Flustered at Fantastical Flurried Flights of Fancy

Dear Psyche,

Flights of fancy are nothing new. Especially this close to a new moon. I constantly start posts, and then end up on tangents. It is as though at the beginning of the lunar cycle, my lunacy increase twelvefold. Thoughts race, and are linked together through clips and phrases. I know part of the problem is my tendency to relegate some problems to my subconscious. Usually this works, for example, when trying to think of the name of a song or solving a creative problem. Let it fester in the depths of the shadw world until the ideas begin to coalesce and precipitate down.

Flights of Fancy through brainstorms.Though le capitan informs me we’ve hit some turbulence, and will be descending from a cruising altitude of What-Dreams-May-Come into Daydream-Believer. Wake up, sleepy Jean!

it’s kind of like all these ideas just want to get out at once, but whatever medium I use is limited in bandwidth and I grow impatient. Then internal anxiety grows from thinking I’ll lose my ideas before I get the chance to record them in any medium. Perhaps I’m just in need of a well placed nap.

November: Conspiracy Theories and Dionysian Mysteries

Dear Readers,

Usually I’m all against breaking the fourth wall, and keeping that emotional distance. Except, we are facing an incredible month of November. No, I’m not talking about the elections and the showdown between Joe-the-Plumber’- evil-and-sinister-uncle-who-I’m certain-was-Senator-Palpatine-in-Star-Wars-and-his-trusty-sidekick-Caribou-Barbie and Mr. Elitist-who-acts-as-though-he’s-already-the-g’damned-President-, scheduling-overseas-rallies-and-buying-National-Air-time-and-actually-moving-the-world-series-back-by-fifteen-minutes-before-he-parts-the-seven-seas.

On a side note: my parents and I like to joke about Obama as the second coming of our lord and Savior Jesus Christ. My dad had heard in the week leading up to the convention he was going to speak from something that looked like a Greek temple. In turn, I jested in the week leading up to his appearance that Sen. Obama would descend from the clouds and grace us with his presence, turning water into wine, parting the seas and being the Second Messiah. Whether Jesus or John F. Kennedy was the first I’ll leave up to debate.

Personally, I’m voting for Martin Sheen, because President Bartlett was the best president personality on TV I can remember short of Clinton. Though it appears my aides have informed me President Bartlett wasn’t actually a president. And, even if he were, he would be ineligible because he’s already served two terms. And on another aside, is that what we’re reduced to? Demagogues and TV personalities crafted by the ‘liberal’ media? Eh. I digress. Immensely.

Wait, I’m being told reality has met fantasy. BARACK OBAMA knocks on the front door of a 300-year-old New Hampshire farmhouse while his Secret Service detail waits in the driveway. The door opens and OBAMA is standing face to face with former President JED BARTLET. Anyone want to perform this one-act scene with me?

No, I’m here to talk to you about National Novel Writing Month. Which begins this Saturday. What, pray tell, is NaNoWriMo?

National Novel Writing Month (also known as NaNoWriMo) is a creative writing project in which participants attempt to write a 50,000 word novel in one month. The official event is held every November. Despite the name, the project is now international in scope. 101,767 writers participated in 2007, yielding 15,335 reported winners. Participants wrote 1,187,931,929 words in 2007, according to the project’s website.

I’ve yet to hit the 50K word mark, so I race each year in hopes of finishing it. I can write 50K words; I just can’t stay on topic that long. If you need proof, read the digression at the beginning of this letter. Still, I’m going to conquer my literary ADHD. There are few rules, but the main one that usually sticks out for me is:

Advance planning and extensive notes are permitted, but no earlier written material can go into the body of the novel, nor is one allowed to start and then finish early.

I usually bypass this by using my notes to fill up the blank screen for awhile until I hit my stride, and then delete the notes at the end. There’s just something very intimidating about writing on a blank screen that brings about writer’s block. This year, though, I’ve spent the past few weeks doing extensive notes and preplanning in hopes of completing my novel. I’ve even written notes for two different novels, just in case my attention span cannot stick to one subject, and I feel the need to switch back and forth. And just for the record, while I won’t tell you who I will vote for, I do happen to embrace Sen. Obama’s certain brand of ideology. Still, Hilary would have been a better choice, but I think this post may have enough side notes  and digression.

