Diamonds at Midday

While the Kings are betrothing their Queens,
And the spades out clubbing in nines,
I'll see you a'midships at three,
We'll eat grapes, smoke weed, and drink wine.

With jokers and fours by the quai,
Deuces and fives dying to play,
"I'll see you below, nice and mellow,
We'll talk about ways to make hay."

Six is at odds with the kids in his life,
Sevens descend to military strife,
I'll see you below, by that port-side window,
We'll then we'll go to Heaven, for life.

While Kings are out jousting for Jacks,
And Aces about gone from the pack,
Down in your cabin, let's dispense with our blabbin',
And then both jump in the sack.

04/26/2006 - The Sort Poems

Very early in the process before I realized I was on the trail of the Muse, I began experimenting with automatic writing in an effort to generate written content to put into the paintings.

As records of dance, the tracing works were already transcribing content. I wanted a direct connection, language. That meant words, or at very least, sounds that would become words.

At this time, my model was my subject. It was not myself, or the work, or the dialogue between myself, my model, and a third party, nor was it the long diatribes I later would record direct from the Muse herself. Each of these possibilities became a full flesh and blood voice, as on a Greek theater stage.

Here I'll detail an automatic writing experiment I conceived and carried out very early on in the project as a way to try to discover written content without having to compose lines myself.

The theory was simple. Give Mythos a chance to 'steal a bone', from Logos.

Imagine consciousness like a pack of wild dogs. They function as a group, think as a group, and contribute as a group.

Each has a role to play.

The lead male and female, are the leaders. The correct term is 'Alpha male' and 'Alpha female' but I refuse to go further with this mythology. It is out of date and short-sighted. 'A' is the first letter, yes. it also where written consciousness begins, but as I will show, it is not consciousness! Rather it is the beginning of Mythos being brought to consciousness.

Leaders keep everyone else in line, yet alone, they would starve.

Rank and file pack members have their own hierarchy. The so called "Gamma" dogs, male or female, are the lowest ranking. Again, I don't subscribe. Yes, they are ranked, and that ranking is only sociologically important for understanding pack dynamics.

Consciousness is a flame that is fed by unconsciousness. Our fire is stoked by a part of us that does not shine brightly.

Lead dogs have the job of drawing strength in the most effective way, from the pack. Like politicians, they judge pack direction, and pack sentiment. They get their ideas from the pack. And they co-ordinate the contributions made from rank and file, hopefully, to make sure everyone remains fed.

However, as in all places where power accrues, so does ego. So does brittleness. Ego breaks, and also  consciousness.

The only thing that doesn't break is a kind of consciousness that is everywhere, diffused throughout.

This is the objective of Tantric consciousness by the way. But that's another topic.

When ego, or Logos, or leadership, becomes confident, that base from which it drew its strength to begin with begins to steal from it. Logos is constantly undermined by Mythos.

So, following the pack analogy, when the so-called gamma dogs think they can get away with not sharing with the alpha male, they will.

The rank and file, as a group, represent Mythos, dark, and non-conscious, but possessing a massive thought base. Logos does not generate ideas, only processes them. Mythos possesses calculation, (don't confuse with mathematics - that's grammar). Mythos is more intelligent, but doesn't know it, lacks focus, yet (eventually) completes everything it starts.

How does one advertise to Mythos that one is creating an opportunity for it to express itself?

Live. That's the way we all do it. Live. Our Mythos doesn't need our help.

But, if we want to examine a portion of our Mythos, we may.

We provide that opportunity, quite simply, by telling it, through the lead dog. Post an announcement! Design an experiment that is clearly handicapped in favor of your gamma dogs! Here's your opportunity!

One would think that leadership would sense an ensuing revolt, and put an end to the process. Sometimes they do.

But not usually. Heads of companies, states, and the conscious wakeful part of our brains that we rev up with coffee, are famous for appearing to undermine their own leadership, because leadership, i.e. consciousness knows, that it has to face a daily test. And how better to face a test than to administrate a game that can be controlled, where outcome is not crucial!

