RSKdetroit

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Tag: stream of conscious

Detroit Cycling

 

Music selection this week is Basenji “Don’t Let Go” because I reviewed it at Indie Shuffle recently and it’s still stuck in my head. Also, in reference to the song title, I’ve been thinking about how stubbornly we hold to things that are no good for us. Holding on can be a pretty romantic idea, or a masochistic one. There’s a duality to everything.

Doing things a little different for this post because I don’t feel like rambling. My head never stops rambling and lately it hasn’t gotten to the point. Instead, here is a simple anecdote that hopefully can say more in the spaces between than I can with my words. It’s called:

Detroit Cycling

be well. love often. enjoy.

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With my visor down, I am invincible. Cars can’t touch me, prying eyes can’t touch me. Not the wind nor the rain, neither the light or the darkness can touch me when the visor on my Basecamp cycling helmet is down. Don’t I look like I can’t be fucked with? That’s because I can’t.

Two beers deep. Always two. That’s the magic number. Two sits with me right. Two of coins. Two of cups. Two of swords. Two of wands. Just the two of us. I like twos. Life is easier in twos. Threes fuck everything up. With three, doubts arise. Confucius says, “When three people journey together, their number decreases by one. When on man journeys alone, he finds a companion.”

What Confucius doesn’t say is that sometimes that happens all backwards – one man journeys alone, finds a companion, and that companion adds a third into the equation – then there was three and life became fucked.

I’m only swearing because I have the visor down. It makes me mean, a good kind of mean. The kind that can go super fast even if the relative speed isn’t all that fast according to a stop watch. My burning thighs say I am fast. Also, the ticking of my heart.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock. It’s pumping strong and hard and I’m flying around curves. Adrenaline quiets the madness. His touch also quiets the madness. His touch is like words upon my pen, dripping from a tip that presses upon a page that receives their touch, wears their meaning, becomes the word – touch. Touch me.

His touch is therapy. His love is maddening and his touch is therapy.

There’s a kink in my back. No matter which way I squirm, it’s still there. I’m riding harder and faster because adrenaline will make that go away, too. All forms of pain washed away with stimulation. Speed is so addicting. Sometimes I wish I were the wind. My Mayan chart says once I hit 40 I’ll turn into wind, incarnate. People will know my words far and wide.

For now, the wind has stopped whistling past my ears tucked neatly under my helmet, which means I have stopped. With stopping, feeling returns.

There’s a duality to everything- stopping and going, staying or leaving – a two-fold choice to most things. Tonight I will choose between succumbing to my fears or rising above them, as is the choice every night.

I will choose between doing the writing or thinking of writing, as is also the choice every night.

Love is also a choice, a brave and complex choice that comes with its own string of dualities. Much like cycling, Detroit cycling, joy and pain come with the package. The choice lies in whether or not we keep going, keep pushing towards a positive goal. Progress isn’t always so obvious, you know?

Some days are triumphant, some days it’s enough to just show up, and some days you get rained on.

 

 

 

The Cup, The Key: The Quiet Act of Knowing

Been a minute since I asked these cards about writing. What I asked is if I posses the skills of a writer, not so much because I believe I don’t, but  I figured if I got some disheartening cards back I may have to re-think what I want this chapter in my life to look like.

What I got was an affirmation of the time – exactly what tarot is, mind you – a window into the tools one has in front of them, the option of energies either to use, or not. For this I turned to my very first tarot deck , The Da Vinci Tarot. Seemed fitting that while revisiting old doubts I summon an old deck, the deck that was with me 2 years ago when on the road writing From The Other Seat, the deck that birthed the idea of incorporating tarot into my blog as a way to lighten the pressure, and to offer fodder as I continued to explore the act of writing.

I still love the dark romanticism these cards evoke. Even on the positively inclined cards the images appear wistful – perfect for the writer’s mind. There’s a seriousness to the tone of this deck, it begs that you consider the balance of light and dark when interpreting the message.

