anthem

anthem
chapter 11
by ayn rand


I am. I think. I will.

My hands . . . My spirit . . . My sky . . . My forest . . . This earth of mine. . . . What must I say besides? These are the words. This is the answer.

I stand here on the summit of the mountain. I lift my head and I spread my arms. This, my body and spirit, this is the end of the quest. I wished to know the meaning of things. I am the meaning. I wished to find a warrant for being. I need no warrant for being, and no word of sanction upon my being. I am the warrant and the sanction.¹

It is my eyes which see, and the sight of my eyes grants beauty to the earth. It is my ears which hear, and the hearing of my ears gives its song to the world. It is my mind which thinks, and the judgement of my mind is the only searchlight that can find the truth. It is my will which chooses, and the choice of my will is the only edict I must respect.^[2][3]

Many words have been granted me, and some are wise, and some are false, but only three are holy: "I will it!"⁴

Whatever road I take, the guiding star is within me; the guiding star and the loadstone which point the way. They point in but one direction. They point to me. ⁵

I know not if this earth on which I stand is the core of the universe or if it is but a speck of dust lost in eternity. I know not and I care not. For I know what happiness is possible to me on earth. And my happiness needs no higher aim to vindicate it. My happiness is not the means to any end. It is the end. It is its own goal. It is its own purpose.^[6][7]

Neither am I the means to any end others may wish to accomplish. I am not a tool for their use. I am not a servant of their needs. I am not a bandage for their wounds. I am not a sacrifice on their altars.⁸

I am a man. This miracle of me is mine to own and keep, and mine to guard, and mine to use, and mine to kneel before!

I do not surrender my treasures, nor do I share them. The fortune of my spirit is not to be blown into coins of brass and flung to the winds as alms for the poor of the spirit. I guard my treasures: my thought, my will, my freedom. And the greatest of these is freedom.⁹

I owe nothing to my brothers, nor do I gather debts from them. I ask none to live for me, nor do I live for any others. I covet no man's soul, nor is my soul theirs to covet.¹⁰

I am neither foe nor friend to my brothers, but such as each of them shall deserve of me. And to earn my love, my brothers must do more than to have been born. I do not grant my love without reason, nor to any chance passer-by who may wish to claim it. I honor men with my love. But honor¹¹ is a thing to be earned.

I shall choose friends among men, but neither slaves nor masters. And I shall choose only such as please me, and them I shall love and respect, but neither command nor obey. And we shall join our hands when we wish, or walk alone when we so desire. For in the temple of his spirit, each man is alone. Let each man keep his temple¹² untouched and undefiled. Then let him join hands with others if he wishes, but only beyond his holy threshold.

For the word "We" must never be spoken, save by one's choice and as a second thought. This word must never be placed first within man's soul, else it becomes a monster, the root of all the evils on earth, the root of man's torture by men, and of an unspeakable lie.

The word "We" is as lime poured over men, which sets and hardens to stone, and crushes all beneath it, and that which is white and that which is black are lost equally in the grey of it. It is the word by which the depraved steal the virtue of the good, by which the weak steal the might of the strong, by which the fools steal the wisdom of the sages.^[13][14]

And now I see the face of god, and I raise this god over the earth, this god whom men have sought since men came into being, this god who will grant them joy and peace and pride.

This god, this one word:

"I." ¹⁵

---

1. "I swear by three times three times three...these shall remain my own. And whatever may transpire, no god nor man nor beast may take them from me. I swear by myself and my immortality." --The Oath of Lilith

2. "Beauty is truth, truth beauty, that is all/ Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know." --John Keats, Ode on a Grecian Urn

3. "Blessings on your eyes. Blessings on your children. Blessings on the ground beneath you. My heart is a ladle of sweet water, brimming over. Selah." --old canaanite blessing, The Red Tent p.4

4. "An harm ye none, do as thou wilt." --The Wiccan Rede

5. "The microcosm of the macrocosm" --Democritus, 5th century BCE

6. "Four Dignities of the Warrior's Path" --the Shambhala training path, regarding Perkiness, or Irrepressible Joy...the 2nd Dignity

7. "Sing, feast, dance, make music and love, all in My Presence, for Mine is the ecstasy of the spirit and Mine also is joy on earth... Let [Me] be in the heart that rejoices, for behold, all acts of love and pleasure are My rituals." --The Charge of the Goddess --Doreen Valiente

8. [see lyrics: "Not the Doctor"] --Alanis Morissette

9. "Give yourself a little freedom to develop into something or someone you'd actually like to be." --Donald J. Trump, Why We Want You to be Rich p.101

10. "...i am as i have been, as i am, as i always shall be. so the fuck mote it be." --Funk: A Declaration of Independence, by yours truly

11. "No person was ever honored for what he received. Honor has been the reward for what he gave." --Calvin Coolidge

12. "Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? ...Therefore, honor God with your body." --1 Cor. 6:19-20 (see 7.)

13. "Material abundance without character is the surest way to destruction. Indeed, I tremble for my country when I reflect that God is just." --Thomas Jefferson

14. "pop nihilism...is nothing more than the same Dry Cynical Infrastructure of the Evil Trickster Phallocrats which boasts all the geometrical symmetry of a constipated nazi general..." --mama always said... --by yours truly

15. "And you who seek to know Me, know that the seeking and yearning will avail you not, unless you know the Mystery: for if that which you seek, you find not within yourself, you will never find it without." --Charge of the Goddess by Doreen Valiente

brezsny-on-the-blog

CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): Pumice, which is created by volcanic eruptions, is filled with holes, which means that it's sometimes light enough to glide on the surface of a body of water. I urge you to use this floatable rock as a metaphor. Think of the heaviest burden you're carrying -- an apparently insoluble problem, a thankless responsibility, a task that seems impossible -- and imagine over the next few days that it is changing into a hunk of pumice. When the transformation is complete, visualize yourself throwing it into a fast-flowing river, and then watch as it gets carried away, ultimately turning into a tiny, bobbing speck that disappears over the horizon.


i think i have sporadically achieved what is known as a mental uplink to the PNN: Pronoia News Network, which feeds love notes from the Jiggy Snake directly into my brain. armed with blissful cheat sheets on how to change my mind about everything, i've begun the true revolution --killing the apocalypse at the source.

everyone has a little bit of the apocalypse inside them. i call it the inner flaming narcissist; jung called it "the shadow."

thinking about this the other day, while headed north on Hwy 217, i had a satori moment which i shared with *ta*, a friend of mine in texas with whom i used to write phenominal, breathtaking stories online. between us, we created worlds and empires rose and fell. i learned a lot about myself in that time, too.

so i emailed him about it.

