Dualism trance-ended.

i am top quark and bottom quark
microcosm and macrocosm
i am a whole made of tiny particles
i am the tiny particle that knows
it is part of a collective whole

i tell myself this stuff and yet i dont listen to myself
i am mystic and rational
my rational mind denies my mystic experience

Humans are feminsasculin. Our minds are all alike in our receptive thoughts, experiences  and feelings; our minds are all unique in our individually lived lives.
My female mind is one across humanity. It is the female experiencing receiving mind ( in two hemispheres of our brains).
Our male mind knows ego. It is unique and active in telling its story and taking actions. Each one of us develops this mind usually pretty firmly by the age of two.

In dio, in god, i.e. knowing all is one and loving it all, because it is oneself.
Indigenous mind; mind of eden planet; loving family, valuing children, respecting each person for their own particular life.

Black and white – polarities of indio/ human mind;
Insofar as we identify ourselves as black or white, with positive and negative connotations,  we fail to recognise ourselves as Indio, the people. One with “god” ie nature and Earth our mother.

This old knowing of the indigenous peoples, is mocked as animism; church religion distorted and co-opted the teachings of the wise. Indios, when introduced to the idea of a loving father god at first accepted it because they knew the experience of living within the embrace of a loving parent. They too were abused. They were named indio, indigenous, aboriginal, by those of the culture which did the mocking and disparaging  and denying of ancient knowing. I am a child of that culture. My rational mind is formed by that culture.
I am of an evolving culture which respects, studies and acclaims indio, indigenous, aboriginal, first people. I too am of this earth and a child of the most high – the sun. I have enough humility to say this, and enough piety to feel awe, and am growing enough self respect to see it through.

Now we who wish to claim our unity as tiny quarks cooperating within a greater whole, as humans in the web of life, rise up and speak. Logos! Word!  We rhyme and blog. We are story tellers, artists.
We are working on becoming conscious to the tiniest quantum wiggle (i name it), and of ourselves as one with the stars, and as ME, hue-man wombman, persona universalis, huomo integralis  in the middle.

Evolving here to prepare for the evolution of our niche, our nest,
death where is thy sting, you are the best.
We get to start again, to play our part again, in the evolving story
in which we know we are ever the glory of the evolving mind
striving to find how to integrate at a higher level
including devil.
My how we recognise him !!!
He is myself; my ego. Please allow me to introduce myself.
All my former lives see through my eyes, all my dead are in my head.

All experience is in my head. “The differential elimination of neuronal connections gives rise to sensory experience.”
Now we know the brain is plastic, we can differentially restore neuronal connections and give rise to an experience of unity, ever greater, ever more successfully communicating with itself.

We are it. Imagination is its play, my lila, the story i tell myself in all its consensual and all its non consensual reality. When i allow myself to see more, to see the whole world as conscious and communicating with me, my visuals and my thoughts united, i see, for example, lightning in distant clouds creating images of electrical activity in a brain. Moon and i are one reflecting and adoring sun.

Stu the Jew devotedly and adoringly loves god who loves him back and thus this hugely hellish experience of human fallibility is given meaning – but only to Stu the Jew. The story evolved. Put “i” in the middle of Jesus and you get Je suis. I AM. Logos . The circle is complete, for those of us who, like Stu the Jew are into the magnificence of Logos pre Babel. That is – it is our delight to create meaning and find coincidences and synchronicities in language. To see the unity underlying all the individual stories and experiences, all the words and worlds.
My rational mind knows this is all blah blah blah and my female mind says,
oy veh! OK. You dont have to try it, but you cant deny it. Consensual, conventional rationality is the basis. We all start there.

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On Death and Living : Joy and Sorrow

This past weekend my friend, Judy Dvorak, died. Yes, she is one of “US” . We are all mortal. We all get intimations of mortality. Judy knew this very well. We can only live because this is all we got!!! and what we got is a lot – it is everything in the present moment.

 

Last night i had a dream vision. I saw a whole lot of tiny owl images like in the tail of a peacock like each one was both a human, an owl, a peacock’s eye. There was a little boy, a woman – emissaries from Venus, there was a table and later a room, and i was telling people what i saw – they werent interested except two people i do not know, I woke singing and remembering Judy, who shared my dream.

 

Last night my dream showed me this- Judy went through Venus. That is the Black Hole aka Death. She is like a skin cell on a large body of which Venus is part of the skin. Now she is In.

