Magickal Realism

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In the last two weeks, I have to confess, I’ve been getting kind of sick of doing the morning pages. And the posts. And, because I was feeling a bit defeatist about them - not every Artist’s Date works out, because there is a blind dating factor to trying anything new - kind of sick of the artist’s dates. I recognize that this is my own self-sabotage rearing its head.

Since starting this, I’ve released one pdf book that I was genuinely scared about because it was so far out of my comfort zone,  written close to 12,000 words on the Urban Wicca book and thought of a fresh approach to the book on Divorce (the one I started this whole process to get to, which seems to be backburnered for other reasons but at least seems like a fresh and interesting project to me now.) I also have starter seeds down for an essay on mirrors and why I fear them, and a possible horror-fiction novel where the protagonist is the monster. I may possibly also be writing a fair bit of porn to release over on asstr.org under a pseudonym.¹

I’m healthier, I’m eating more consciously, my energy levels are normal to high, it turned out I personally know two competent reiki practitioners, and I’m over my guilt for writing and enjoying writing fanfic.

Also since starting this process, I’ve moved, I’ve gotten back “the feeling” that made Wicca a good practice for me in the first place, Joel is now my full working partner², I have been freed from responsibilities that were onerous and unrewarding and I have become more free and less embarrassed by my bizarre art/glue/cutting schtick and willing to pursue clothing reconstruction and related interests more. I’ve always been a woman of 1000 interests, but now they feel possible.

My business has taken a small hit from my relative neglect, and I suspect that as I keep working over the next 3-6 months I will at last achieve the right balance there, as well. I love designing perfume, and like other perfumers, I have doubts about my work that you just have to choose to set aside to create something amazing, and you also have to accept that not everything will work out as you like. My inner perfume critic is a different beast from my other inner critic.

After reading the bibliography/recommended reading, I also realize that there was a definite Pagan component to the Artist’s Way - there’s a lot of Starhawk in next to the Baghvad Gita. Again, atheists are kind of hosed using this work, but I do feel like a magical companion to the artist’s way might be well within range - I’m making notes as I go, especially after that wild energy clearance last July. I know things about myself now that I didn’t before.

So with that, I do my final check-in, and I will be signing and scanning in my follow-up contract later today - or this week.

1. I did 6 out of 7 Morning pages this last week. On Saturday I skipped out because I got up late and I wanted to get Mike over to the Mill City farmer’s market so he could see what I’ve been on about for weeks.

2. I did a cemetery walk for my artist’s date, and at first, it started as one of those blind dates gone wrong. The cemetery closest to where I live is one of those all flat-in-the-ground budget cemeteries that curiously takes you down a southern route that mysteriously deposits you somewhere to the northwest. Aside from the weird directional vortex, eh. Then I drove over to Lakewood cemetery where the experience was much more satisfying although finding a place to park was odd. Cemeteries are truly peaceful places; they helped me a lot when I was a teenager mourning for a friend, and they help me now because they are the only space where I have a guarantee I won’t be haunted. ((I will write about my haunting experiences later, because for me it’s become an increasingly internal experience that resembles but doesn’t quite match that thing where your cognition leaps to unpredictable places.) I have pictures I need to upload. I got the sense I should leave for the day, but that I wasn’t finished.

3. Most of my synchronicity this week involved a streak of highly convenient parking spaces.

4. I think my resistance to continuing this is the issue significant to my recovery. Clearly, I’m not done - I just want to be. There are other places where this pattern has manifested, and it’s definitely a learned behavior starting in childhood.

I’ll stick with it. I’ve gone too far not to.

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1. I know my sister would like to read my porn, but I think she’s better off not knowing my kinks. I will let her see the vanilla stuff. [↩]
2. that partnership has  been just shy of a decade in the making because I needed to grow up [↩]

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One of the most liberating things in the world is to create something without any concern on your first, second or third try about being good at it. In fact, this is how I can smoke out my crazymakers right away: in a no-stakes creative process a person insisting I do things “right” when it’s clear I’m already having a good time is definitely trouble. I can think of plenty examples, and I don’t need to name them. It’s normal to be bad at something until you’re good at it. It’s a writer’s rule: there’s nothing wrong with writing badly; it’s when you rewrite badly that there’s an issue. On your first draft you get out your fantasies and ya-yas; it’s on the following drafts, when you’re perfecting it, that actual perfection matters - and then, you’re perfecting an already finished product, so your inner critic and well-placed outer critics actually serve a purpose rather than just stopping you from being creative.

