kalilily time

Countdown to Golby's New Moon
It has begun: a woven shield for Mike Golby, the deep serenity of the midnight sky on one side and a vibrancy of colors and textures on the other, symbolizing the balance that one needs in a full and healthy life. Art as ritual. Ritual as art. It's not done yet, and there's much left to be done, so probably not much blogging until then. The good news is that I have a "sorceresses apprentice" conjuring on the West Coast, where she will be able to see about 50 percent of the eclipse that also will happen with the new moon on Monday. She will incorporate that "magical" phenonemon into whatever she contributes to our Mike-centered magic. Blog Sister and Geek Icon Andrea, cybercrone-in-training. Stay tuned. Join in and think of Mike on the New Moon.

Oh yeah, Andrea. We Got Mana! heehee cackle cackle
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The Moon Moves On
While my ritual magic seems to have had some effect on RageBoy, we have yet to know the total result. I believe it will be for his good; I think it already is. He's finding his way through the gate. No need to worry. It will be good. He will be back, better than ever.

In the meanwhile, there's more magic to be done. This time for Mike Golby. He knows it's coming. He's ready. I will be getting ready for the New Moon, which sits dark in the sky on June 10th. New Moon. Dark Moon. Emptiness. The Void that is the beginning.

I will make magic for Mike who waits in darkness half-way around the circle. I will conjure the words that will move the moon. You will see. You will see.
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The Crone goes South Park


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A is for AKMA
I have to admit that clerics are not usually among my favorite people, but over the course of my blogging life, AKMA has continued to earn my respect and admiration (even though sometimes his prose gets a little too intellectual for my preferences). He's able to balance the courage of his convictions with a heartfelt curiosity about how others view the larger issues that shape the convictions of those who populate the rest of the thinking world.

One more reason to like AKMA: he's accepted my humble application and named me Crone in Residence -- Purveyor of Eclectic Mysticism and Rhetorical Ritual at the ubiquitous University of Blogaria. I now can die happy.

Current reason to like AKMA: he's begun a discussion of "identity" -- If nothing else, "identity" serves as a principle of continuity that binds together the cute little baby, the uncouth adolescent lout, the aging-gracefully professor, and (what I hope will be) the white-haired nonagenarian. We customarily talk about this continuity as the subject's identity--who he or she really is.

My ex-husband used to criticize me for being like an onion -- layers upon layers, but nothing at the core. I think, perhaps he saw that "core" as being a person's fundamental identity and the layers being the roles that one plays.

I never agreed with him, although neither have I ever been able to identify what IS at my "core." Publicly and privately, I identify myself as caregiver, cybermom, crone -- dancer, writer, feminist -- activist, spiritual seeker. (notice the "8")

I recently discovered the Kali Yantra:

Like a mantra, a yantra is meant as a focus for meditation. To me, The Kali Yantra "images" my identity, which is the interplay of all of its essesntial pieces.

The square with its four entrance portals represents the boundaries enclosing the meditating self as well as symbolizing the earth element and the material quality of nature. The [notice the 8] lotus petals express the different stages of spiritual expansion. The circle is the symbol of wholeness and the downward pointing triangle represents the seat of feminine energy. (quoted from here)

At the core of my identity -- the essential female energy. But my identity is the whole ever bloomin' thing.
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Ya' gotta luv the guy....
b!X as a South Park character.
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What the....?
Big storms over here last night, growling in from the west. Everywhere but right where I am (where there was hard rain), hail, funnel clouds, lightning at a flash per second. The gates opened. Power drained from the firmament into the earth.

