Crip-Dancing Grief, Calligraphing Grief

My Heart Hurts, FDG 2012

Cat’s in my wheelchair, I can’t lift her out. I want to be in You, surrender. Make me who can best serve Your plan. I’ve no power.

Cut my finger, sucked it, I taste like raspberries. Guess SADD has not completely messed me up yet, but I am hurting. Bit by bit, SADD has crept up on me, I did not know if I was depressed or just coming to grips with some awful things that happened, admitting such things occur in this world. Or both. I still don’t know but today I do realize SADD is here.

Better go outside into sun and invigorating cold before SADD gets any worse. Glad I’m well ‘nuf again now and that the weather is a bit better.

Being outside helps. Then I plummet. Hate everything and everybody. A friend of mine once said, “When you’re depressed, you don’t think ‘I’m depressed.’ Instead, you think, ‘The world is a terrible place.'” Yup, the world is awful, people stink.

Detail from My Heart Hurts, FDG 2012.

I am a lousy spiritual leader. God, You picked the wrong person, my spiritual state is awful, I am hating my species. Hm, is this depression talking? Of course it is! I hope it is.

I better go meditate, do the rest of my physical therapy, see if that helps. Oh, and drink St John’s wort, that obliterated my SADD one year.

I start exercise. A bit of movement makes me feel deeply sad, this is not SADD alone. I forsake the usual physical therapy, and work out by dancing grief. I’m a crip, my dance is not what some might imagine. But it moves the awful sadness about those awful things I mentioned.

The St John’s wort is steeping. I just remember, I have Motherwort glycerite I made from my garden, will take that, too.

I calligraph my grief, that helps too.

Thank you, God, it’s mostly a day off, so I have the luxury of pain, of allowing myself time to work it out and away. This sadness has been lurking, even in the air around me, a long time, maybe years, needing to come out and play. Thank You for a day in which I have enough physical strength and mental acuity for healing my spirit, instead of a day ill physical health takes all. Just between you and me, I took care of my inner landscape instead of survival chores. But until I made beauty to cure my depression, survival felt worthless, I wasn’t tending to it anyway. Onward! Time to eat a beautiful dinner.
**********
Art and crafts can be self-help. DIY inner-transformation! I teach classes about bringing art ‘n’ spirituality together. If you don’t receive announcements of upcoming classes, here is where to sign up. At the time of this posting, a class starts next week, so if you want to get some work done now, email me for info about that class: outlawbunny @ outlawbunny.com

If you enjoyed this blog, I share in-depth about my life as a mystic and just plain ol’ human being in Share My Insanity , available on Amazon .

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Now, Self, Alone, God

Francesca De Grandis, 2012 This is all brush dipped into Pearl Ex and guar gum mixed with water. The pic does not show how the Pearl Ex makes the letters glimmer.

Now, Self, Alone, God
January 15, 2012

My life has become very primitive. Here, where I live now. I have left the sunny angst of California and its intellectual dilemmas. Here the snow winter shuts me in, without vitamin D, I have not left the house for days. I am ruled by the seasons, they are no longer just inspiration for poesy and ritual. Will J be able to drive in this weather to pick up my food for me?

My life has become primitive. I need, I always need, someone to wash my dishes and pots so that I can prepare food. Many of the things I need for survival I cannot do. It is ongoing, my life is asking someone to help, scheduling when they can help. Can someone help today? I need to find someone to help today.

I am not complaining. I am not “whining,” I am mourning losses, I am sad about my present circumstances, and sitting with God, who listens, holds me in my sorrow. My beautiful skin once lit from within—a Sicilian heritage, nurtured by homemade facials that my disabilities rarely allow anymore—is now dry, dull, rough, made so by this place’s hard water and rough weather, and by age and illness, and worry about money and survival.