...the other day I remembered a scene we'd written, when Leer and Kyri had finally landed in the desert to find his people. He'd told her that her mother's tome, that huge grimoire that was too heavy for her to lift, would one day be as light as air when she finally learned how to channel her own magic power and use it. Kyri had thought he was nuts. I mean, that thing probably weighed as much as she did or more, since she was such a tiny little thing. I've thought about that scene countless times over the years, not quite understanding what he'd said but knowing there was something there.

I get it now.

And I just wanted to let you know that now, for me, all those things that were so heavy before are now light as a feather. Thank you for planting that seed in my mind.

at that moment on the freeway, i realized that without my noticing, my heaviest burdens had transformed into pumice and had already floated away down the River Funk. it took their absence, and the resulting uncapping of yet more ecstasy in the mushroom cloud in the back of my brain, before i even realized what had happened. and that, i think, is how it should be.

however, there's still more that can be made into pumice stone. i could take the metaphor even further and observe that pumice is used to soothe rough skin, especially pampering tired, abused, calloused feet. if my transformed transcended burdens can then be taken to smooth down the rough spots caused by the abuse and rigors of daily life, isn't that the essence of pronoia?

"[to] find the treasure in the trash, the gold in the lead, the manna in the junk food. sometimes the only way to get the good stuff into your system is to eat the whole disgusting thing." --The Televisionary Oracle, p. 123

there are still burdens which weigh me down. Project: Bio-Mom, for one. *k*, my oldest sister, is another. i'm too big on the concept of family to be writing people off. of course, the conflict is that i'm also not big into toxic people infecting my life, no matter who they are. so there is conflict. however, i suppose one burden at a time is enough to handle.

i've taken a few committed, irreversible steps in the making of Delena's Palace of Funky Bliss, so that fear is well underway of being faced, conquered, and banished. or rather, devoured, transmuted, and redeemed...

this could be, i suppose, the universe's way of telling me it's time to stop stalling and start planning the special ops for Project: Bio-Mom. it's a delicate operation that will require all of my compassionate cruelty and rowdy bliss, with no guarantee of success. in fact, i might make a few enemies along the way.

ah well. as long as i love them more than i love them...

monday morning check-in

i thought i would actually write a post this morning, but then i thought about this. i found a vid on myspace that was just too beautiful not to share and i thought, "we were here. this was our bangin' Funky party." then i remembered The Book of Genesis According to the Funk and realized this is The United Snakes of the Jiggy Funk! we're here, baby!



Crab Supernova Explosion



may the Funk be with you.

sorry, had a brainfunk there

my mind has been everywhere this last week. for a while, i actually wondered if it were truly possible to lose one's marbles...

do you remember those building sets, kind of like build-a-blocs or tinker toys (i loved tinker toys...), only they were plastic multi-colored ramps and tubes and funnels, and they came with marbles? and you could build these elaborate structures for those lovely glass marbles to tumble through until the finale, when they arrived in your hand after the singular thrill of watching them fall through the creation of your master mind?

my favorite was the sound of them. the tink and rumble and clatter of marbles falling through chambers and tunnels and chutes. my theme was always spiral; everything was build in spirals back then. even my tinker toy creations and doodles. talk about prophetic...

anyway, this entire week, i've been hearing a memory of the clatter-rumble of those marbles. a favorite pasttime of mine was to dump handfuls of marbles into one funnel and watch them roll crazily, milling about in chaos as they slowly rolled toward the spout and disappeared...only to reappear in a trough, rolling along in perfect order like soldiers marching in a line. order from chaos but, oh, how the chaos fascinated me!

my thoughts have been like those marbles i'd dump pell-mell by the handful, rolling about in crazy confusion, getting mixed up and bumped around and disappearing down into the funnel of my subconscious only to pop up again minutes, hours, a day later at most, and making perfect sense.

por exemplo--

marble: nothing lasts, let alone love and relationships. even family eventually disintegrates. everyone knows one day the sun will go supernova and swallow the world in fire. and yet...that doesn't stop the 6.6 billion people walking the earth from living their lives anyway. who cares about tomorrow? the Now is all we have.

marble: the NAS bible says love "is patient, love is kind, love is not jealous; love does not brag nor is it arrogant...love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things." everyone recognizes 1 corintians 4-7. not that i've read the bible in more years than my hatchling's been alive. but goodness! that doesn't tell you much about love, does it? makes love sound flaccid and pale as milkwater. better, then, that my bible is the televisionary oracle, and here's what it says about love: "as far as the goddess is concerned, there is only pantheosexuality. also known as polymorphus perverse omnidirectional goddess-caressing. all else is a lie, an obscene limitation. you can only be in mad loving lust with ALL of goddess, not some of her. to be in love with some and not all of her is to be in love with none of her." --the televisionary oracle, chapter 41. it's as i'd been trying to tell *m* all this time...