To win NaNoWriMo, participants must write an average of 1,666⅔ words per day. Organizers of the event say that the aim is simply to get people to start writing, using the deadline as an incentive to get the story going and to put words to paper.

Here’s the actual press release for the event.

And, because I’m like a little kid who says “Mine!” I like to pretend that the entire month of November is my birthday. I also am deluded into thinking St. Patrick’s Day is my own personal holiday. And those festivities of Mardi Gras are all in preparation for the festive date of March 17^th to celebrate those named after the patron Irish saint. I never claimed to make sense. In addition, I still claim there’s no need for me to wear green on St. Patrick’s Day because it is my day, and my name serves as my bit of green.

Interesting side note: I declared myself Dionysus in the fall of ‘07. Depending on which source you use, the Dionysian Mysteries took place either after or before the winter solstice, sometime around December 22:

This festival was timed to coincide with the “clearing of the wine”, a final stage in the fermentation process occurring in the first cold snap after the Winter Solstice, when it was declared Dionysos was reborn. This was later formalised to January 6 (now Epiphany), a day on which water was also turned to wine by Dionysos in a separate myth.

Dionysos was also revered at Delphi, where he presided over the oracle for three winter months, beginning in November, marked by the rising of the Pleiades, while Apollo was away “visiting the Hyperboreans“. At this time a rite of known as the “Dance of the Fiery Stars” was performed, of which little is known, but appears to have been appropriation of the dead, which was continued in Christian countries as All Souls Day on November 2.   - Wikipedia “Dionysian Mysteries”

or around Spring Equinox:

In Athens and the Attica of the Classical period the main festivities were held in the month of Elaphebolion [February/March] …  Dionysia had evolved into a great drama festival – Dionysos having become the god of acting, music and poetic inspiration for the Athenians – as well as an urban carnival or Komos. – Wikipedia “Dionysian Mysteries”

The Roman equivalent is Bacchus. Bacchanalia happened to fall around March 17^th, which is also the Ides of March and I used to have a historical crush on Julius Caesar.

In Rome the Bacchanalia, …  were held in secret and originally attended by women only, on three days in the year in the grove of Simila near the Aventine Hill, on March 16 and 17. [A]dmission to the rites were re-opened to men and celebrations took place five times a month! Initiation could take place at any of these times. – Wikipedia “Dionysian Mysteries”

Mardi Gras, some purport, is but an extension of the Bacchanalian festivals the early Christian church used to assimilate pagan Roman beliefs, and make the transition between religions a bit more palatable. I’ll end the side note there, now realizing this topic may be worthy of a separate post all unto itself. Still, I think it is interesting that, of all the Greek Gods, I chose Dionysus simply because he related to wine. Then come to find out there are mysteries and festivals in his honor all throughout the year. Nevermind the link between life-death-rebirth deities (Dionysus, Jesus, Persephone, Osiris, etc) But I digress immensely, yet again.

The point being, NaNoWriMo is coming up. What better way to begin celebration of Dionysia than to unleash creativity. If novels aren’t your thing, perhaps try writing a play, or some music. Or painting a picture. Or making a baby. Whatever tickles your fancy. I like to think that Dionysus, being the god of all things uncivilized, the god of wine and revelry, his essence is about tapping into the unconscious. Delving into the shadow self to see what springs forth. Reason and Apollo rule spring and summer with the light of the sun, and favor productivity; but fall and winter are about tapping into the unconscious and seeing what lies inside the shadow self.

In the words of Baudelaire, enivrez-vous! And create! Whether a novel, poetry, music or a painting. Now Dance!

Before I forget…

Dear Lakshmi,

Happy Diwali (Deepavali), or Festival of Lights.

