Initiation

Been silent for a while, while I studied for a final exam and then processed an initiation.  The first time I’ve ever been initiated into anything, so had nothing to compare it to.  I thought at the time that this was what an initiate of the Eleusinian Mysteries must have felt like.  I can’t even find words for it.  I also don’t think I knew how difficult this was going to be, emotionally, personally ... like going through a ... I don’t know – being melted, re-formed, facing parts of me I hadn’t particularly expected (or wanted) to face, mixed with an uncontrollable urge (now that I faced them) to get rid of them.  And then I also feel that, as difficult as parts of this year were, they were nothing.  The real work starts now.  Ordered the next year’s textbook.

Note to self:  was given a ring to wear ... well, I should preface that by saying that this was in the first part of the initiation, during a – I forgot already what she called it – a journey precipitated by shamanic drumming.  Emerald, a merkaba, surrounded by diamonds – it was beautiful.  Was given something to drink.  Was covered with a ... something? ... I could still see through it, but it was blurry ... and gently turned to face all directions.  Was greeted one by one by a circle of beings.  Sekhmet roared and I felt a blast of heat from her fiery breath. 

It was extraordinarily difficult to return from that trance state – in fact, I found myself slightly irritated, by being asked to leave it.  I had nothing to write this down with – not that I could have at the time, I just wish I would have recorded this immediately, rather than later.  So while I try to process THAT experience ...

... Mr. Signpost did it again – reminded me to get back to work on things I had let drift after chaos erupted – this is one of the sigils he made.  I liked the idea of gluing it onto leather on a stained board – looks so artistic!  Mine looks like a 3-year old drew it with her Crayola crayon set – which I basically did...!!  (And no, I’m not going to post a photo of THAT effort – it’s downright pitiful.)

Recently we had a series of thunderstorms pass through; one hit around 3:30 or 4 on a Saturday afternoon.  There was one bolt of lightening that had to have hit the house or a tree just west of me.  A brilliant flash and a sonic boom simultaneously – I’ve never heard anything that loud during a thunderstorm in a long, long time.  Almost dove under the bed – something of a skull crushing problem when one owns a platform bed – but I’m amazed we didn’t lose power when that happened.

The few times when I’ve had no errands, I’ve been spending 2 hours on the nearly deserted, gloriously sunny beach.  So THIS is what it’s like when the “Summer People” disappear after Labor Day.  It was heavenly,  I could see myself doing this all year, even in a winter coat – just loving the sunshine, and the sound of the waves crashing on the shoreline.

Back from Vacation

At long last I was on vacation ... a real vacation, unlike the four day frantic packing and unpacking “vacation” when I moved here at the end of April.  I finally made my way to the beach, after a few days packed with a barrage of thunderstorms rolled through ... although I had made the mistake of trying to investigate a useful spot one hot and sunny afternoon (Saturday, I think it was) and had never seen so much traffic in my life.  Took me forty-five minutes of stop & go bumper-to-bumper misery before I turned around and came home, vowing never to try THAT again.  Lesson learned:  mornings only!  (Which is what my skin tone prefers anyway, as prone as it is to sunburn.)

I’ve never lived at oceanside before, so was thrilled when something unusual (for me, anyway) happened:  it is a beautiful sunny morning, cool and breezy.  The beach was fairly deserted at that hour (9:15 am) and I had enjoyed wading in the water, strengthening my legs and core by walking through the pleasant waves ... back and forth.  All of a sudden I looked out to sea and saw a huge fogbank out near the horizon.  Next thing I knew, the bank had rolled onshore, and I couldn’t see the people 15 feet away from me.  The sun was still shining down on me; the fog was all at ground level, and you know me and fog – I love fog.  It always feels like a cool, enveloping blanket to me.  It was such a wonderful experience, although I’m sure it happens fairly regularly.  I’d just never experienced a ground level fog bank rolling in off the ocean like that, on a clear sunny day.

I was just thinking, “This feels like being embraced by the universe,” when I looked down at my feet only to find a sparkling, flat stone shaped like a heart laid directly in my path.  Welcome to the seaside, it said to me.  At last, I was where I was supposed to be.

And yet ... I spent a measly two hours that morning in an awesomely sunny fog bank and still had a sunburn by morning's end - again!  Go figure.  I decided I’d stay out of the sun the next day and try to recover.  Of course I didn’t listen to myself.

The next day, I took one of my periodic tumbles in an incoming wave I wasn’t expecting – rolled around in the surf for a few minutes, and was forced to take a day away from the beach recovering from the resulting bumps, bruises and scrapes.

The next weekend, I ventured further out and had a wonderful time swimming.  In fact, I had such a  wonderful time, swimming around and diving into waves, I lost all track of time ... with the expected results – sunburn on top of fading sunburn. I finally took my own warnings seriously, and sat at home avoiding sulking by listening to Juan Diego Florez.  Well, maybe one of these days, my skin will toughen up and I won’t be so sunburn prone.

