Your emotions make you a monster.

    
    I am ranting and sharing about this in hopes that I may not be so deeply affected by the actions of others in the future.  I need a wall, a big, strong, healthy wall with some holes in it so that I might still participate in life.  I find that by reacting with raw anger, even with good intention, it always makes things worse. I make it worse for the victims, the villains, the heros and all innocent bystanders in ear shot of my cursing.
    I had a run in at a local swim  hole today. I was playing fetch with Rocky which consists of him barking manically at me until I throw him a stick. I usually have to gather at least five or so good size sticks to keep up with his stick drive. Insatiable is his duty to chip, shred and swim.  
    I was having a pretty good time until I noticed a man hurling a seven pound toy poodle through the air, towards the water.  Not just hurling either, but launching. It's feet were splayed out in four directions, a sign of being terrified to land. I would be too if a giant launched me through the air. The spot in the water the man was throwing his poodle was deep, but there are many randomly placed rocks in the water, some not sitting flat, to where even with really good aim he was putting his little guy in danger.
        So let's say this dog has a thing for being hurled through the air that I am unaware of (which was not apparent in the dog's body language at all). Wouldn't this guy have the fucking brains to move down stream a little where there would be absolutely no chance of injury?
       Of course not, because he was doing it for attention, not for the pleasure of his pooch, right in the chaotic center of the swim hole. He was not only putting his dog in danger, but others too.  The place was packed enough to the point where I found it difficult to throw a stick at times for fear of hitting somebody, let alone a whole fucking poodle.
     You might be reading this thinking, " Damn, she's overreacting a bit about this, I mean it's not even her dog.  Why doesn't she just mind her own business? Doesn't she realize she could have misperceived the whole situation?Why take that risk to make an ass out of yourself?" 
      Well, let me tell you. I notice when defenseless things, be it human or animal, are uncomfortable or being slightly dominated, or more.  And I have been right too often on these judgement calls.  I used to feel guilty about these strong emotions before I really owned my personality.  Now I know without a doubt what makes me happy, sad, angry, uncomfortable and protective.  I honor these emotions because if I didn't I would explode or at the very least use drugs again  and I want to avoid these two things, especially exploding.
     One of my favorite therapist said to me, after I suspected someone of child abuse in Burlington, "Gewel, Who better to notice dominance, but you. It's all you know. Technically, and I am sad to say this, you are an expert in the subject after being relentlessly surrounded by dominance and abuse your entire childhood and adolescence and you managed to dig out of the mental wreckage with healthy perspective and wisdom. Trust your gut more. Don't feel guilty about being perceptive. Trust yourself." And so I did and she was right. Dammit.
     Even though this particular situation was a no brainer really. You don't throw a dog like that in such a crowded swim hole. It's just fucking dangerous. And news flash you ass hat, dogs don't like  being thrown that hard. A dog can handle a toss, sure, but a launch, come on dude.  Did your father teach you to swim like that?  I'd bet money on it that he did.  It's insensitive to say the least; dogs don't want to be thrown, they like to throw themselves at things, but that is an entirely different story and there is usually food, sticks, love or a butt involved. 
     To make a long rant even longer, I noticed him about to launch his dog again.  I swam over and said to him in a quiet, polite voice. "Do you think that you could toss (being polite, because he was actually launching his dog) your buddy in some deeper water?" Pointing towards the deepest area. And then I made some heartfelt eye contact and said, "Because you're upsetting some people, including myself."  He replied with, " I know what I'm doing."  Then he immediately proceeded to throw his dog much farther and higher than the time before. This upset me, because at that point I realized,  I had just made it worse for the little dog.   Now his master had something to prove: that in fact, he really knew what he was doing.  I told him loudly, "If I were your dog, I'd fucking kill myself. You are such a fucking asshole." Maybe not the most intelligent response, but an honest one for sure.
      It was then that I decided to leave. I was not helping the situation at all, but in fact, making it worse for the little dog.  I knew that if the launching continued, and got worse even, I would have tried to claw this guys eyes out. Though I haven't ever and probably wouldn't do something like that, I would rather not test my rage. Damn I was mad.  I saw his blood on his face already with my wishful imagination.
      I feel awfully alone with how sensitive I am to situations and people.  I have been alone with my opinions in the past, I was alone in my opinion today and I am sure there will be more situations available to rub my nose in the fact that most of the world is insensitive and oblivious. It seems to me today that most people would rather not make waves to the point where everyone is wearing blinders, rationalizing each other's behavior. It's like that psychology term group-think, but on a much larger scale. That's why I have preferred the company of dogs over people since I was 14.