...all or nothing.

marble: there can be no respect for a man with no self-respect.

marble: to whom it may concern was real. he was really here. but now he's gone, and there's no promise he'll come back.

marble: love is gone, but i cannot but hold onto its memory. and i would move mountains for it.

marble: much as i've tried to run from it, i see more clearly every day i became my bio-mother after all. just those parts i loved, and inherited. and there is no shame in it. she was, in her own way, quite beautiful.

rainbow dreams

this week's rainbow dreams is brought to you by the Triple Goddess Tarot, Angelic Wisdom, and the number 3...


the surrounding grounds and gardens of the Menstrual Temple of the Funky Grail are breathtaking and expansive, like the wings of the smiling sphinx who hands me candy calaveras coated in the dust of the bones of my antepasados, my ancestors, as i walk beneath the diamond arch onto the temple grounds. the dust on those little candy skulls always shimmers, like gold and garnet dust, and the taste of it on my tongue explodes in a fury of fireworks and wild swans. hot wonder explodes down my arms, my legs, in my womb, up my spine with all the thermonuclear passion in the heart of the sun.

this, upon first setting foot upon the hallowed dirt over which floats the Menstrual Temple, as if to say, "remember you are the universe, and the universe wants to throw you a fiesta." not that there's anything wrong with the notion that to dust i shall return, because in actuality each grain of dust is a tiny, microscopic rock in which is contained the very secrets and stories of the universe. and, if you listen, they will regale you with tales of Baligab the Singing Three-Tailed Serpent, Horgadad the Beautiful Queen of the Orcs, Skochbop the Magnificent Fool and his twin, Borlifad the Tiny Giant, who can change his shape at will.

all these tales and more, if you but listen to dust. and then maybe, just maybe, they will teach you to ask clouds questions, converse with trees, and allow water to be the solid ground upon which you may walk.

i was in the sand garden, east of the Menstrual Temple, dancing to the gentle hum of the millions of conversations being had between the grains of sand amongst themselves. shimmering, pearly shells and holy rocks and driftwood, twisting and stretching and winding like young gypsy girls dancing the virgin's bridal dance before the fires...they were lined along the edge of the garden for my pleasure, to array in the sand as i wished. there were wooden rakes and fresh brooms of all sorts, as well, to draw waves of designs. a gigantic zen garden where my every footstep was a sacred mark of the universe upon itself.

surrounded by so much holiness and contemplation, meditation and solemnity, bizarre and orgiastic profundity i'd come to associate with being in the presence of the Funky Grail, suddenly there rose within me an overwhelming desire to find a sacred cow to tip.

she came, then.

until this moment, i'd only encountered myselves, and the goddesses: the vulture goddess and the blue-skinned, eight-armed avenger healer with no mercy and infinite compassion: She Who Would Teach Us to Laugh and then Make Us Cry in the Same Breath, She of the Cosmic Puns, the Patroness of Revolutionary Dreamers and Freedom Fighters Everywhere.

but there she was, the pomegranate priestess. i'd heard of them but until this moment had never seen one of them. i'd heard them in the darkened corners, behind the pillars at the altar of the Temple. she was in a red robe, shoulders bare, glossy hair braided tightly at the scalp in tiny, perfect, beautiful little braids and then left loose to tumble down her back in foamy, graceful curls. her feet were bare, the soles of her feet stained a dark red, like blood. the same color stained her palms, and came up in mezmerizing whorls and dots on her hands and up her forearms, on the tops of her feet and partway up her calves, and on her face. she smelled of amber and bone dust, pomegranates and peace. touching those red tattoos with my tongue, i imagined, would taste like my ancestors.

the pomegranate priestess looked at me, her face serene, but i could see behind it to the sternness of the vulture goddess and the blue revolutionary bandit peacemaker goddess. somehow i knew she never opened her mouth save when the goddesses wished to speak.

"review every detail of your life, honoring every moment as if you were holding a benevolent Judgement Day," she said.

"huh?" i said.

"eat money. fuck gravity. drink the sun. dream like a stone. sing in the acid rain." her dark eyes pierced into me, and there was an urgency in her voice as if it were the most important thing i learn how to--

"what the--? how'm i supposed to fuck grav--"

the vulture goddess smiled, and even in the warm sand my feet were cold. "The world is crazily in love with you, wildly and innocently in love. Even now, thousands of secret helpers are conspiring to turn you into the beautiful curiosity you were born to be."

by now the sand grains' conversations were tickling my feet something intense. but i couldn't move. "i don't see what this has to do with fucking gravity."

the pomegranate priestess frowned, and for a moment it looked as if there were a small sickle in her hand, the skin of her red-stained hand suddenly blue. "Are you finally ready to start loving life back with an equal intensity? The ardor it has shown you has not exactly been unrequited, but there is room for you to be more demonstrative."

the sands were quiet, but the wind was laughing. i could hear the rustle of the smiling sphinx's wings on the breeze. "i only just woke up." it was a weak excuse, i knew, especially looking at that sickle.

"don't worry," she said, suddenly sounding very, comfortingly, human. the sickle was gone. "find what you fill your cup with each day. that is a start, child." she turned and walked away.

i looked down at my feet, looked at the grains of sand. they were quiet, waiting to hear my reply. when all i did was shrug, they gave a collective sigh. "fine, fine, okay. i get it. do any of you know where i might find a sacred cow who needs tipping?"

"propaganda, my dear. vicious propaganda."

thus were the words of my last misadventures with magpie, but perhaps i should back up and explain.

i was sitting in the exam room at the dr's office waiting for the doctor lady to peer at my finger, poke it a little, and tell me what i already knew. there was a book sitting there next to the obligatory box of kleenex and fake plant in the stereotypical wicker basket, and i already had a book in my hands i was loath to put down (*m* gave it to me, after all) but the title of it caught my eye.

it was something like, "150 little meditations for busy women," something like that.

i got this crazywild streak in me to try a bit of bibliomancy while waiting for the doctor lady. i don't do this very often because my own divination exercises center more around the events in my life, listening to the universe, and mr. brezsny's little tidbits of cappylicious pronoiafunk every week. but i like to think i've fostered a healthy habit of following my bliss, and if the Funk moves me to divine from a text some interesting tidbit that'll rock me into Oneness with the state of iGoddess, then who am i to blow raspberries?

now, for those of you who have actually tried this little technique, i imagine it works differently for everyone. for me, whenever i pick up a book for the purposes of divination, it immediately comes alive in my hands. i'm instantly more alive than i am at any other time, channeling so much energy i can hear myself humming with it. i close my eyes. the pages feel like they're moving, shifting in their binding and pushing one another so that some pages protrude more than others, making it almost too easy for me to find exactly what wants me to find it. the page burns beneath my fingertips, while the other pages grow ice cold the further away i get. it's the ultimate game of "hot and cold."