While I recovered, moaning and groaning, I also re-re-discovered The Cowsills.  For those who don't know who they are:  they had started out as four brothers from Rhode Island with dreams of being  a brilliant r&b, rock band – (“who, the Cowsills?”, “Yes, THEM!”) – for those unfamiliar with them, they were the family who inspired the Partridge Family television show.I had re-discovered them for the first time after a documentary done about them; now I discovered they were on You Tube.

Once they’d gotten various monkeys off their backs ... and by monkeys I’m referring to the idiots in their various record companies, and their abusive, fist-wielding, mentally unstable baronet of a father ... the rock music began to force its way back out of the bubblegum pop veneer they had been forced to wear; Barry and Bill, when they weren’t battling demons you can trace back to childhood terrors their father inflicted on them, turned out some really astounding hard rock songs that knock your socks off.  Bob, who was forced to take over as lead singer when their father fired Bill (their brilliant lead singer on such songs as “The Rain, the Park and Other Things” for saying he smoked pot) became a solid lead and still is.  And even Susan has turned out some memorable songs with her Susan Cowsill Band.

I went out and bought every Cowsill album I could find and had been wallowing in them.  Now I was able to see them on You Tube performing the songs I only heard on the radio back in the day.  The more I listened to them, the more I thought that, had they been able to sing the material they actually wanted to arrange and sing, they would have shot themselves directly into the musical stratosphere and stayed there.

I found a current version of one of their hits, performed in 2004 or thereabouts, when Barry Cowsill was still alive (he drowned in Hurricane Katrina, 2005) – they still sound awesome.  That's Bob singing lead vocals (brother Bill, who sang lead on the original song, was desperately ill; they're performing a benefit concert for him); Barry is in the hat, Paul is on the keyboards, and for any Beach Boys fans out there, yes, that's brother John Cowsill, drummer for the Beach Boys, on the drums in the rear.  Susan wasn't on the original song, but has taken over the lyrics sung by both Barry and John, when they were boys.  Barry now has taken over Bob's role, who has taken over for Bill.  Following all that?  And yet, despite all of that role switching, they sound exactly the same as they did when the single first exploded up the charts.

That discovery led to Barry’s gorgeous version of “Going Home” (have no idea when he wrote that), and the Cowsill album “Global” which came out in 2009 ...  in fact, they are probably one of the most underrated bands of the 60’s.  Its surreal, spiritual quality comes from its creation after his death; Louise Palanker had created a documentary on them, from which this was taken.  I love this performance – he looks so happy.





But back to Il Volo, who, by the way, recently dashed over to Mexico and performed before a monstrous crowd of 25,000 people in Chihuahua, after winning the Latin Billboards “Best Album” award for “Mas Que Amor”/”We Are Love”.  Hell, I can still remember them performing before a crowd of 50 in a New York Barnes & Noble!  Their next accomplishment was a series of sold out concerts in Italy, who had ignored them for the most part – and then decided they wanted to join the rest of the world in loving the boys from Il Volo.  Taormina was their first Italian concert – a spellbinding performance before an adoring home crowd.  The world is waiting breathlessly for their next album.

And The USA is still listening to relentless crap.

Speaking of music, I had the strangest experience a few days ago – all of a sudden a song popped into my head.  I realize that in itself isn’t strange at all – what was strange was the fact that I hadn’t sung this song since I was probably 7 or 8 years old, I sang it maybe one or two times (at summer camp) and it isn’t a well known song, so I’m quite sure I hadn’t heard it since then.  It just appeared, full-blown, with all lyrics intact, in my head.

    I'll sing you twelve, ho

    Green grow the rushes, ho

    What are your twelve, ho?

    Twelve for the twelve Apostles

    Eleven for the eleven who went to heaven,

    Ten for the ten commandments,

    Nine for the nine bright shiners,

    Eight for the April Rainers,

    Seven for the seven stars in the sky,

    Six for the six proud walkers,

    Five for the symbols at your door,

    Four for the Gospel makers,

    Three, three, the rivals,

    Two, two, the lily-white boys,

    Clothèd all in green, ho

    One is one and all alone

    And evermore shall be so.

Other things I’ve been doing in this period of uncharacteristic silence:  had the pleasure of attending a lecture by Raven Grimassi; had to apply for my own job at work and created a video presentation for it, lost my iPod (now THAT was a disaster), have to create another presentation for a kumbahyah event in September, had my dvd player in the television stop working and had to buy a new television, even though the TV works perfectly; am facing our final exam for my first year as a student of witchcraft and an initiation ceremony; so far, everyone in the WC1 class is planning to continue in WC2; I suspect I’ll decide to join them.

And, while all of that was going on, I had a blood test come back with problems.  You don’t want to know what the problem is, but I was not happy when they told me.  I hate not being healthy.