Then I do my usual morning check in and discover RageBoy's posts from last night. (This is where I usually do my heehee cacklecackle, but not this time; this is very serious magic.) Keep on dancin' through the gate, RB. The tribes are with ya'.
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Polyanna or Pronoiac?
Rob Breszny, the non-linear purveyor of reams of abstruse astrological advice is inviting us all to look on the bright side. His recent newsletter makes this announcement:

On my new Web site, which will debut in a few weeks, I will have a section devoted to "Pronoiac News." (Pronoia, for those of you who're new to our community, is the opposite of paranoia. It's the sneaking suspicion that the whole world is conspiring to shower you with blessings.) I invite all of you out there to share with me (and all of us) the interesting, invigorating, intellectually- and emotionally-stimulating pronoiac news that you stumble upon in your travels. Send it to freewillastrology@hotmail.com. ....... Please feel free, too, to take up the cause of zoom and boom as you resist the practitioners of doom and gloom in your own sphere. Let this be our battle cry: WE DEMAND EQUAL TIME FOR NEWS ABOUT REDEMPTION AND INTEGRITY AND JOY AND BEAUTY AND PLEASURE AND RENEWAL AND HARMONY AND LOVE.

And this is his astrology reading for me for this week:
PISCES (Feb. 19-March 20): Your key symbols for the coming days: a night-sea crossing; Jonah in the belly of the whale; a treasure chest dislodged from its hiding place in the earth by a flood. Most reliable source of information: your dreams. Totemic animal: octopus. Special number: 44. Secret password: *superconductor.* Methods for building soul power: taking ritual baths; being naked for hours; singing songs you consider sacred. Inspirational role model: Dante Alighieri on his way out of the Inferno. Pop culture book likely to be most helpful: Joseph Campbell's *Hero with a Thousand Faces.*

Well, I read Campbell's book ages ago. I recently recalled a Motherpeace Tarot reading I had years ago that brought out the eight of discs as the card that reflected my fundamental modus operandi. I remember it as an octopus juggling eight discs. Still sounds about right. Four and four is eight. So far, so good. Ritual baths and getting naked? Well, metaphorically, anyway. Superconductor? Why not. Out of the Inferno? Don't I wish. We'll see about the rest.
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b!X is alive and well (well, alive, anyway) and blogging again.
So, in case you gave up checking in on theonetruebix.com lately, try again. He's re-surfaced. And that's good because now he won't be sending me all those URLs on issues that ought to be blogged. He does a much better job at that anyway.
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Confessions of the Bombshell Barrister
It's Denise Howell's turn on Frank Paynter's hot seat, and she proves just how cool she really is. Go here for the whole Howell scoop as she unpacks her Bag and Baggage.
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Now that's a really good rap
Thanks to a pointer from b!X to this account of a protest in NYC, where
Ten people, including singer Wyclef Jean, were arrested as thousands of teachers and students turned out for a rally to hear hip-hop stars and politicians denounce proposed cuts in New York City school funding......The rally, which police say attracted some 20,000 school children, was organized by the United Federation of Teachers and the Hip Hop Summit Action Network, a group organized by rap impresario Russell Simmons.

Bloomberg and his crew are sooooo clueless about the real impoverished world. Shame, shame on the Big Applelites for electing someone like him as their advocate and leader. Noting the number of students at the rally, Bloomberg spokesman Ed Skyler said he hoped teachers had not allowed students to cut class for the afternoon rally. Like, THIS is the only thing these well-heeled idiots could think of to say? What world do they live in? Good for those teachers who risked standing up and being counted on behalf of their students. Rap. Rap. Rap 'em a good one for me.
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The Other Side of Bombast
Chris Locke shadowdances through the mirror and shows us the other side of Bombast. It's Beauty. Beauty of heart. Again, he has proven himself truly a man for all seasons. Out of the silence, he shares a liberating soulfulness that is always there but not always shared.

I think now of one of the most influential books (for me) that I've ever read: Rollo May's The Courage to Create. The courage to share a deep and authentic humanity.

(And, who is to say but that our little ritual didn't contribute to this open-handed offering, this RageBoy resurrection. heehee cacklecackle.) The Crone is not done yet. Mike Golby, get ready for some major Crone magic.
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Testing....Testing.....Testing
If I periodically say things that remind b!X from whence he came, rest assured that he returns the favor. He emailed the link to this article about, well, in his own words, Nice fuck up with the Regents exam censoring/sanitizing passages from other people's writings in order to not "offend" any test-takers.