I wrote this simple liturgy/poem/ritual/technique/… a while ago, for my personal meditations. After using it a lot, I wanted new ways to find its depth, so explored it with calligraphy. That helped further internalize the lesson I am trying to give myself. Speaking of which, I integrate my visual art with the rest of my life, so thus far I’ve only a few out ‘n’ out gallery posts. If you want to see more of my art, browse my blog. This piece was done with brushes and various colored inks, except for the purple, which was brush dipped into Pearl Ex and guar gum mixed with water. Francesca De Grandis, 2012

I wrote this simple liturgy/poem/ritual/technique/… a while ago, for my personal meditations. After using it a lot, I wanted new ways to find its depth, so explored it with calligraphy. That helped further internalize the lesson I am trying to give myself. Speaking of which, I integrate my visual art with the rest of my life, so thus far I’ve only a few out ‘n’ out gallery posts. If you want to see more of my art, browse my blog. This piece was done with brushes and various colored inks, except for the purple, which was brush dipped into Pearl Ex and guar gum mixed with water. Francesca De Grandis, 2012

In this life of constant survival concerns and powerlessness, God is my beauty. I am filled with divine blessings and childlike wonder. These are gifts, freely given me, through no merit of my own. But I do work for them. If we give way to the deception that there is no time for spiritual practices when life is brutal, we have lost sight. The crux (or a crux) of spirituality is that we cleave to it no matter what. Easier said than done, but a truth nonetheless. It is vital that I try my best to cleave, even if sometimes the best I can do is an on-again off-again, and faltering.

Our country was traumatized by the bombing of the twin towers. It is known that when a child suffers a great tragedy, the child does fine if given parental support. And gets far worse if further traumatized by parents – or other caretakers – who either do not support the child through their suffering, or “kick ’em while they’re down.” When we, as a country, suffered the tragedy of the bombing, our government grabbed hold of our already terrified throats. They made us line up in airports, stripping us of our rights, insisting, “You are scared yes, good, be scared be scared be scared, we are taking away your rights, we do this to help you.” It was like a parent saying, “We do this for your own good!” as he punches a child who was already beaten up by schoolmates.

We as a people (or at least many of us) are still reeling from the government’s abuse, and from our daily scramble – which they helped induce – to pay bills, survive, avoid homelessness. One way we still buy the government’s message “Be scared be scared,” hook, line, and sinker, is to believe we have no time for either spiritual practices or spiritual lessons. We’ve been deceived into thinking that there must be nothing but our brutalized day-to-day scramble, that survival takes all. I am not denying the harsh realities that many of us live in nor the reality of that scramble to feed our children. But we have been lied to, convinced survival is an excuse to forsake our spirits, as if working to keep our spirits whole no matter what has not always been a core human and spiritual concern, as if our current excuse to focus only on survival is different from past excuses in human history.

And, when I tend spirit, my scramble lessens. And, because I am tending spirit, bit by bit terror is leaving.

Beauty fills my day, my crippled body, my worried heart. God is that beauty, gives that beauty, shows my beauty, holds my beauty.

God, help me continue my spiritual practices, continue receiving spiritual lessons, keep growing so I can meet the problems of this primitive life. Help me continue to help others find your beauty, find their own beauty, because unless I do so, I cannot have beauty myself.
———–
If you enjoyed the thoughts above, I share in-depth about my life as a mystic, shaman, and just plain ol’ human being in Share My Insanity , available on Amazon.

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Paper Cutting: Shelf Paper (Hearth Blessing)

This traditional domestic adornment was often cut from newspapers. I prefer glossy, colored pages from magazines. (I find it exciting that, after years of making this shelf paper, I happened to move to Pennsylvania, which is known for it, as part of Scherenschnitte—the tradition of Pennsylvania German papercutting.)

It is easy to make, it’s as if you’re cutting paper dolls, and it looks great even if simple.

Papercutting of Fan. Francesca De Grandis Designed & Cut

I usually prefer to design complex, detailed cuttings (such as the fan pictured here, which I probably made between 1994 and 1998). But since complexity is not needed with shelf paper, you gain two benefits: 1) It is a craft project your children can do with great results. 2) I wouldn’t want to spend hours on one complex shelf-edging, because wear and tear will make me have to replace it within the year, unlike the cuttings that I frame.