Here is my GOD jar. It’s got “Good Orderly Direction” painted in Crayola ™ gel paint and yes, it is a hot mess. I had the best time preparing that hot mess. Much like the spellbook earlier this week, I feel an undercurrent of glee at the horror by which others might receive it - their reaction just furthers my entertainment.

The intent of the jar is to give some storage to my personal demons, who will be neatly written on a piece of that incense paper I make and then burned in a monthly or semi-monthly ritual. The G.O.D jar is a good tool for me - it gives me a physical way to rip my obsessions out of my head and put them somewhere where I can keep their energy while losing their useless aspects.

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This was probably the hardest week for me during this process - I was sick for 4 days, only completed one exercise, and while I did the morning pages while I was sick, the last two days of this weekend I skipped out on morning pages because of the illusory concept of being “behind” in my work.

1. 5 out of 7 morning pages. Do I get a demerit? Mostly, it just seemed laborious. I have that happen - one or two weeks where getting my inner dialog out is a real strain, but then all of a sudden the lid comes off on a memory or opinion I’ve been suppressing and it’s a big energy clean-out.

2. I did do my artist’s date - I went and shot pool. I’m going to make that a regular thing that I do on Friday afternoons, anyway. I was a really decent player at the end of my first year of college, and it gets me a little physical activity. I don’t think I’d ever join a pool league - being sentenced to nine ball on account of my vagina offends me.

3. If I experienced synchronicity, I didn’t notice it because I was blowing my nose too loudly.

4. My biggest issue on recovery is that my inner critic is really, really eager for me to have a big backslide and I also still fall into the trap of putting outside work before my own.

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I feel so weird titling anything “Chapter 11.” It’s one of those chapters that, as a business owner, I strive to avoid.

I had my artist’s date today - shooting pool over at Fat Boy Billiards. The rates are cheap enough on my budget; $5.50 an hour. And while the hall is ancient and musty and the woman working seemed thoroughly locked in her own personal late 70s/80s time loop, the 40-70 year old men that were there scoped me out, realized that I was in no position to play for $100 a game and, after observing my lapse in skill, one guy realized that I was also not ready to wager coffee as he proposed. There is also the possibility that the barkeep (for lack of a better word) gave him a kick and reminded him that his grandaughter would not be so approving of pursuing a girl younger than her.

Shooting stick isn’t one of those things I do to get inspired. I do it to remove obstacles, to clear the cobwebs. I do it mostly to get off my ass. It’s not viewed as a heavy exercise game, but for me, it’s activity, and any activity lately is good.

The hall is musty and it’s only a matter of time before the whole not-quite-white thing rears its head. Still, a few of the men in the hall passed by to monitor my progress, and respected my space when I explained I’m reclaiming lost skill.

One guy chuckled as I swore under my breath at missing a ball altogether. “Don’t worry m’girl. You keep working at it, and you’ll get better.” The men there are foul-mouthed and highly competitive, almost coming to blows over politics AND pool in one afternoon. But for me, they were supportive and it looks like they’ll continue to be so. It’s quite a bit different from the hyper-competitive boyfriend that taught me to play pool - in its police-officer loaded, testosterone driven way, these guys were downright nurturing towards me.

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In the next 6 months, I will do the following to nurture myself:

1. Stick with my weekly beauty regiment that includes a facial, body scrub, vegetarian meal and when possible a chick flick.

2. I will re-enroll in bellydance class wherever I can find and afford it.

3. I will spend a little time outdoors every day it is safe to do so.

4. I will keep attending library lectures and programs because I really enjoy them.

5. I will read more fiction.

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Hi, I’m Di, and I’m a workaholic. I’m even typing this while sniffling embarrassingly from a head cold. Clearly, I have some conditioning to overcome, along with a new attitude to develop that translates into English as “do it yer damn self!”