Your Emotions Make You a Monster by The Dead Kennedy's: You Tube.

Your mommy told you this

And your daddy told you that

Always think like this

And never do that

You learned so many feelings

But what is there to that

Which are really yours

Or are you just a copycat

You're so boring boring boring

Always tape machine recording

You're so boring boring boring

I've heard all this before

Planless and mindless

Scraps from anywhere

Bunch of used parts

From garbage pails everywhere

Frankenstein became a monster

Just like you

Your scars only show

When someone talks to you

You're so boring boring boring

Always tape machine recording

I've heard all this before

I've heard all this before

Your emotions make you a monster

Beauty is Over-looked

I am brought to my knees by beauty sometimes. Simple wonders know no end such as the intensity of emotion, the power of thought and ideas, even the extraordinary act of drawing breath. These miracles surround us constantly.  Though a common sight is not someone doubled over from shock at the beauty of a sunset. Nor do I notice strangers in the street embracing, thanking each other for bearing witness to the splendor of being alive. Why are some jaded to these fantastic elements?  Are they distracted by the technology and superficial goals popular in our society? Are they consumed by self-obsessed thought until there is not any room left to appreciate beauty?   In this fast-paced environment, where technology and progress rule, beauty is over-looked and under-appreciated. This can be observed by interacting with others.

To see the complacent attitude toward beauty more clearly, pay attention to those around you. Next time you talk to someone, notice how often they complain or seem dissatisfied with some element of life.  Consumed by their selfish problems, they fail to notice the brilliance all around them. They are capable of seeing beauty, but unable to appreciate it because their vision is clouded by self-centered thoughts. They ramble off endless lists of unsolvable problems, always not getting what they think they want.  If they were truly enamoured by life they would be content with reality, accepting and appreciating it completely for what it is. During these conversations I am taken back by the beauty of the sky or the extravagantly crafted cloud floating by their heads as they complain.  If this complaining person is you, my advice is to take a step outside yourself and your problems to appreciate the magnificence that exists all around.

Some seem comfortable exploiting nature for profit. They would rather chase progress, success and money rather than enjoy what exists all around. Why would they rather have a parking lot than a park, or a Wal-mart than a family owned business?  Corporations are not faceless super entities, but made up of people just like you or me. Somewhere, their vision of beauty was distorted. When they think beauty, they see dollar signs. Corporations have destroyed whole ecosystems instead of taking a financial hit. No profit margin exists in a sunset and that oak tree isn’t going to tell them they are special.  There is no ego or gain involved in the true appreciation of beauty and, perhaps, because of this some do not find it appealing.  

The solution to the under-appreciation of beauty lies in the way children see the world with innocence. I notice children staring wide-eyed at their beautiful reality.  I remember the feeling of wonderment that came along with childhood, making up ballads and drawing elaborate worlds with my crayons to explain things I did not understand. Hold on to childhood wonderment, instead of slowly watching it wash away as we age  with criticism, societal standards, false ideals and goals; save the appreciation of beauty.

Mercy please, Mercury.

                               

                                     http://www.ismercuryinretrograde.com/

      I am counting down the seconds until Mercury is out of Retrograde. 

    Since it has started:

•   Poison Ivy
•   Head cold
•   Trip to ER
•   Broken fancy computer
•   One lost phone
•   Three broken phones
•   Lost 1/2 dog harness (HTF does 1/2 dog harness disappear?)
•   Four checks in the mail, from two different institutions, snatched from                                              
   the ether to God knows where.
• One rejection from a major University for a REALLY stupid reason.