if i'm using a large book, like the televisionary oracle, once i've opened to the page that wants me, the lines themselves grow hot and cold beneath my fingertips until i'm pointing at the very words i need. when it's a smaller book that fits easily in my hands, i open my eyes and all the extraneous words grow blurry and what i need stands out in sharp relief.

most of the time, however, the practical kitchen witch in me sees no need for things such as this, but every once in a while it can be fun.

so what did the book say? only this:

"...on letting go."

i had to smile. i laughed. i laughed at myself, because at that point i'd been so bombarded with every imaginable version of "delena, let go!" that i finally just had to toss up my hands and say, "all right! all right, already!"

there was some quote from some english guy, something about how sometimes we are so weighed down by what we carry, and the peace that comes when we finally let it go and are suddenly free to enjoy life. something like that, but i couldn't quote it exactly because i didn't write it down.

either way, i get the point.

i'm practical. pragmatic, even. ten years ago, i made it an extreme practice, turned my insomnia into a discipline to push my body to its limits. i would fast for weeks at a time, also to push my body. no matter what it was, i could get the job done better, faster, and more efficiently because i wasn't slave to my body's needs. it was simply practical.

somewhere along the line, i forgot that i was human and built as much for softness, pleasure, and laughter as i was for work and excellence and practicality. "you're not a machine!" *m* said once. yeah, but if i can get it done, why not? as long as it's only me i have to concern myself with, i find it difficult to justify my humanity sometimes, if that makes sense.

not very funkalicious, i know, and not exactly the spirit of a revolutionary freedom fighter. call it my inner apocalypse, the place in me where the phallocrats have planted their little flag and sold beads to the natives. call it my flaming inner narcissist, what jung calls the shadow self which i must defeat with daring ecstasy, kill with kindness, and slaughter with saucy passion.

i called in sick this morning. my finger was so swollen i didn't have much of a grip, and my left arm was slightly weak and trembling from where they gave me the tetanus shot. but mainly, i was still just very tired. my alarm went off, and i lay in bed and seriously debated with myself for ten minutes on whether to get up or stay home.

however, i finally had to be honest with myself and admit calling in, and resting, was really what i wanted to do. practicality aside, pragmatism and blind devotion to an outdated discipline notwithstanding, there was simply no sense in doing something just because i could without thinking of whether or not i should. so i let it go, and called in.

[and post script: it turns out i was looking at the vicious propaganda answer wrongly. it wasn't that freedom, independence, and eros were not mine to have this year. i simply had to let go of the vicious propaganda. turns out i was still searching for the phallocratic smoke and lies and thinking it was real because, wow. before this year was halfway done, lo and behold all three have fallen into my lap.]

brezsny-on-the-blog

CAPRICORN (Dec 22-Jan 19): "If you make people think they're thinking," said author Don Marquis, "they'll love you, but if you *really* make them think, they'll hate you." My objective in this week's horoscope is to prove him wrong: I want you to love me for making you really think. In the hope of accomplishing this goal, I'm giving you the assignment of revising two of your long-standing opinions or theories about the way the world works. As you aggressively seek out the information that will help you change your mind, try to feel tender compassion for me, the wise guy who's asking you to undertake such an arduous and potentially rewarding task.


*sigh*

well, mr. brezsny, you've done it again. although i must say that i already love you for making me really think. i love you more than i love you. why else would i dedicate my wednesday blogs to you? i've rearranged my entire life according to you, the televisionary oracle, and pronoia. are you kidding? i'm a bootylicious pronoiac getting down with my inner Funktastic Jive! the Divine Wow is alive and well, and making horrific puns inside my head.

but i get what you're saying, mr. brezsny. and, i know, there are a few things i still need to work on. but for you, i will choose two. in fact, i'll choose the two most difficult, the two that get in my way the most often. the two that, lately in my life, are clamoring for me to remember them and retreat while there's still time.

1.) the world is filled with rabid wolves, and they'll always be nipping at your heels
2.) the moment you come within the grasp of Something Truly Good, it's going to be taken away

you might remember once upon a time i mentioned a certain shakespearean sonnet i worked on for a high school english class. i shall endeavor to approach this project with the same method which i used for that sonnet.

first comes the definition, without bias, without wearing my drama-colored glasses. the world is filled with rabid wolves, and they'll always be nipping at your heels.

what is the world? is it simply the planet earth? is it smaller than that, and only the united states? is it the world in which i live, meaning portland? or even simply everything within a two-mile radius? what is the world? do i really presume to be an expert on the entire world now? i've never been anywhere further than a few miles north or south of my country's borders. i've never been across the atlantic. i've never visited the lands of my ancestors, walked their temples or hiked in their tropical mountains, found others who looked like me with the brown skin, barrel chests, mayan noses and round faces.

and yet i have the audacity to claim to know what fills "the world." pfft! okay, delena, whatever you say. how's the weather there on planet delena, anyway? so obviously my claim is already filled with fallacy. the world is nothing more than the path my life had taken thus far. i should have said "my experiences," not "the world."

and rabid wolves? wolves are very loyal pack animals. when one of theirs is sick, they slow the pace of the pack so the ill or injured one can keep up. unless it's just too sick or too badly injured, then the laws of the wild take precedent. wolves are loyal to the end, however. they are loving parents, vigilant nursemaids, fiercely protective brothers and sisters, loyal mates for life. dangerous predators, yes, but only if you're young or weak prey separated from your herd.

in which case, the laws of the wild take precedent. perhaps i was simply young, or weak, and separated from my herd? there are predators out there, yes, and i've met my fair share. especially when i was eighteen. however, the universe is secretly conspiring to shower me with blessings. the universe is fundamentally friendly, always giving me exactly what i need exactly when i need it. love is an act of heroic genius, and pleasure is my birthright.

this doesn't sound like a pack of predators separating me from the herd and hamstringing me.

