.  What I see across the chasm of trust in my Godself is the life in the 5th dimensional space and beyond.  It is truer than the life we lead now.  It is simpler, in some ways harder, but more satisfying.  It is a life that harkens back to older ways, some Medieval, but more realistically even older than that.  One that practices acceptance rather than a churchly death-magick upon all those who disagree or who offer new points of view.  It is a world where we as another species of God Herself’s kids realize we have lots and lots of siblings in the forms of the spruces and the peachtrees, the otters and the lions, the grasshoppers and the moths, etc.  And that we all have a place.

I don’t have a place in the vEmpire.  I know too much, and I am sick of being sucked at and I’m sick of trying to suck stuff out of you and everyone else.

The part of me that I’m sacrificing to transformative fire is the part of me that is the getter, the never satisfied part of me.  I went to graduate school and went into debt so that I could GET the opportunities that I feel I deserve, so that I could GET prizes and cash so that I could GET the acclaim and recognition that I so crave, and also the security and the status and yeah, all the boyfriends I could muster.  But the thing is, I didn’t GET any of that.  It isn’t meant to be, and all the magick and the spells, etc., to attract that into my life won’t amount to a hill of beans because a part of me doesn’t really want that.

What do I want?  That has been the question I”ve been exploring over the past year.

I want a simpler life.  I want a community where the folks inside it and I all have each other’s backs, and therefore we possess real wealth.  I want to be generous with my being and my experience and my love.  I want to embody abstinence and sobriety and eventually solvency too.  I want to know that I count, and that I can be counted on, and that others count and can be counted on.  I want to give away what I need to keep in sacred and devoted service.  I want to have my basic needs met with just a little extra to keep me feeling like I have all that I need in the world.

In the scheme of things, this isn’t a lot, but it is a lot because there is no place for the simple needs except at the tippy-tippy-top of the hierarchy where it’s seen as sort of  WTF? and dumb.

Standing at this chasm between the old self and the new self, between old choices and unfamiliar but desirable choice is the moment I find myself.  I have reached the bitter end of this highway, and the way forward isn’t crystal clear.  It might be for all I know, once I take that step into fate.  There might be a crystal bridge underneath like Indy stepped onto in that one film, the third in the series which I can’t remember the name of. (There was Raiders of the Lost Ark, and Temple of Doom, and then the third one.)  But I could be gracefully leaping into the Godhead too.  I can’t go back the way I came–that way IS certain death.  I might go fast with a real leap or I might forsake my sobriety for a delicious OD in a den of ill repute, or maybe I’d go the slow path of sugar sugar, oh honey honey!  But if I see the need to return to the vEmpire and take a cuntjob again, being cunted of mana and cunting others of mana to replace the lost mana that never gets replenished, then I will check out whatever way I can.  I don’t have it in me to get sober and abstinent to live a ghost’s life.

Really I have only the one choice to continue that journey into the wood of my being, and envision a joyous hearthfire where my tribe and I are communing under the stars, where we are thoroughly enjoying our amazing lives together and marveling at the miracles of another day.

Truth be told, I don’t know if I’ll have a lot of debt-money in the future.  I call it debt-money because those Benjamins, U.S. Grants and Andrews in our pockets are really not all that substantial, and they only mean what we collectively want them to mean, and they don’t even really mean that at a much higher level than most people are willing to contemplate.  At some point we will see the men and women behind the curtain, and we will see that we’ve been sold a most cruel bill of goods.

I already know these things before most people do.  I have been confused about how to make it in the dying vEmpire, and quite frankly I don’t think I’m meant to.  Right now I need to find the ways to get by and to give generously of what I do have, of the desire to be a serviceable wayshower for others, which means I have to get busy learning these things from other wayshowers myself.

This little note might scare a lot of people.  But it’s not meant to.  I fully accept that I’ve led myself to this juncture where I need to find places to eke out an existence rent-free, where I might have to let my cellphone lapse, where I need to avail myself of all assistance possible as I make this transition to a more simple means of existence.  I fully understand that some of my friendships will of necessity terminate because this is just too much for people to deal with.  (They might be rekindled in the future, depending upon how things shake out.)

Life is vibrating at a really scary level, and we are witnessing the shaking off of debris that we have come to adore.  I have held onto a certain identity – the Undiscovered Playwright-Genius – for way too long.  Its husk weakly clutches at my spirit, but it’s been my ego that has held fast to it.  The unhealthy ego needs to be purified and cleansed, and this husk needs to be added to the need-fire now.  It’s in the way of the Shaman.

I will be holding a huge sale on pretty much everything I own the weekend of September 24-25.  This will be a momentous month of trust and truth for me.  I drew male lovers in the Cosmic Tribe deck today, and I blog all this from a place of deeper acceptance and love than I have ever known.

It is with love that I retired my corporate identity last Libra New Moon, the anniversary of which is a few short weeks away.  It is with love that I  release the fame-seeker part of my ego because it’s become too much like sugar and flour and booze.  It takes more than it gives, and I’ve hit bottom.

The prayer for the day is to know Godself’s will for this God’s pursuits.  I have a list of things to do, and I have a list of things to create.  Understand that writing is still a part of my gameplan.  I am aware that we are in a state of enormous flux, however.  I need to be a part of the change I seek to happen, to be acting in support of the sacred economy being born from Gaian requirements for our species.  The vEmpire has little use for me, but the emergent culture is where my heart lies.  I need to go to where it’s warm, and to go to any lengths to bring a recovery-centered life forward, not just for myself for the planet.

Small but large.  Slow but fast.  That’s how it works in my amazing life.  One day at a time.