So here’s what turned up. They all popped out on their own in this order: Ten of Chalices, Four of Swords, and the Knave of Chalices.

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As a quick intuitive interpretation, Ten’s are a completion and an end to a cycle. Ten of Chalices says both, yes, you have everything you need, all the passion is there, either you’re nurturing your talents or the energy exists for you to do so. But ten’s are also the end of a cycle, not to say it’s all going to go to shit afterwards, but with every ending, there is a new beginning, and there will be a change, a shift. How have you shaped your perception? How will you have used that nurturing love of, say, a mother and her baby? How will your baby grow?

That question follows into the Four of Swords perfectly because this card signifies a sabbatical, a much needed time out. Swords signify thoughts and assessing what those thoughts mean. The Four of Swords is recharging the batteries and making sure that these thoughts are yours and yours alone. I love how the figure in this image looks entirely confident and totally at peace, as if he’s Siddhartha, having come back from a long walk in the valley you see behind him. He knows the answer, or at least has a sense, he’s got the key there in front of him, but he’s taking his time. There’s no hurry, the journey will continue when the time is right.

Timing is key, for the right thing at the wrong time would no longer be the right thing.

And this is why taking a step aside to make time for inner contemplation is so important. One must cultivate the patience to wait for the right time.

The description in the Da Vinci Tarot reference book calls it “peaceful receptivity”. One must have a clear state of mind before making any decisions on the future, and this card signals a time to calm the mind, to find a quiet place all your own, trust in the process, and be open and objective about the path ahead. The figure in the Four of Swords is receptive enough to adapt to anything that might challenge this sense of peace – he’s found equilibrium or is currently seeking it. He’s not taking advice from others, he’s looking within and collecting his own personal strength. The Four of Swords is one of my favorite cards because it tends to come up when a sabbatical is needed. I love sabbaticals, I just took one actually, so I feel like the card that answers my question, whether I posses the skills of a writer, is the third in this spread.

In the third card, the Knave of Chalices is renewed passion. Knaves, or knights, refer to young energies, sometimes young people. It could be that a young person will inspire you, or that a new burst of inspiration is just in its beginning phase, but the fact is – it’s there. It’s naked, and vulnerable, innocent, wanting; emotions pure and simple, raw and abundant, observing the world in a new way, with new words to color what it sees and feels. It’s love, new love, for a person, for a task, for life… for whatever. Life is presenting this now, or it’s coming very soon.

Mid writing this, I got a call about a job, an editing position. I think the initial phone interview went well. They said they’d follow up next week. Promising.

Almost immediately after, my roommate beckoned me to the kitchen where an owl sat on the window ledge. It flew away and was replaced by a pair of cardinals singing to each other, male and female. Owl omens are usual seen as the harbinger of death, could be a metaphysical one, but with death is renewal. Cardinals are a see as a message that you’ve been visited by Spirit. Knaves, cardnials, cups, and keys – the air is ripe with new love, opportunity, and the support is there from a divine quarter, telling one to keep going.

Anyway, I’ve lost focus, gone off the metaphysical deep end, so I’ll leave this here. Musical selection is The Tallest Man on Earth – The Gardener. His lyrics are wrought with symbols and they really speak to me. Hope this post was interesting in some way. Mostly, if anyone is reading, thank you. Happy to share this space with you.

Be well, love often, and enjoy!

Werewolf You Under Light of the Full Moon?

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That sun is hot enough to bake you black, or in my case a deep brown, brown enough like the camel colored hide of my closed-toed heels. Legs bleeding into the tan of my shoes, arms bleeding into the tan of my tank top, I feel like a gecko in Arizona dust, visibly invisible in my clever camouflage.

This is not Arizona, but Detroit, Michigan where I, with my latest W.P. Kinsella (R.I.P) book, sit marooned in the middle of my feelings and a slumbering homeless man on the patio of a bagel shop. He’s got a large book open to some page chosen by a light breeze that’s been on steady decline since 9:30 am.