So just like the CEO, who calls a holiday for company group-therapy, our Logos may be set up in charge of administrating an experiment where the massive abilities of the unconscious pack mind may excel.

I designed one such an experiment that had mixed results. It was done by sorting words, and I'll try to explain it here so you may try it yourself.

Have a subject walk up and down a staircase. It is ideal to use a real staircase. I began with the staircase that went three floors from my apartment to the sidewalk on Houston Street, but we retreated to a set of cardboards ruled off into squares. It was just too disruptive to the building to try and write poetry by climbing stairs. I was working with my ladies, and sometimes we did this after the tracing work, and they were not always properly dressed. Furthermore other tenants in the building would stop puzzled to look at the little magnetic words we were putting out on the staircase. So we retreated back to the apartment. But if you live in a house with a private staircase, trust me, stairs would be best. The exertion will further distract the 'alpha' dog from trying to interfere with his gamma pack.

Have your subject start each pass of the staircase holding a number of words on separate pieces of paper, magnetic fridge words, newspaper words, words written on index cards, it really doesn't matter. What is important is that the 'subject' not be familiar with the 'word pile'!

For beginners at this process I advise selecting at least two, the more the better, articles from the web, reproducing them larger, then cutting out words with a pair of scissors. Eliminate topical words that are too time and space specific. Eliminate extra articles of speech if they seem too numerous. Making the selection of what words to include is a bias that must be tolerated into such a short time-based experiment.

Ask your subject to visualize the staircase as a series of steps, moving from one extreme, through shades of grey, to another. Also ask them to pose a question, (have him or her keep this private), such as 'which word reminds me more of my father?', or, 'which word is more ridiculous?'. Any question at all where the answer may be viewed as relative, or non-categorical. 'Which word is blackest?', 'which word is happiest?' You've got the idea.

Now, it is very important to submit every word to this question when making the sort. In a way we're interviewing the pack of dogs. We're sizing them up, and ranking them.

No matter which words are placed on which steps, they are arrayed according to relative strength when faced with the private question.

If the staircase has sixteen steps, draw 16 words. Sort and relativize them along the stairs. Do this 5 or 7 times.

This part of the 'task' - that's the job for the King of the Pack. Logos, our executive, has a job to do! He's thrilled. He's in power! He gets to pick the teams! He organizes the game.

[Achilles held games during a break from battle during the Trojan War, after he realized that his ego had gotten the better of him, and celebrated a return to his 'karma' as a warrior. In some of the events that were held, he handicapped his clear athletic advantage over the others, but still won. In so doing he subjugated himself to his King, Agamemnon, who was by all rights a nasty and devious man. Nevertheless, Achilles did this with grace. He subsequently went into battle, Troy was conquered, Achilles lost his life. 'Everyone's gotta serve someone', Dylan. ]

To answer questions about each word, the Leader puts feelers out to his pack. Which of the two words, 'disk' or 'pencil' reminds me most of my father? (That's my question) Well, in my case, 'pencil' does. My Dad was an artist. The Leader answers with a quick bark to his nearby lead female. The word is placed on a step.

A distinction between 'tape' and 'keys' is harder. Both were important in my father's life. Instinctively he begins to consult Mythos. He looks around the room, at his pack, for signs of how to answer the question.

The subject, walks the stairs in passes, distributing, on average, one word per step. As words are laid down, they are turned over, so that the 'history' remains hidden. This is the crux of the matter! Make absolutely sure your subject knows this it will be done this way before starting out, else there'll be a conscious rebellion, e.g. 'But I want to compose! why else are we doing this!'

Conscious mind cannot remember which words end up on which step. That's the point. The Unconscious mind, i.e. the whole pack of dogs, can. The total mind is brilliant at speed math, at poetry, at rhyme, at chess. Logos is lousy at all of these things, but understands rules, grammar, process.

Consciousness is but a tiny flame illuminating only a tiny part of a very complex forest.