If you fold three magazine pages together, and cut them all at once so that they are identical, you can attach them to each other to adorn a longer shelf. In recent years, I’ve added the use of paper punches that make fun shapes like moons and stars, but you can do it all freehand, I used to, and it was just as lovely that way.

This paper “lace” is not laid down on the horizontal surface of a shelf like regular shelf paper. Attach it to the edge of a shelf—see picture. I use masking tape.

A few years ago, I realized you can use the same cutting method to make a decorative cover for a flower pot. I love upcycling paper! You can do so many wonderful things!

Making shelf paper for my home and a couple of friends seemed like a way to bless our new year and start it off fresh. It also is upcycling.* (LOL. Doing craft with whatever is around the house is not new to our generation, it is traditional!) Upcycling feels homey and cozy during the winter, I feel it adds hearth blessings to the cuttings.

Love and kisses,
Francesca De Grandis

* To upcycle means recycling material into art or crafts projects. I recycle a great deal of material for the arts ‘n’ crafts I create. Speaking of art, if you’re looking for pics of my artwork here, browse my blog. I like integrating my visual art with the rest of my life, so thus far I’ve only a few out ‘n’ out gallery posts.

purchsbanr2

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A Yule Gift for My Community

Beading I did a few years back, and hung up this Yule

I am not much for re-writing Christmas songs to make em pagan or Unitarian or other things, because most Christmas carols are totally earthy and what not to begin with. I don’t think they need to be rewritten. Many are interfaith already, focus on earth-centered spirituality, and share some of the best parts of Christianity, parts that I love.

One reason I feel this way is because, when I hear the lyrics, I usually have no knee-jerk reaction. For example, I hear “God” and don’t assign gender or a specific religion to it. I might even hear it as “Tree of Life” or “The Song of the Cosmos” or even ‘The Great God Giant Mosquito!” It is not that I try to do this, I make no effort to re-interpret, it is the way my brain automatically works. (Not always, but often enough.) And when I hear “son of God” I might automatically think of the son of the Goddess, or I focus on all of us as His son, and our individually unique male aspects. I hear “birth of god” and think of the sun god born on winter solstice.

Almost every time I’ve heard a Wiccan or other rewrite, it feels didactic, and strips away the original joy and mysticism the original lyrics provided, often a depth of passionate, sexy spirit that touches the hidden core of the ecstatic Mysteries. The revisions usually feel feeble to me, less pagan and wild. Such a great deal of Christmas myth is ancient Solstice season lore that most of the songs are deeply nature-based and resonate with ecstatic mysticism, without any rewrite or effort to re-interpret them. I don’t even have to try to hear them that way. They just are that way for me without me trying to make it so. And it’s not that I have a particularly Christian approach to paganism; it’s not as if i’m just, as they say, putting on a skirt on Jesus and calling it the Goddess.

Looking out my window last winter

But tonight I was singing to God, and was loving the melody to Come All Ye Faithful, but its lyrics weren’t working for me. So I made new ones. I wasn’t trying to rewrite the old lyrics into something I could relate to better because, in that moment, I hungered for an entirely different experience than the lyrics provided. But the melody felt perfect, so I decided to delineate the experience I wanted in new lyrics. They are below. Here’s hoping I have not embarrassed myself as a bard by doing the gorgeous melody an injustice! All I know is, singing the words slowly and softly brought me to the place I wanted – – deep in the Goddess. It may not do the same for me tomorrow, but I am hoping it will do something for you, so it is below, a Yule offering to my community.