Ah yes, the New York State Board of Regents and their infamous statewide assessments. One of the major pieces that I left out of "the story of my life as told to Frank Paynter in five emails" was my 20-year career with the NY State Education Department, three of which were spent deeply immersed in promoting the "school improvement" agenda of the New York State Board of Regents. I did everything from write brochure copy, manuals and "town meeting" type video scripts (read "propaganda") to actually going into schools to help the teachers and administrators figure out how to improve their teaching strategies so that more kids could pass the statewide exams (read "propaganda"). Yes, I sold out. For the salary and the benefits, the promise of being able to retire at 62 and live relatively comfortably -- oh yeah, I spun their straw into gold. Or rather, gold plate. Gold plate that peels off very quickly and reveals some very flimsy, old, stale straw.

Interestingly enough, the woman quoted in article, Rosanne DeFabio, was my Team Leader's boss back then. She was the standard-bearer for the work that we did. Carefully coiffed and spoken, traditionally classy and well-mannered, Rosanne has never taught in a public school; her teaching background is in Catholic schools. So I was not surprised to read the following in the newspaper account:

Roseanne DeFabio, the Education Department's assistant commissioner for curriculum, instruction and assessment, said Friday, "We do shorten the passages and alter the passages to make them suitable for testing situations." The changes are made to satisfy the sensitivity guidelines the department uses, so no one will be "uncomfortable in a testing situation," she said. "Even the most wonderful writers don't write literature for children to take on a test." DeFabio said that, as a result of an objection recently received from an author, the department had decided to use ellipses in future exams. She also said that she thought it worthwhile that the department consider marking passages that are altered, but she did not feel it was necessary to ask the permission of authors to change their work.

One of the objections came from one of my favorite authors, Annie Dillard, who, according to the news report, wrote the following in a letter to the Commissioner of Education: "What could be the purpose of an exercise testing students on such a lacerated passage - one which, finally, is neither mine nor true to my lived experience." As explained in the news article, When they read a passage from Annie Dillard's memoir "An American Childhood," gone were any racial references from a description of her childhood trips to a library in a black section where she was one of the only white visitors.

Keep in mind, now, that the New York State Educational system is considered a leader in setting standards for learning and providing statewide tests to assess whether or not kids are learning up to those standards. (I even worked on some of the standards-setting documents.) On the surface this sounds great. Legislators who have to vote on how much money to give schools love it. Parents who want to see high marks on report cards love it. But guess what. It doesn't work. It doesn't work because of just the kind of manipulation of learning and testing that the news article reports. It doesn't work because it's not based on what makes kids want to learn, love to learn. It doesn't work because teachers teach to the test. It doesn't work because kids don't wind up with a love of learning; rather they wind up with just the opposite -- and with headaches and stomach aches from pressures imposed on them by both schools and parents to make sure that they pass the tests.

Well, I couldn't say all of this then, but I sure can say it now. My retirement checks come from the State and not from the Department. They can't fire me now.

P.S. I didn't hang in there all of those years just for the money and security, really. I considered myself an infiltrator, a wolf in sheep's clothing. I was trying to change the system from within. When I went into schools I tried to begin showing them the truth, I began conversations, I listened. In many ways I was beginning to apply the Cluetrain philosophies and Chris Locke's Gonzo Marketing approach to the education market. But that was long before the Cluetrain guys came on the scene. I had no models. I was winging it. And that's what made it fun. I remember I began one speech that I gave to the New York State Reading Association with the lyrics from Concrete Blonde's song (originally by Leonard Cohen) from the movie Pump Up the Volume. "Everybody knows the dice are loaded..." I told them to "Talk Hard." To tell the truth. To listen to what the kids are saying. To watch MTV. I expected that I would never be asked to speak to them again. Not true. They loved it. They loved that someone from that big bureaucracy came and used an authentic voice. But one voice is not enough, no matter how hard or true.
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If we don't laugh, we're going to cry
Got this from Tish. And this on the same site. Grab a cup of coffee and spend an hour letting Mark Fiore's repertoire make you smile.
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The Intoxicating Fragrance of Pesto
Well, I think this mindmeld with Halley has gone a little too far. Now RageBoy is personally promoting -- by wearing -- Isabella Rosselini's new basil-based scent, Manifesto. Listen, RB, I've got this great patch of basil growing full tilt out here in my grave-sized garden. I'll blender you up a batch and save you a lot of money.
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It's our fault but we don't care.
Or so Dubya seems to be saying as a response to a national report in which, according to the NY Times, the administration for the first time mostly blames human actions for recent global warming. It says the main culprit is the burning of fossil fuels that send heat-trapping greenhouse gases into the atmosphere.

