A Tribute to Feline

Slinking sneaking silently
Padding by so quietly
Grimalkin and hunter fierce
Shadow's tooth, ghosts who pierce
Saying more than words can show
With whisker's twitch and eyes aglow
Twine thy tail like cobras dance
Lull thy prey in moonlit trance
Part a hunt but mostly game
Purring, petted, but never tame

-D.M.D.M. 8-4-09

Memories

The flicker of images in my mind's eye
Times and lives now past
People with whom I once spent my days
Friends with whom I shared laughs and tears
Loves I laid with, held close, cherished
Gone
Childhood exists as only momentous flashes
Photographs exhibit scenes which are lost to my mind
What remains is only
A shoelace tangled in a bike chain
Burned fingers on an extinguished sparkler
An unexpected burial in the garden for the tripod cat
Why is it the unhappy memories linger longest?
Why can I not envision the full bellies
The ample dinners, the safety of my mother's arms,
As well as I can summon the memory of how
I hid my face behind my Gameboy as my grandmother lay
Dying
Unable to comfort her and bring her the joy of my company
That she always cherished when she was healthy and smiling

And yet the unhappy memories encapsulate a time that I wish for
Now in the dawning of my adulthood
Such things seem surmountable when compared to
Underemployment, which lacks the freedom of either extreme
Too busy to find a job that pays to live and play and feel secure
Too poor to enjoy all the time I have or supply the energy to fill it
Romance, now that innocence is gone and I hold the hearts of others
In my hands, unable to take pleasure in passing flirtations of the flesh
When I have tasted the ecstasy of love and pure unbridled connection
Civics, being beholden to the needs of the nation, of the people
Getting only what is given in return, the cost frequently too dear
Be it in time, or passion, or wealth, when the rich hold all the cards
Purpose, not knowing what I should do, or could do, or would do
Given enough resources, enough support, enough freedom, and yet feeling
I've had all those, and too much, letting them be squandered in indecision

Perhaps those memories I think of the most of those of the future
Or rather the times in the past in which I have likewise been so fixated on it
The uncertainty, the possibilities, the pathways contemplated and discarded
The times I felt as hopeless and lost, and found my way back out from the dark
It seems impossible that I might forever banish the fear of the future
But what keeps it from consuming me whole is the knowledge that
I have been afraid and whimpered in the dark, unwilling to face the day
I have been hopeless and felt close to total surrender
But I have found my way out of the dark and into light
I have overcome those obstacles
Untangled myself from my heavy bike and gone home
Run my fingers in cold water and dried my tears
Dealt with losses small and great to move forward
And while I accept the human condition of uncertainty
And subservience to circumstance and luck
I know that within me lies the ability to persevere
And bring about the shining visions of the future
That serve as a beacon in the night
Breathe deep
Seek peace
Push on


-D.M.D.M. 7-27-2009

Ministry

This post was written for Evolver.net, and posted just now. I post it here always because I feel the message is important enough to spread on as many wavelengths as I can. -D.M.D.M.

I see a lot of wonderful things being said on evolver.net and Reality Sandwich, things which make me feel a lot less depressed and isolated, and a little more hopefully about the future. There are a lot of strong arguments being made, and beautiful art being showcased. But, brothers and sisters, I ask this of you: Are we the ones that need to see this the most? I think this network is a wonderful way to share ideas and knowledge, but the one thing that worries me is that it is a closed system that speaks to those who share a similar outlook. Granted, there is some disagreement amongst us, but that is to be expected from any group of passionate people. What we all can agree on, though, is that the current capitalist, individualist, Man-centered world view is no longer a viable means of sustaining life on this Earth. We need to form a community that is focused on the community. Are we spreading the word to those who want to fix the economy? Are we challenging the world-view of those who say “Well, the economy is going to get better because… well, it has to!”? Are we encouraging people to stop chasing after a job that pays better but makes them unhappy? Or are we waiting for a miracle to change the world around us?