Francesca De Grandis, 2010, Santa's Elf

I also want to share a little about my day. I struggled at work, cld get little done, kept wasting time. Finally, I gave up the busyness, and surrendered to the winter-dark’s lazy embrace. Started roasting dandelion root, and doing other happily relaxed domestic chores as a meditation, a way to connect with self and Deity. It felt lush. Then, the song brought me even further into that connectivity and peace. I’ve been working really hard this year (once again!) at not getting caught up in holiday frenzy, expectations, or depression. My efforts have panned out, i’ve had a great season so far (whew!), despite some awful problems coming up. Part of the effort i’ve made has been to do a lot of yummy meditations on winter darkness as the goddess’s womb and related rituals. (Been doing them alone and also leading groups through them.) The song was a breakthrough point, things hit critical mass, I fell into the dark utterly. Mind you, I’ve been utterly in it during rituals. But this was such that I feel in it for the whole season, whether in or out of ritual, like I can spend a lot of the next few weeks in even a greater amount of deep meditations and other activities that the wild soul calls for in the sleepiness and dark of winter.

Oh, though I was singing this to God, the lyrics are actually Her singing them to me. And I don’t know if these words work on the page, but they feel great to me when I actually sing them, and am singing to God.

“Oh come to my darkness,
come to my deep quiet,”
Goddess of winter sings and
be-e-ckons us.

“Come let me hold you,
forsake all your labors.
This is not the
time for them,
this is not the
time them,
this is not the
time for them,
come rest in me.

“Sing round the fire.
Gather in the kitchen.
Feel peace toge-e-ther
and know you’re in me.

“Come let me hold you,
leave behind your trials.
Oh come please let me love you,
oh come please let me love you,
oh come please let me love you,
come home to me.

Make gifts and bake breads.
See, I am in your hearth!
Gently be bu-u-sy
and rest as you will.

Come let me hold you,
we will sing toge-e-ther.
Come celebrate the season,
come celebrate the season,
come celebrate the season,
my joy is yours.

Happy Yule!

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The Yule Tree Blue Jay

My 12 inch Yule Tree. The onion next to it reinforces how tiny it is.
My 12 inch Yule Tree. The onion next to it reinforces how tiny it is.

I was outside just now, doing physical therapy in the crisp winter-lush air, when a bluejay perched on the pinnacle of a 40 foot evergreen. Sat there, centered exactly at the apex. Til then, my little indoors Yule Tree (12 inches high, I made it by sticking  branches into Oasis) had no star or angel on top. Now it does, in my mind’s eye. Where it has also suddenly become a much bigger tree. 

When I do what Divinity asks—in this case, physical therapy and getting some fresh air, despite the 30 degree weather—I am sent gifts. 

Foolish jay, in its prideful residence over all, sat gloriously beautiful. Birds in nearby trees screamed. Were they jealous naysayers who attack God’s messengers, try to derail bringers of wondrousness, and distract us from such joy and beauty?  

It does not matter. God is all. I know this some moments. But I quickly forget, and then terror overtakes me, terror about finances, naysayers, and being such a crip that I cannot even wash my own dishes. But right this minute, I know God has my back.  

I have been wanting to sing praise to my Gods recently, actually sing praise. So I wrote a praise song.  

If you’ve been harassed about—or otherwise brutalized by—religion, someone singing “My god is beautiful,” or otherwise singing about how cool their Deity is, can seem like obnoxious, intrusive proselytizing. This would be the case whether your song calls Divinity “God” or “Goddess,” “Great Eagle ” or “Universal  Goodness,” or “Oh Great Pagan God Fred.” 

But when you sing the words directly to your god (as opposed to a human audience), when you sing praises to God as if a lullaby to a sleepy child, or a love song when courting a lover—it feels amazing. You may want to try it. It is visceral muscular prayer, and connection and relationship. We all love praise, even God. 

Now I’m going back outside—I interrupted  my workout to hobble inside and write this blog. While I exercise, I’m going to sing praise, sing to   Divinity. In addition to the song I wrote, I might improvise a tune to the blue jay story. We all like to be sung to, even God.  

If you liked this personal story and my musings, there are more in my new book Share My Insanity. And because it’s a book, it can go in-depth personal, and bring you on a journey we travel together that, paradoxically, becomes uniquely yours. It’s an easy book to fit into a busy life; some readers say a snippet of it fills them up, then they can go about their day while they apply or digest what they’ve read.