Invariably the leader will be perplexed by the results. It's not his day. But hey, it's just his touchy-feely off-site conference! So he declares lunch, and generously shares more bones.

This is where the gamma dogs conspire to do an end-run on their alpha leader. They spot an opportunity. Mythos salivates at the prospect of being able to openly express itself, without censorship from Logos!

Each word that came up faces initial categorization from the question, the moment with the Oracle, and then, based on the interpretation, is asked to sit into the array, and prioritize, grouping words together, perhaps two on one step, none on another, without looking at words from previous passes up or down the staircase.

After repeating the process 5 or 7 times, each stair will have on average of five or seven words which then may revealed and 'ordered' to form the lines, of a nascent poem.

Now comes the 'interpretive' part. The Alpha Male has noticed that the Gamma Dogs have been playing with his bones. He gets interested, and tries to influence the outcome.

Here the lead dog is needed. We need grammar. The words emerge from the process, but are unlinked by rules of language. Leadership organizes!

As part of 'interpretation', there needs to be only one grammar. The lead dog's good at grammar, so let him do it!

Nouns may 'flip' to become verbs.

Singular may become plural, and vice-versa.

Articles can 're-generate' themselves, like fingernails.

Suddenly there's language. The pack has spoken.

I conducted the experiment with four gals. AP, MS , RK, and Rainbow. I wrote then wrote a computer program to 'jostle' the words, (replacing the pack leader) so that the word order on each 'step' could be made into a random event, changed by pushing a button. I jostled them, like a gold-miner, panning for gold, late into the evening hours on my Houston Street computer.

Here's a portion of the first poem I wrote with Rainbow using this method:

Yes, know your studio,

come to capture some smoke.

Though they deal death,

Be here.

Weld scale metal

doing looms from mess,

pad to mad.

Was an empty glass so dead?

How mean with junk,

Take our old cigarettes in break.

In a blast I understood the mechanism of the mind, and how devices may be dreamed up at any time, to distract our too-focused executive. It was possible to allow the pack to dream at night.

Ah . . the rub . . .

a tidbit not offered by a playful hand

what's not edible, is left in sand.

My gals didn't like it. I didn't like it. It had a lousy taste.

It was mechanical. It took their input, but ground it up with the process. Yes it brought forth subject, but it was DOA. It lacked leavening, bread that wouldn't rise.

The picture I got was my picture, since I had created the process in the first place. I was flour and water and sugar, but no yeast. It felt I had taken my subjects, and put them in cages.

She didn't like having her words in cages! I was gaining Muse consciousness.

These feel like machine poems - there was no grace in the making. No one else was there, least of all my subject, once she had broken the words down into piles she felt done for the day. My gals were bored to tears. It resembled an industrial grade psychological test. Once I had satisfied my curiosity and saw that 'content' was all over the place, I realized it was time to move on.

After all why should it be difficult to write poetry? Why should a massive effort be engineered to help the process? Yes I had learned one way to distract Logos. But ritual does the same thing!

I learned if a situation is designed for Mythos to rush in and populate with projection and 'content', then it will. 

I learned that if a tidbit is offered, and held there consistently, equidistant from the grasp of the one being so tortured, the creature tires and turns away from it. Who wouldn't.

Poetry is the reason that poetry is written. We all need it. This wasn't it.

In fact this experiment scared the shit out of me, so I stopped.

Our Master

Old master, please model all ways.
Above, dazzle, imagine in color.
How to feel free like this.

From a silhouette song, music has joy
Water enlivens psychedelic angel paint,
Open wide, paint her electric harmony.

Canvases can live, create, write,
Balance bold and soft.
Are we the green wood that we know is hard?
I drove our son,
I had let him through at an entry blue.

Suffer raw pain, drunk, but did she make it?
Was she full?

We'd smear us, hear and after,
not about symbol rhythm.
Here, when filmed wild,
I am mostly that which sculpts.

Nudism is used.
Then compose experiments and mount,
Instruments feel and sees sculpture.