Now I know that we, as a group, are uncomfortable with the idea of evangelism. We have fought against those who would tell us we are thinking or acting incorrectly. It has driven us to avoid those who think differently than we do, and form communities like this one. We find one another and say “Man, those other guys really don’t see things the way we do,” and take solace in the fact that if there are others who share our point of view. In order to shield ourselves from their possible criticism, we don’t speak about the topics we feel most strongly about in public. This is true whether you’re Awakened or not. It’s considered impolite to talk about religion, politics, race, sexuality, or anything else that someone else might have a strong opinion about. This is a tool of the system, whether it is a consciously enforced mandate from those in power, or a spontaneously developed homeostatic control inherent in society. Even if you vehemently disagree with someone, we can pretend we all get along and continue to work away at our jobs, or live out the life of the Cleavers, or perpetuate any of the other millions of illusions we entertain ourselves with. Because the Dreamtime, our subconscious, was not big enough to hold all the discontent we pretend we don’t have, we created new Dreams, like CNN, or faceless forums, or violent videogames, which allow us to vent our spleen at the world, and go back to pretending we’re happy like this, working side by side with those damn Reds that piss off us Blues, or vice versa.

It is this homeostatic control that we must break. The illusion that things are separate is something that we, as Evolvers, as Awakened souls, have begun to see through. We recognize it in the jarring synchronicities we are experiencing more and more, as common themes are repeated in “unconnected” circumstances. Hinduism calls this illusion “maya, the force that leads the Inner Self to mistakenly feel that it exists in itself, apart from God’s all-pervading divine consciousness” (pg. 309, The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Hinduism). There are five facets to this, one of which is kala, which “limits omnipotence, creating the illusion that you can’t effortlessly will things into existence.” It’s this particular illusion that I find I come up against most often when speaking to other Awakened about spreading the word and opening the eyes of other people. They will be ready when they’re ready, they say. We can’t force anyone else to think something they’re not ready to think. To best counter that argument let me tell you a story from my own personal experience: how I began to clear away kala, and empower myself.

About a year and a half ago, during that darkened, powerful time that starts around Samhain with the shadows of what is hidden lurking at the edge of your vision and culminates with the year coming due at Yule, I was a confused and frustrated young man who sensed something massive on the horizon, but didn’t know what to make of it. This was pretty par for the course; I always had difficulty dismissing my dreams as mere nighttime hallucinations, and been amazed that people could so tacitly ignore the pain, malice, adoration, or determination that, for me, was writ large on the faces and in the bodies of everyone I met. I had just begun dabbling with the Tarot and discussing ghosts and magick in earnest with friends when I met a beautiful soul with whom I resonated with immediately, and whom the cards, in one of those rare, flat-out statements they don’t usually give, indicated I would be/should be/was romantically linked with. This woman actively encouraged my exploration of all things spiritual and metaphysical, and constantly pushed me to explore the avenues my intuition and instincts pointed towards. She was the one who linked me to Reality Sandwich, which opened my eyes to how widespread this Awakening is. “Finally,” I said, “A community of spiritually aware, socially conscious people! Shamans and psychics, gurus and hippies… my PEOPLE!” I dove in headfirst, and reveled in my newfound sense of belonging, as I am sure many of you, my Awakened brothers and sisters, enjoyed as well. By seeing my thoughts and feelings mirrored in the articles and comments, I felt empowered to strengthen my talents and inclinations, and embraced my heritage as a shaman.

Now, that all seems as if it happened in a past life. Currently, my spiritual development is stalled due to a need to eat and survive. The job I held at the beginning of the year required me to work for some of the most selfish, greedy, uncompromising people I had ever met. I left them and now search for new employment while my savings quickly dwindle. Yet I feel completely unmotivated to actually apply for anything. All around me I see signs of the decay in the economy: retail space standing vacant all over, including in midtown Manhattan; shop owners standing out in front of their empty stores, looking around for customers; shipping containers piled high outside the ports; crazy sales being offered. Capitalism is stalling and (hopefully) dying off. I have absolutely no desire to put myself back in the job market… other than the fact that I need to get money in order to survive. The only thing that keeps me from complete and total despair and the ultimate surrender is the recognition that there are others out there who wish to make the world a better place, and believe that it can be done. I am not alone. I am not separate. All is one. And I would not have that resource of emotional strength I so desperately need if some wonderful person had not gone out of her way to put that connection in front of me, to clear away my maya.

