FETISH

Posts Tagged ‘zen acceptance’

What’s in a label? whether sex, medical, gender, disability, an opening thought..

In On Art/writing/creativity, Philosophy..sociological commentary on May 22, 2009 at 6:23 pm

The Who sang  “Who are you? Who, who? Who the Fuck are You?”

I ‘ve been thinking about the politics of identity lately, and when I say identity I am referring to all the qualifiers that we adher to. Our political persuasions, our sexual affinities, our brand preferences and status symbols, our socio medical labels, and the roles we identify with…parent, son, wife of, ect..

What’s in a label? Foremost there is freedom and there is constraint. Labels are a signifier to ourselves and to others…a signifier that points to a set of expectations based on our assumptions and experience with the word itself.

We may labor under the constraints of a label, or we may take flight within the kernels of realities attached.

However as I type this I’m staring at an orange resting on its side that I just bladed in half. And it came to me..as the ramble jam that is often the way I muse is want to do..

that a label is like an unpeeled orange, you pick it up, you can see its external properties, you have an expectation of what it will taste like..

bladed in half though the interior reveals so much more orangatastik detail.

Fat pulpy segments, a wagon wheel, light and dark shadings, the seeded center, the promise of punch…

I tend to be label sensitive. I agree that they are necessary, and expedite time and expectations.

Tonight , tho, I am reflecting on the downside of labels, and our drive to nail down our human experience like a coffin, labels often serve the establishment, unless reappropriated by a subculture as its own,

and the most powerful drive in labeling is to establish norms..

and norms as we all know or we should are culturally and historically specific and serve the power of the status quo.

I’m not advocating anarchy or a silence epidemic..haha, but perhaps that is why I find some of my most truthful sentiments are expressed thru art and the poetic..the inside view of the orange..

“Who are you, who the fuck are You, you you..”

Take away your labels this evening. Just for a night. Without them are you naked? And is that freeing or frightening?

More to come on this topic..I’ve just begun. Someone shut me up, please..laughing…I am not speaking to D/s here..I am speaking to the power of language across all spheres of internal and social experience, how we come to “know’ ourselves..and represent that to the world around us..

my next post on this will be speaking to the facsism and freedom inherent in language..with a focus on disability semantics..

cat

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To see the Words dance, the body speak..

In My journal, On Art/writing/creativity on May 15, 2009 at 10:10 am

Listening to William Orbit and Beth Orton’s Dice this morning, an oceanic remix, trance, it’s beautiful how it waves like the swell of a roller at sea.

I’m feeling some poignancy,  an ache,  excitement about the day …but struggling to focus crisply and with clarity on the manuscript on masochism as a way of life, a life aesthetic, that is completed, but that I am organizing and pulling together..

I am so excited about this manuscript, it was an odd project, it did not begin with intent, I realized it had cohesion as a work after a year’s worth of musings were pulled together and in the hand.

I write on napkins, yellow lined paper pads, lipstick on the mirror,  hell  on my body if this is the only place to jot a fragment of poetry, a phrase.

Metaphor is everywhere for the tongue, the eyes, the heart.

I have longed to do some performance art for a few years now, my writing in prose poetiks is for my mouth and for your ear, it is begging to release itself thru my body as text and multimedia.

Story telling, the art of, is shamanistic..and my body must speak..static photos do not feed my urge to bring motion to sound.

A leap, but one I am ready for, and I  am eager to connect with other performance artists for idea exchange, mentoring..

Art leaks, bleeds,  it is my native vernacular…

Talk to me. contact me at poecatt@luciferlazerus.com

Jonesin’ cardiaking creativity fix.

In On Art/writing/creativity on May 14, 2009 at 7:44 pm

Gawd, I feel like I’m cruisin for a kardiackin bruisin.

My energy is starting to ride high, I’m swinging up out of the winter blahs, and I feel like heliumISeye.cuhm.

This is a double edged gift..my creativity is enhanced,I’m regaining perspective..emerging from Plato’s cave..

but the mood is edged you know..

like when you are just not seeing the oncoming meteor.

fuk it, I have been here before, its part and parcel of that insane poetic curse..I have been around long enough to know how to take care of myself when it strikes..

the key has always been when friends say *cat* babe, you are just a little above terra firma,

while they smile, but with that look in their eyes that tells me..

watch for the light ..it’s about to turn red.

I miss driving. It used to smooth out the ruptures, I’d get in the car and turn on my music and head past the overpass and let the windows down. Alone, solo mio, in my own little armored vehicle.