See b!X's post on this issue for the big absurd picture of the new ugly American: .......here they are (not that their self-interested hypocrisy should come as any surprise at this point) responding to the rest of the world's pleas for the U.S. to get with the program and protect the entire globe from the threat of global warming by telling them to go to man-made Hell.

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Amused by the Muse
When a wolf shows up, it is time to breathe new life into your life rituals. Find a new path, take a new journey, take control of your life. You are the governor of your life. You create it and direct it. Do so with harmony and discipline, and then you will know the true spirit of freedom.

RageBoy wanders back alleys in search of his wolf and turns around to find his Muse instead. Except that she's it. She's she -- the wolf in muse clothing. Like dreams, muses sometimes play with misdirection, take the words we know so well and turn them inside out. And then maybe we notice that the muse is hiding behind a mirror etched with the eyes of a wolf. And we look into those eyes and know.

Writers are always in search of their muse. Jennifer Balderama, off to Paris and beyond, is figuring that she needs to re-acquaint herself with hers. Needs to re-think how she writes fiction. Needs to get less structured, more sloppy. Her mirror image, maybe. I wonder if she's going to be out of the country -- and without her laptop, too -- when Frank Paynter's interview with Denise Howell hits Blogaria. Maybe he can reveal Jennifer next.

I haven't written any poetry for a long while. That muse seems to have gone on an extended vacation. Maybe Jennifer will run into her in Paris. Instead, a blogging muse has taken her place. She looks like a faerie and needs lots of attention.
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let it rain, rain, rain
save me from myself again
wash away my ugly sins
opposing thumb, dorsal fin
that monkey died for my grin
bring my happy back again
let it rain, rain, rain
bring my happy back again
--- REM, "Lotus"

I dreamed last night that I lost my thumb.
It was the thumb on my right hand, and I didn't lose it; it broke off somehow but I never felt it happen. All of a sudden I looked at my hand and the joint where my thumb would have been attached looked like a chicken joint looks when you cut off the appendage. It didn't hurt, but seeing it missing triggered such a wave of panic and sadness and loss that I started crying uncontrollably (in my deam, that is). In the dream, my mother was there and tried to console me, but she was powerless to do so. And it was not her comfort that I wanted. Someone else's. Whose?

I moved out of the REM sleep, waking up to thoughts of Sissy Hankshow in Even Cowgirls Get the Blues (great novel, btw; terrible movie). The benefits of the opposable thumb.

I told my mother about the dream, and, in typical good-Catholic-with-leftover-old-country-superstitions, she immediately went to consult an expert, to find out what the accepted "dogma" is. In this case, she consulted her book on The Classic 1000 Dreams, which said: To dream that you have injured your thumb indicates that you will shortly be in a serious quandary. You will have to choose between giving offence to someone whom it would pay you to please, and making yourself look ridiculous in the eyes of your acquaintances. Hmmm.

bIX once posted (long ago, in some other weblog at some other point in his life when he was actually posting) that dreams are the garbage dump of the brain. But I think dreams are important messages from our unconsious, from the oracles of our spirits: "pay attention, think about this" they say in their language of misdirection. But there is a message here somewhere in my missing thumb. I'm still trying to figure it out.

it's not that the transparency
of her earlier incarnations
now looked back on, weren't rich
and loaded with beautiful vulnerability
and now she knows.

now is greater
and she knows that

she just wants to be somewhere
she just wants to be
She just wants to be somewhere
she just wants to be
---- REM, "She Just Wants to Be"
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