Clouds and Taxes

16 04 2013

I’ve been in that birdcage place in my mind for the last few days. On a rational level, I could claim that it’s any of the laundry list of influences- hormones, vomiting children, procrastination on spring cleaning and taxes, inability of seeing forests for the dicotyledons… but more than anything I have this enigmatic itch to jump out of my skin, I feel restless, I feel an adventure in the making… but where is the source of this feeling? I laid on the girls bed today while the kids were playing and/or reading… I listened to some classical music while I stared out the window at the clouds. I was giving myself a secret meditation time while the kids were on self sustained mode for the moment. I looked at the conglomerate of clean laundry to fold and walked right past, plopped down on the futon and released all the spent air that had been churning in and out of my spirit during the day that I had stamped as overwhelming even before it unfolded. We live in an old Mason’s lodge built in 1923, and the girls room is a golden cream color with huge cathedral like windows. We are well above the tree line, so lying down on their bed and looking out the window gives you the sensation of floating along with the clouds. The clouds today were real clouds, the sort of clouds I watched the wings of planes crossing oceans slice into… the sort of clouds that entertained me throughout most of my childhood. I was a quiet child, I preferred the freedom of playing by myself over playing with friends most of the time, because it gave me the undisturbed peace of staring at clouds for hours, or lying in the clover watching the world of insects move in their chessboard trajectory. When I was about Sylvia’s age, we started moving. I suppose it threw off some of my familiarity with the world I knew, but I eventually began to lose my bond with the girl who stares at clouds. I never much liked talking, it always seemed like a silly practice. I mean, there were certainly people and circumstances that allowed me to feel safe in talking about anything and everything, but for the most part, I avoided it and learned to speak in the silent language of Nature. Staring at those clouds today gave me this surreal out of body like feeling. Nostalgia, yet experience anew. My senses are tuning into old sights, scents and sounds and something is being reformatted. I used a pink cherry scented highlighter today while filing my taxes, and it smelled just like my Grandfather’s pipe tobacco. Is this sense of urging my higher self steering me into the creative process? Is this new emergence of old data part of growing up, or is it more ancient and sacred? Is this what a soul’s calling feels like? The fragmented song that you only ever catch a part of, that fades before you can hear it’s entirety… the tweaking of rabbit ears to clear the static. Something profound is afoot.

Elfriede Stegemeyer girl in clouds

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this must be the place: a midnight ode to Sebring

25 03 2013

I love the way Florida sounds at night… there’s always some strange unidentifiable alien-like sounds coming from the lake that makes me feel like I’m in the jungles of Haiti. I can’t decipher if it’s cranes, frogs, insects, the highway or an audio-casserole of everything ricocheted off the water. This place has really grown on me, and I am happy to finally have that elusive feeling of having a place to call “home”. It has been quite a journey to get to this point, however. We moved to Sebring after a year long conversation about moving somewhere outside of Georgia. There were a few places we tossed around the idea of, and some of them were in Florida as well, but there was always something very romantic in the description and research about Sebring, and Todd had grown up here, so it became more and more on our radar. We stayed for a weekend in April last year; camped out at Highlands Hammock and stayed in a room at the Kenilworth Lodge (art noveau/ Spanish revival lakeside resort built in the early 20s). I was smitten the moment we got here. I couldn’t really put my finger on it, but there was something really special about this place. We moved from Atlanta in mid May, after selling most of our possessions and packing the van up with kids, dog and whatever else could fit. The first few months were the typical new place honeymoon phase, exploring, visiting the beaches (about a 2 hour trek to either coast) and getting acclimated. Then it hit me. Like a freighter. I was homesick like I had never been homesick. I felt like my 21 year old self- crying in the kitchen of the Navy housing, barefoot and pregnant and alone. I missed my friends, I missed my family… I mourned, and dreaded and regretted, and blamed and turned into a real stink of hormones, emotions and ridiculousness. But I didn’t run from it, which is something I tended to do in the past, run to another country, city, whatever to avoid what is in my face. I went in the trenches with myself and I looked in the lens of the microscope. Slowly the community began to grow around me- there was the churches, the theater, the thrift stores… I walk nearly every where and live right in the heart of the town; which brings me to great interactions with amazing people. There is such a rich culture of people who live in this tiny little retirement community. Most people who grew up here or who have only passed through would probably never recognize this. But after living in many different cities, I think Sebring has become my favorite. There is some sort of social gathering, that is most often free or cheap happening nearly every weekend, and there is a great deal of honor and respect paid to eras gone and to the older generation here. There are a great number of artists and performers, and an appreciation as well as thirst for the arts. I can have a beautiful, deeply spiritual conversation that is void of dogma with a stranger in the produce aisle of publix, and I am almost guaranteed to run into at least one person I know daily. Sometimes, I think I made this place up, when I was a little girl. It is so reminiscent of the make-believe life I concocted when I was making my pretend movies in my grandparent’s basement. But above all else, to me, Sebring represents my undying faith in myself, and the strength of my will to not give up. I am growing, like a thistle in the summer sun. This must be the place.

