I’m a big fan of soulful, spirited movies. Actually, that’s all I really try to watch anymore. I’m a delicate petal and am easily affected by movies with suspense, terror, gore or action. (That includes Harry Potter – I’m not kidding). For me, it feels almost excruciating to watch a kid being snuck up on, a sword fight or harsh words. I think: I wouldn’t want to see this in my real life, so why on earth would I subject my spirit to it by watching a movie of it. I have a difficult time knowing what is “real” and what is “imaginary” because they both FEEL the same.
For most of my life thus far, I tried to like whatever was thrown at me from the cinema screen. I tried to be okay with it. But for me, it wasn’t a joyful experience. It was too much, and it would affect me for days afterwards.
I am affected in the same way by novels, so I rarely read them. I remember reading a novel about a schizophrenic man constructing his own world of reality when I was living in Malaysia for a few months. At the end of the book, you find out all you thought was real was actually the imaginary part of the book. I felt truly screwed up for three days afterwards.
I am now at a point in my life where I embrace my tenderness, and choose movies and books that nourish it.
As Jewel would say ~ “I’m sensitive and I’d like to stay that way.”
When I do watch a beautiful movie, my heart feels lightened and I feel blessed that I have been able to see into a new world. There is so much good stuff out there ~ and I’d like to give voice to it, and share resources of how to love our divine spirits as best we can.
I would love to share my list of movies that have nourished my spirit, and hear your list too, so I know which ones to look out for 🙂
itzdahomeboyz&grrlz (or… making obscure gestures with our hands is fun!)
Intermittently I like to gather together my friends from here and there in my life ~ workmates, playmates, bus friends, circle sisters ~ integrating all the aspects of my life ~ the sacred, silly, serendipitous and saucy (as my workmates tend to be).
Not all of them know each other, so i bring paper nameplates, and we write our names on them to call each other. Porn star names that is.
And I do believe I have one of the best porn star names possible (following the Name of First Pet, Name of First Street Lived In convention):
We order our usual (Lunch Spanakopita and Hot Ball), me taking great care to ask in an accent for “Lunch Spanking and Hot Balls.” I’m sure nobody in the history of the Pancake Parlour has ever made such hilarious and ingenious innuendo before. I pride myself on such originality like that.
Nick savours his hot balls
Then we tear up small pieces of paper and everyone writes a question on them to put into the Dream Rainbow Beanie, then we all take turns to pull out the questions and everyone answers.
This is the Leonie Way Of Connecting People.
Or should I say, the Pussy Station Way of Connecting People.
The question is asked “Whose Your Daddy?”
(Okay, okay, it was my question).
We all go around saying “My Dad’s name is Bob and he’s a train driver!” (like we are in Year 2)
We get to me and I say “Well, I’m actually named after my Dad!”
Ben (or should I say Rainbow Lagoon) quips “Your Dad’s name is PUSSY?!?!?”
(Ben also happens to create the funniest comics possible… his latest creation of “You Stink and I Don’t Volume 9” has me laughing into the wee hours. Good good GOOD fun!)
Another question is asked:
“What superpower do you have?”
It becomes a discussion on Heroes (which I have no idea about, too gory for this delicate petal).
Nimpho Nads decides she wants the superpower of the Heroes dude who can talk to ATMs.
Deciding electronic power could be useful, I think I may just want to have the Superpower of being able to charge my Ipod. (What is with that? Always out of power!)
We decide to have a homegirrl&boyz portrait taken afterwards, balancing it on a high chair. A cutey patootie Swede walks by and offers to take it for us. In exchange, I proclaim him my New Best Friend, and have a Arm-Stretched-Out-Classy-Self-Portrait with him. Only later do I realise he could be my brother. Where are you, oh Swede brothafromanothermotha?
After all that, I really could have gone for a leisurely horse ride on the carousel as per my usual habit. They were having a rest and a bath though.
Maybe next time…
May silliness rupture you clean open and sparkling,
There has been some beautiful instances of synchronicity, manifestation and The Secret in action (or as my gorgeous co-worker Katie calls it “The Common Sense”) in my life lately.