She senses the observations,
more seen by youth.

Yes, I know.
Your studio's come to capture some smoke.
Though they deal death,
Be here.
We'll descale the metal,
doing looms from mess.

Pan to my Madness:
Was an empty glass so dead?
How mean with junk,
To take our old cigarettes in break.


With RBG, 11/30/10, 25, 26, 27

  The Muse Poems:

   1  2   3   4   5   6   7   8   9

10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18

19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27

28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36

37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45

46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54

55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63

64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72

73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81

Oracle

If you are my Oracle,

If you are my Muse,

Why are you being so practical?

Why can't you let me choose?

Stars

I have, below the surface of many of these poems, interpretations that are personal, or not meant to be read. Some of it's heavy stuff. It tells tales. It's crystalline stuff, sound.

The words may not be grammatically correct, but she knows I'll put grammar into them. If I have to I'll make up a grammar, just to let them be as they are.

At that point it all becomes readable. Where is the image? Ah. . . that came from the ritual.

It is what I am listening for that determines how I hear the sound.

I listen for what is, first, and loudest, on any level, I listen for thoughts from somewhere else. Then once I have her voice, separated, I can listen for a second voice.

Once a voice assumes form, it speaks within the setting I have devised. Everything is there, who she is speaking to, how, what tone, what circumstances, what's been said, subject, what to talk about, what's left to do, how to do it, etcetera.

'She' is not always in same mood, and cannot be relied upon to act as the same 'person' though she can be relied upon to be brutally honest, and brutally intelligent.

I remember being upstairs as a child and listening to the grownups talking excitedly downstairs, guests of my parents, and learning to hear one voice at a time from amidst the hubbub.

Once you have the voice do you follow it? Follow no. Listen, yes. I practiced listening and understanding many voices simultaneously.

Pay attention to what the voices say? Yes, absolutely. Over and over again she says to me, 'use canvas' and in all honesty, with the exception of three efforts, I haven't. Am I not paying attention? I am, I do plan to use canvas, but at the right time. She calls from Mythos. Mythos wants canvas. Logos has to pick the time and place.

The closest analogy is this. You decide to produce a play. You do everything, build the set, hire actors, rehearse a script, but you do not have a star. Until opening night, you do not have someone to play the key role. 

A star always comes. It may not be a bright star or a friendly star, or a happy star or a sad star. But one comes. Always. The cast may be fired and everyone sent home, or it might be a last minute voice from amidst the extras that says, "I can do it!" and it turns out she already knows her lines.

There always will be a star. Macbeth may come - a star in your life will be there. She has no end of characters to supply. She is not you, but she does know a lot about you.

Who is she then, if there she has so many, different stars? She is the backdrop to them all. She knows them all, and can call them by name, and call them down too.

She takes them all when they're done playing their roles.

So there is no need to wish 'for' stars because stars will be there. Playing roles. They should be watched, not followed.

Instead, as a star yourself, remain centered, as you soar past other stars. Don't fall into them.

Life may take any form.

04/21/2005 - 1st

M____,

you arrive with

your craziness

around your head

like a net

or a hat.

You have good manners -

you remove it,

when you arrive.

04/21/2005 - 2nd

Tonight M____ ,

you are so centered!!

Here you're doing,

your dance around,

your centered being.

04/21/2005 - 3rd

Here you are

taking the net

off your body,

dropping

the ghosts!

04/21/2005 - 4th

This is the fourth of four made this very special evening with M____.

This little waif of a creature, who talks of her insomnia and her madness, who has this loving charm about her.

The more she speaks of her madness, the more I realize she's sane and well.

Here you are as an icon to be loved and respected. Even worshipped.

05/09/2005 - Last work with M____ S_____

M____ came over on a Monday evening impatient to make some works with the wet brush. I had in the morning rolled out and stretched a large piece of Stratmore watercolor, and also tinted it a light yellow and pink.

The drawing made from the first piece from the roll - that's why it's rounded at the top - anyway I was ready, and M____ was crazy to do some big wet powerful works.