perhaps i had only hamstrung myself, over and over again. i remember the day i figured out that's what i should do. i'd been hit again, this time for...not getting perfect A's on a report card in gradeschool, i think. i'd spent an entire evening trying to point out what i'd done right and downplaying what i'd done wrong, but all the bio-dad wanted to talk about was what i'd done wrong. perfection in all my other subjects was merely expected and not important enough to be mentioned. i decided that night, as i lay throbbing and sore in my bed, that i would point out my flaws before anyone else could. i would wear them so all could see, and when anyone wanted to beat or berate me, i could hold up a hand and say, "already took care of it, thanks." i'd beat myself harder than any of them ever could.

so i hamstrung myownself, back when i was a child. i did it to myself. there were no wolves, just me. it wasn't the world. it was just me.

and what of the belief in disappointment as a full-bodied, conscious thing waiting in the wings to devour any happiness i might have?

y'know, the other day i realized that all my life, i'd been so desperate to get out of the House of Oppression, away from my bio-dad, that i created handsome princes and happily-ever-afters from the mirages waving in the distance. big *c* is (lovingly) called my knight error errant. and *j*? i wanted to get handfasted, not because i really loved him, but because i wanted the white dress and a big party. i was tired of waiting and was going to force the happily ever after, gods damn it all, if it was the last thing i did.

and it all slipped through my fingers, even at the last when i was trying desperately to hold it all together and it fell apart even harder. i was searching for false happiness, for those items of vanity and ego i thought would sustain me. i'd arrived to the place of the mirage and, finding no water, drank the sand and tried to will it into water.

then i learned how to give up my longing for control over those things i can't control. i learned to be brave, be nervy, and to have fun. i learned to kill the apocalypse within myself by transforming my shadow self into constructive expressions of the MultiVersal Jiggy Snake (who said, "Wee!"), to banish my inner flaming narcissist by breaking it up into its most basic elements so that i may then use those materials to construct myself into my own funkiest groovemate. i learned to transform my life, my body, and my spirit into manifestations of the Divine Funk, which created the universe, which is a fundamentally friendly place.

so what does this mean?

it means, esoterically, no one was responsible for my downfalls except myself. or, at least, i was as equally responsible as all those who put me beneath their heels. and i've taken responsibility for my part. i'm over it. the world isn't filled with wolves, rabid or otherwise. it's filled with humans; fallible, imperfect humans just trying to do the best they can with what they've got. some just do better than others. and Disappointment is no solid and tangible thing just waiting for me to be almost happy so it can ruin things for me. i was just reaching for the wrong things ad, the universe in its infinite, funky wisdom was giving me what i needed right when i needed it.

and perhaps now, as then, i'm being given exactly what i need exactly when i need it...if i but reach for it. i've been somewhat recalcitrant about it, mainly because i've been afraid of that disappointment. i've been bracing myself for it, bolstering up my strength so that "when" it came, i wouldn't be as hurt as i possibly would be otherwise.

not very pronoiac of me, was it? i should've been joyfully surrendering to the uniquely bombastic, phenominal and funkalicious Supreme Jive within my buddhalicious self. and if that means taking someone's affection and not being afraid to voice my own in return, then so the fuck be it. if it means letting go of the supreme irritation at the stress and physical challenge at work and simply accepting the fact that i'm building a phenominal reputation and high expectations, then so mote it be. if it means writing the heartbreaking work of staggering genius as only i can, then why am i racing against myself?

my body and spirit are a temple, and i should be manifesting the Funky Ya-Ya every day, in some way or another. in little ways, in big ways. in weird and mysterious, hidden ways that will never be overtly noticed, but they will be there. and so, mr. brezsny, this week i shall endeavor to search out those things in my life that will help change my mind and make these new beliefs not simply head-thoughts, but heart-beliefs.

may the Funk be with you.

credendo vides!

seeing is believing.

what you see is what you get.

you can't see what ain't there.

ever say these things? usually, these are people for whom fact and absolutes are the only reality. unfortunately, we have a character in christian fiction --doubting thomas-- who blows my whole point out of the water for many people. too many people are like doubting thomas in that they must see it, touch it, feel it to know it's real. how many homilies had i sat through as a roman catholic, listening to how much we are like doubting thomas, and how he's important for us as a reminder not to doubt the existence of god, especially since it's already been proven. why, just look at doubting thomas.

*smacks forehead*

if that's not a beautifully subtle way of programming people to only see to believe --telling them not to do it only after planting the idea in their head that they should-- thereby leaving them entirely closed to any other reality or possibility other than what the church tells them is there, i don't know what is.

sometimes i weep for that, but for the most part, i try to teach myself --a little at a time-- to love them more than i love them. because, really, i could love them a whole lot more than i love them...

anyway, seeing is believing. what if it weren't so clear cut? what if our experience of the objective material realm we perceive with our five senses and measure with our instruments (thank you, mr. brezsny) was nothing more than a mass hallucination we all subconsciously agreed to have at the same time and call it "reality?"


"seeing is believing," my metaphorically pronoiac ass! that is nothing more than a snot-nosed, cynical little catch phrase people use to support the disguised religion of fundamentalist materialism: an arrogant assertion that the scientific method is the sole arbiter of the ultimate truth; an absolute certainty that the metaphors of science deserve to trump all other metaphors. scientism is an obsessive emotional investment in results that can only be perceived with the "five" senses, or repeated within tightly controlled experiments, or measured with instruments that have already been invented.

at least judaism and christianity have ten commandments. the zealots of scientism have just one: Thou shalt have no other realities but the One True Consensual Hallucination Known as Habitual Waking Consciousness! (the televisionary oracle , robert brezsny pg 113)

now, don't get me wrong. i like science. in fact, i love science! i like velcro and the internet, indoor plumbing, lava lamps, and my collection of stylish-yet-affordable shoes. but science isn't the only reality. there are other things out there we can't see yet, and will never see if we don't look for them. and, even if we do, they'll suddenly changed into something else. sometimes the very nature of a thing is changed simply by trying to quantify it, study it, measure it. the Prime Directive is a pipe dream.

they discovered this in quantum physics, with the EPR Paradox. kind of like schrodinger's cat, only far more serious and dramatic. you see, once upon a time these three really smart guys got together (not literally), einstein, podolsky, and rosen. and they said, " what if, once upon a time, there were these two particles flying in opposite directions at the exact same speed? since we don't know how fast they were moving, we have to use this nifty equation called a wave function to describe them. someone then measured the speed of one particle, however according to other rules knowing the speed of one means you instantly know the speed of the other, and therefore its state has been changed. you can't describe it with that nifty wave function thingamahoozie anymore. however, if affecting one particle affects the other, then this goes against the laws of relativity."