I wonder how dark the man’s dark skin can get under the sun. I wonder if he’ll have a stiff neck having stuck in that position for so long, or if he’s slept here all night; if he’s actually reading that large book in front of him or if it’s more of a pillow. I wonder if we have more in common than this shared space – like how spiritual and material lack vibrates at the same frequency. He wakes briefly, as if my thoughts are that loud, and greets me, but I know he can’t see my eyes behind my even blacker shades, so I stay silent. I’m too tan and naked to be humoring his kindness. I neglected to wear a bra. His eyes are smiling in the direction of my tits.

The air stills, sticks to my skin like this tiny spider biting the top of my foot. I brush it off, surprised by the lingering pain of a bug no bigger than a granule of pepper.

“Isn’t it amazing what such a small amount can do?” A friend said that, a friend who facilitated my recent escapades in acid. Having taken it for the first time, I started small – half a square, then the next day, half of a half – learning where the drug wanted to take me and then settling in – my mind finding a place as pleasant, focused, and wild as the weight of a full moon. Just like that. Feels just like that, like, something so cerebrally stimulating – the conscious mind lunges, fights to be released from its tether; the body, so physically grounded, present, oh so present, yet mindlessly moving – chaos operating the base level mechanics of existence for this brief walk between worlds. It’s a distance, a vibrancy, a feeling like there’s no earthly way to contain nor release all the energy accumulating in ones spirit – the body radiating with spirit; creative, nurturing, moody, watery; The High Priestess; sorcery beyond the comprehensible; silver, iridescent, omnipresent – if there were a word or phrase to encapsulate all these things…

“I feel like I’m tripping,” I said, reverent under the silent effects of a full moon in Sagittarius, defining the feeling came as a revelation. Last night the rest of the world was prepping for parties, car accidents they didn’t know they’d have, emotional run ins, fall outs, over consumption, overflow – I opted to avoid it all, the people, the parties. Instead, I put to use the tools acid had given me, identifying, learning, and settling into the power of the lunar event about us.

Full moon nights are like this for me. The eb and flow of feels consumes me and I become something like a werewolf who’s only duty of the evening is to avoid mutating. Personal preservation and safety become my top priorities. I secluded myself and wait for the sediments of my former self to settle; wait for the creative outburst. Waiting through it is key. Still very wolf-like inside my skin, I center in my feels, breath deep, sleep soundly, and hope to process all what occurred in the subconscious sometime, later.

A dream I had recently went against this urge to stay inside. In it, I thought I could handle social events under a full moon; went out with a few friends and end up ripping them all to shreds – blood glinting on large white teeth and claws, dripping from my matted fur, congealing under the indifference of city street lights. As a werewolf, I felt guilt, horror, and regret in strict conjunction to the lust of blood and murder. Hence, trusting ones intuition on a full moon night – also key. Mine said to go on a lone bike ride at dusk.

A light rain cooled the air, made the concrete smell fresh, damp; the skies were calm and welcoming. I pedaled down the river-walk and wove my way through people I trusted because they too were out on an evening like this, cleansing their souls under the same rain, the same billowy clouds lined in orange, pinks, and vibrant lavender. Never have I seen a more photo-esque sky, yet I’d chose to leave the camera at home. True experience can never be felt looking through the other end of a lens.

Stopping on the river walk somewhere near a view of the Renaissance Center and the sea green steeple of some distant church, I couldn’t remember the last time I starred at the sky or listened to the world around me free of digital devices or connections that never really connect. That sky was love, I felt safe under it. That full moon made the world new again and I felt blessed to be alone and noticing.

But I’m losing it now, the effects fading. It’s past noon and I can feel myself coming back, the me I carry daily, this heavy body, this over-thinking brain. The words are slowing. I’ll share this with you now, re-read it and wonder from what secret deep it came. I’ll miss the me I was only moments ago. I’ll miss the moon.