When I speak of ministry and evangelism and spreading the word, I’m not talking about aggressively attacking other people and telling them how wrong they are. I think there are very few people who are contributing to the current destructive paradigm that are not victims themselves. Perhaps people like Dick Cheney or Mahmoud Ahmadinejad deserve that kind of aggression. My old college roommate, who told me that I hated our troops for going to an anti-war protest, deserves no aggression or anger. My friend who dislikes Barack Obama because, for example, he is trying to make it harder for bullets to be sold and making America look bad (I’m still not quite sure how she thinks he’s doing that, but whatever), deserves no aggression or hatred. They are products of their environment, inheritors of drama and misconceptions that have been around since the dawn of civilization. Even though it could be said that I have always had less maya than the average American, like the rest of you current Evolvers who have come early to the party, I still had maya. It is the maya that deserves the aggression. Attack their logic that tells them the world is comprised of a multitude of separate factors. Point out that climate change is not a problem we can delay anymore, because crops are already being affected and the weather is already changing. Show them how capitalism has conspired to take abundance from those who have little and given it to those who have already got plenty.

I go into New York City a lot for rehearsals and the like, and the emotional atmosphere around there is absolutely toxic. If I don’t properly shield myself, I end up walking out of there incredibly depressed. There is so much hopelessness and fear in the hearts and minds of everyone on Earth right now. The end times are now, folks. If 2012 will usher in a new society, then these are the times in which the old one dies, and it’s going to take down a lot of people with it. You don’t think people are ready to be turned on, to have their eyes opened? I have $6 in my checking account, a fact I found out as I tried to buy myself $20 sunglasses to make myself feel better. Most people I know, those of us who just graduated college or are making our way into the world and haven’t had careers for years, are unemployed, or underemployed, or employed but not working because their employers won’t put them on the schedule. There was a shoot-out 5 blocks from where I live this morning, right by my friend’s house, where I walked her home the night before despite her protests that she’d be safe. Open your arms to those who would do you the most harm, speak to them of love and community, and turn your cheek should they call you a hippie or a bum, or vent their frustration with the world on you. We cannot stop this crash that’s coming, but we can lessen the blow if more of us are side by side instead of fighting each other. This is your call to ministry. Be brave, be loud, be strong, be heard.

Breathe deep, seek peace. Love to all.

Dave M. D. Milo, Lobogriff

Morningstar

I grow weary from awaiting the dawn

That will bring the one who steps up slowly,

Smiling slyly, and disarms me with one

Glance. My weapons gone, she strips me bit by

Bit, of shield and plate and chain, to let them

Fall away, so I may take her hand and

Gambol unencumbered. She would laugh as,

With adroit finesse, she flicks away my

Veils and costumes, smoothes the furrows from my

Brow, and presses t’wards tranquil repose.

I, bereft of that which has defined me,

Reach for this bewitching vision as a

Drowning man will blindly grab for fundament

Curling from my grasp, she dares with sparkling

Eyes, enticing my desire with her

Sinuous grace and serpentine curves.

Now I move with firm intent, and still she

Spins away. We flow into the chase, my

Fingers brushing at her trailing hair and

Fluttering scarves, always just behind her.

Bellowing ecstatically, I pounce. She

Glances back, confused, and then surprised with

Just a hint of trepidation. In that

Moment we collide so comfortably,

Kissing, coupling, just as bubbles meet and

Move as one. We resonate in harmony,

Intention, preconception, future

Gone: we live in present, and with presents,

And with presence, ‘til we spark, and she receives

Me as the stretching leaves embrace the sun.

-D.M.D.M. 5-5-2009

To Persephone

The season brings such great delight to me

She calls my soul to joys left sleeping long

Since Autumn’s quiet reign began. My love

Had passed to other ‘spheres, to shine her touch,

Her smooth caress, upon those in her care.

For too far long had I waited on the

Asexual red Fall, in its rumpled

Flannel plaid and pumpkin-grooved face. My heart

Has been too long encaged by frigid hands

Of the hard-eyed old miser coot in chill

And stark white plains of Winter-wool brought down

Upon the land. Virgin young Spring has come

All draped in flowered silk and patterned shawl

To smile and chuckle in polite amusement.

