In and out invisibly, yet, never have I experienced my own scent quite like this, behind a mask. The stank perfume of my own sweat, menses, filth, I know those, but this is a very different affair. It smells of creation and milk. New, rapt perceptions of breath emerge. Warm, human, vulnerable. It's rhythmic cycling, without a visible mechanism. But run about masked and it will beat and suffocate you like a pillow to the face. Regardless of whether it's thin or gasping, it brings life. What an enormous weight for something we can't see. It dances like Ginger and Fred with my heart. In perfect synch.
They say that of all the human senses, breath is the most holy. It is contained beyond the body unlike touch, taste, sound and vision. It has the will to express itself, then it exchanges outward seeking the ether for its final transformation. Quiet, like clouds in silent conversation with god. When I take the time to embrace this imperceptible force, rather than casually observe, it's all such a miracle, really.
I suppose this perfectly parallels with the chaos of Covid. Everyone isolating, moving inwards, reflecting, going deeper and deeper into themselves. And all around, civilization crumbling like crackers in your back pocket. My father would have called this Armageddon and once again justified his self-righteous faith. Personally, I think it's just the future unfolding as it has always done. Families drawing tighter, sitting together watching the setting sun as it pours through a cleaner atmosphere. Did you hear the local people of India are reporting seeing the Himalayas for the first time? Clear skies, amazing, wonderful. What a holy vision that must be. A validation for the cycle of chaos forever pushing toward order. The duality that we both despise and require. It seems we are waking up, no longer allowed to dwell here as somnambulists. These masks a constant reminder of the edge we are all living on. These big choices ahead of us filled with petrified fear and grand opportunity.
I remember doing a performance piece at La Mama theater in Tokyo. It involved large hanging masks that I interacted with and ended up wrapped in a cocoon. I thought I was so cutting edge back then. There was something liberating about no one in the audience being able to see my face. I could be filled with pain or disgust and all they would see was the image of a character I projected within the context of music and dance. I loved the deception of it.
Walking about these days, whether paper, cotton or polyester, I find sanctuary behind my mask. It forces deep awareness of my breath. The affirmation of life.
It’s what we first take in and the last thing we leave behind. Gentle, constant. Without Covid, I would have never been reacquainted with this marvel which is now treasured, measured and thanked. Lucky me. Yes, I get pimples around my chin as the sweat clings. But it’s worth it.
I wanted to create a mask that prints a photo of my lower face so that I look like I was always smiling and help us identify each other better. But then I thought it would be more scary than amusing. I would love to document the reactions from wearing Men-yoir, a Japanese samurai mask. Their facial armor was designed to invoke paralyzing terror. Fierce demons from your worst nightmare, slaying you with their facial horror even before drawing their katana. I wonder how their breath was feeding those blood-soaked battles. The soundtrack of panting, screaming and thousands of last gasps all around them. The slow leveling off of the warriors internal tempo as the scene winds down to its final twitches and groans. The realization of victory as the solider emerges intact with his mask, blade and his breath. The drama of life and death, breath and breathlessness.
And here we are, little humans, reimaging our big world, waking up from our dream of life. Creating, moving, reassembling and breathing. Finally remembering what the ancients have always told us.
One who has gradually practiced,
Developed and brought to perfection mindfulness of the in-and-out breath
As taught by the Enlightened One,
Illuminates the entire world
Like the moon when freed from clouds. (Theragatha 548).
#coronavirus #covid #corona #stayhome #quarantine #lockdown #staysafe #socialdistancing #virus #love #rus #coronav #stayathome #pandemic#quedateencasa #cuarentena #memes #pandemia #yomequedoencasa #instagood #like #n #follow #quarentena #bhfyp
I must say this has been a wild ride.
Just as “Wife of a Master” is my first book, this is my first blog. As per my character, I don’t follow the protocol to research what people want. Although I understand the value of metadata and shit, what the hell do I care what the current trend is? It will be replaced in the twitch of an eye and it’s always a derivative, dilution or reconstruction of things done millions of times before. It’s the veneer baby, the package. I get it, it needs to sell. But this is a "tell it like it is" memoir, I won’t reconstruct my life for the sake of sensational sales. Maybe
the next book.
I’ve yet to have reviews and backlash. I’m waiting. It will be a good test for my ego. Perhaps I will learn something new. I hope so. I deliberately put myself, “out there” to propel myself towards the goal of vulnerability. A requisite to create powerful art. I need to jar myself into believing that there are others that will resonate with this story of overcoming repression. Those relationships will provide a validation that my life will welcome with open arms. I believe this blog might be a documentation of that process.
Having lived a very isolated existence for the past two decades, this idea of reaching out to strangers electronically is foreign. Reaching out at all for that matter. A sense of safety exists in knowing I will not have to hold your hand, brush your hair or pick up groceries for you. Yet, a part of me still wants to, as I believe a missing link for humanity is found in those intimate tactile moments.
I’ve never been attracted to lengthily discussions that circle and fail to fill the heart, but aggrandize the ego. I’m an action figure type woman seeking progress and solutions. The self-surveys I offer on this site are part of that propulsion.
Somehow let’s have an inspiring, enriching relationship as we share honest, pragmatic and deeply emotional topics. This can be the therapy that you can’t afford or are too ashamed to seek publicly. Let’s finish this year seeking truth and support together. I look forward to meeting you one by one, slowly over time until we build an oasis for your betterment, creativity and a safe place for your life to flow with more joy and abundance.
#ego #abundance #vulnerable #validation #isolated #reachout #self-survey #inpsire # honesty #emotional #therapy #creatvity #joy
I'll be the first one to admit that too much self-reflection is just as bad as none at all. But there I went again regardless. It was clear that as soon as I completed my memoir, Wife of a Master, that new doors pf perception were opening. As a women who enjoys strategic process, I continued to clarify tactics that were outlined in the memoir. I felt they needed greater, more exacting expression. So I went deeper.
I would battle daily with what seemed like schizophrenic conversations. Scolding myself and then no sooner did the tea boil, I was patting myself on the back. It was an amazing journey that began to acknowledge the circling and often random thoughts that percolated in my mind daily. All those millions of moments wasted on the past, or worrying about the future never allowed me to be totally present. I was missing my own life.
So, my second book ensued. How to Master Your Mental Monkey. Or more precisely, How to Master Your Internal Dialogue. This skill is a the A of the ABC'S of self realization. Nothing marvelous will occur without it. Proper mental balance and clear intention yield pure manifestation.
I will be posting it soon on Amazon. Grab a copy and grab your destiny.
#self-reflection #mastery #process #manifestation #skill #destiny #self-help #strategy #memoir #expression #journey #love