When there’s something to write, I never think about it, I just do. What I think about is when I’m not doing it, but it’s like I’m always waiting on the moon, my muse. Isn’t that life though? Like, I’m always waiting for something – this coffee to cool, my heart to stop hurting. It’s never going to change, is it? And yet, we all keep moving because cycles are ritual. Yes, I do see the value in ritual. I live mine by the phases of the moon.

Before I go, I’d like to share this with you, too.

The other day while snipping parsley for a salad, I snipped a lady bug in two. I had to sift through the salad to find its severed body. I’m still not sure why that made me feel so odd. Currently, I’m slicing the meat of a mango. Large pieces wiggle in my fingers and when I place them in my mouth they slide down my throat like an oyster. Thinking of mangos and oysters as one in the same makes me feel funny.

What do you make of these funny feelings? Sometimes I feel like I may wait forever to gaze at another and trust in love enough to describe how thinking of mangos and oysters as one in the same makes me feel more connected and severed than ever before. Sometimes I feel like I will never love or trust in another as much as I love and trust in the moon, or that another could never love me as much as that sky last night. I tell you I heard it whispering my name, kissing my forehead, telling me the universe will forever have my back.

I wonder who out there felt that, too.

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“And all of this stuff will break me, don’t break me…” Musical selection is my latest addiction: Litany – Flaws

Put your best long-term plan, forward

Queen of Pentacles/Queen of Wands

Queen of Pentacles/Queen of Wands

This week The Queen of Pentacles (coins, that is) and the Queen of Wands pop out to say, “Stop dreaming. It’s time for action; slow and methodical, tactical, long term, but with gusto!” Practicality with style and flair, that’s what this queen combination is. Grounded AND on fire, that’s what I am… er.. they are… er… their message, here to remind- these are the energies we should be harnessing right now.

They are a perfect representation of my swift decision to buy an Ergonomic Split Keyboard. I mean, it wasn’t a big ticket item, but the point is, I didn’t even have to think about the cost- it was of no significance compared to the wear and tear on my hands- my hands which are currently my only vehicle to the outside world; my hands campaigning my purpose, my livelihood.

Ok, so here we go. Right. My mess of a station. OMG. So many things my fingers have to push.

Microsoft Natural Ergonomic 4000

Microsoft Natural Ergonomic 4000

Notice the size difference between the two keyboards? Holy Hell. That’s what I said when I took it out of the box. This thing needs a duffel bag to carry it. It’s far too big for a backpack.

Wishing I spent a little more time researching and maybe any time at all with checking measurements, but whatever. Here it is. I’m typing on it now. It’s weird and I keep making massive amounts of typos, but what you don’t see is how it raises in the back and has an ever-so-soft pad to support my wrists. THAT feature is currently saving my life, i.e. my hands.

Not sure if I’ll keep this beast. If any of you readers have a suggestion for a better keyboard, please leave it in the comments. I was hoping for something I could travel with. Something that was natural to type on. This thing feels like learning all over again. It’s not very intuitive and I just… I’m not sold.

Anyway, this post is getting away from me.

Harness the power of these two queens this coming week, you’ll need them. These two are my favorite queens and together they are quite potent. I identify with these two most, or maybe I idolize them- whatever, No matter. They are Her; confident in thy economic standing. And Her; sure of thy place in the world.

Risks no longer apply to these queens. The are not struggling. They are simply saying, “You have the means- no question. No worry. Step out into the world and own it.”

On a very serious note, if you’ve been lost in illusion, connections coming and going; you feel more tired, something is aching, you feel lost and confused- that’s just your body adjusting to the changing times. We’re all going to come out of this OK.

October will feel more clear. We will all know where we’re going and who we’re taking with us.

Go get a massage. Pamper yourself. Don’t worry about the cost. It’s of no consequence. You need this.

For the musical selection this week, a track that took off like a rocket and gained a whole lot of traction on the way. Join your fellow recluse and dance like no one’s watching to Oliver Nelson ft. Kaleem Taylor – Ain’t A Thing.

Be well, love often and enjoy!

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