Wednesday, April 27, 2011

The one where I talk about having a weird sort of affair with "The Divine." OR SOMETHING.

Telling stories is sacred to me. Completely, utterly, down on my knees at the alter, while incense nestles its way into my nostrils sort of sacred.

With sacred things there's always an amount of fickleness, DETAILS and ceremony involved-it's like each story is spun into something beautiful, but only if each individual thread is woven, perfectly.

My threads are strewn through so many different outlets right now. At the moment I'm writing a TV show, writing a book, starting a new business (MORE ON THAT LATER), booking music shows and writing bits of scenes everyday and then when I come to sit at my blog, I've used up all the threads. I'm delegating where all of my stories belong, "Ah, that story has to go into the book...." then a lightning of inspiration will come up and My Love will say, "Write the down! That has to go in your show," or, "OMG- stop what you're saying, write it down before it gone...." clinging to the words....donnn't gooooo.....

I live for these moments. LIVE. When The Divine opens a door and welcomes itself into your brain without permission. Why hello, yes you may have a seat- you ask if The Divine would like some tea, or a glass of whiskey (depending on how The Divine is feeling, of course) and then you sit, in reverence and awe- give it to me baby, give it to me, I am here and I am basking. Sometimes The Divine stays for whiskey and other times it's all, "Hey can I use your bathroom? Sweet, then I gotta run." And you're left sitting there alone with your whiskey, or your crumpets or whatever else, just a faint outline of this mystical beings apparition is left. Why, that was.....glorious?.....or....what the fuck was THAT?

Well thank you for giving me the most beautiful, sacred, inspiration-fucking and running, ever. Fantastic, I wasn't finished, punk.

That's just how inspiration works. Indulge it when it knocks at your door, but don't spend all day staring at a tray of stale crumpets waiting for it, sometimes it's a house guest that uses your shampoo, eats all of your dried cherries, cleans our your liquor cabinet and then leaves a Thank You note signed, "Until next time...." Other times, it uses your restroom, gives you a swift kiss on the cheek and leaves you hastily. Welcome its visits, but don't welcome them with expectation, or you'll be disappointed.

This has been the LITERAL THEME OF MY LAST WEEK. Notice how I did that, with the caps? Yeah, that's called Anger Typing. See, I'm trying to be all "unattached" to it, but the what happens when you get an inspiration "high" and the high isn't received, you feel a bit like someone spit cotton candy right in your face. Why cotton candy? I don't know, I wouldn't reject cotton candy. Or apples if you prefer a healthier bent on the analogy.

The point is, my projects are all hanging in various parts of the air..... I'm IN FULL FORCE DREAM WARRIOR MODE. Don't risk takers get rewarded? Right now, I'm thinking no? the words, "DON'T FUCK WITH THE SYSTEM" are stewing in my head, knees close to buckling....

Truthfully, I could use a little nudge. Like, even one tiny bone.

BUT HERE'S THE THING- I'm truly not complaining; I'm surrendering, I'm invoking, beseeching (especially beseeching, in an English accent), affirming, worshiping this beautiful, odd bravery that one must have in order to GROW. Reminding myself everyday, in each challenge, I am setting fire to fields infested with burs and that I am blazing a new trail, where only my foot steps can show me the way there and then lead me home again, when I've covered all the land and am ready for a new adventure.

I am gambling with the most TENUOUS emotion; TRUST and I'm forced to believe in myself, again and again and again- instead of timidly believing in myself without ever experiencing the push of opposition.

And then, I'm finding lightness- a little silliness that's squeezed itself under the Heavy, for instance;

I spent 6 hours last night after a long day painting the characters in a carved wall hanging of The Last Supper neon chartreuse- I know how that sounds, ridiculous?
A. because I'm not Catholic, or particularly "religious" or particularly into Jesus-
B. I was painting a wall hanging of The Last Supper chartreuse. For what purpose exactly? That's the thing. There really wasn't one- other than, I'm on a crafting quest to make old things beautiful, make serious thing playful, and turn trash into treasures and because I have this idea that that "supper" was a lot more colorful than we're lead to believe, so, I painted it.

My Love sat across from me painting a vintage chest, transforming it from evergreen to bubblegum pink, with black accents- one of my pickings from an impulse thrifting spree- paint fumes mixed with garlic cous cous and turkey sausage mixed in the air and The Weepies played in the background, "I made due with gray, but I didn't stay. I was made for sunny days, and I was made for you."

....the sound of living happened outside, and I thought to myself, "Ah, this isn't so bad." I'll just make sure to have whiskey next time The Divine comes to my door, maybe it'll stay longer.


Wednesday, April 13, 2011

I'm either going to have a Titanic "I'M THE KING OF THE WORLD" moment- Or, I'm going to jump. It's a fine line.

I generally like to get where I'm going.

