Neiramystico Now

I decided that now that I finally, finally have a real job, that I would go back and start trying to sanitize my online persona, and I thought I would start with LiveJournal, since that is the oldest thing out there, of which I am aware, that still exists.

My first entry was on May 15, 2001. Life was horrible back then. I was about to start my senior year in college, but since I was majoring in music, I was on the 5 year plan. I was thinking about grad school, but I hadn’t picked a program. I was engaged to Mike, working at ITS, driving a 1989 Ford Taurus, and living with my parents for the last time. There was little hope for my future. I was as fat then as I am today. I was always exhausted, and I rarely got to do anything I truly wanted to do.

My writing skills were poor, poorer than they are now, surprisingly. I was just so unhappy.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately of how much college sucked. Grad school too, although grad school has some shining points, the intellectual stimulation, the great people I met, the insane experiences I had, but there never was a more fucked up time in my life. Back to that later.

Janie was the one who got me sucked in. I never talk to Janie anymore. The Academy, the Forum, are like tumbleweeds blowing around my Facebook. I don’t know if anyone uses IRC anymore, but I haven’t logged on since I had a hard drive failure in 2008, and lost my login.

Last night, I got put on standby for care and shelter workers. The Bald fire is, last I heard, 8 miles southeast of Fall River Mills. They opened a shelter in Paleo Credo last night, but called me 18 minutes before it was set to open. I was still in my swimsuit, and it takes 18 minutes to drive there, so even if my bug out bag had been in my car, and I’d been sitting in my car with my key in the ignition, I would not have made it in time. People don’t do that when they are on call for fires. Still, I feel guilty, like I missed some key piece of communication. I always assume when something goes wrong, I am the one at fault. I also tend to see things as “wrong” when they are actually irrelevant. I just got a call confirming that I am on standby, indefinitely. It’s a bit difficult to really relax when you are on call for emergency response.

Michelle invited me to her baby shower, in Pestigo, Wisconsin. I am mad that she chose to become pregnant again when she still has custody of Teagan. I am mad that I feel that it is not safe for me to allow her to have my contact information, because she is still psychotic, toxic, and manipulative. Sure, say what you want about me, but that relationship was truly a mirror for me to see what an awful person I was. She claims now that Teagan is autistic. I find this difficult to believe, and can easily see it as another manipulation tactic to emotionally abuse Teagan, and assure that he is never able to emancipate himself from her control. I feel that I really have to cut off contact with them all, permanently. There’s no hope for Michelle in my mind, and little hope for Teagan since he is under her control. Liz and Taylor have made, what seem from my perspective, to be great strides in personal development, but Michelle has reverted to what her mother taught her to be, a demonically-possessed, mastermind manipulator.

I feel like I don’t really deserve my master’s degrees, because I had disability accommodations: such as extended deadlines and taking exams in separate rooms. I feel like I don’t really have bipolar disorder and that ADD is just a genetic variation that is totally normal. I feel like the issues were poor parenting, lack of social support, poverty, and malnutrition. Even though the accommodations seem reasonable for someone that cannot function in the world, why was I even pursuing higher education, and who is to say that I wasn’t treated differently because of being labeled as “disabled” or “bi-polar”? Or because I was a “lesbian” or “polyamorist,” or the fact that I was in a relationship with a convicted rapist? My so-called advisor for my archives concentration sure seemed to have an issue with me, and it’s not good when your advisor for half your program is creeped out by you, but does the bare minimum because she is scared of your “minority” status.

I definitely think the psychiatric medication and psychotherapy caused a great deal of harm, but I do not know if there was any other way through. The anthropology masters got me out of Wisconsin and to California. If I were not here, I would not have a partner that’s not a dickhead, that’s gainfully employed and owns a home.

Teal Swan’s video yesterday went through an exercise about why we keep attracting shithead partners.

In thinking of the most negative aspects of my childhood home, here’s what I come up with:

ghetto

dilapidated

inadequate

unstable

uncared for

messy

falling apart

fend for yourself

At this point in time, it’s very difficult for me to identify any past relationships as “love,” or “in love with.”  Certainly not! How horrible! I truly believe that no one ever cared for me that way until now, and that I was just addicted to the ideal of love because I’d been left so empty from my neglectful, immature parents who should have just not had children.

One thing I can definitely identify as a common negative quality among my past relationships was that none of them had decent jobs, even if they were working, even if they were working full-time, it was a job without benefits, not a real job, or working two part-time jobs. They were all always broke, and I was subsidizing them half the time (or more). There were a few that were homeless. I also seem to attract people with addiction problems: alcoholics, drug addicts, sex addicts… And people with mental illness, low self-esteem, and bad childhoods, some with truly horrific pasts of abuse.