Is this earth the Heart or another part i dont know. But i woke this morning singing, Judy Judy Judy, as i have sung to her in this life. She makes me happy because she “is happy” now – in my head, where my dead are undead. She is the eye in the peacock wing, i am too, and so are you. We are part of a greater wHole. Her physical presence will be greatly missed. Her trace is sweet memory.

 

We still have to deal with the crap. in other cultures there is and was crap – like freezing weather and broken bones – humans try to fix it – its just we dont see ourselves as part of a whole so we crap on everything else. That is the increasing crap of culture which prioritizes humans over nature, men over women etc. .

 

When I used to think of a difficult former boyfriend – now dead, and in my head – there were reservoirs of not such great feeling. Those have all dried up. Now he is one of my happy pantheon of dead in my head. When i think of them I am happy, knowing that my memory of them keeps them “alive” – gives them so to speak a window to what is happening on this earth… they are but trace, like cigar smoke.

Their Totality as a cigar with a burning end which went out and the last smoke faded away – Includes Us.

 

As we die, we long for everyone to live happily today because dying goes along with living. And we return to tell it to life.

 

 

 

Fearless Fibre – Protestry

FEARLESS FIBRE. to take place at Carrollwood Cultural Center. Tampa. July August 2017
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This exhibition features the work of 8 Fibre Artists who create Art out of that which is to hand, using methods which are as old as the hills, and as new as the moment. As artists we are divinely creative! In fibre art, nothing need be wasted.
As with all material arts, we deal with uncertainty, we find solutions to apparent mistakes, and we repurpose failures. We wish you pleasure in the tactility, sensuousness and expressiveness of  Fearless Fibre.

I , Lib,  Curator, offer Protestry  – Poetry which declares and defends a Wombmanist perspective.

Godesses whose Anxiety is Balanced by a Cool Head.

We are *feminasculin. We are creative. We restore to language a role of respect, honoring that of which we speak.
Our feminasculine mind can find the **dialectic:

Thesis – Evolution is happening to the story ***wombmen tell ourselves.
Antithesis – Words can neither be invented nor evolved.
Synthesis – An evolutionary  Future  not  only Loves the Present, ( Evolution IS happening)  but also evolves the Past, (some do not comprehend the creative power of evolution) without needing to destroy it.  Hatred and Fear are that story of the past, still, dying, Here.  In this story we are telling Now, we dance on the grave of misery, and offer flowers to the corpse in respect of human suffering.

Fearlessly we weave our new story,  our fabrics speak of creation. Joyously we reach out to you, Viewing Listener, with  our  fabricated artistry. The is the Synthetic New.

*  Feminasculin – Original concept of Phillippe Sollers
** Dialectic – A way to get beyond duality, vital in these times – so we can talk to those who think  differently from ourselves.  Thesis, meets Antithesis, and the Synthetic New is created.
***  Wombman – New linguistic offering from Yours Truly. By naming something we give it existence. This is the creative power of words. We can own our story. Each one of us has our own unique vision which can not only invalidate, but also can be invalidated by, the current fearful collective vision. 

Gender is a higher level concept than sexual preference, which has its mind in the bedroom.

All our wombmenish, feminasculin hearts beat with the wings of a peace dove. God, goddess and good are words for concepts representing our ideals. Our ideals are thoughts or signs existing in our heads –  artists  strive to create their idea – an ideal vision. Meaning is interactive when art, which is communication, is put in a public space.
~~~~~~~~~
The following Protestry is written to accompany the works of Barbara Pittman Forgione. BPF’s work is a series of paintings representing women in traditional dress. Women of the world come to America with dreams of freedom alive in their breasts.

Vietnamese in America

Americans in Vietnam
were blind to Tiresias
the soothsayer,
old and snaggle toothed,
fishing,
hearing the leaves that float down the river.

 Synaesthesia is a form of sensing that Wombmen ( evolved humans) are beginning to recognize.
Blind Tiresias, Cassandra, archetypes of those whose image of the future is ignored by the populace. In this poem, representing simply an old fisherman of Vietnam whose life was irrevocably changed as was that of his people, by contact with Americans.
~~~~~~~~~

Africa’s Women in America

My Stephen sought to liberate the toe of my shoe.
My Ken fought to liberate my water from oil,
spilled there by careless greed.

Mama Wangari planted trees,
and ‘Tunde made music.
My guerrero amplifies those songs.