Using the big elk hair brush I put out the red lines, then the same brush to apply a brownish black. Then I opened up the tumeric that Ami had made up for me and I asked M____ where she thought I should put it. I told her that tumeric helps the body remove poisons and blockages, and helps it generate internal heat. She started saying things like, I feel cold here, and pointing to her neck, so I would then apply some tumeric to the neck area. Then she said she felt cold in the belly, so I put some there. The whole center of the body ended up smeared with tumeric. Then I opened up the coffee and made coffee stains around the whole body. M____ drinks a lot of coffee at school.

After M____ left I did some 'repair' work. This is when I reconstruct lines that got smeared or blotted out in order to make the work go faster. We're not always able to give it enough time to dry. I do this by standing next to the drawing as if I'm actually standing over M____ herself at that moment, and feeling the natural arcs that my arm can make, redoing the lines. It's almost as easy as tracing her body again as if she were there.  But as this act does depart from the unbiased unconcious discipline of making a tracing, and turns the look and the feel of the work over to a painterly energy which is somewhat subjective, I'm careful not to overdo.

Next time it will be back to lines, back to overlapping brown or sienna lines with the small brush.

11/29/2010 - Twins, for Thanksgiving

[This is an email correspondence between myself and a young woman who modeled for me twice, back in 2005.  S____, who was working at the time as a yoga teacher, came to my Houston Street studio, one chilly April day.

After some false starts and small talk, in which we mentioned Ganesh, the Indian elephant-headed deity of guidance, I embarked on a tracing of her as she performed her sun salutations. This was the result.

Seeing the image of Ganesh emerge almost automatically from a pattern of some six yoga poses traced in sequence gave me pause to think for a long time about what lies inside all human minds. And S____ too, returned to her life encouraged by a force that she had proved radiated from inside her.

Since that moment we've both felt linked, as if by a bolt of light. We've stayed in touch, intermittently, but have not seen each other since those days of work.]

**************************


Friday November 26, 2010

S_____,

This is from my journal of Wednesday November 24, 2010:

"I fell asleep, exhausted as soon as I got back from picking up my son in Lakeville, and daughter in Northhampton. I headed back to New Haven with both dear children in the car, after months of their absence. They are no longer children really. Grown up. In college. We were talking a storm, but I was exhausted, and near the end of our trip had to slap myself every three minutes to stay awake.

As soon as we reached home I crashed, (without crashing!), and woke up five hours later, with the fierce memory of a dream pounding in my brain:

“Stephan-i-son NOAR”. That was the dream.

Working with my son later that evening, to prepare for Thanksgiving, I had a flash.

'It means my model friend S___ Stephanson had a son!' "

Now I look at your FaceBook page and realize you had two sons!

I send them both my love!

Mark

-:-

November 28, 2010

Dear Mark.

Thank you so much for sharing this.

These boys have been sent to me for some reason and this is yet another confirmation of that... there have been many signs from my environment. It is quite a challenge for us these days but i believe it was meant to be. There have been so many signs beginning with an image of a pregnant ganesh that i saw when i was at a memoir writing retreat last summer at Omega NY. This is equally potent and affirmative. I will include our work together and this dream/word sequence as as part of the chapter/section as well.

But what do you make of 'NOAR'?

Please be careful in your car. Enjoy your children. thank you for staying in touch my friend.

with love from all of us,

S____, E____, and R____

-:-

November 28, 2010

S____! . .

Thanks so much for getting back . . . I knew the dream was important when I had it. I actually felt extremely tired . . . almost fell asleep at the wheel right before having it. . . woke up very rested with these phrases beating my brainpan.

That's the way it is with my dreams. . . they boil down to words . . . sometimes seeming to make no sense.

I believe that the dream "Stephan-i-son NOAR" meant (to me) "Stephanson's Son, No ER!". I learned a lot about the Muse in work after we worked . . and that she does not care at all about spelling, for herself.

Sounds are it, as in, Sans-krit.