"this just can't happen!" shrieks einstein. "seeing is believing!" you see, for one particle to affect the other over distance, this would have to happen instantaneously (faster than the speed of light), but for that to happen, it would also have to travel backwards through time. so you can see why einstein just flipped his wig.

of course, you don't have to be a scientific brainiac to understand it. just read douglas adams: "there is a theory which states that if ever anybody discovers exactly what the universe is for and why it is here, it will instantly disappear and be replaced by something even more bizarre and inexplicable. there is another theory which states that this has already happened."

so what does all this mean, anyway? "c'mon, delena," you say. "how does all this --fundamentalist materialism, the mass hallucination of supposed "reality," quantum physics, and the hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy-- have to do with seeing is believing, killing armageddon, pronoia, and your loving war against the mass genocide of imagination?

only this, beauty and truth fans...

credendo vides. by believing, one sees.

what if there are worlds beyond the ken of your five mortal senses? what if there are colors, ideas, people and dreams and "magic" powers that are happening right in front of your face...and yet you cannot see them because you are not looking for them? because you don't believe? what if your very unbelief is affecting them right now? what if there are worlds and possibilities that are completely closed to us because we've closed our minds to them?

thought is power. thought is the power. thought created the universe. true, what the Phantasmagoric Succubus of Eternity thought was to play 'pop goes the weasel,' and The Word was "Wee!" but still. it was a thought! thoughts define our day, our individual realities! that chair you're sitting in? someone had a thought about how much more comfortable it would be to sit on something other than the ground, or a rock. that computer you're using? that mouse, the monitor by which you're able to navigate to and read iGoddess and thereby steer your own Divine Wow closer to your own inner Funk...someone had a really neat thought, a funky and totally crazy-whacked idea about a machine that could calculate thousands of equations a second. someone else had a thought about sharing information over vast distances, all from the comfort of their own laboratory (the original idea of the internet was so sciententists could share information), and from that thought came creation. those clothes you're wearing? someone thought, "man, i'm cold. i think i'll invent 'the shirt.'"

where did those thoughts come from? where does it all begin? the imagination! our imaginations are what fuel and move the multiverse! imagination, invention, entertainment, surprises, relationships, science, spirituality...it's all imagination! so you wake up on the wrong side of the bed? hey, your thoughts are crappy. and you're so busy having crappy thoughts, you don't pay attention to the "No Turn" sign, and get pulled over by a cop. you think bad thoughts and turn those thoughts into bad words and bad attitude to give to the cop, who then picks up your bad thoughts (via your bad mood, created by your bad thoughts) and slaps you with every traffic violation he can think of. you go to work, grumping and crabby and thinking even worse thoughts, snap at everyone, who then pick up your bad vibes and the aura in your workplace degenerates into one big clusterfuck. you go home, bark at your family, get heartburn, don't sleep well that night, wake up with really bad gas, and do it all over again. your thoughts have just created your reality. but seeing is believing, right? it is because it simply is.

but credendo vides!

i believe the universe is secretly conspiring to shower me with blessings. i wake up on the wrong side of the bed, so i think of my brother and sister on the other side of my bedroom door who will be glad to see me when i come out of my room. i take an extra ten minutes alone for myself because i'm feeling crabby. i get up, go pee, wash my hands and face, and when they see i don't look entirely like my lovely, sunny dee self, they ask what's wrong. i could turn my crabby, grouchy thoughts into crabby, grouchy words, but i'm being showered with blessings at that very moment.

"oh," i say, "i just didn't sleep well again, that's all. ngh. need tea. the tea is the life." *cc* chimes in with, "the tea is the life! yay tea! ommmm...." and this makes me chuckle. *mj* rubs my shoulder, showing me his affection and sympathy, maybe even encouragement. this makes me smile and, while i may be tired, i'm not crabby. my thoughts have defined my reality.

what if what you see really is what you get? how cool is that?

brezsny-on-the-blog

CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): There are two basic approaches to manipulating people. In one, you manipulate people solely for your own good. In the other, you do it equally for your good and their good. In the second type, moreover, you deeply empathize with and even become more like the people you want to influence. You allow them to work their magic on you at least as much as you work your magic on them. Guess which kind I'm urging you to express right now, Capricorn.

okay, mr. brezsny, this is getting creepy.

i've been learning a lot about manipulation, control, fear, and surrender lately. the thing about codependence is, one and all, codependents came from dysfunctional homes. i hesitate to use the word "abusive," because people usually think of domestic violence, sexual abuse, or something of that nature. there are a lot of forms of abuse, i'm learning. and the root of codependence is equal parts avoiding the pain of those events down to the subconscious level, and making sure it never happens again.

of course, in order to "guarantee" it never happens again, control and manipulation are of the utmost importance. poor things. ironically, those coping and defense mechanisms learned in childhood to survive and adapt to those abusive conditions only serve as tools of spiraling destruction in adulthood. which leads to more avoidance of pain now in the present, along with more manipulation in order to control the environment and reality around them.

example: as i had little to no self-esteem (and never learned how to have it within myself), i want to be able to think nice thoughts about the kind of person i am. but i need other people to believe in me so that i can believe it. i use other people to gauge how good a person i think i am. which is very unhealthy, by the way, but you already knew that. anyway, in order to do that, i have to manipulate you so that i can influence and even change your mind about me --even though i don't even know that's what i'm really doing-- so that you can think what i want you to think about me and therefore i can believe it myself.

fucked up, huh? what breaks my heart is that healthy people don't have a clue what's really going on with a person suffering (and truly it is suffering) from codependence, and so not only do they have no compassion within them for the codependent, but they really treat the person like shit.

i have many personal accounts of that very example in action, and last summer is prime material of being treated like shit due to lack of compassion and understanding.

of course, i didn't know that's what was going on, but you'd think years of asking for help and saying, "i don't know how to get out of this, someone please help me," would have been a clue.

nope!

anyway, so yeah. y'know...every week i stand up, bare my breast, and let mr. brezsny take a shot right at my heart. he never misses. then again, it highlights exactly the ability i'm striving for --radical intimacy. so sayeth the oracle:

"i would like to quote now from the book that, with your help, i hope to write someday. it's called the dictionary of tricky love. please listen to the definition for the term 'radical intimacy.' ahem. radical intimacy is a virtuoso art that requires me and my freaky consort to master two seemingly contradictory skills: naming and nurturing the highest, holiest, best in each other, and thriving on the fact that our relationship will inevitably draw out and ask us to redeem each other's ugliest ignorance."