    I am not sure I can take anther seven days at this pace. 

    Despite all the chaos, I'm in a great mood :) Life is simple, sweet and happy. How liberating to realize my problems are superficial. 

    Rocky and I like Austin. His arthritis has improved greatly in just the week that we've been here. Our roommates are peaceful artists, musicians, and gardeners, and Geoff and I have many artistic endeavors on the horizon. Life is good.

Le sigh...

     I leave for Texas soon to stay with my sweet heart. I miss him intensely. Rocky and I will UPS our belongings, mainly art supplies and clothes, then race the boxes south.  This will be good motivation for us to hustle because it would be  embarrassing to loose a race to a box.
     I am writing my life story.  So far I have 6 pages, single spaced. Not much, but a good start.  Writing about my past has  brought up a lot of memories. 


     Here are some thoughts associated with the writing and life in general: 


      I had an interaction with a good friend in New Orleans that made me think in depth about my history as an addict. We were talking about the lack of  control involved in addiction.  While we spoke it became clear to me that she was hurt and angry still from a recent break up. She took a man into her home knowing he was actively using. I could tell by her tone that she had loved him. Along with her affections she gave him the opportunity to get clean by letting him stay at her place and  supporting him for a month or so.  It became obvious during our conversation that she believed drug addicts really do have control, but fail to exercise it by choice because of a moral failing, some desire to be a miserable victim, or for attention. 
     This made me sad. I feel very connected to this woman and to hear her talk this way about something that has afflicted me for most of my life hurt me deeply. I  understand  there are many degrees of addictive personalities, some worse than others, but I tried to explain to her the helplessness involved with my experience. As silly as it sounds, it was like being possessed. I would drive around for weeks on end sleeping in the car, but only for hours at a time, waking up sick. I wouldn't  eat or drink water for days on end. My survival instincts abandoned me. I told her of the dangerous people I surrounded myself with. I told her the truth: that I look back on those memories and KNOW that I  truly could not stop.  It was like watching a movie projector of my life. 
    Mental obsessions are no joke. Many times I sat behind the wheel of my driver’s seat, key in the ignition, crying, desperately trying to will myself out of scoring.  I wanted to stop, but I didn't know how. I read every piece of literature, practiced the advice rehabs gave me,  went to NA meetings,  prayed  and  meditated. These things helped calm my nerves, but nothing really worked until I revisited my past with an open mind and a therapist.  Together we searched my past for resentments to heal with talk, art and writing.

      Most people don’t know what it’s like to habitually use narcotics and that is a very good thing.  People who have addict family members, friends, or lovers will tell you that the addict is like a tornado raging through the lives' of the people around them.  Relationships with addicts will often hit a wall where trust is impossible and with good reason. In active addiction I began to realize that I could not trust myself.  This feeling had a ripple effect in my life where the logical part of me started to rationalize with the addict half, pleading with it not to kill us. I was split in half; one  wanted me dead, the other was crying for it all to stop. At its worst, the experience could be described as an all-consuming, self-centered, black hole of misery. Contrary to popular belief, the intelligent addict is not having fun avoiding life, relationship and responsibility; they are in a state of agonizing mental obsession with no logical way out in sight.

     I had developed an inability to deal with life and my emotions. Rage would visit me every morning. I would wake in such a fit of anger that I would slam doors hard enough to break glass and  throw coffee cups trough windows. I would scream like a banshee,  terrifying the people and animals around me. This rage  masked  intense pain. It led me to use for long periods of time, cumulatively wasting years of my life. I needed to escape reality because my mind was a hostile place. I wanted to die before I figured out how to shed my compulsions by dealing with my pain. Something, be it my will to live, a Great Spirit, my Saturn Return, or whatever, gently nudged me to climb out of the wreckage and change the way I live and think. 