But when the sun goes down, her cold untouched

March shoulder turns on me and pimples with

Small geese my skin. My lady she is not.

My Summer-time girl has strawberry blonde

Long waist-length hair. Her skin is fair to tan,

Depending on how long she’s stayed. Her touch,

Like hot oil on my skin, flows, pushing beads

Of sweat so gently from my body, yes.

Her laugh does grab my hair and tousle it.

Her perfumes range from sea-salt spray to cut

Grass, funnel cake and boardwalk tar, fresh rain

In sunlight, asphalt wet and hot. Her eyes

Hold glist’ning rays of late-night sunsets on

Soft, gentle waves. She runs across green fields

And white sands, leaping from cotton ball to

White cloud in clear blue skies. The cold enrapture

Of chlorinated water or the slick

And prickly sea is her embrace. Her lips

Taste like iced lemonade and cotton candy,

Her breath contains a lingering hint of

Overly salted french fries, chocolate

Sauce on vanilla soft-serve, poolside pizza.

And when she dons her coal black gown and sneaks

Along the sky, horizon to horizon,

I can stay for such lengthy hours just

To let her voice run riv’lets down my face

Cascade over my body, ring true all

Through out the streets. I’ll jump as her soft hands

Just clap together and her rough, bare feet

Rumble away across the night, the wind

So fiercely pulling me into her raindance.

When fin’ly it’s time to sleep, we’ll retire

To the warm bedroom where we will lie nude,

And I will let her smooth skin heat my bare

Flesh as she lies atop me. And the gentle

Swells of my love’s soft, pillowy breasts will

Be where I rest my head and dream all night.

-D.M.D.M. 4-27-06

Reflections on Flights

I’m currently reading a book I picked up off the shelf of my roommates section of the bookcases. It’s by a professor who my ex used to talk about. She took his class and she always tried to communicate a very deep moment she had because of him. Granted, she did that a lot, on a variety of topics, but I was usually too infatuated with the way she expressed her passion and the way her nose twitched when she talked to pay attention to the actual content of those moments. But, regardless, my first impression of Professor Ogilvie is one of a sagely pedagogue, the kind I had hoped to find all over the place in college but had not stumbled across at that point.

He popped up a few other times in my experience, such as when I worked at the campus bookstore and saw his book stacked on the shelves next to Freud’s tidy little blue texts. I remember because the cover looked more like a trade paperback than a textbook, with a dust jacket and big colorful cover art. In fact Professor Ogilvie himself says in Fantasies of Flight that his style for this book is half trade book, half textbook. And I think it appropriate his style matches the… theories?... I came to after reading the middle 8 chapters first, as the good professor suggests in his preface.

He speaks of the conflict between Sigmund Freud and his student-turned-rival Carl Jung., not just of their theories but of their interactions as men and thinking, feeling beings. Freud, the stolid sexualist who blamed all problems on naughty little urges we have because of our childhood, felt Jung’s mystical hippie new age theories of the collective unconscious was simply a rebellion against Father Figure Freud. Jung on the other hand simply felt driven to answer questions that had begun at the age of three, long before Oedipal conflict usually manifests, and which Freud’s theories simply failed to recognize. This is a gross simplification, but it works for now.

I find it interesting that, during a period of my life in which I find myself faced with the intense conflict between fitting in the world as it is now and trying to make the world the way I want it to be, one of the most intricate intricacies of our modern civilization, Facebook, would bring Professor Ogilvie’s picture to my desktop monitor over and over. He shows up simply because he and I both went to Rutgers, but beside my connection to him through my tempestuous ex, I also worked with his son in the same musical that brought me together with that ex, Camelot. I played King Arthur, a man trying to change the world who is brought low by the failings of those around him, and Sam Ogilvie played the boy to whom Arthur passes his golden vision of Camelot and right.

Having seen his name so many times, I could not fail to be interested in a book I glanced at, thought it was something by Freud from the title and that vague memory I had of the bookstore, and began to read out of nothing more than a desire to find a way to pass the time pleasantly after a bad day. And after I finished the chapters detailing the personalities and creations of J.M. Barries, author of Peter Pan, Jung, and Freud, I began to think of the interplay between Freud’s death instinct, which he speaks of as an instinctive urge to return to a primordial state of stillness, and Jung’s collective unconscious, a kinship not only with all mankind but with all the universe from which we came.