A few days ago I felt really teary over watching “Choir of Hard Knocks” ~ a choir gathered together of homeless and disadvantaged people. I felt so emotional over the challenges they faced, and decided that the next time I saw a Salvation Army guy, to give a donation.
Yesterday, I did, giving him an amount I haven’t given a charity before.
Moments later, I walked back into work and found a long forgotten cheque that hadn’t been banked ~ for a few dollars more than I had just donated.
Give… and you receive. Funny that!
I’ve been dreaming of a beanie.
Not just any beanie ~ but a rainbow striped one, with ear flaps.
It is May and here in the alps we are descending into Persephone’s den of Winter. Dream beanie has been on my heart~horizon for months, but I still hadn’t sighted it, and my ears were starting to get cold.
On the weekend, my love and I went to wander around the Old Bus Depot Markets to eat churros, sample olives (he) and fudge (me) and feast our eyes on all the arts and crafts there. That day happened to be Wool Crafts day ~ a sure sign, I thought, to find my Dream Beanie. Alas, no luck. The closest I came was to a brown ear flapper. My faith wavered, and I thought for a moment about buying it instead as the Universe OBVIOUSLY hadn’t heard my request. I kept thinking “uh HELLO, universe, WHERE’S MY DREAM BEANIE?!?!!”
I wonder how many times I’ve caved before, to buy the not~my~dream~but~close~beanie in my life. I left the markets, faith intact and beanie~less.
A couple of days later I meet two goddesses for magical corn cakes and passionate smoothies for breakfast. As we walk down the street afterwards, arm in arm, my sweet friend gives me a small parcel wrapped in orange tissue paper and string. I feel like Daryl Hannah in Splash – when Tom Hanks gives her a present, she fawns over the box, and tells him she will love that box forever. I felt the same way about that parcel. I didn’t want to open it ~ I just wanted to love it forever, rubbing my hands over the rough paper the colour of autumn leaves, feasting my eyes on the beauty of cream string.
But I open it, and inside is Dream Beanie. She had been waiting for me all along, and was just waiting for the angel to deliver it to me properly.
All I needed was the faith for it to be delivered,
i want you to know what it was like to go to your first shamanic drumming circle.
it was raining, a dark may night.
we turn up early ~ an hour early, i’d gotten the time wrong, so we strolled up and down the street, us and chris and his mum, talking of this and that, sticking our heads into the remaining open shops that smelled of patchouli, plastic tubs of turkey feathers on the shelf.
i want you to remember how we at last entered the circle, smelling strongly of grandfather sage. a man with blue eyes and black boots is the guide.
the circle begins to fill with men and women, black leggings, eyebrow rings, frog shirts, smiling eyes. the guide walks around the circle, introducing himself, hugging each of us, and slowly the circle walks around inside itself, saying our names, hugging each other hello. i decide there that it is the best way to meet someone: to embrace them, to say “lovely to meet you” and to mean it as your heart is pressed against theirs.
then there is talking, and you find yourself thinking: enough with the talking of doing, let’s just do and you grin at your own impatience, staring at the monstrous drum in the middle of the circle meditating out and into your own core the sage smoke takes you there.
we are smudged with a huge wing of eagle and inside my cells i know i am being changed.
the drum begins and a journey into the heart it is heady and hot and smoky and without words. it feels like every part of my body is being smoked out.
and then we all begin drumming on that huge deerskin drum a flute is played around us and i move back from the circle.
the guide plays a didjeridoo, and i close my eyes, and he begins to play it over my chest. my heart begins to beat with the didj music, the layers of pain strip away and there flighting, flying, dancing in my centre is joy and i begin laughing.
there is my joy core. i had been looking for it, wondering where it lived and how it felt since my dear friend D saw it one magical night as we held a rose quartz crystal ball together. there is my joy core.
i lay on the floor afterwards, soaking in the beating of the drum, the sage of past lives, the sacred sounds of a life unravelling to who i wanted to be.
i write you this so you may know it, hear it, feel it again, maybe in twenty years. i don’t know where you’ll be but i know it will be fucking magnificent.