     In order to heal I had to dig up those old, painful memories to make sense of them. I needed to apply today’s wisdom to yesterday’s pain. I needed to find out what my inner child was frightened of and screaming over. I read that the process of revisiting past trauma actually changes the neurological pathways imprinted by behavior. I had to not just speak of the past either, but re-feel each trauma with an adult head space in order to overcome the effects of those repressed emotions and recover. 
     This topic always makes me think of the alcoholic monkeys from the Caribbean : )  This short and funny clip explains the genetic factors of alcoholism in moneys compared to humans (after some trippy lemur action that is):

Drunken Monkeys and smashed lemurs 

    I wonder if monkeys have their own therapists.

    Off topic entirely,  I am learning how to draw in Adobe Photoshop. Here is a trial composition.  I think I am getting the hang of it.  I downloaded a bunch of fun brushes and am in the process of getting interested enough in digital art to make my own brushes. I am by no means comfortable with the Wacom tablet yet, but I am learning and having fun.  I  only play with it when I know that I have six hours to devote because it is highly addictive. It is essentially painting with light, not like traditional painting at all. I must navigate through this alternate universe.  I am hoping I'll get the hang of it.

   

Vermont

   

   It's cold here in Vermont.  The trip to the south was filled with bitter-sweet adventure.  It lasted two months, but I'm sure now that it wasn't long enough. 
    I guess that I am officially sick of winter. I have all this art to sell, but walking downtown with it to sling isn't an option in this frigid climate.  Don't get me wrong, I'm not taking winter completely for-granted, it served its purpose.  Winter gave me introspection when I had none and relieved some of my compulsive behavior,  but I just want to be warm now. I feel like I've payed my penance.  The plan is to be out by May and head west.

    I am trying to raise money still and have a lot of paintings, so I was thinking about having an art show. If anybody likes something please send me a message. I will go way down on the price.




    This one is small: 12x12in.

   This one is pretty big: 3.5 ft. x  58 in.

   24in. x18in

 

    9in x 12in

    9 in. x 12in.

This one's big 30in. x 30in

   
     I finished this one when I got home a couple days ago, while recovering from food poisoning.

And these were started in the last couple days..

 


    I am excited by my fear. What else can I do with feelings of uncertainty? Fear fuels me to burn brighter and walk with my head high so I don’t give off the scent of prey, so I don’t take on the role of a victim.

    I don’t let others’ irrelevant histories live in my heart. I renounce my bias because it does not belong to me. It’s time to move forward and away from these prisons. The angels that guide me are ballads of humility and intuition obscured by wanting. With each revelation I find new joy. It’s irrelevant how many times I repeat my mistakes. It’s irrelevant how long it takes.

    Conquering the dark side is a continual process.  My compulsions are satiated by the recognition of the angels at my side. I am testing my boundaries for weakness. I am speechless, repetitious in my mistakes, but in constant check of my intention. My heart is in the right place; steady is my step away from oblivion.

Life...