Now we write the story anew.
We seek to liberate women,
We make peace with justice
as fairly as we know how.
We plant seeds and make music.

 Stephen Biko – freedom fighter killed in South Africa
Ken Saro Wiwa – killed protesting de rigeur oil spills where his people farmed and fished and washed their clothes.
 Wangari Maathai, – created a program to plant trees in distressed areas.
‘Tunde is a Yoruba word for “Returns”,  and means Nigerian. Black in Latin is Niger. ( nee-gere ) For artists, all colors have value and different uses.
Guerrero – warrior –  refers  in this Protestry to all imprisoned by ignorance who continue to struggle.
Tunde  reminds me of  “Regresare y le dire a la vida” – “I shall return and tell life [all about it]”, a line from a poem by Antonio Guerrero. He was imprisoned in America while peacefully fighting for freedom for Cuba. Fibre Arts, weaving and painting, and also other arts –  are returning , as part of people’s daily lives.

Regresaré

(Antonio Guerrero – Fernando Borrego)
Regresaré y le diré a la vida
he vuelto para ser tu confidente.
De norte a sur le entregaré a la gente
la parte del amor en mí escondida.

Regresaré la alegría desmedida
de quien sabe reír humildemente.
De este a oeste levantaré la frente
con la bondad de siempre prometida.

Por donde pasó el viento, crudo y fuerte,
iré a buscar las hojas del camino
y agruparé sus sueños de tal suerte

que no puedan volar en torbellino.
Cantaré mis canciones al destino
Y con mi voz haré temblar la muerte.

““““““““

Tibetan Women in America

See the beauty in which our culture still lives.

“““““““““

Aboriginal American
(aka Native American)

This land is Mother.
Our waters are our life blood.
As the sun rises and sets we stand here.
The sun also rises.

ab – origine – a proud word meaning originating out of the land.
 Aboriginal people – In the big picture we all originate on earth.
In the tiny picture, “aboriginal” disparages people. The tiny mind in the small head does not understand that in honoring others we grow ourselves.  
Maori Haka ( song with rhythmic beat using the body as instrument)
Ringa Pakia!  Ka mate ka mate, kia ora kia ora.
Tenei te tangata puhuruhuru
Nana i tiki mai , ka whiti te ra.
A upane , kaupane, upane kaupane,
Whiti te ra.

A feminasculin translation – Create the beat!  it is death, it is life, it is death, it is good. [“This too shall pass”; “the old order changeth giving place to new”.]
Here is the powerful “hairy” man , behold  man who makes the sun rise.[ ie has power over energy] . Sun rises and sets [regardless of humans, before us and after us]. The sun rises.  [This is awesome.]

““““““““`

This image is not in the exhibition but it is the earlier work of Barbara Pittman Forgione. whose works inspired all this Protestry.

Muslim Women and the American Style Goddess.

Our traditional dress is our pride and our shame.
Our bodies are our shame and our pride.
Our book is responsible for suggesting that woman is evil.
We choose what we wear in freedom from, or servitude to, manipulation by those who misinterpret male and female ideals.

This poem is relating to both images, the American women, runway models, insouciant in their exposure of flesh and wealth, blind to accusations of arrogance and disrespect. And the Muslim women, one in full Burkha, modest in their uniformed appearance, blind to accusations of bondage and disrespect.
Do we turn a blind eye? Do we and they see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil of women? Do we and they  comprehend and rejoice in our creative potential in THIS moment?  We, wombmen, are story tellers in all our arts. I Lib, curator, can get lost in the web of words. Thank you for your listening eye.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elizabeth Mitchell

silk painting and studio experiences …
http://www.elizabethmitchellstudio.com

Reading the cards.

 

The central card – present moment – is a female form, green like lettuce and new, superimposed on a sleeping male form which has a torturous dream contraption affixed to its brain; in the upper right are tanko – the perfect Koi. This represents my feminasculine mind which is influenced by

The card laid on top of it – the Influencer – Bad Santa. The gifts were coal and displeasure, the gifts were tarnished and the soul frightened.

To the left is – the recent past – a little girl clinging to a security which is washing away, the sorcerer juggles umbrellas as the spirit’s vision is occluded by his tricks.

To the right is – the near future – crows facing in both directions – spirit must be strengthened and reality must be dealt to.

At the bottom is – the distant past – space, alien transports ( shells represent this to me) and the evolution of time.