Jung was drawn to this collective unconscious. He saw it as the Other, and his concept of anima as the opposite gender of the ego can be seen as corollary to the drive he himself felt to merge with this collective, this deep point in the mind that connects us to everything in Creation. In my mind at least, Ogilvie draws a parallel between Freud’s death instinct and Jung’s fascination with myth. The mythic structure, that of disconnection with the familiar, defeat of enormous and near impossible obstacles, then a return to the familiar with tools and experiences that allow the protagonist to change the familiar, normal world as he sees fit, mirrors that of the indigenous tradition of the vision quest. The human is a social animal; we share that trait with most primates. Take him out of his support network of other humans and he is at a great loss for resources and capabilities on he has relied on to survive. Would Freud chalk vision quests up to a desire to return to stillness, a death wish?

I think there is definitely a desire inherent in humans to skirt the edge of the canyon. Mostly people try to find a comfortable balance between having a nice view of the abyss and the surety of solid ground. Their death wish is displayed in how they want to view death, a ways off but close enough to keep things a little interesting Others, though, seek to return to a more primal state of being, living a little closer to the edge, because you can learn a lot by seeing what ends up falling off and away forever. Like any good gambler will tell you, the key in that case is not knowing when to step closer, but when to walk away.

The death instinct in this case I think can be recognized as a desire to dip into the collective unconscious for the resources and tools that will allow us to bring ourselves into better harmony with the world around us. To merge with the Other, to really learn how to properly use the tools and resources presented to us, is to kill the ego, that watcher of all but itself, the personas and parts assumed by the primitive individual just trying to get by in the world, the part that says it knows best because, well, I got us this far, didn’t I? The ego most of the time will find a way to reconcile mistakes it made and its pride, rationalizing things like it would have worked if someone else had done what they should have known to do, or I would be getting this done if I weren’t so tired from all my obligations.

I find myself at a point in my life where I can choose between finding a ‘career’ and working towards it, basically dedicating myself to an ideal and working up through the miserable system of references and agencies we have developed for a person’s placement in society, or living my life one day at a time, trying to my myself as happy as possible before I die. And that could come at any time, by the way. It’s hard to admit at 23 that I’m not always guaranteed the long life everything expects and plans for. But I may not have time to wait for happiness to spring after I’ve gotten tenure at some high school in suburban New Jersey teaching English to kids who would rather surf whatever will replace the internet in ten years, going home to hopefully a healthy relationship and a family. So maybe it’s time I abandoned the idea that I can fit into this world as it exists right now while I try to change my environment to something a little more tolerable. To admit our mistakes is a scary thing, as is to change from something familiar to the unfamiliar. It is the death of the self as we know it, and an embrace of what we might be. But if you’re not happy with the way things are, why would you want it to stay that way?

Stones

You keep your nose to the grindstone for too long and bits of you get worn away

Little bits at first, the same extremities you lose with frostbite

Only this is not just the cold of an artic freeze

This is the cold of an uncaring world

Where every step is a battle

And every victory is just the delay of defeat

And as you get smaller

And lose pieces of yourself

To the constant pressure against that unstoppable grind

A millstone goes round your neck

And forces you closer to the spinning wheel

And you get smaller

And the weight gets heavier

And the pace gets quicker

And you become tiny

And the weight becomes ponderous

And the pace becomes arduous

And you are microscopic

And the weight is back-breaking

And the pace is punishing

And you are just about to lose yourself to the void

But

Your foot is on the pedal

Your hands put the millstone round your neck

Your own doing that parts of you have been ignored

They looked at me and said “Hey, take it easy

Here, take that silly thing off

Let us carry it for a bit; it’s really not as heavy as you think”

They looked at my wheel and said “That doesn’t need to go so hard”

And showed me how to keep it steady and mild

So I could breathe

They looked down at the pieces and said “You’ve really let yourself go”

And picked me up and helped me to my feet and nose and sanity

And steeled me from further wear and tear

In short, they saved me from myself

-D.M.D.M. 8-5-06