Rode the bus today through LA. Started in South-Central, transferred in Korea town, passed through segregated pockets of people until I arrived in Santa Monica and was the only person left on the bus. Los Angeles is like a giant burlap sack and as much as culture can attempt to meld the gems and jewels of people inside of the sack, they remain in categorical sorts. My two-hour excursions on the bus ride showed me time and again that sub-culture is in part segregated by circumstance, and in part by individual choice. Boarding the bus, people sat by people who they resembled, sacrificing personal space and comfort. There are many more women who ride the bus than men. I was the only white person I rode with the entire time. I sat alone on crowded buses the entire time.
We compare ourselves amongst ourselves. Collectively, we perform culture, construct society, and chatter discourses that dialogue ideas concerning ideas. As individuals we are singular creations; however, it takes two to re-create one.
Within communities, we come to understand ourselves through our perception of those around us. Shift the belief or bias about a concrete and lackluster circumstance, or shift the circumstances to agree with a belief or bias: what is life but a capricious oscillation, phases of flexes and stasis, in a dance around a balancing point. The point? Similar to a flower that in essence exists as a rhizome before it appears as matter in the physical world, we exist before we are born and during our time in the world of shapes and forms we grow around obstacles of shade reaching towards the sun in a search for solutions to solutions, navigated by a compass rose directing a quest for questions. The hope is to find the outward thing which we basically are.
I find myself sitting in some unplaced moment behind my eyes. I remove myself because I perceive those around me as united and I am different. The barrier is a two-dimensional wall. I am removed; thus, I regain a locus of control through a reflexive defense mechanism. I remove myself.
Two truths hold simultaneously. We are all the same. I feel as though I am different. My sense of self situates like the dividing line between oil and water. We are one; I am.
I want to suround myself with people and environments that push and inspire me to be a higher me.
According to the stars, planets and the time/date/location of my birth:
Section 2: The Inner You: Your Real Motivation
Sun in Gemini:
Your mystical, intuitive and spiritual sensitivity arises from your past lives, perhaps in early Roman times, or in the Egyptian/late Atlantean period. Then you may have been a seer with expertise in the religious mysteries of the day and in healing through the laying of hands. Your likely interest in group meditation, symbology, holistic health, and astrological timing arises from such past life experiences.
From your afterlife experience in the Neptune dimension, your imaginative urges create strong mystical impressions within you. At times, Emily, when you meditate or simply rest, the actions expressed in your visions and daydreams may elicit such intense emotions that you may feel as if you had actually experienced them.
Since Neptune is a higher octave of Venus, ruler of the arts, your Neptunian attunement and sensitivity give you abilities related to the arts in virtually any direction, whether as an actor, a dancer, an artist, musician or art critic.
Although you would do well in any creative endeavor, you are also gifted with healing power, especially in applying, for example, music and color to emotional disturbances. Hence, combining analytical or depth psychology with your creative and mystical sensitivities may suggest fields that will bring you deep understanding, if judged from the spiritual side.
You may also achieve a great deal through service for others, caring for others, helping those less fortunate. To be a channel of blessings to others is the purpose of every soul coming into the material world. For you particularly, serving others may have special rewards. If it is in keeping with your ideals, you would gain much in service involving an organized charitable institution or missionary branch of a church denomination. Public leadership involving large organizations through speaking to groups and writing is also indicated.
In addition, Emily, things that come over water or upon water are likely to be significant in your experience. Travel and law, especially in connection with these, should also be a portion of your activities.
Underneath a distant porch, a frog croaks. An appendix bursts, an eye tears, teeth grind, gears whirl and springs wind: I lie here awake with my head underneath a pillow, and the sound that I cannot hear is hurting my ears. The silence is deafening. I want to hear motion. I want to hear life.
The God of Delusions asks the Buddha:
“Are you a God?”
“No”, replies the Buddha.
“Are you a Saint? Are you an Angel?”
“No, I am neither a Saint nor an Angel”, replies the Buddha.
“What are you then?” asks the God of Delusions.
“I am awake”, says the Buddha.
Images from one of my favorite childhood books, When Emily Woke Up Angry, written and illustrated by Riana Duncan in 1989. Yesterday I found this book in the back of a closet, re-read it, and can now see why my mom chose this book for me.
She hunches over the railing of the front porch, flicking the butt of a cigarette into a ceramic ash tray. “Em, do me a favor and get me my wine so I can swallow it. I forgot where I put it.” I do as I’m told–Grandma barely asks a favor in a day, and I’m happy to fetch her request. Handing it to her, I reply wryly: “You said swallow it, like it’s a pill.” Grandma laughs. I laugh. Truth is funny even when painful in the bright light of a dark night.
Last night, I had a dream featuring thematic and archetypal symbols that have entered my unconscious mind a few times a week for the duration of about three months.The bird. Flying like the line that draws the third dimension: neither delineating latitude nor longitude, but drawing a diagonal trail like the axis of the earth.
Attached to the birds’ wings are two water baskets shaped like cauldrons, filled to the brim with water that spills of the sides. The bird would not be weighted. The birds’ intent and determination manifest in the miracle of lifting itself through the air, as if the anchors attached to its wings were boeuys, not baskets.
I was the bird. I have become the bird in dreams before, where its death transitioned into my life. My grandma’s name is Bertie.
We are facing different directions. I ask my grandma on the other side of the stoop why I am different from my Mom, Dad and Brother, and always have been. A pause precedes her response: “Maybe God put you here to do something that they weren’t put here to do.”
The dreams I had last night continue a trend to experience dreams within dreams, wake up then realize I am still dreaming and try to wake up, and so on.
Each dream in this series so far has featured one other family member and myself.
Last night, my brother and I were reminiscing while flipping through a book we both made in elementary school. We read what we had written, including what we thought success meant to us back in the day. Stunned, the more we read, the more stunned: both blown away by how wise we were when we were too young to have the experience to attain such profound simplicity.
During the dream, I woke up from the subjective experience of the dream behind my own eyes. The transition to an objective perspective and knowledge that I was dreaming this scene was fluid and diluted, an idea that I could not grasp long enough to retain memory of moment by moment. The strangest part is that when I would realize that I was dreaming, I believed that I was actually awake experiencing the scene, speaking with my brother looking at our mementos. I thought to myself, man, I wish that I would fall asleep, this is such a fluttering sleepless night and I’m sitting here reading, I wish I would fall into a deep sleep so I can wake up and feel well rested.