These days, its tie up the sneakers and get out in the night air and move.

I have taken out walls with a hammer on a whim in this mood, just because I needed to “breathe”.

Too long in the garret makes Jane Doe a dull girl, and too high a leap makes Jane Doe, well, a Jane Doe..

jonesin’ but watchin’ it…

cat’s creed…when low..amp up the music, mix and mingle despite the overwhelming urge to disappear into complete obscurity, when high, take soundings on both the depth of the water, and the ceiling height, haul out the crash helmet, and disregard all desire to dance on scaffolding..

for those out there whose moods do swing occasionally above or below baseline,

what do you do for self balance? seriously, I know there are enough creative types reading this blog who occasionally feel like they are between trapezes and have dealt..

cat
(whose 9 lives have served her well}

On Island life

In 1, My journal, On Art/writing/creativity on May 13, 2009 at 7:46 am
Waking..eastern dawn light shafts..and coffee of course

Waking..eastern dawn light shafts..and coffee of course

This morning as I sat on my porch at 530 am I was floating, along the vernacular of memory, musing back to a couple of years ago, this same time of year, when I was working at a cafe on Salt spring island.

Saltspring is a magical place. There simply are no other words..

A haven for the elite, who private jet in and live in coastal homes in its wilderness, the artistic community, the back to the earthers..

A mix of those who have, and those who have of spirit. And given the dress code on saltspring there’s no telling whose who, except for talk..

I would get up at 4 am, and then walk along a country lane to the cafe in Ganges, and be the first topen , set out the heavy iron deck chairs, fill and prepare the urns for the 7 am onslought, sweep, and dance to the music.

Invariably the same old gentleman, a crusty sea captain, age indeterminable, looked to be somewhere in the vicinity of 300 years old, with twinking sea blazed eyes, would be there waiting,

“what took you so long?”

We would laugh.

I enjoy dawn, always have, the solitude of setting up solo, the physical quality of the work,…wonderful..

I miss Saltspring, it is a pleasant nostalgia, enter via the ferry to Fulford harbor, and you know you have just somehow slipped the portal to Somewhere Else, one of those places on earth that defy the norms..

Islanders are friendly the globe over, something about island living, and being island bred myself I took to it with joyful glee.

Exit via the ferry at Vesuvius, and you see the huge old tree, debarked and sculptural..a form straight from greek mythology..

Ferry travel is my favorite, I love the pace of it, one shore disappearing, another emerging, the waters between.  My time spent island hopping off the BC coast , solo, and in control of my own timetable was a precious sanctuary in time..

Topography shapes your soul, I was raised an islander, lived on the coast, have woke many mornings to the laughing Atlantic..the Pacific’s another creature.

The Atlantic will always be Neptune to me, the pacific, the goddess Venus..

Tourist season is approaching and there will be tragically missteps on our rocky beaches leading to drownings, the Atlantic gives and he takes..

and we mourn, and we respect..the sheer power of it..

and missive by message in a green glass bottle? Timeless..

grinning, poecatt

Whose your Daddy? Whose Your Muse?..creativity.

In D/s, Bdsm, On Art/writing/creativity on May 12, 2009 at 11:41 am

The muse is capricious at the best of times. Historically seen as a female, she is mythological, touches all of us, and will not be owned by any…
She comes and goes at her own whim, sure we can put ourselves in situations conducive to feeding her, calling her out to play and grace our lives and imaginations, but she lives on irony, tragedy and joy.

She is NOT for sale.
One cannot buy her or she disappears..a phantom creature,able to simply dissolve thru the tightest of bindings.

She requires patience and she demands respect.

I have danced with her all my life, I have been humbled by her mysterious comings and goings, I have been awed how she is sometimes most tangible in the most wreckhoused of scenarios..

She speaks to me when I allow joy into my life, and wonder, she comforts me in tragedy…

Who or what sets you up for a playdate with the muse?
Is it nature, nurture, lovers, light, the passing of the seasons, music..

She is ephemeral, and tho we often experience her thru others,
she is not to be mistaken for the other..you are the conduit that opens to her..

You, you, you..it is your eyes, your ears, your heart that renders you open or closed to her manifestations..

Thoughts?
Morning musings to the many here who dance with the muse daily..

and feed others by sharing ..

Blue Chaos

Blue Chaos

ON the cycles of Carnality, women and the month.

In D/s, Bdsm on May 8, 2009 at 10:34 am

Carnality is a curve.  On the subject of appetite, I have taken note that it ebbs and flows in females..

that what we call desire, emotionally, spiritually, physically is complexly interwoven , and that our own biochemistries, the biosphere that we intimately live in our own flesh, blood, and breath is influenced cyclically by the cycles of the month ..