At the top is- the distant future -polar bear ( large mammals ) balancing on a decreasing foothold, the life contained in every drop of water going down the toilet; and the Eiffel tower reminding me that human life on this earth is as the skin of paint on top of the Eiffel tower ( dinosaurs were 5-600 feet  of it.)

To the further left is – the witness – a Calder mobile representing Balance.

 

A new card for today. From a large stock of magazines, i pick four at random and find the first image in each that strikes me as what i want to use. I noticed a parking ticket which was in fact just a warning, I had kept it for a symbol of rejoicing. I used it to make the snake. To fill the too much empty space at the bottom, my hands shuffling through resources found a piece of clothing pattern and created a Righteous Babe goddess form. Interpretation of today ( for they change every time) – on a background humans in rising waters, an alternative watch face grows rabbit ears ( time, a concept,  is evolving ). Snake travels through the book ( a reference to freeing our female selves from devil concepts) a girl child looks on with the bright eyes of innocence, and the Righteous Babe goddess is redux.

Multi form riff.

Goddess Speaks in streams which join and separate and join again.
Everything Falls
Into place.

Moon sees herself writing; the photographer and his chest-high tripod, bending to focus through a window on her surface, to record her mirror ego, Lib out walking in full moon early morning. Lib sees him there on Moon’s surface.
Lib sitting typing; memory bliss, sure of this, life in the slow lane here on Quest St.

What is wrong with this movie synopsis, told by Kivana.?
“ Post coitally, she said she was thirsty and he got her a glass of water. She was aggrieved and they fought.”
The story incomplete, denigrates women.
Lib, who did not see the movie,  retells the tale, to make sense to her righteous moonwoman vision:

Post coitally in dreamy bliss, he heard her languidly murmur,
“ I am thirsty as earth’s poisoned rivers, and dry like earth’s barren streams.”
He leaped to be Aquarius in her dreams.
“WAAAH!” the baby in her wakes and cries, “he cant even listen to none of my sighs, my sweet story dream, when it was …it  did seem … that I and Earth are one. I blessed my dear luck, shivered at how we can fuck.  I sorrowed for others less bless’d, and my mind dressed, in their sorrow…the sorrow of Earth, the hunger and thirst..”
He brings her the glass, naked still his bare arse, and she yells at him crossly
“ You left me! just when i’m expressing my most sensitive thoughts. You ought to know when I’m riffing, and listen, just listen; our moment was shattered, my  vision all got scattered and here you stand with that horrible glass, I wish you put it in the crystal one. thanks anyway.”

Sadly he looks at her – wondering . “Whaat! Is this what I get? “
She looks so glum, he says, “what now”? She sulks, “ you wouldnt understand and dont care anyhow.” He sighs a grim shudder and settles back in. Pulls the sheet to his shoulder, thinks, “where is my sin?”
~~~~~~~~~
We are learning to comprehend that we do not all experience the consensual evidence the same way. Love is the key, how we wont go astray. When we love ourselves – and others as us –  we avoid fuss;  let it go – old injuries surface don’t you know.

I create my own story of love and forgiveness. The suffering and pain will come again and again until our part in the story is the glory of fearlessly living our truth. That is the seed which freeds* youth.

* Freed- free and feed, Care for the children produced, so they are Free from the need for Food and  shelter, when  birth control or safe abortion are unavailable. Society must provide Food and shelter for their bodies and Education for their souls. p.s. Here,  mind and soul are the same thing.

Freed – Family Reproductive Education Enterprise Department.

Benefactor Orphanages as an artifact of High Society. Sign up now. Mother Teresa is an example of that model. Can we do better?

Planned Parenthood tried.

Where is our sin? Judgement is mine Saith the Lord and I am the mirror of the the lord’s mind because I am coterminal with Moon and Sun. I name  Ahura Mazda by any name: sun, son, Ra , soleil, sol. Ra is my daily joy and worship. This earth, sun’s garden.
Human kind the seed sower, creator;  woman kind of like Mary – archetypical.

Sehnsucht – longing even for that which is impossible.

My impossible dream – to wake up to who I AM.

Done. Over and out. Hear me shout—- hallelujah , hoasanna, my mind clicks it heels with a jump to the side, ooooh i love to rifff. a mental masturbation stiff, of rhyming and running out of timing. Yoga very soon. Come down from the moon, mind. Find yourself here, in ME my dear. We are one. Fun has begun. Leave it, drop it. Wake up and get the ^$%&*()on with it…..

Healing done, Yoga practiced. Day awaits.

In the Garden