So 'NOAR' . . . sounds like 'No ER' meaning, it's 'S____'s Son, no ER', meaning, no emergency, i.e. good news!

My Muse very politely was telling me not to worry. I have a brother, named Steven, who has a son named Steven. The father, (my brother) flies small planes, and the son is a avid cliff climber (sometimes with no rope). I worried that the dream was about them, then I realized you were due, and it must be an announcement dream!

My family worries a lot about the two Stevens. So my Muse may have been specifying that it was you. . . . and that there was no need to worry.

You may have an insight about 'NOAR' later. . if you do please let me know. If I do I will also.

Until then, and always, we remain psychically linked! By Ganesh!

Are the boy's names E____ M____ and R____ M____? Middle names? Also I'm curious about the childbirth. Was it long? At a hospital or at home?

Not sure if you're aware, but R____ K_____, . . . my FB friend, and model to me at about the same time as you, also had twins, a few years ago. There's some writing here about her, and the process of discovering the poetry on my blog somewhere. You might like to share this experience with her.

Same love from me here to you . . . blessings . . . you look great. . my heart soars like a hawk.

Mark

-:-

November 29, 2010

Wow. I am more blown away than before, again thank you for sharing with me. I will meditate on 'NOER'. What you have intuited sounds on the money though.

E___ R____ M___ and R___ D___ M____ are their names.

The birth was a very western MD affair complete with a c-section and 4 day hospital stay. R___ was nearly 7 lbs at birth, breach and posterior to E___. His head was up by my rib cage. During the birth he had to be wrangled from me feet first and part of his cord was beginning to wrap around his neck. There was no way to deliver safely vaginally. I was bummed out about that, but didn't want to risk attempting a vaginal birth and having to go completely under for a c-section later. E___ was low and head-down. I have a 8 minute or so birth video that S____ took if you want to see it. Just let me know. It's pretty amazing! I have recovered quickly though, and feel blessed for the excellent care we all received.

R___ K____ sounds familiar. She had twins too? Something about working with you perhaps?! I will get in touch with her.

Thank you my friend for continuing to be a guardian angel from afar and for staying in contact. We remain linked!

love,

S____ and the boys.

-:-

November 29, 2010

S____,

I'm so happy it all turned out well, there was a sort of ER after all, but I was being reassured.

I have even more to share with you . . .

This is from dreaming last night! My internet went dead very late. . . so I was prevented from reading this post of yours, which probably helped me in realizing what the dream meant.

First, I was also a difficult birth. Extremely so. I was born during a full lunar eclipse (just learned that bit last month when I was researching eclipses!). My umbilical cord wrapped around my head, also I kicked it and ruptured it, so they had to reach in and pull me out.

As I was going to sleep last night my dreams woke me up. In it I saw 'NOAR' as a picture of an elephant walking, from the side, he's facing right.

'N' is his hind legs, (the 'V' of the 'N' is the hind leg closest), 'O'' is his belly, 'A' and the first part of the 'R' his front legs, the right part of the R is his head and trunk!

Shiva is said to have cut the head off an elephant in order to replace the one taken from his son. . . . in that case it would be the 'R' that gets lopped off and placed on Ganesha's body!

"No R!"

So the dream is the story of a death (of an elephant, but the birth of a God, Ganesh. So there you have it. . . Ganesh was telling us the story of his life! And it couldn't have been easy!

Also . . . 'Stepan-i-son' rhymes with . . 'El-e-phant'!

You had two sons. So did Shiva and Parvati. One was named Kartikeya, or Skanda, the other Ganesha. It is not certain which was born first. In the South of India they say Ganesh is older, in the north, Skanda.

My congratulations to your husband. This is a very auspicious birth.

S____, . . . might I put this conversation (editing out your first name and the boys names and your husband S____'s name) on my blog?

Sometimes messages like this help others realize that their dreams are not nonsense, and can be understood.

If you'd prefer not, please understand, I don't mind at all.