This chapter was hard for me. Harder than I expected going in.

1. I did do 7 out of 7 on my morning pages. Reading my pages hasn’t changed my writing - I just have to let my brain do its thing, and work on coordinating between mind, body and schedule.

2. I did do my artist’s date - I went to the Como Zoo and conservatory because I wanted to get to the Como Zen Garden before it’s closed for the winter. I got lots of pictures and I had a bizarre day-of-the-dead experience that I decided not to participate in fully.

3. I guess my day of the dead trippiness? It’s been a rough week and I’ve been depressed for most of it- I tend to not notice magical happenings when I’m depressed.

4. I really do need to take more breaks to just play, and I need to trust myself not to overdo it. I was surprised in the 7 deadlies exercise how often alcohol came up - I don’t drink often and hardly to excess. However, I discovered long ago that alcohol puts me in a complete state of creative and psychic shut down. There were times in college when my psychism was really reawakening where I was grateful for this, but onto my adulthood where I’ve accepted my ghosts both inner and outer, alcohol does nothing but take time and ability away from me. I won’t quit drinking altogether, and I’m always turned off by people who insist it be central to a social activity (I prefer simple companionship and maybe light physical activity be central.) However, unless I know there’s no chance of me being creative - and since I write for fun, too - I just won’t drink anymore.

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Things that give me a sense of comfort:

1. Watching Finnian’s Rainbow

I got rid of the last VHS I had of it because I got rid of my VCR. I really need to buy it on DVD.

2. A new piece of clothing

This goes back to my childhood where it was really difficult for me to find clothing that fit. Clothes that do fit to this day give me a powerful self-esteem boost; it’s why I’m so interested in fashion despite how paradoxical that may seem.

3. Rainbows

4. Sex

It helps that I’m picky about who I have sex with, so for me it’s a safe and loving expression. I don’t get off on situations where I’m not totally comfortable.

5. Silk, satin or linen between my fingers.

6. Rich, spicy smells.

The perfumes I wear myself often have coffee and frankincense in them. I went through a phase where it was clove all the time.

7. Bright, magenta leaves in fall.

It’s like they’re the punk rock Granny of the trees.

8. Daria, Buffy, Doctor Who

9. Cuddles

10. Dancing

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Yes, I did do 7 out of 7 days on my morning pages. I hope this dedication will soon translate to my workout schedule - it’s not about discipline, it’s about head space. I have started taking it easier on myself - I don’t get mad that every project I have isn’t done to total completion by midnight. I’m slowing down. I’m taking my time. I’m fixing old mistakes. In short, I’m doing everything that my employment history had trained me out of doing.

I did do my artist’s date this week, I went to the Midtown Global market, but I found it wholly unsatisfying. Unless you go there  to eat a lot or to attend one of their special events/community classes - and the restaurant variety/community stuff really is cool - it just doesn’t offer that much.  Shop planning there is very haphazard, and there’s the whole issue of “imported crap from China” dotting all the booths regardless of their country of origin. I’m pacifying my inner child with a small Daria-thon, letting her shirk some work for a little while.

I did experience some synchronicity, though I think I may have created it. It’s a whole thing with the Goddess Bast and her relationship to perfume. I’ll tell you all more when I know where that’s going. I’m pretty turned off by Kemetic religion these days, but that’s not the gods’ fault.

There were issues - where I was hard on myself, where I had to face that I’d just plain been a complete jerk to people because of some intellectual elitism, and I even had to have a little talk with Mike about his elitism - there’s nothing wrong with not having knowledge; it’s only a problem if you’re proud of your ignorance or perpetually insistent on a single point of view. It came down to having compassion for a person who was gifted with different circumstances and abilities than we had. I don’t think either one of us should apologize for our education or intelligence - I have worked ceaselessly since my kindergarten teacher almost put me in the “slow kids” section¹ to get the most I can out of what brain power I was given and getting my bachelor’s degree came down to a tooth-and-nail fight I’m proud I won. But, when it comes down to it, we’re both privileged and there were certain circumstances laid out for us to make that path easier - Mike moreso than mine, but I did have moments of advantage depending on the prejudices and quirks of my high school teachers  ((and also moments of distinct disadvantage, like when Mrs. Thannholdt decided that I was a path to whatever the fuck her vendetta against my father was.))