Alex told me once, that even if you are mentally ill, if you are still functional, then it’s not a problem. The road to recovery is ugly. It may be that only yourself and God are able to forgive you, but I oftentimes feel like, all the horrible things I’ve done were as a service to others, a contractual teaching obligation.

Here’s where the true crazy comes in, when that galactic portal, star gate, or whatever it was that I was part of the key to, was opened or shifted in 2009, all those contracts began to be terminated. Bub-bye motherfuckers, bub-bye. Anyone can only remain in my reality through mutual freewill. Yes, we have reached the point where we can go no further, and now we can be anything we chose. Only we define ourselves, and if we want to burn every goddamn bridge, it is a good thing, a wonderful thing. The universe is listening and new friends come, slowly, freely, in perfect love and perfect trust.

Are you worthy?

What do you value?

What if there is no one standing on your stair step with you?

They say it’s lonely at the top.

I have to say, by anyone else’s standards, I have to be an epic failure, on nearly every possible level. “Ew! What trash!” and I am trash, and I prefer to not hang out with people in the upper four quintiles, because most of them just do not get it. They never had to go hungry, go without heat or proper clothing. They don’t feel guilt and have mini panic attacks when they spend money.

I see people having children and raising children, the majority of them as unsuccessfully as my parents, and I can go ahead and judge that, because I know, for sure, that I will never again be a parent, but what makes them more successful than I could ever be, even when they are doing horrid things like furburizing their infant, is that they hold a belief that they have enough to provide the type of life they were raised to expect for their family. Whereas I can sit here, for myself, scribble a budget on a piece of scratch paper, and know, for certain, that it is impossible for me on a financial level. I can’t even afford a cat. I can’t even really afford to feed myself properly. Sure, I am alive. Sure, I eat better than the majority of Americans, but I am not in a position to reach my highest potential or highest genetic expression. You want to bring another life into this world, when I can’t even feed myself, because, oh, the oxytocin is going to overbalance the inevitable suffering that child will endure? You want to create more trash like me? You think you are different and it won’t happen to you because you are better than that?

No, these people are still sleeping, or are coming from very different perspectives. They are not coming from generations of abuse, neglect, and poverty.

You’ve come along on your journey. Screaming, without compassion, at idiots to roll up their sleeves and get to work, to be genuine, to be authentic, to stop trying to escape. You get out of abject poverty. You get out of abusive relationships. You finally get a real job. You start attracting different types of people into your life. People who are just as clueless, but these people lack any understanding of what it’s like to come from the bottom of the pound scum, and you can’t just scream at them, because in the eyes of society, these are the successful ones, the handful that haven’t been toppled off their pile of shit yet.

As you’ve stopped watching television, stopped listening to the radio, stopped playing video games, stopped reading the newspaper, limited your time shopping at large retail chains, stopped going out and giving away your resources, you realize the requirement for isolation grows. If you can find someone close enough to match your vibrational level, fantastic. It becomes increasingly difficult to manage that with more than one human being.

In any case, I am feeling very judged outside of work and home. Very, very judged. I have one friend that I have been able to continue to interact with after switching jobs without feeling like I am coming away coated in the black tar of everyone else’s “issues.” It’s as though everyone’s insecurities about themselves are being flung at me. “Oh, you mean an education doesn’t translate to a higher income? Oh, you mean hard work doesn’t pay off? Oh, my children and grandchildren could end up like you? Oh, you have a plan. You have a man. You could end up in a better place than me when you get to my age. You are too poor and the wrong size to find durable active wear so you just wear men’s clothes you got at the thrift store and you are okay with that? You are a fucking fatass, but you can out-hike me? You make a quarter of what I do, and have 4 times the debt, but you offer twice the gas money? You’re so smart that you make me uncomfortable, yet you went around begging for landscaping jobs because you were so broke? You are just shy of 200 pounds, but your waist circumference is smaller than mine? You ate 5 bananas as part of your breakfast?” What the fuck!?!

I am really bad at reading Mr. X, most of the time, but that is most likely because it has nothing to do with me. He’s still agitated, depressed, mad, etc… it’s just that I think it’s my fault when it’s not. However, I am probably right about a lot of the above. It’s just time to step away, take a deep breath, and know that more, and more wonderful people will be flowing into my life again. It’s just that this summer is going to be pretty asocial.

The universe keeps sending this message, through various sources, recently:

PRODUCE, CREATE MORE. CONSUME LESS.

Hence, here I am, before I eat breakfast, before I poop, finally posting to WordPress again, for the like two people who will look at this, and who will not read even this far.