Rocky is recovering nicely from his stomach surgery. To read about dog bloat, click here.     Here is Rocky sleeping off the pain meds.                                             Rocky's bad-ass scar.                        There have been rumors in the matriarch that a trip to New Orleans is in the making for Poppa Neutrino's funeral. Poppa Neutrino died at 77.   Click here to read about Poppa Neutrino. He was a philosopher, adventurer, sailor, musician and father to some amazing children.          Despite all the traveling I've done, I haven't visited New Orleans. I've many friends there, but I've always been a bit fearful of the neighborhoods from the stories I was told of 15 year boys mugging drunks at gun point and one too many of my female acquaintances getting brutally beaten and raped.       So if my home girls decide to go, I will venture bravely for the first time into New Orleans. It will be good to face my fears around the place, see my friends, and honor the loss of a great man with a New Orleans style funeral. Then I can ride back to Vermont with the matriarch.        The last couple weeks, four themes have been on my mind: love, the violin and art, the stress money brings, and happiness via sense of self.  I have discovered through my thinking binge that these themes are all related. When I finally find what I love to do and who I love to do I would naturally expect the world to comply with my path by paying me. It doesn't work that way though. Reality is a bitch, but to make up for it, life is both frightening and enchanting.  The enchanting part is what makes it all worth it.         It still astonishes me how money has the power to make me feel like I was punched in the gut.   My entire life has been a struggle; I don't know why I still expect things to be easy. I must still pay rent and bills in Vermont while continuing to support myself here in Austin. Luckily, I got my tax return for rent and some donations to the Rocky relief fund for Rocky's surgery, but then there are bills that I am still responsible for. On top of all this, I have to figure out how to get back to Vermont without getting too terribly cold.         While all this reality is churning, my artistic mind frame continues to change and grow. I ask myself why I bother to continue to play the violin when mediocre  status is all I will ever attain. The answer lies in the benefits I gain from playing for myself, the meditative trance that music allows for. It is that moment I try to attain when my mind shuts off. It is the same with painting and pottery. Meditation is what I seek in art. There the problem is again with getting paid.       Now you'd think the trick to happiness would be to align myself with what I love to do, who I love to do, where I love to live, with a paycheck and then the happiness would come. You'd think, right? WRONG!! Ha. The conclusion I came to and will come to over and over again is that I could die tomorrow! I could die today! And then what? The trick is to be happy with where you're at, no matter where that might be.        Here is a picture of Austin.                 Some cloud shots.

       Here a a sweet little fox whose picture I did not take. I decided to copy him in pencil and then possibly paint.

A raven whose story is similar to the fox.

December 1931, Anais wrote the following passage shortly after meeting June for the first time.

A startingly white face, burning eyes. June Mansfield, Henry's wife. As she came towards me from the darkness of my garden into the light of the doorway I saw for the first time the most beautiful woman on earth.
Years ago, when I tried to imagine a pure beauty, I had created an image in my mind of just that woman. I had even imagined she would be Jewish. I knew long ago the color of her skin, her profile, her teeth.
Her beauty drowned me. As I sat in front of her I felt that I would do anything she asked of me. Henry faded, She was color, brilliance, strangeness.
Her role in life alone preoccupies her. I knew the reason: her beauty brings dramas and events to her. Ideas mean little. I saw in her a caricature of the theatrical and dramatic personage. Costume, attitudes, talk. She is a superb actress. No more. I could not grasp her core. Everything Henry had said about her was true.
By the end of the evening I was like a man, terribly in love with her face and body, which promised so much, and I hated the self created in her by others. Others feel because of her; and because of her, others write poetry; because of her, others hate; others, like Henry, love her in spite of themselves.
June. At night I dreamed of her, as if she were very small, very frail, and I loved her. I loved a smallness which had appeared to me in her talk: the disproportionate pride, a hurt pride. She lacks the core of sureness, she craves admiration insatiably. She lives on reflections of herself in others' eyes. She does not dare to be herself. There is no June Mansfield. She knows it. The more she is loved, the more she knows it. She knows there is a very beautiful woman who took her cue last night from my inexperience and tried to lose her depth of knowledge.
A startingly white face retreating into the darkness of the garden. She poses for me as she leaves. I want to run out and kiss her fantastic beauty, kiss it and say, "You carry away with you a reflection of me, a part of me. I dreamed you, I wished for your existance. You will always be part of my life. If I love you, it must be because we have shared at some time the same imaginings, the same madness, the same stage." 
(HJ pp.14-15)

"I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naïve or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman."
— Anaïs Nin

"We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect."
— Anaïs Nin

  Loving in men and women not their strength but their softness, not their fullness but their hunger, not their plenitude but their needs." Anais Nin

 "We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations." 
— Anaïs Nin

        "From the backstabbing co-worker to the meddling sister-in-law, you are in charge of how you react to the people and events in your life. You can either give negativity power over your life or you can choose happiness instead. Take control and choose to focus on what is important in your life. Those who cannot live fully often become destroyers of life." 
— Anaïs Nin