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Soaking Up Sunshine, Winter, Health, and Life

Soaking Up Sunshine, Winter, Health, and Life  
Written Sept or Oct 2011 (finally got it edited).

Me, drinking in autumn light

This is a follow up to my last blog about soaking up sunshine. Since then, I have continued to make a real practice of it, looking at bright things and letting them fill my eyes. One thing I’ve noticed is that I mustn’t mistake taking a photograph of things for soaking them up visually. It is the same challenge I have as a poet: not mistaking the poem for the moment I’m trying to capture in the poem. Action is the living poem. Keeping a record of things can be the death of the soul.

My eyes drink in, before I snap the pic.

Francesca De Grandis, 2011. I appear in a deeply meditative mind. I want to always discern whether this is my experience or just a photograph.

I also have been making myself be outside as much as possible, which I need for my health (e.g. vitamin D helps the multiple sclerosis). Now that the temperatures are in the 40s, I can’t sit down outside because I’d get too cold. So I have to create activities that keep me moving. (Heh, cripple outdoor activities, sans my wheelchair.) Today, I hobbled out to see if any fresh herbs were left. Yup, a bit of sage, perfect for the soft-boiled eggs I was about to make for lunch.

At first, I don’t like being outside in the chill, brrrrrr. After a while, it feels great—exhilarating, health giving, fun, invigorating.  

Looking out my window last winter

Barbecuing is a winter activity for me. It only has me outside for moments, but those moments are yummy. And so is the food, BBQ is delicious in winter! My caretakers set up barbecue supplies in a way that I can manage them when no one is here (which is most of the time).

A friend suggested building a snowman, to keep myself moving enough to stay warm. That’s way more than I could physically manage. But I could make a little tiny snowman or snow-woman. So I’m planning on making a row of them on the front-porch railing, one every day or so day until they have a little community.

Francesca De Grandis, Yule 2010 - - yet another snapshot I took of myself by holding camera at arm’s length.

I do physical therapy in rain or snow, will do it in 8° weather. I love snow, being in the solitude of white and trees is lovely. My heart is growing just thinking about it. I intend a winter that will help my health!

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Temporary Post #3

Faerie Chaos Picture Poem, from a series of Fey Heart meditations, Francesca De Grandis

Faerie Chaos Picture Poem, from a series of Fey Heart meditations, Francesca De Grandis

Payment by check or money order:
1) Make out the check or money order to Francesca De Grandis.
2) Enclose it with your name, phone number, and the title of the class, event, or service for which you’re paying.
3) Mail to
Francesca De Grandis
PO Box 145
Meadville PA 16335
3) Email me to say you’ve done this. I send someone to the post office once every week or two. But your email lets me know right away that you have paid me, so that I can take care of you immediately.

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When Life Gives You Lemons, Drink Sunshine.

Hand-painted T-neck shirt, Francesca De Grandis, pic #1

Written Sept or Oct 2011, (finally got it edited), but this autumnal story still feels relevant.

Trusting in the Divine during the harsh economic realities of present-day America is challenging, to say the least. I know—intellectually—I am being taken care of by the Great Good. But living accordingly at any given moment is a whole other matter. I fail at it constantly, ending up in self-obsessed worried knots.

Sometimes I fail because I wrongly think surrender to the Divine always results in material success or ecstatically serene epiphanies. Heh, at times, trusting means practicing one’s spiritual tools despite all evidence that there is any reason to do so.

But sometimes, I do act in trust. Here is a victory of this past week: 

Back-story: Winter can exacerbate multiple sclerosis. I’ve been dreading winter, because I won’t get the sunshine that helps my eyesight and general health. (People with MS can go blind; being out in the sun makes a difference in how well my eyes work.)

More back-story: I’m housebound with my illness. People do my grocery shopping for me. By and large, I don’t choose the vegetables and fruits they buy, because I’m not in the store to see what’s available and in good shape. End of back-story.