I am absolutely feral in the mid month phase of my cycle, it is then that my violence fetish is bladed and aggressive in feel, towards the end of my cycle the energy is less feral, more muted, mixed with emotion, and I am very susceptible to trance at this time..

Mid month finds me rooftoppin, full on  howl, bring it on, a week later and I am more emotive, in want of being fed, nurtured rather than the excitement of combat stance…

I wonder what others have noticed in  these sometimes jagged peaks and valleys or their partners have noted ..solo or in relation one can become incredibly attuned to the various energies..that we all have..

I see the same cycle in men, however it is less jagged, less of a trapeze act, more consistent. Still, I have read they follow a roughly 28 day cycle as well..

Do men really think of sex every seven seconds.?  I don’t know how I could function that way..I’d consider it handicapping, but I guess you adapt.

I remain infinitely influenceable tho,  if I WANT to be cued..smiling.

And the more one immerses oneself in an awareness of the sometimes subtle and not so subtle energies they give out and take in, the more one sees the erotic as a wide rather than narrow river.

cat

Zen masocattin. thoughts on power.

In D/s, Bdsm, Philosophy..sociological commentary on May 4, 2009 at 9:50 am

I was thinking this morning about my grandparents.

I have one surviving grandparent at this time, but all four left an indelible mark on the shaping of my character and choices…

Watching the unfolding of their lives as a child..seeking sanctuary in both homes at various times in childhood, I was blessed by both the striking lessons in the choices they made and gifted to watch the outcomes of their thought and action.

They all had all too common and harsh upbringings.

However the choices they made in adulthood, and the impact their unions as couples had on the family and community around them was rife with food for reflection.

One couple lived well into their late nineties, grew closer and closer to the light as they aged, their skin becoming luminescent ..parchment to some essence that graced those who were to cross the portal into their humble little home.

They were simple celtic folk, deeply bound to one another and the land, and family, a life carved deeper and deeper each year like the rings in the cross section of an old oak,

The rituals of morning and evening prayer, an ethic of treating well all passers by who broached their porch, and though they dispensed no graphic wisdom or advice, people left somehow larger, calmer, the edges smoothed, with a smile…

LIGHTENED by the increasing lightness and dignity and laughter of these two.

The other couple were caught in a bind as well, forged not by grace and acceptance of one another and family, but by hate, violence and pain.

The legacy lives on in both families lives, and to me is an awesome example of how every life has the amazing ability, the POWER ..no need for money or worldly power, but something deeper and stronger than all that..to create or destroy.

Every single one of us creates heaven and hell here on earth.
By our moment to moment choices, and behind the choices, moment to moment thought.

We ARE as fallen Gods and if the power of what is called god is the power to create, we miscomprehend how very charged and lethal OR life giving our lives as sign posts and actual lived versions of the ‘way ” are.

There is power in each of us, regardless of circumstances..stellar power, rife with significance.

We do not have to strive so hard to be “somebody”.

We are Somebody.

Right here, Right now. Whether in the ghetto, or on the hill..

Our power, is equal.

We assign godliness to our leaders as we equate them with power.

Those public and “out there” those that show their ‘surface’ to the many.

Heroes and heroines walk among us every moment, often seemingly invisible.

You and I are as gods..in our power to create anew , in our choices every moment..to bring hate and violence or peace, grace and laughter.

I know life is tough…

As the buddhists say..the first rule is “Life is suffering’

breathe that in. breathe it out. move thru it.

Accept this, chill, know your own divinity..smile, pause and
rock someone else’s world today with the grace that is you.

and let them rock you back….

does not have to be a Led Zeppelin dirge..it can be as quiet as just creating the space for another to be, in your prescence, quiet and witnessed.

Morning thoughts from cat, the zenmasocat.
big smiles.
have a great one.

Creativity

In My journal, On Art/writing/creativity on April 14, 2009 at 10:19 am

Creativity thrives in freedom.

Creativity is the core of being, the place where we meet the world.

Protect your creativity, therein lies your joy.

Seek to let go of preconception, find your daily laughter,

see the moment.

cat

You Don’t need to Go looking for a Zen Master. He’s here, he is Now.

In 1, My journal, Philosophy..sociological commentary on March 29, 2009 at 3:03 pm


You don’t need to go looking for a Zen master.

I have been thinking about this recently. The Zen master is here now, it is in all phenomena that looms up in your world, both within and without.The Zen master lives on that line between reaction and response. The Pause.