More and more, I am considering, “How can I produce? What can I create? Will it be valuable to me? Do I need to bring it into the world to facilitate someone else’s journey?” Once upon a time, the music, art, writing had  to come out, because there was a vital message that had to get out, part of it was coming through me, and part of it was me working through my shit and trying to work through shit of my ancestors, I feel especially through my maternal grandfather’s line and through Taylor’s line. I am sure somewhere back in the 1840s or so, we have a common ancestor. Anyhow…

I had this dream last night where Native Californians had blocked off my typical access to the back 40 of the property I was staying on. There were pop-up tents everywhere like at a market, and a temporary fence had been set up. There was a narrow trail left along the creek. One of the Wintu elders comes up to me as I step out of the back porch looking all perplexed and starts telling me how great it is now that the darkness is gone, referring, I assume, to someone who had held a great deal of political and monetary sway within the group of Native Californians in this part of the state. He looks incredibly young, mature, but nowhere near his 80+ years. It is as though it was this person’s abuse of power that had aged him the small amount he had been. I am thinking like, “look, for all intents and purposes I am white. I am a transplant. It just causes problems when I get politically involved with Native California stuff, and no one trusts me because I try to act as a mediary, so no one tells me anything, but I know people like you know that I know through my own means, and I am sorry if you have a beef with this property owner, but I take walks out here everyday, and I want to get permission to participate in the salmon run, but I wasn’t expecting my backyard to be fenced off..”

And he’s like, “Let’s go find “blah blah” (plant guy). It’s time to start teaching you. Of course you can participate in the salmon run now that the darkness is gone. No one can say anything that you are here. The fences are up because the guy that owns this property has been a jerk before about us camping out during the salmon run, so we thought we would like to give him a taste of what limited access feels like.”

Isn’t telepathy wonderful?

Then I wake up. There’s lots of possible interpretations to this, but I thought it was portent, because I have a great deal of respect for this person (and yet I feel it’s okay to be writing this here now, which normally I wouldn’t), and I never meet him in my dreams.

Then I had a dream that Jonathan had asked me to be in his wedding (even though he is already married). I am back east and this woman is from like Asheville, so that’s where the wedding is. I have never met this woman before, but in the dream, we became close friends after Jonathan met her, and that is why I am in the wedding party. Since the wedding is in Asheville all my cousins are there and then my sister, brother-in-law, mom and dad and Wisconsin cousins came too. I have no idea why, but they were there. The whole while I am just sort of wondering why I agreed to this because I at one time had a very emotionally intimate relationship with Jonathan. It was probably the last time I had been unguarded with anyone, and now I am at his wedding, as a bridesmaid? But I am like, “She is a very sweet and wonderful woman and is a much better and more fulfilling partner than I could ever be to him, and I love them both. So, I am uncomfortable. Oh fucking well.” I have this turtle picture that I finished in 2010, and as I began working on it, I knew that it was meant to be for Jonathan’s first born. In the dream, I had brought the picture with me, and was like, “I know how people hate at weddings when everyone is already talking about babies, but I am not coming back east for a long while. I hope you can take this finally and keep it for when the time is right. It doesn’t need to be sitting in my office.”

Both were such weird dreams. I now want to check on the health of this elder, and make sure we didn’t lose another amazing light-filled, wise soul, and check and see if Jonathan and his wife are expecting.

I feel bad to give away the picture, but it really doesn’t belong in my office, so I guess they should take it if they want. Otherwise, I need to find a new home for it.

It’s been a long time since I’ve posted.

It’s 10:37 and the children are still asleep. Everyone was curled up in their bed before 8:30. I am perplexed. Either they are sleeping way too much, even for teenagers, or they sat in bed for 5 hours watching movies and goobing on the Internet? Did I really ever do that? Ever? Really? I feel like I am stuck back on my side of the house, feeling guilty for making breakfast and coffee, and I slept in, late, over an hour and a half until 6:45. Now it’s getting close to lunch time for me and they are still asleep. I guess it will be bananas and kiwis plain and raw for me.

Yet, when we are parents to new babies we wish they would sleep more.

I feel guilty for not being more productive. It’s very weird to be sitting in my office instead of being in the kitchen on a Sunday morning.

I really have lost any conception of time. I feel like I am not really moving through time. I watch children grow up and friends age, people pass on, but in some cases I seem younger than when we met or when they were born. Even though the days whip by at frighteningly fast time-lasp speed, I remain stable. I imagine being 60 or 70 and still looking like I am 25, evoking a strange precociousness in the wisdom I will have undoubtedly gained by then. I feel I have already entered the crone phase of my earthly female existence, and yet, I appear to be a young woman, a girl even at times.

Many things become irrelevant very quickly. There is no longer a drive to communicate, because the message has gotten to those able to receive it and to those it hasn’t we know the opportunity is not present at this time. It is a waste of resources to speak when no one is listening.