Hand-painted T-neck shirt, Francesca De Grandis, pic #2. I envisioned the Sun starting its ascent with the Winter Solstice.

So, my friend John walked in with my groceries. Unloading them, he pulled out four lemons and proudly declared, “I brought you more lemons.” My initial (and typically-negative-of-me) reaction was the thought, “What am I going to do with four—four! —lemons? Sure, I asked him to get lemons the past couple of trips, but that was because I was sick with flu.”

My complaint is ridiculous when others go hungry. I will use any opportunity—even a blessing like all those nice lemons—as an excuse to forgo trusting the Divine. But I was immediately blessed with a second reaction: “Hey, I’m going to trust that Divinity had a reason John bought so many lemons.”

Funny thing is, when I feel that way about whatever fruit and vegetables I’m brought, I end up with the best possible culinary experiences.

My caretakers work hard to make good shopping choices for me; they succeed at it, but negative-minded moi does not always remember that. At least not when they’re unpacking the groceries.

John has God within. Divinity works through John’s fine intelligence, great intuition, and immense wisdom, to make good shopping choices for me.

Trusting this put me in a frame of mind that allowed me to create a lemon recipe. I call it Francesca’s Liquid Sunshine, and it is an Autumn drink to store up sunlight for the winter ahead. Oh my, when I can trust, the rewards are often yummy!

Hand-painted shirt, Francesca De Grandis, pic #3. I thought of the Beatles’ Here Comes the Sun while painting this.

Measurements are rough:
* 2/3 container frozen white grape juice concentrate
* Dilute with water to make very sweet beverage.
* Add one and a half fresh lemons, skin and all, cut up.
* Add fresh ginger, about 3/4″ long by 2/3″ cut into 4 pieces. Do not grate.
* Bring to boil, lower heat, simmer until a yummy gold taste.

My guests and I loved this sunny beverage, at a time when we were watching the season turn toward our local long cold dark winter. And I was able to store up sunlight for the winter ahead because I had a moment of trust in Divinity and in John having Divinity within.  

BTW, next summer, I hope to try the following chilled variation, and see whether it tastes good: Cook it without the added water, or add minimal amount. Then cool, then refrigerate til cold. Right before serving, dilute with cold bubbly water. If you try either version, let me know what you think.

The above is what I call a “self-help recipe”—ideas about improving life coupled with culinary tips. If you enjoyed it, there are a few self-help recipes in my new book Share My Insanity.

In a week, I’ll post what happened next to me re the MS, sunshine, and spirituality, but I have to edit that writing first.

When life gives you lemons, drink sunshine.

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The 2011 Annual Hassle-Free Thanksgiving Event

In the early 80s, I started an event I dubbed The Annual Hassle-Free Event. It’s no longer annual or face-to-face, but I try to keep it going because it makes me so happy.

Silk Painting, Francesca De Grandis

We’d get together Thanksgiving morning, before you had to cook a dinner you were allergic to, face in-laws who couldn’t remember your name, and deal with other social absurdities. No one brought food or drink to the Annual Hassle-Free Event. It was truly hassle-free, a momentary oasis of quiet simplicity amidst Thanksgiving nuttiness. In fact, it only lasted 45 minutes—anything longer would have been a hassle, because Tday is always so busy. (Nowadays folks couldn’t fit in 45 minutes, but that is a whole other story. And good thing I’m doing this online—it’ll only take you a minute.)

We’d just sit down in a circle, and each of us would list some things we were grateful for. That was it, the full event. If you didn’t want to list anything, that was okay too! You could just listen or comment.

I have spiritual practices, both simple and elaborate, that put me into deep deep deep altered states and give me profound peace, transformation, and satiation. I have yet to understand why my unsophisticated somewhat-annual event impacts me in ways that those other practices do not (though they impact me in other, equally important, ways.) All I know is, this event really shifts my whole being, every time!

I also know gratitude lists are a cliché, especially at Thanksgiving, but they’re part of my daily practice. And taking a moment on or around Tday to make my list and hear others’ centers me into what is important, and stops me from being carried away by holiday stupidity!