I’m forgiving myself more, and letting myself have my feelings. For me, this takes a lot of work. I’m also a little scared about this week’s coming work: my addictions are rife and hard to manage, and I’m finally going to have to deal with them in the light of truth. Scary stuff.

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1. because I daydreamed to much [↩]

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This seems a little unnerving for me to post on my blog, but I committed to blogging this experience, so here I go. My visualization exercise, to write about what I want as if it has already happened:

I am a published author. I write daily, sometimes from the road, as I tour and promote my book. I have a fantastic new wardrobe I bought with the proceeds from my first book and my agent and publicist field interview requests for me daily. Mike is really happy this has happened; life is great for us. We are both happy.

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I actually had a wonderful day yesterday, blessed with Joel’s companionship, a lot of writing getting done, hilarious visuals and dinner while watching the sunset through my balcony window. The calm, gentle flow, however, was disrupted by something happening that was beyond my control as I discovered from an email message that evening. It began a full on anxiety attack, and I could actually feel the anxious, prickly energy ball flowing from me and blocking brain cells, respiratory system and my ability to receive incoming energy. The brown-orange energy was sent to smother or bury the thread, and it’s unfortunate side effect is that it also smothers me.

My first response was to try to “fix” it even though, if I’d stepped back, I would have known it was beyond my control. My next was to look for some reassurance in the tarot cards, also counter-productive in this situation. I did manage to remove myself, sit down, watch some TV and go to bed with relatively little fretting.

As I did my morning pages this morning, I looked at the anxiety and what it does to me. I suspect there may be some jealousy at the way I appear to be “booking through” the Artist’s Way material, and the reason it’s been happening is because I’ve actually been hiding from my biggest blocker, and realizing it’s been trying to creep up on me for awhile: anxiety, stress, an exaggerated sense of urgency. My boyfriend and I have adjusted my entire lifestyle because anxiety has so debilitated me.

Anxiety qualities were consistently demanded of me in corporate life, and it did a lot to block the creative impulses for which I was usually hired. If I didn’t act completely panicked about every single task, I was reported as “not showing enough urgency.” Of course, if I did rush everything, I was subjected to patronizing lectures about “slowing down and focusing on quality” from the very person who complained about my initial “lack of urgency.” It occurred to no one that “urgency” means somewhere higher up in the organization someone planned very poorly and did not do task division correctly.

Ultimately, for me, this means that the very thing that motivates my desires for security - fear, let’s be honest - is the thing preventing me from effecting those changes. When I get anxious about something, I end up becoming a hamster on a wheel on a cage. At least when you put the rodents in those plastic walk balls they have a chance of going somewhere, even if they do land on their noses sometimes.

But given how much energy clearing and releasing just doing the morning pages has been for me, it was very clear and easy to read what anxiety was doing in my aura. Six months ago I would have known I was anxious, but I wouldn’t have recognized exactly how and where it was affecting my interaction with the universe. And so, as I sat down to my morning pages today, I at last developed my own anxiety-management plan, realizing that the things I am anxious about are not meant to be acted upon while I am in a state of anxiety. And since I work for myself, I’m allowed to take care of my mental state before diving into any project.

And so, with the help of Good Orderly Direction, aka God, (Eros) I put together a plan:

1. Step AWAY from the tarot cards.

If my energy is blocked, tarot cards won’t do me much good because blocked energy is the equivalent of doing divination for a TV when it’s stuck on freeze frame. Kind of useless.

2. Meditate as soon as possible.

The first thing I have to address is the emotional state. Meditation can help me work through that in a physical way in order to reach my emotional state.

3. Use energy unblocking exercises.

The Middle Pillar is GREAT for that.

4. If it’s still a mess, pray and use spellcraft.

5. AFTER all that, coolly survey the situation to determine what you can do. Then, move on with it.

So there I have my anxiety-handling formula to prevent anxiety from blocking my creative nature. It was a lovely, very helpful round in the morning pages. Thank you, Eros.

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