time has come… today

14 04 2013

Today’s unraveling was a much needed kick into full throttle consciousness. The kids and I got going at 6 am for a three and a half hour track north to Alachua, Florida for Holi Festival. Slowly the scenery shifted from the deep jungles and swamps of southern central Florida to Georgia with spanish moss. This fulfilled some of my homesick for Georgia pines, and as we arrived at the Hare Krishna temple, we were greeted with seemingly familiar smiles. I found out about the event from a flyer at the Indian buffet in town, and decided that it was a perfect prelude to my and Madelyn’s birthdays, especially considering that it was on my Mother’s birthday. We walked onto the temple grounds, which was at the Alachua ISKCON farm, and every person who we crossed passed with welcomed us and blessed our presence. I was there without Todd, as he was doing his final performance for Second Samuel. I felt prepared to dive into a festival without the assistance of another adult, and the kids were beaming with excitement. We got our bags of colored powder and walked around the festival, stopped in the temple and got acclimated. At noon, the first color throw was held. A huge crowd of people, of all ages and cultural backgrounds, gathered and as we awaited the countdown there was dancing, and people walking around powdering each other with colors. It was such a beautiful moment, complete strangers hugging one another and wiping coloring powder onto one another’s cheeks and wishing a
Happy Holi: or blessing with a “Hare Krishna” or “Hari Bol”. We counted down and yelled “Krishna” as we threw our colors into the air, and everyone started dancing or jumping at once. The kids were starting to get attacked by ants, and so we walked to the portapotties and washed our feet off, and wandered over to the food court to get in line for our vegetarian lunch. Perry began to fuss about his stomach, and eventually started crying, so we left the line and on the way back to the portapotties he vomited in technicolor. I concluded that the dust masks I had required the kids to wear (which kept sliding down and eventually were forfeited all together) had not been very effective at keeping the color powder out of the kid’s mouths. Alden began his color vomiting next, and I gave them some water and we went to the van to clean up and regroup. I asked if they felt like they needed to go home, and they both agreed that they felt like going back. We ate a delicious feast, danced some more and headed home for the day. On the way out I had a mini discussion with one of the monks about the era of Kali and picked out a mala and a few other things. On the drive home, as the kids were falling asleep I began focusing on the concept of Kali, of time- of arriving in the present. When we got home and were all showering, I stood before the mirror and saw myself, covered in purple, as Kali. I had emotions surfacing, and I felt the urgency of the shift. I broke my no facebook rule, as I felt compelled to check my facebook and as I did, I was confronted with all of the things that are constantly just below the surface. Two wedding invitations, a new engagement announced. One of my current struggles at the moment… wanting so desperately to feel settled, to feel the sensation of roots spreading into an objective reality. I tend to shy from diving deeper into the conceptualization of “marriage”. I was married once, for nine years, to the man that I was with for thirteen years. We had the four kids together, and things just came apart. It wasn’t really anyone’s fault, we were kids when we established a relationship. But when that marriage ended, I wasn’t sure if I ever wanted to get married again. But then I feel in love with a close friend, and began a deep relationship. We had a private handfasting, just the two of us, when we were living in the mountains, but since then the official and further commitment has been something that I both deeply desire and really want to be able to define, personalize and understand. This is a reoccurring presence in my life. I have to face the reality of this particular subject. Then I went back to Kali… Kali, the dark before light in which all creative forces lie in waiting. The conquering of time, the time that comes today. The song got stuck in my head, and as I listen to both the original Chambers Brothers and the Ramones cover I began to bring form from the depths of thought. I define my reality. I can not allow myself to be defined by anyone else’s version of reality. What I create for my life has to be now, and will not await anyone’s approval or acceptance. I can no longer sit in the waiting room, this is the time for action. Time has come today.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wanoXM90yHE

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spontaneous, premature solar revolution ritual

30 03 2013

Today, while randomly scrolling through my facebook I noticed that the local tattoo parlor was having a $30 2″ x 2″ black and gray custom tattoo special. I decided this was a good idea, and just as I walked out the door to take the kids to the playground, I called back to Todd that I was thinking of doing this. I thought about it more and more while the kids played. I knew instantly what I was going to choose- the bunny as a bird from the Runaway Bunny, who is resting on a branch from the tree the mother turns into. The mother who will “be a tree that you fly home to”