Faerie Geometry, Francesca De Grandis

Here is my list of things for which I am grateful:
* I’m grateful to be able to draw and paint. For one thing, after I write a maxim, I love adding visual elements to it! I like integrating my visual art with the rest of my life. Speaking of which, if you’re looking for pics of my artwork, I’ve only a few out and out gallery posts, but browse my blog to see lots of my art.
* I am still grateful for my Etsy shop, because it is a way for this housebound crip to connect with people everywhere. My body is stuck here, but my spirit travels. My far-flung students and readers also allow me this gift!
* I am grateful for my community, it has the best people, they rock!
* I am grateful to be alive, I should have died many times, it is a miracle I am still here.
* I can still be of service, despite a body that a physician said would keep most people in bed for the rest of their lives doing nada.
* I refused pain meds, three times. I am not anti-pain meds, I just don’t want them, because I push so hard despite pain that, if I did the meds, I’d never ever stop til I died.
* I am so grateful that Share My Insanity was published this year!
* I am grateful for my publisher Linda Roghaar (White River Press). She was the only publisher who understood what I was doing in Share My Insanity.
* She has also been immensely encouraging. Amidst the din of digital noise that drowns out many voices, my efforts to get word out that the book exists are often frustrating, but she does great pep talks!
* I am grateful to everyone who has helped me get word out or otherwise supported Share My Insanity. The support has often reduced me to happy tears!
* I am grateful for my sense of humor, it may me through the holidays!
* I am thankful for my cat Teenie who is a great sage.
* I am thankful for a roof over my head, food in my fridge, and the selfless volunteers who wash my dishes and do the other things my maimed body will not.
* I am grateful for the most amazing friends and all my fellow travelers, everyone on the Toad’s Wild Ride that is life!

In the Moment Silk Painting Picture-Poem, Francesca De Grandis

Please participate in the Annual Hassle-Free Event. It would thrill me! Just list one or many things for which you are grateful. Or otherwise leave a comment! And if all you do is read, thanks so much!

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Trickster Said, “May I Have This Dance?”

Written July, 2011. But it’s been in my head for years, which means you may have seen/heard some of it already. Heh, and I’m posting this in November—five months after writing it! Are you like me, with a lot of blogs you never get to post? Anyway, I’m risking a very personal post because I hope it will be of service to someone.

Trickster said, “I’m sad. Modern pagans and intellectuals and other free spirits say they know me, but when I come, most of them run. They write books about wildness, but when I do my job, which is to expose the staid places in them, places that supposedly keep them safe, places that happen because they’re afraid to be themselves, fully themselves fully fully fully fully fully fully fully, they say, ‘You have no respect for my depth of understanding.’ Or ‘You have no respect for my causes.” Or “You do not respect how much I struggled to become myself.’ 

“But I respect it more than they do. And I love them for it, more than they do. They do truly have great depth of understanding, great causes, great struggles. 

“Moderns dress as me, dance around in my Coyote skin, call out my name. But if I answer their call, if I join the dance, they exclaim, ‘You are going to damage someone, some poor pathetic defenseless person who does not know better.’ 

“I defend the weak. My naysayers are not actually speaking on anyone’s behalf. They are saying, ‘I must lie, declare the falsehood that you will hurt defenseless people. Otherwise, your dance will expose how I myself hurt people who are vulnerable.’ 

“Or ‘Your dance shows me those people are strong despite all they suffer. Stop dancing, I need to see them as pathetic, so that I can feel superior to them.’ 

“Or ‘I must stop your dance because it shows me that we are all defenseless in the face of life’s chaos.’ Or ‘I am afraid that to be fully, happily lovingly me is bad. So I will see that badness in you, and attack it.’ 

“It is not that I act inconsiderately. I am a Sacred Clown, but I am courteous. I never step past your boundaries. I do not try to provoke. Only young tricksters do these things. I no longer, old as I am, proclaim, ‘Look! See how wild I am! See how I break the rules!’ I do not be mean or irresponsible then cover it up by insisting, ‘You just can’t handle how intense and true and wild I am!’ Ugh! 

