a true ramble down a shadowy path…

two blogs one day (not two girls one cup, or whatever the hell that thing’s called.  have you ever watched it?  i did once and it was so gross, i still think it must me make believe.  is it?)  just got back from a hugo house reading.  i go to all the free ones.  this one was four readers from a compilation book about the seattle literary community.  felt an uncomfortable feeling when she said literary community, like i wasn’t a part of it and i did not know how to be a part of it, that i am a lone wolf though, and tend to skirt around communities.  thought about how i am part of the vajra community.  (or vortex rather.)  i still skirt around it physically, yet i am a core of it, because i am a beating heart in deep service to the vajra and those of us who come together to delve deeper into our souls.  got so triggered this week.  in ways even i am too embarrassed to discuss in blog, and you know how large my capacity is to reveal uncomfortable shit…but this trigger, even i have a hard enough time looking at.  it leads to a moral dilemma that only tolstoy can answer, but i am still listening to krishna das and letting go of mind completely at the same time.  maharaji knows i am attached and i know i am too.  who cares.  i think of that neko case line about being deeply attached to this life.  tolstoy’s characters in anna karenina are mirroring me so hard.  much much deeper than the sex and the city characters, who more appeal to my american conditioned self.  tolstoy hits my bloodline.  my body was made in russia originally, whatever the name of the place was before it was russia.  most of it anyway.  anyhow, the way tolstoy expresses himself emotionally through the characters, i resonate with so hard core, it’s taking me to my knees, just like the maha mantra by kd.  killing me softly with his song.  so in love with this book already i am, that it’s better than anything happening in real life.  in real life we are too rational for tolstoy level romance, and that’s my forever dilemma.  i am tolstoy wrapped inside of anais nin wrapped in saran wrap cause this modern world only looks like the real thing.  the simulacra.  that sounds so cynical.  but what if the sentiment’s not coming from an emotionally hurt place?  what if i am simply reading the collective energy of human race and the world we are creating and how we are trapped inside of a bubble made of delicately devised plastic?  the kali yuga’s the downer, not me.  don’t kill the messenger.  remember in the nineties, how everybody knew what was true bullshit?  i am not one to glorify the nineties, but i do miss the spirit of that decade right now, cause right now everything’s gotten so glossy, in your face, cruel, and parody level of itself, that i’ll take “this world is a shit show and i want no part of it,” any day over today’s shallow temperament.  it’s weird.  the temperaments just keep getting worse.  i don’t mean to be a downer, it’s not me, it’s kali.  i really don’t want to be one of those older people who don’t get younger people either.  i do.  you are here to help. and we need to get each other.  i know the world is changing, and i embrace it.  i embrace the new capitol hill, the new technological environment we suckle from all the time, the kali yuga putting on a new saran wrap dress, whatever you wanna call it.  at the same time, longing exists for the past.  i wish to eat a processed cheese sandwich on muggy bread, sitting on the green grass before wifi waves were passing through my brain, before the cordless phone was invented, and write a letter that takes days to get to the one i love.  blah.  i am all over the place.  the shooting.  uh.  i don’t want to even speak of it, but what i need to say is….when people are shooting kids, we need to fucking change this culture, heal our food and water, put the loving ones in office, learn how to love one another, but to love everyone on the outside, the inside needs fixing first.  i admit it.  i know it.  i feel it.  you know tonight, at the hugo house, i got truly inspired by the first reader who read about his first job out of college, working a grave yard shift at a parking structure down on alaska, in the deep bowels of pike place market after dark.  he made me want to write. i forgot how.  but i’ll find my way back somehow.  so will we.

ps:  inspiration has a shadow too….