Love to Parvati, Shiva, Skanda and Ganesh,

Mark

-:-

November 29, 2010

Mark,

Just after the retreat, i found a child's stuffed monkey puppet toy in a cab -- between a visit from S____ to NYC and a month's hiatus for me in MN (august), I had a feeling that could be an omen. I found out i was pregnant 3 weeks later, when i was in MN. We made the incredibly tortuous decision to terminate that pregnancy. He wasn't ready to commit to me on that level and it turns out (i found out much later) he wasn't being/hadn't been faithful either for a lot of our two years together long distance.

I had a vision of the pregnancy the month prior (before conception), at Omega -- that this child would be a reincarnation of his brother C___. I was running in the July heat, on a rural back road surrounding the Omega site, and came across a mailbox that said 'C____ K____' which i immediately knew as 'C____ coming'. at the same moment of seeing the mailbox, i had the strong sense of a child coming to S____ and me.

I terminated it out of fear... i didn't want to be a single mother in NYC and he wasn't embracing me or the possibility of making a family with me in MN. I never really recovered from that -- and returned to NYC thoroughly broken. I decided to move to MN for my sanity, and the paradox was that it didn't have to do with S____ but with the fact that NYC would destroy me if i stayed any longer in the face of so much pain. I also had made a few friends in MN and knew I could make a life apart from S____ if it came to that.

We had a turbulent year end in '09 but we stayed /persevered together; and by march '10, i was pregnant again. I hoped it was the soul of the little one who came to us in summer '09. when i found out there were two of them, I felt more certain that one of my sons in my uterus was in fact the same being we weren't ready for nearly 9 months earlier. I conceived at the same time that being would have been born. A tarot reader at the renaissance fair in MN at august's end, after the termination, in '09, foretold this.

But now i wonder... 'NOER'? Is the son i was supposed to have in march '10 not in fact E____ or R____? Is that creature still out there? Is it safe? Are my two boys E___ and R____ safe?

Do let me know your thoughts when you have a chance.

Of course you may use our correspondence in your blog. What is the site/address? I would love to follow it.

S______

-:-

November 29, 2010

Dear S____,

I'm reading this very carefully will probably have more ideas later today.

I do think a lot of this is about the naming of your children.

Also, feeling guilt about a terminated pregnancy, is common to all mothers. You are a mother feeling guilt about that, because you are a mother, whereas if you hadn't become a mother, you might not be feeling this. You, as a mother are a creator of life. . . and as such you have the right to chose when to do it.

Trust yourself. You did the right thing. Remember Ganesh has been leading you right along, . . ever since you took up yoga, probably from way before.

"N-O-O-O-A-A-A-R", is the sound an elephant makes when bellowing!

Hanuman bears gifts of fortune. You can't keep souls that are destined to live, from living. No one can.

Everyone on this planet has dreams, or almost everyone. Few get the chance to sort through their content. Almost in compensation, dreams have many, and multiple meanings. Your dreams are important to me, and vice versa.

'Noar', also comes from the Hebrew root word (nun-ayin-resh) which translates to "enlightened". Besides "noar", other forms of this Hebrew root word (nun-ayin-resh) have it in the form Naar (Mostly Sephardim, or Romaniotim) and Noor (Ashkenazim), rarely 'Naor'. [fr. www.urbandictionary.com also has a very unappealing 2nd meaning not cogent to this!]

We'll get this one right. And we'll make sure your kids are safe. I'll help watch over them. You look well S____, so I'm not worried!

Also please come back to your old hometown, and visit. Bring everyone. We would love to meet you all, and we could all head down to Pepe's!

Mark


[another tale of Twins]

04/15/2005 - M____

The first time M____ came over she brought her boyfriend. The young woman whose photograph I was emailed, was of fair but almost bruised complexion, a sign of depression. She had an energy, a fire and a flame burned from the back of her head, and out in front of her, something she was walking towards, some light that she saw to guide her out of some very dark place.

I welcomed the two of them in. He was awkward, and acted like he was imposing, but after all they both wanted to know that my motivations were pure. He saw the work and took encouragement, and so he smiled and left her with me.