“No, I have become sly Trickster, polite, and not overtly disruptive, at all. I simply dance my dance, tell my stories, share my meals, and note quiet messages from Mother Earth. I inflict none of these on anyone. I just politely offer them. My dances, stories, and messages might not seem that of the Holy Fool; that’s part of the tomfoolery! 

“Humans run from me, wanting the trickster’s mask, but not the trickster. So they hold forth on who I am, why I am, and what I symbolize. As if I lived within a dissertation, or am a cleverly expressed sentiment, or am a construct made of cardboard ideas and gorgeous, artful blown-glass icons! 

“They run away, wanting my old stories—even telling them to each other—but not my current tales. Modern accounts are about themselves—their actual selves—and me. They prefer an ancient yarn about my stealing a rabbit’s tail or giving a spider its many legs. Don’t they know that they each have their own story, with me as a character in it? That they each have a unique story just for them? In fact, each person may have many stories that I play a part in. 

Merry Prankster by Kathleen Marshall

“But not all modern humans are the way I have described. Oh, the artists who capture my spirit and let it run free, who run with me! Oh, the ritualists and academics who perceive the innumerable finely-tuned and orderly aspects of my chaos, then also invite me to dinner. For them and the rest of you who stay, you who are not frightened off by Rabbit, Coyote, Exu, and my other Guises and trickster Colleagues, I am a good luck charm. Just from dancing next to me or merely sitting beside me, your luck improves, wonderful things occur for you. After a while, I open the gate for all other Divinity. All the old Gods and new Gods come pouring through my gate to love those who are not afraid of trickster today. For no matter how far you have come, how wild you’ve become, how honest you are and good you are, there’ll always be part of you that is not whole and that is still hurting others. Trickster can show it to you. 

 “And if you face it, all the old Gods and all the new Gods will heal you of it. You and I will dance. All other Gods will join in. Oxala will shine in Her/His complete glory, showing us how orderly the cosmos is in its chaos, and how in control we can be if we relinquish control. I will be happy again. 

******* 

November 2011 backstory: Some of you know how much producing Share My Insanity has taken out of me. Ditto how frustrating it is to get word out that the book exists. I’m not complaining, I choose the good fight. 

But I want to mention one challenge I had. It took about five years to sell Share My Insanity to a publisher because it goes against the hipper constructs of Western consciousness. I refer not just to the book’s ideas but also to the way the book is written. I could not find a publisher who had even the faintest idea of what I was trying to pull off.  

It was awful to write from the heart and be told over and over that no one understood what I was doing, that the project sucked. Years of rejections had me thinking that maybe I’d climbed into an ivory tower and could no longer write reality. 

Finally, a publisher said, “Share My Insanity is so accessible, yet so deep.” My gratitude to her is enormous. 

So, a lot of struggles with Share My Insanity, and the above blog, which represents one, was a personal venting, in hopes it relieves my pain and the pain of some reader who happens to see it. 

Art by Kathleen Marshall

The challenges aren’t over. I’m working hard to get word out that the book exists, despite no budget. This is Indie culture. I do not feel sorry for me, this is good work to do. Do you want to help? If I email you a PDF flyer for Share My Insanity, can you print one or more to put in your U.U. church or another place where independent thinkers gather? If so, email me. outlawbunny at outlawbunny.com Thank you! Mwah <–that’s a big kiss. 

 Pimping alert! Share My Insanity is great! 🙂 And a fun easy read, despite all I went through with it. It is actually a humor book! Yup, I had that much of a fight getting a humor book out! Anything can threaten people, if it is from the heart! 

If you’re an independent thinker who commits to inner growth, rejects cheap answers, longs to keep growing despite having made no headway (or despite gaining tremendous, spectacular, amazing headway), I 100% believe I am an author who is worthy of you. End of pimping. 

Onward!

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