Central to Hindu philosophy is the assertion that there is something beyond the physical body and mind which is pure, infinite, and eternal, called the Atman. Just as we celebrate the birth of our physical being, Deepavali is the celebration of this Inner Light, in particular the knowing of which outshines all darkness (removes all obstacles and dispels all ignorance), awakening the individual to one’s true nature, not as the body, but as the unchanging, infinite, immanent and transcendent reality. With the realization of the Atman comes universal compassion, love, and the awareness of the oneness of all things (higher knowledge). This brings Ananda (Inner Joy or Peace).

This is a festival I’d really like to learn more about, and more importantly one of those things I’d love to experience before I die. There’s always this fine line when studying other religions, of not wanting to come across as flippant or frivolous. Throughout this year I’ve been trying to teach myself as much as I can about dharmic religions and philosophies. Last summer, in the midst of searching for my new ego, I started reading about Buddhism, Hinduism and Confucianism. I even took tentative steps of trying to teach myself Sanskrit (languages are always an ongoing thing)

Then, earlier this year, through Across the Universe, a bit of Charmed, reading different philosophies and astrologies, I was led to a cross pollination of ideas. I think I will always have an Abrahamic foundation, but there’s more between heaven and earth than I could ever dream. In the process of teaching myself, the one thing I was drawn to was the idea about chakras. I’m all about mysticism. But by reading up on chakras, I was able to teach myself about the different G/g-od(s), and that led to an ongoing mixed media art project of combining the idea of Eastern Religions and Philosophies meet Western Philosophies and Religions. Plus more.

I think religion is an extremely personal subject, and even two people of the same faith have different ideas on how that faith works. I think of religion as how one rationalizes the universe. In that sense, everyone has the power of god and divinity within them because we all rationalize the world in different ways.

I remember one of my central arguments when I was younger, against my parents and against people in the church, is if Christianity was supposed to be the one faith and one way to heaven, then how did people get to heaven before Jesus? Or even after Jesus was born, but it took time for Christianity to spread around the world. None of their answers ever satisfied me. One pastor in high school even went as far as to tell me they went to hell, but I couldn’t accept that argument. My idea of G/g-od(s) is someone/something based on logic and reason. To write off people simply because they weren’t privy to the one Messiah, I couldn’t do that.

I went to a Presbyterian Church in high school for two years. And I met some wonderful people. Needless to say, with of the hypocrisy I found and the self loathing I felt between being gay and loving god, I simply stopped attending. My parents have always been progressive and enlightened in area of religion. My grandmother was actually part of a cult, but that’s another post. We attended church when we lived in California, but when we moved back to Georgia it was laissez-faire. So from ‘95 to ‘99, there was little church in my life. When I started going to the church in Duluth, my parents were actually surprised. My dad said “Well if that’s the church you’d like to go to then we’ll go as well.”

And so for two years, I went to church. I went to bible study. I went to youth group. Church wasn’t for me. In the words of Sarah Palin and John McCain, I’m a maverick. A rogue maverick, at that. Then, when I was forced to come out, and the speech given to me by my former youth pastor, well I was done. He asked me if I wanted to go down that road, and lead an empty life, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him I never felt more alone and more empty than when I was at those youth events. In retrospect, it’s that same feeling I had whenever I go to a bar or a club, and everyone is standing around texting on their phones instead of talking to each other. Especially gay clubs, but that’s an entirely different post. The idea of being surrounded and feeling completely alone. My G/g-od(s) was/were very different from their idea of God. I know, this post began as a post about diwali.

To wrap it up, I broke from the church along with some other friends of mine. It had become a veritable Six Flags Over Jesus, and to this day we still refer to it as such. It had become more of a country club than a church. Anyways, the point of that very long diatribe was that I refuse to use the pretense of religion simply to connect with others. To me, it would be a grave slap in the face of God, to simply use his temple like that. If I want to connect with others, I will connect. I still think the most beautiful cathedral I’ve been to is in the middle of a forest, alone with the trees and nature and truly with the universal element. No buildings, no people; simply alone with the green leaves, brown soil and quietly running brook.