(interesting side note: Highlands County is part of the Lake Wales Ridge- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lake_Wales_Ridge  which is the ancient island that Florida once was. So we are living in a pretty ancient, sacred area here. And I’m pretty convinced this is yet another vortex)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aMawfL1lE4k





Is there a tether through the underworld?

30 09 2012

I’m not sure how anyone else has been feeling over the past few months, I’ve heard feedback from some of my more intimate friends that it’s been a bit of a challenge over the last quarter for them as well. I personally, I have been riding the waves of a funk that has lasted a few months. Some weeks it’s great, others it’s textbook personal hell. I could chalk it off to being life, growing older, astrological occurrence, saturn’s return, weaning hormones, etc etc. But at the same time, we are all in this together. I discovered the light at the end of the tunnel, I began to see it’s glimmer near the time of the equinox. I had a few exchanges with a good friend that she too was feeling a turn around from her recent setbacks. This past week has been filled was beautiful, serendipitous surprise. I had three conversation with very good friends that I had fallen out of touch with, I began to feel the love growing for my environment, as well as discovering new opportunities that I had been designing the scenario for in my mind all during the funk period. I had a thought- are these down periods necessary for manifestation to occur? I feel like when I’m going through these times I learn the lessons, or at least am given the potential experiences to further explore a deeper awareness and understanding of these lessons, that are necessary for me to grow into my new reality that supports the material creation that I sought. What type of anchors can be used to help one not lose a conscious state of awareness when exploring the shadow of the self? Is there a tether through the underworld? If there is, it must be of my design, of course. Like the spinning top DiCaprio’s  character uses in Inception, there must be a totem to remind us where we are, so we do not lose our self. I am grateful for the time that just passed, it was one hell of a ride, but what amazing joy it brings! It is the fear that turns the darkness into a prison. But we must face our darkness in order to understand our light. Image





My revolution looks like…

19 08 2012

Yesterday, a friend of mine posed the question: “What does your revolution look like?”

I had to step back and really let this question become more than just words. My first thoughts were- what is it, exactly, that I am revolting?

My free form exploration of this idea is as follows:

I am revolting against fear.

The fear of loss, of incapability, of intolerance. The fear of failure, of strife and of lack.

I am revolting against time.

Deconstructing the perceived binds that are held by time, the limitations and boundaries that inhibit and stifle, the idea that there is not enough time. The miscalculations from now irrelevant past equations, the idealization of future events yet to occur.

I am revolting against space.

Releasing the need for a specific locality for proper manifestation, seeing the unlimited potential that stretches endlessly and connects all.

I am revolting against matter.

And the limitations I implant within myself when I take for granted the physical world that surrounds me. The world of light and subatomic waltzes is within all. Objects are merely uniquely constructed and arranged particles which are given life when named, categorized and observed.

What does my revolution look like?

My revolution looks like the ocean at dawn, just before the tide comes in. It looks like steam rising from the asphalt after a summer rain. It’s a leaf blowing down an alleyway, moss on a tombstone. My revolution is the faraway look on a child’s face as they watch the full moon rise in a starlit sky. My revolution is liberty, and is my birthright.

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Today, I took a walk and saw the world with a new set of eyes-

Here’s some of the beautiful things that caught my eye as I walked:

Image

“…how they twinkle”

Read the rest of this entry »





Observation Log: 8/11/12, 12:27 am

11 08 2012

The city’s slumber falls with heavy robes of echoed dreams. Now that no one is looking, the night awakens in a muted symphony of cricket serenades accompanied by distant wind chimes. The trees tonight… they are dancing in an invisible stillness to a silent wind. Beneath the street lamps,  shadows extend in collaboration, forming geometric ravines that paint the landscape in a cubist fantasy. I breathe in the world around me and carry these images into the ether, joining the world of the sleepers… in hopes of lucidity.





wandering ant (old poem, forgotten until cleaning files today)

31 07 2012

written morning in the mountains (our old mountain cabin home last spring/summer in Blue Ridge) around May of 2011-

the world of the wandering ant

plateaus and ravines

streamlined architecture
lines upon lines

factory glazed mirage
only potentials impermanent

cacophonic symphony
humdrum motherboards
the spinning labyrinth lament

a pixellated world finds the symbols
characters, keys
remnants of the world
created without hands
nor silicon bonded

the facade that was
once home

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