I have been thinking about this recently because one, I’m given to weird flights of thought to begin with..and two, I was surfing thru  D’s amazing blog the other day and came across a post, which apologies, I cannot seem to find again,
wherein he talks about his now passed on grandmother’s, (I believe it was his grandmother, again I stand to be humbly corrected)

phrase that
“the Dead don’t grieve that we know of.”

Well, that kind of jumped out at me, and has been whirling around percolating ever since…
Do the Dead grieve?
Do they have moments of nostalgia?
All nostalgia and futuritus..some of us are more orientated to one affliction the more so than the other, but basically it all seems to stem from one great cosmic loin you know, LONGING,desire..anything that prevents us from being right here, right now.
Present and accounted for.
How many of us could say that we are truly present and accounted for moment to moment? That we are not addicted to nostalgiks or consumed by futuritus?

I want to learn to be in the now.OMG, I see so much craziness both within myself and others..from not being able to tolerate and have the peace of the now. To be unable to face what is in your face.

I was thinking lately how I wanted a mentor, I’ve had various formal mentors of varying stripes over my lifetime..and it has hit me in the past two days

that everybody and everything and every thought and feeling that comes my way is my mentor if I let it be.

The good, the bad, and the ugly.

that when I set anyone up to be my teacher above me, they are bound to fall eventually.

That the teacher is everybody and everywhere, a thousand faces, whatever shows up on my dashboard . The teacher is my reaction to it.

The teachable moment, when I put my weapons down, really and truly and let others be in my life as they are, and let myself be , moment to moment with THAT. How I am, how they are. Simple.

We are never going to escape emotion, and who would want to, it’s part of the human experience, we are not going to escape attachment and longing this side of the veil, and who knows if we even escape it the other side of the veil, as Doc’s statement ends..
” the Dead don’t grieve , THAT WE KNOW OF..”

What if they do grieve, what if they watch us and grieve for our pain, our convoluted webs, and the rain is simply their big fat tears of grief for us, washing our faces clean?

I don’t know. I don’t know if or where or how it stops..

I was thinking this morning about the most beautiful surroundings I found myself in a few years back when a couple living on the edges of the Old growth Cathedral forest in this renovated amazing trailer, renting it for a steal,invited me to spend some time there with them, and they were too strung always on drugs to really drink in the beauty around them,

and I would get up in the mornings and wander onto the wrap around deck and listen to the songbirds and want so badly to have a place like that for myself,

uncomprehending why they would medicate something, some old pain, whatever, we all carry it, so far out of them so as to not be in this awesome place.

The awesome place is the Now.

Of course I had an awesome teacher. I had a child who journeyed a full ten and a half years with me, both of us I believe with the full awareness that he could die at any moment,

and you know that was the thing I feared the most, and then finally one day it happened.

And I am still here.

Oh my God, I loved that child like I have never loved before or since. All I had was the now, and the now was sometimes godawful and sometimes pure rhapsody. But mostly just gift.

Maybe when I long and slip the bounds of the Now, in whatever situation, with whatever phenomena, or in whosever’s company..whenever I want something to be other than the way it is..not overall, but right here , right now, when I resist, maybe he does grieve for me.

And says, oh mama, you haven’t learned the lesson yet.His heart breaking…

I was thinking about how all was the now for him this morning, I was remembering him,he was almost blind, so everything was sound, and you could not creep up on that child on long shag carpet.

His head would turn and breathing shift almost imperceptibly..he would be attending to the moment.

I recalled the pain of leaving his hospital room late at night, when he was in, as he often was, and I would never creep out on him, I would always tell him I was going..

and then as I backed out of the room, my heart pounding I would watch his little face, listening, listening.

The Now was all he and I had.

He didn’t tell me he was going when he left for good..or maybe he just told me his whole life..

All I am trying to say this morning, is , stop trying so hard to live in nostalgia or the future, be right here now, now is the zen master, stop struggling so hard to conform everybody and everything to your will..let it all be..let them be, for god’s sake, let yourself be once in a while..

Everything and everybody is the Zen master, when you just let it be…

Not to be confused with complacency or hopelessness..no not at all. I fought for my son’s life the entire time he was with me.
Maybe he fights for mine now.

of course this could all be brought to you by a case of food poisoning I have from gleefully consuming a sushi salmon roll yesterday. WTF knows. or that I have reacted into several things in my own world in the past 48 and been less than ohmed out about them. 🙂

kata karma, rock on

love cat