....I speed. I walk fast, (even in heels.) If I know that there's an ending point, a destination, I want to bulldoze through roadblocks, because I know on the other side is "my vision," so get. out. of my way. (fucker.) My nickname as a kid was, "The hammer..." because I just. wouldn't. stop hammering away until I'd driven the nail all the way in. I know, it isn't exactly a desirable quality and for those around me, the "journey" can be hellacious if I'm manning the ship- that iceberg? Oh yeah, BRING ITTTTT (as she tribal screams, a low guttural growl and grits her teeth.) I press the gas into overdrive, I operate in the red. On all levels.

Then, I look around and think, "but...what the fuck did I actually get DONE today? What was all this 'efforting' FOR?" Half-finished projects scattered around the room, fingers numb from days worth of super glue coated so thick, I've created a new layer of skin- the ideas are all, "almost there," everything organized in fragmented efforts- hopefulness divided, the perfect cocktail of "going nowhere," half-All-In, Half-well-I-fucking-suck-ass-this-was-a-bad-idea.

The one beacon of light in my day is that- My Love and I have moved back in together- and it's perfect. You can't really go from, "being together for a few years, living together, breaking up, dating indefinitely....?" This isn't our first rodeo, after what we've gone through, it's ALL OR NOTHING. All is better.

The thing is, we're not simply living alongside one another, we are companions in ALL THINGS and as true creatives do, we both have about 6-million-projects in the fire, but nothing has cooked through. So, I keep opening the oven, looking for that golden color that tells me, "its done!" While he's home from the road, in between tours, he's helping me get a lot of MY projects off the ground, or at least coating my psyche with a nice sheen of "you're a bad ass babe, you can do it." I would also be lying if I said I haven't been found curled in a ball crying about my fear that none of those projects, will "work."

Any time you challenge a pattern, you're going to be left feeling a little doubtful- you're jumping the tracks, you little rebel.

I sat on our love seat, the perfect amount of space that forces us to be close when I would prefer to sprawl out on the floor dramatically- here I was sipping Pellegrino on the verge of a breakdown- and something, "clicked." Not in the bright-light bulb kind of way, but it more of a Christopher Columbus realizing the Earth wasn't flat sort of way-this little piece of "knowingness" will change the way you think forever. Curled up against the one I love, in our 1920's abode, above an art gallery, next to record stores, vintage shops, wine bars, music venues and foodie delights, all things I've envisioned having at my doorstep-I looked at the shreds of paper on the floor, my half-crossed off to-do list, the crackling sound of all that is cooking in the oven.... my internal monologue took her little index finger, and flicked me right between the eyes- "PAY ATTENTION Chels....." and she said:

Look baby, I know sometimes, everything feels IMPOSSIBLE. But you are trying....and trying....and trying.

...and it doesn't matter if no one in the entire world can see it, you are showing up, for you, for BIGGER, for GREAT. Your feelings of inadequacy are simply that, feelings....not facts. Don't let them become more than an emotion, that is simply fleeting in its presence.

You aren't comfortable, because you are refusing to settle for mediocrity.
All of those little investments are part of the bigger, more meaningful investment which, if you didn't bite the bullet and swallow the cost, would be at the expense of your happiness.
Don't just have thoughts, have experiences and know that not all of these "experiences" may be grand, or fanciful, fulfilling or "meaningful"- but they are all a part of the bigger whole.
When you want to run away and sulk in your defeat, drag yourself closer; to the fear, the failure, to the person, to the moment....wade through the mud. If you're going to do it "eventually," try doing it now instead. TRY- I don't mean, "succeed right this second," there is no finish line, my friend.

If you're knee-deep in "it," remember what it was like when you could see your feet....then, drop it, so you don't miss that beautiful cloud that was in the sky, shaped just like a castle, or a pie and that MOMENT in the sky is all a little lie, because here on the ground in that mud that rounds your ankles, buried in the beds of your toe nails- that mud, will dry, and will be clay and that "DEEP" that you're in, will make you stronger within.

You don't have to a part of the 'Sons of' Club or the Better Thans, the world doesn't hold you in kid gloves but in their bare calloused hands- these hands, will leave imprints and will repair and are unapologetic for being naked, bare. You are held, tightly.

...And then you'll sit there and you'll say, "Don't worry, it'll all be okay-la, la, la, self medicate with sugary sweet words rather than defeat" and you'll say it again and again and inside your voice says, "well, that's sort of a lie, you Asshole," but what you've said is actually what will be- so live in the "Now" and the present and remember that there's a reason that you said it...and all the cheese aside, there only two choices- always- between the dark and the light...

and right when your optimism is about to get washed away...... may hear a little voice say, "Give me a name, define me, maybe even lie to me- I want a container and a box, somewhere to belong....what are you, anyway?" and you'll start feeling like maybe you've forgotten and maybe you ARE really nothing; but there is something there my Dear, there is something underneath that supple, swollen skin and she is begging to be released, to be seen and to win.


And when I could have stayed awake, steeping in my restlessness, angry that my mind can't materialize as quickly all that it can visualize- I looked around and the perfectness, of this town, of this man...of my home and my brain- the way that I think..... the journey....the's just another day. Inch by inch. When you're on the verge of something great, there's always the fear it'll be taken away- so stand on the precipice, at the bow of the ship, on the spot marked with an X for you to take your place in the dark, so that the show can start.