"so what you're saying is that the deeper you and i fall in love," i replied, "the more uninhibited we'll both feel about unveling our worst qualities?"

"it's a good thing," jumbler murmured, ..."because it will give us great ongoing practice at killing the apocalypse right down at the most microscopic levels."

"yes, i suppose that's true," i allowed. "each of us, even great masters like you and me, carry a little portion of the apocalypse within us."

"jung called our personal portion of the apocalypse the shadow," she said, taking the pen and drawing an oval on the sole of her left foot. within it, she printed "do not look at this" along with a picture of a single eye. "it's the unripe or wounded part of us," she continued. "it becomes evil only if it's repressed."

"so radical intimacy," i replied, curling into the fetal position to stare into the off-limits zone she'd just created, "i get to practice killing off the apocalypse in you, and vice versa? sort of a corollary to jesus' plea to love thy neighbor as thyself. 'love thy neighbor's shadow, and work with all thy tender adrenaline to summon its most constructive expressions.'"

"hmm, i like that. but i was thinking more about how i will kill off the apocalypse in myself because i have such a high regard and attraction to you. and you'll do vice versa."

"so like when i suddenly turn into a jerk because my flaming narcissism has demonically possessed me, i'll rise up with a banishing spell. 'begone demon, for i cannot allow you to trick me into hurting the feelings of my sweet groovemate.'"

"yes, exactly," she laughed. "you won't just naturally assume that the demon to be exorcised resides inside me. which in itself is so contrary to the style of the six billion apocalypticians on the planet that you might just shock armageddon into expiring right then and there."

"...as jung said, we tend to attribute to other people the very stuff we hate and fear most about ourselves."

(and here is what i love the best about this conversation...)

"radical intimacy means we kill the apocalypse at the source."
--robert brezsny, the televionary oracle (pgs 354, 355)

die, apocalypse, die! get behind me, demon! i swallow you down and break you up into your most basic elements so i may then use those materials to construct myself into my own funkiest groovemate, and thereby kill the apocalypse within me by transforming my shadow self into constructive expressions of the Divine Wow! i shall endeavor to find equality, equilibrium, and interdependence with my funkmates in order to allow them to manipulate me as much as i manipulate them, so that we all may work our magic on each other and manifest all of our potential!

so mote it be. amen. a-woman. ommmmm. and hallelujah.

what's that word again?

from the oxford-delena dictionary

amalgam
n.

1. a mixture or combination of diverse elements
2. what the thoughts running through delena's mind are. hmm...maybe not running. more like streaking

[streaking: (v. intr.) to run naked in public, especially as a prank]

so yeah, the thoughts are an amalgam of a lot of different things going on in my life right now. *mj*, *cc*, and i have pretty much settled in our new apartment and we're absolutely in love with it. there are only a few boxes left, but they're nothing majorly important, so if we had anyone come over now we wouldn't be embarrassed. the kitties have taken their rightful place on their little kitty thrones as sovereign rulers of all they survey.

i'm getting a bit more sleep than i used to, which is great. resting my head at the Shrine of Knowledgy Sci-Fantasy Goodness helps a lot, too. hell, just having my stuff is a great comfort to me, sitting amidst familiar things that let me know i'm me. and there's a lot less stress in the house. the apartment's a lot cleaner and neater, which really makes me glad. and relieved, honestly.

*ds*, *ns*, and *kas* have their own apartment now, with their own space, which i know is best for everyone. the three of us here at our apartment no longer feel ignored, disregarded, and disenfranchised in our own living space anymore. now that everyone's had a bit of time to calm down, we can get back to focusing on the friendship, which is the important thing. when people live together, there's a lot to be said for consideration of another person. i found myself not even wanting to be in the same room with *ds* the last few weeks before the move, and i knew it was a living habit clash, not a friendship clash, so i held my tongue.

but i think that's partly what helps *mj*, *cc*, and i. there's consideration all the way around, so no one's getting fed up with anyone else.

i've been doing a lot of reading, too. if you missed it before, i read the televisionary oracle by robert brezsny and very, very highly recommend it. it's largely the source for the tone and spirit of iGoddess, the Funk, and my silently explosive relationship with the Funky Ya-Ya recently. but even more recently (AKA night before last) i finished reading women who love too much and...just wow.

i devoured it in three days, i think. it's really got me thinking now, which is good. i've known for a few months now that i've been codependent and i've accepted it. the realization was the hard part. i almost killed myself, i was so horrified and disgusted. but then, i also realized that the horror and disgust was because i was hearing the bio-dad in my memories, watching his expressions, hearing his tone, seeing the way he'd shudder when talking about those "weak, disgusting codependent people," the way he'd be so derogatory. he didn't even speak of child molesters and serial killers with a fraction as much revulsion as he would when talking about codependents and abandonment issues and insecurity.

no wonder i buried it as deep as i did, to the point of not even knowing it was there, either consciously or subconsciously. when i realized something might possibly be wrong, it was literally like a newsflash. it was long after my summer of hell, long after a fight where i launched myself onto someone and nearly ripped out his eyeballs, and found myself facedown in the gravel, screaming and sobbing and wishing i would die. i almost did it, too, with trazodone and foxglove.

that was the darkest night of my life.