So last summer, my friends and I took trips to the edge of the universe with the help of etheogens. And there, we truly met G/g-od(s). There was honesty. There was emotion. There was laughter. There were tears. There were in-depth conversations about what the universe meant to some of us. MaClean and I would talk often about the universe, and typical stoner conversation. Yet I formed my opinion of divinity in those conversations. We talked about Eastern religions, and I furthered my knowledge through reading and learning.

In different challenges I’ve faced, I’ve found comfort in different religions to bring about rationalization. Even today, when I’m feeling slightly lost, I’ll read my daily horoscope. Not because I believe it will come true, but because it’s a form of empowerment. If I need more, I’ll read a bit deeper into astrology. I think think astrology was the precursor to modern psychology. Or if I’m still in the thick of it, I’ll read up on religion. Mostly Christianity, Judaism, Buddhism and Greco-Roman myths, even a bit of science and psychology. I don’t know if there’s something greater than myself. One of the problems of depression, though, is the spiral into the self. In a way, depression is all about ‘me.’ How I’m feeling or thinking and attaching great importance to it. Religion is a way of taking the microscope off my own thoughts and thinking about someone or something besides myself. To research religion is to peer into the DNA of human culture, our thoughts and beliefs. I turn the microscope into a telescope.

Supposedly, the essence of diwali is to ” to rejoice in the Inner Light (Atman) or the underlying reality of all things (Brahman).” I can identify with this essence. Therefore, though I wasn’t brought up Hindi or Buddhist or Jainist, I think I can celebrate and rejoice in that inner light. I’m still teaching myself bit by bit about the mythology and philosophy of the Dharmic Religions, but I’m very receptive to what I’m learning.

Here’s to enlightenment, and a very light-filled week.

Whose woods these are I think I know…

Dear Beyonce and Frost,

I’m sitting in my parent’s office, not my usual office downstairs, drinking strawberry Fanta out of a crystal glass. And I’ve had your song “If I Were a Boy” on repeat for a very long time. The song has been echoing in my mind; an indelible musical stain seared into consciousness. When I first downloaded the song, I listened to it on repeat for a solid hour. Your voice echoed in my subconscious and brought me to tears, thinking about that many splendid thing called love. The fall always brings this mélange of crazy emotions, as though the chill in the air causes a precipitation of melancholia in the lungs until coughed up and spat into the sink. I figured out, finally, what the breeze was whispering to the trees.

Robert, I’ve come to an understanding with your poem. You see, I’ve become incredibly adept at hiding myself from my subconscious. The television is excellent for numbing the mind. Bear with me, because there’s a stab at honesty I’m not sure I’m quite ready to make. Though most therapists and counselors would agree I would fare much better if I stopped avoiding. For the most part, I have. Except for this key issue. I tackled my fear of death and battled with St. Michael and Lucifer. I declared myself a god in Athens, and created my own Palace of Versailles on the banks of the Middle Oconee. Last year, I confronted my subconscious, alter ego, and shadow self known as Patrique.

Imaginations and Divinations…

Dear Blue,

I saw your picture while I was scanning the office. Michael and I talk about you often, like a sister who somehow died. I remember that one night, when there was no one in the house save for you and me. The computer sat on the landing right above the front door, with that huge window. It was pitch black outside, and probably 2 or 3 in the morning when you started barking like crazy. I couldn’t tell if someone was at the door, but I turned off all the lights, and ran downstairs to turn on the alarm system. Then I tried peering into the backyard to see if anyone was stalking around.

I couldn’t really see anyone or anything. Except, I remembered how someone told me Boles Farm was built on the slaves quarters of an old plantation. And the old slave graveyard was right down the street, where the Deans lived. Rumor has it when they started digging for their pool, they came across the burial plot, bones and all. In our own backyard, if you went to the very edge right near where you would poop, beside the old tree that was very huge and I tried to climb, there were still some artifacts.

You scared the shit out of me.