-:-

M____ comes over. It is daylight, how much younger and sweeter she seems at night. She confesses she is crazy, first week of the new term at P____, . . . she’s very agitated. Yet she seems to want to strip and lie down and relax as my brush goes all around her. . . not sexual at all . . .  it goes where it must, the work. I chose a big brush, load it up with dark ink, and make a pattern drawing, with about six positions. It has mass and power.


Then I decide to make it wet. I load up the pot with a witches brew of black ink. 'M____ we’re going to do it quickly, very quickly all around and I want you to change poses quickly, from one to the other, and we will see what comes.'

'Please use red, Please use red!" M____ asked me to use some color, so I did.

The drawing ends up as a murky mess, with a pile of red in it – after we switched colors. Giggling she goes into the shower to wash off.

Is red, the color of energy, beginning to transform her pathways?

-:-

I've had this dawing in the studio for nearly a month, have looked at it many times, yet only when photographed did I realize that, like the earlier one, M____'s hands and feet are poking out of a giant tangle, like she's trapped in some eternal barbed wire.

Her hands shoot skyward out of the mess of red and black.

She's working through nerves that are turned back on themselves, insisting on the straight route of light, . . up!

Ona V___

Ona V___ is tall and thin,
     and has a regal way of speaking, from within.

She has a track star body, not an ounce of fat to spare . . . .
     like an Olympic champion . . . beautiful and feminine.

We go to the mirror, she looks at her face,
and when she does I get behind her, and stroke her deerlike legs,
     back, waist.

And when she asks me if I'm hitting on her, I say,
"Not really. I'm still drawing!" . . . We end it there.

But it is very erotic . . . she has the most powerful hands.
She gives beautiful back massages . . . she leaves me healed.

Who's been Nibbling?

"Who's been nibbling at my fruit?
I have no siblings, nor have I brood."
So the mushroom spoke out loud,
"It wasn't me!", I scraped and bowed.

One Night in the Forest

One night in the forest, 'midst dark and gloom,
High on psilocybin, I found this mushroom . . .

Careful

Careful where you put your shoes
Topple these I promise . . . you lose!
There's a mind below the earth
That surpasses what we know, in kind and worth.

A frightful experiment I'll not suggest,
Just a white remnant that you might deem to digest.
Why defend with such terrible fury?
Unless sent by an angel, . . . of great purity.

The Bog

Through this bog I plunged all night
Avoiding logs with celestial sight.

Lose your shoes at the wrong time of year,
You'll stumble around, and die of . . . fear.

Trail of Life

The trail of life is one foot wide,
Perils to the left, perils to the right.
We love the path that's straight ahead,
Beneath wreaths of danger, over our head.

Panic Grass

You might hide in Panic grass,
And mistake its name in error. . . .
Thinking you'll knead bread with it,
Or flee from it in terror.

Note: This grass is deer-tongued, of genus 'Panicum',
          Mysteriously not secretive, species 'clandestinum'.

What Waits?

For every tree that's straight,
   for every trunk with breadth,
Whether grown in light or shade,
   some thing awaits its death.

Twisted Trunk

\

Twisted trunks of roots that search,
This drunken one, is Yellow Birch.

Pale Angel

My only child is a lone mushroom,
So never poach these blooms.
If you eat this Angel as your bread,
You'll rise, and know you're dead.

The Door

Upon me lies the forest floor,
 . . . a mouse atop a bull,
All of life goes through this door,
 . . . to Hades if you pull!'

Vampire Bog

In slow flowing bogs of peat
Not much to nourish, nor much to eat.
The Pitcher Plant, and Venus Fly Trap,
Suck insect blood, to replenish their sap.

The Mummy

This Mummy got dropped,
   I think by the glacier,
Wrapped in pink granite,
   so that she stays there.

Red Mushrooms

Red mushrooms by the forest path,
Damp from last night's rain.
I'll head my way around and back,
And return that way again.