i went to my lovely and understanding, comforting parents instead, though. coming to them that sunday afternoon felt like i've always imagined having loving parents would feel like. all i have to do is think of them, and i get that same warmth spreading from my heart outwards, and i can't help it. i can't help smiling. not that i try, mind you.

anyway, on that horrible, horrible night, a tiny voice stirred. "i think something needs to change," it said in a very, very small voice. too small to be heard, and almost too small to be felt. "because this isn't working." and then...something inside me rubbed the fairy dust out of the corners of its eyes, yawned a great, tremendous yawn after a lifelong sleep and took a look around. it was too quiet, too subtle to be heard over the shriek of my depression, but it's what drove me to call my parents and ask for help.

so since then, i've been doing a lot of things, but most importantly i've been educating myself on codependence. looking more closely at it, i'm beginning to wonder if i'm even really bipolar at all like the shrinks said. the women in these books i'm reading sound so much like me, from early childhood to adolescence, to stupid relationship after stupid relationship. their behavior, the symptoms, are identical to my own behavior...things i truly and honestly believed were one thing, but subconsciously were another.

the people who hate and rejected me were completely oblivious, and they were wrong to condemn me, but now i can truly see that they were detrimental to me anyway and it's very, very good they're gone. i can feel relieved about it now, and stop hurting so much.

but...the outbursts, the stress, the rollercoaster emotions, even the stress and anxiety and hallucinations...all of it looks more like codependence. a disease of the mind and heart, not a chemical imbalance to be alchemically rectified with no regard to the turmoil in my soul. no thought for the injured child delena still terrified of, dehumanized by, and warped from life with her bio-parents.

and take into consideration lately it's just been life with us in our apartment and visiting the parents for sunday dinners, i haven't needed my tinctures at all. at all. there's still stress, and insomnia's still driving me crazy (hence the blog entry at 2 in the a.m.), but i'm more physically and mentally active than ever, there's still stress, and *cc* and i go out just about every day on some quest or other. and yet...no agoraphobia, no depressions, no aggrivation, no withdrawing, no twitchy tension. that's saying something.

it's so totally saying something. i think i'm finally --finally!-- on the right path to figuring myself out, and healing. i was talking to dizzy about it earlier tonight, actually. among a great many things, she asked if the Funk was really coming through in my life and that she could tell i'm in a much better place than ever before. and since she's been with all the incarnations of iGoddess since 2002, she knows what she's talking about!

so yes, the Funk's really coming through in my life. me, and the Orgasmic Funk.

magpie

in my long wandering through the blogsphere, i came upon dreamer girl and her reference to someone else's blog and a game they called "magpies," where they meditate upon a question they want answered while holding the dictionary in their hands. the idea, of course, is that the universe will hear and serendipity will answer. after a few moments' meditation, they close their eyes, open the dictionary to a random page, and point. hoping, of course, that the universe led them to the word that is --with a little bit of thought and contemplation-- the answer to their question.

being the saavy little witch i am, i know that this can be done with any book. it's called "bibliomancy" or "libromancy" to those folk familiar with different types of divination, and is quite old. books used most often are holy or sacred texts, or texts "known to hold truth." frankly, any book will work.

i decided to try it for the first time in eleven years. the one other time i've divined in such a manner, i used the bible, and it told me that the universe had had enough of me running away, i had learned all i could in the place where i was, and it was time to return home to my biological parents. the passage i'd turned to said that even sinners could be kind to loved ones, but the truly faithful learned to love their enemies. no greater enemy hath i than my bio-dad, so to home from reno i went. i'd been missing for four months by then.

so i decided to use what is swiftly becoming my personal bible, the televisionary oracle by robert brezsny. this man is my hero. my question?

it was a little embarrassing, actually, with *kas* sitting at the computer on my left. i held the oracle in both my hands, my eyes closed and both feet planted flat on the floor. tonight the hum of four computers and the high, just-beyond-human-hearing whine of the entertainment center sounded like the hum of the airport terminal, 747's and 757's engines muffled through double-sided floor-to-ceiling windows. the book became alive in my hands, and i could feel it listening to my question as it crackled from the powerhouse between my ears, through my fingertips, to the pages themselves.

i want freedom, independence, and eros. is this the year i find them? i asked the book. is 2007 my year?

i flipped through the pages from cover to cover, left to right, right to left. back and forth until the book told me to stop, and then i traced my fingers over the pages. they heated beneath my very hands, lines from pages 416 and 417.

my answer?

"propaganda, my dear," said the book. "vicious propaganda."

sigh. well, i really can't say that i'm surprised, but i would have liked to have hoped. a part of me just keeps hoping that my dream, the life i strive for, is like quantum physics. the very act of my searching for it changes the very nature of it. the moment the idea of my search sprang from my head fully formed was the moment what i was searching for changed, and it is now not the thing it was before my quest. thus, i may continue searching, because at least even if it is ever-changing, i may still find it. it won't be what i expect, nor will it match the picture i had in my head at the very beginning, but it will be what i have searched for. instead of simply accepting defeat and bowing to the futility of it, and giving up what i want most in life.

after all, i have turned my world upside down more times than is probably wise, journeyed thousands of miles, in search of my dream. alas, it is vicious propaganda.

but there was more. if i am not to find freedom, independence, and eros this year, that's not to say my year will be misspent. what, then, will i find? what does 2007 hold in store for me?

so sayeth the book: harner tells of conversing with a jivaro shaman in brazil who makes no distinction between his experiences in dreamtime and waking life. one moment the shaman is describing how he used his magical powers to fly to a remote mountaintop cave and bathe in the medicine of a liquid rainbow; next moment he's talking about the delicious rabbits he caught while hunting yesterday, or the exceptional talent his wife's sister has for farting during solemn ceremonial occasions. this is one example of a person who knows how to live in the drivetime.

again i say, "welcome to my life." no, delena is not to find the american dream, those quaint and provincial desires of the common woman: career, love, marriage, children. parent-teacher conferences and a garden in the back yard. that's really all i've wanted, ever. no, apparently delena is to exercise a healthy capacity for divine dementia.

or maybe i'm too presumptuous to say "divine" dementia. then again, if that's not the case, then i'm already halfway there.