The ego falls away and does not require reassurance.

We notice many sources competing madly for our energy and we no longer feel overwhelmed. We take a Scarlet O’Hara approach to life, “I’m not going to think about that now. I will think about that tomorrow.” Nearly nothing can hold my attention/energy for long enough for me to “complete” it. A movie, a book, a journal article, a television episode, an album, an art project… we are not moved and we rarely are entertained or inspired.

We feel we are losing our intelligence and our ability to think in a scientific or rational fashion. Science is far behind what we “know” and we feel like we are in the realm of pseudoscience. I still judge this in a negative light. Is there good versus bad pseudoscience? Our teeth are rotting and we feel guilty for using fluoride because we know that it is doing something to our intergalactic connection, but our teeth are rotting and it is annoying. It is scary to think of all the money we will spend trying to hold on to our teeth for another decade or two.

We feel that science tells us we should not eat so much fruit when our mother has diabetes, but we know that the high volume of fruit is keeping us from eating candy and reducing the amount of bread and pasta we eat and lighting our metabolism on fire. So what if it is contributing to our teeth rotting? We know the other benefits outweigh eventually losing our teeth.

It is difficult, virtually impossible, for someone at our level to now divine the future. Time is dissolving. Our original mission is completed. The grid is being connected and brought online in ways we never imagined, dreamed, or conceived, yet it is so far from what we had hoped, wished, dreamed, and fought for these past centuries to be at already. We are not there, and we cannot get there from here. Yet, these new frontiers that are here, are the last signposts that still time moves for us and within us. It is so new. We do not have a plan or even clear desires to move forward and so we exist as everything else speeds past us, some still sleeping.

I decided that ice skating on Friday night made the weekend feel longer, because it made Friday night feel like Saturday night. I may take advantage of this phenomenon again next weekend. The more space within time that I can buy myself, the better. I am ending as many commitments as possible and not replacing them so as to allow time and space for manifestation and greatness. Goodbye library. Goodby Veteran’s museum. Goodbye archaeology class. Goodbye community band (even though I never got around  to starting that one up again, it’s not going to happen). Goodbye archaeology. Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.

So what do I still enjoy?

I still love figure skating and wish there was a rink closer to home, but I am not moving my home anytime soon, so the rink must come to me.

I still like laying on the couch and spending an afternoon reading the imperialistic National Geographic.

I still like pottering around and drinking alcohol, mostly ales or wine.

I still like riding my dad’s 1978 Schwinn. I wish it were safer to ride the streets. I probably would hardly drive at all.

My new found joys are bread-making (for which I feel guilty, I mean I’m supposed to be raw vegan or something, right?), gardening, composting, and watching and smelling Mr. X home-roast green coffee beans.

Before the skating season, but after my new job, we found time to hang out, or more for me to invade Mr. X’s privacy on Friday nights.

I feel like I want to be a Shaker, or a Quaker, or Amish when I grow up.

I love hand-crafted food and furniture. I deeply appreciate vintage fashions.

I wish I could sew and design clothing.

Coleman Hawkins is in my heart. I know I was a dancer in Kansas City once upon a time. I carry a propensity for addictions, dancing, crime, and jazz that have carried over. We are really good friends. It’s amazing and creepy that the essences do not dissolve upon death, but we carry on, by choice, even as we manifest into new physical manifestations (?). Love is so powerful and the projections you dream persist. They are more holistic and pure when driven by love, gratitude, and freewill.

Giving up tobacco has been incredibly difficult. I miss the joy, pleasure, and relaxation it brought into my life. Yes, I am growing younger in my skin and hair and my lungs are getting pinker, but the advantages are at such a loss.

Teagan does not have a sibling on the way. Taylor is not the father. I am very glad for my Milwaukee family that that drama is out of their life. I am so happy that Liz has finally gotten a real job. I am perplexed watching the girls become adults.

Nigga please… the decision was made months ago and the opportunity is finally here. You got nothing and I call your bluff.

I quit tobacco.

I can listen to music again. I mean like the way I used to listen to music.

Sunset is now at 7:23. I had so few hours at work over the summer that I did spend quite a lot of time outside, nearly naked, in full sun. Now I am not getting enough. In a way the summer was long, because July seems ages ago, and yet it went so fast! It will be November before I know it and I’ll be seeking the nearest tanning bed. I think my sun addiction is worse than my cheese addiction. You don’t realize what a fiend you are until you get cut off. I love some cheese, but I don’t feel the same way when there is no cheese. If I have other fats like nut butter the anxiety and restlessness abates. There is no solar substitute. I sort of wish I could go to Australia or something next month.