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I have been pondering this tattoo idea since long before Madelyn, Perry or Alden were born. From the moment I opened that page while reading it to baby Sylvia 10 years ago, I knew it was going to be my tattoo one day. I walked back with the kids to have lunch and get settled, and decided that this was a perfectly rational thing for me to do today, so I told Todd I was going to do it, made sure he was cool with me running out, and headed over. The tattoo shop was interesting, and like most tattoo shops, there were a bunch of guys hanging out watching a movie, watching youtube, listening to music, ordering food and having a smoke break. There were pictures of people making faces while getting tattooed on the walls, which was a minor amusement as I waited for the artist to be ready. This is my sixth tattoo, but my first work in three years (my last was my steampunk menagerie moth for my twenty ninth birthday). As he began the outline I started reading the portion of my anthropology text “Rituals and Beliefs” compiled by David Hicks about the need for ritual. The article in particular that I was reading was debating whether Durkheim was being too narrow in his concept about the construction of ritual, and proposes that rite precedes belief. I closed the book and enjoyed the tattooing, and reflected on how important, as a rite, and how very sacred each one of my tattoo experiences have been. Before I left the house, I was trying to explain the concept of getting tattooed, why it is important to me on a personal and spiritual level, and I decided that I would blog about it. In fact, I think I will continue this, as I could write a great volume about this concept and tonight is the night I have an ice cream and West Side Story date with Sylvia. For tonight, I will conclude with this- there is truly no experience like getting a tattoo. It is a beautiful, pleasurable and yet painful sensation that takes your mind out of your body and transforms your body into something new, it is the alchemy of the flesh- it is the art and magick of creation, concept made into material through ritual, through impermanent cellular sacrifice. More later, here’s the final work (pictures from cell phone, apologies for substandard quality) from my twitter:

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More, tomorrow…





Today’s Elemental reading (for a friend)

28 08 2012

https://twitter.com/#!/mamaheyoka/media/slideshow?url=pic.twitter.com%2FY6vpGdCY

I’ve been playing around with an interpretive elemental/pentagram spread in my readings recently, using the traditional ruling of the pentagram: Spirit, Air, Earth, Fire and Water.

Read the rest of this entry »





Mozelle: and the pondering of the nearly extinct practice of ancestral veneration

16 08 2012

Today I opened an email that my Mother sent me, with pictures of my Grandmother attached. I’m still not sure exactly how old she was in the picture (that I now have as my wallpaper on my laptop), it appears she’s around eight.

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Mozelle Saxon, circa approximately 1932

I realized looking at these pictures, how little of the story of my Grandmother’s life I actually know.  I was very close to my grandparents on both sides, though all in all I felt a closer bond to my maternal grandparents.  I speculate this is the result of being the youngest grandchild for some time on my mother’s side, while on my father’s side competition for the attention of the tribe’s elders  among the cousins was much greater. I listened to many stories of my grandparents’ childhood, and can recall a great number of them.

I know that my Grandmother Mozelle (pictured above) was born in 1924 to sharecroppers Mattie and John Calvin Saxon in Goodwater, Alabama. She was 16 when she was picking crowder peas in a field while my grandfather passed her on the road, he saw her and fell instantly in love (he was then 25) and claimed that he had just seen the woman he was going to marry. They were eloped a few months later, and my Aunt Brenda was born that following year. There are many meandering stories from that point in my grandparents’ history, some recalled perfectly, some not. This brought me to a realization:  I don’t know as much about my family history as I would like, or even that I should, considering that I have four growing children who need to hear the stories of their ancestors.

Ancestral veneration has its roots back to the very beginnings of human history. Our ancestors taught us, throughout time, the stories that became like a game of divine telephone and morphed into the myths and legends of the hero. The stories passed down to us from our tribe’s elders have been done so to aid in the trials and tribulations of life as it unfolds. We all must embark on the hero/fool’s journey, with or without rite of passage. These were our grandparents’ gifts; handing down to us their play books as well as the torch to keep the fire burning.

I look around my life and I see how little my children know of their ancestors, how few stories they hear about life in the past and I wonder, is this important to human consciousness to be continuing? On a cultural level, I see the spinning of tales around the family fire tradition slowly smoldering. Perhaps the fact that I was born into an older family on my mother’s side than some of my generation, I experienced some of the last of the era of storytelling, perhaps it’s egocentric for me to even consider that? I know that in my life, sitting around the dining room and kitchen table listening to the stories of once upon a time was a cherished past time for family gatherings.

Families are not living as close together as they once were, and time spent with the extended family is dwindling. I know all too well, I too am guilty of participation in this social phenomenon. How do we embrace the huge advancements made in technology while still carrying our traditions and roots with us into the unknown? Is there merit in letting go of the traditions that deified the past? There can, of course, only be speculation. But nonetheless, these are my thoughts on this beautiful Florida blue sky sort of day, and I now have a drive to uncover more of who, how and why I came to be. The story that is older perhaps, than time. Well, older than the conceptualization of time, at any rate.