Tuesday, May 31, 2011

6:27 with George & John

Enchanting Sunset Mists
Laguna, California

Somewhat greater enchantment by these magical mists is available for the receiving...
Just click anywhere on the photo... G'head! Might "set" yer mood for this one... (^_^)


If what we think is who we are
Then what we're thinking here so far got us to here
So, mine what is in our minds
Grateful for the call that binds us to be near


Yes, something's happened
This is clear

Veils are parting
And we hear the heavens sing
Channeled through the mists above
"Come together now with love in everything!"


It's so real, to unreal
Then back again
Reality unfolds in our dreams
So mystically magical
And tantalizingly practical


From within to the without
It's in play without a doubt as we evolve
Insular to tribes redone
Tending each and everyone with full resolve


Yes, we're changing, re-arranging
Shifting paradigms
Embracing new and old to find our way 
To better times . . . again


It's so unreal, back to real
Then back again
Dreams come true in ways we never dreamed
So mystically magical
And tantalizing practical


Yes, well, something's happened
This is clear

Veils are parting
And we hear the heavens ring
There's shouting from the mists above
"Come together now, in love, for everything!
Please, come together
~ right now ~
with love for every thing."


If what we think is who we are
Then what we're thinking here, so far, got us to here
Let's mine what is in our minds
Grateful for the call that binds us. . . 


~*         ~*        ~*        ~*

C'mon . . . C'mon!

 Let's light this candle called 3rd Rock . . . 
Light her with our Tenacity, our Courage, our GoodHumor
our Love, and an Abundance of HumanKINDness <3


Sunday, May 29, 2011

Remembering an Officer and a Gentleman

Photo Credit: Joey Vugalari


Rest in Peace (or Party on Dad ;-) Blessed Peacemaker
Arlington National Cemetery
December 13, 2010

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

Alden was a wise one, he gave us sage advice...
"Don't tease water buffalo and always use fresh ice,
Be good to your mother, show respect for self,
Clean edges and corners then the middle takes care of itself.

Read all the directions, rise to see the dawn,
Get back on that horse, know when to sacrifice your pawn,
   Give to children roots and wings, dance (just because),
Pets are our family, and don't regret what was..."

Alden died quite peacefully, on my birthday.
Told my mom, "I love you," then went to sleep to stay.
When the grief descends on me, I hear his wise voice say,
"Treat it like a sore throat, and it'll go away."

Oh, Alden, if there's just one thing I hope you hear me say...
I'm Daddy's Girl forever, your love is here to stay.


~*        ~*        ~*        ~*        ~*

Memo to Colonel Alden Dale, USAF (Ret.) of Starbase Orion's Belt
1. Memorial Day has taken on a whole new meaning for many, because of you, Dear Sir.
2. Course set... Goin' to Mach 1   ;-)

xoxox

Lovely Visits

Helen
Long may you Light & Weave our Souls
xoxox

Since you've been gone 
I've been dreaming my dear
of parties and of parades

And you're frequently there
in a natural state
where's it's casually,
 comfortably getting late

As I flow in the waves
of the ripples you leave
in the fabric of souls
you've chosen to weave
in your Life

~*        ~*        ~*

In Tender Memory of a Divinely Feminine, Consciously Co-Creative Comrade-in-Spirit 




During three decades of living in the City of Angels, I've heard coyotes howl from the canyons just once...
it was at the moment this Bright Light was laid to the Earth in final rest.

Although that was almost 18 years ago, if I close my eyes and sit still... I can still hear them.

She subsequently "visited" my dreams (and those of others, I don't doubt) for about two weeks running...
appropriate for a woman who was always a Heavenly Hostess.


With great love and appreciation to Helen's daughter
for sharing the photo, and for her sustained friendship.


Thursday, May 26, 2011

Bringing Up HumanKind...?

Photo credit: Google Images
Katharine Hepburn, Cary Grant & Baby
in Bringing Up BabyRKO 1938


(With apologies to "Professor David Huxley") 
When humanity is wrestling its climate, 
facing down converging crises largely of our making, 
we're in no position to run.

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

Knockin' on Heaven's Door

Photo credit: Google Images

;-)


So, yeah... Bob Dylan turned 70 today. I heard about it a lot during my drive-time home, while listening (like I do) to KPFK ~ 90.7 on the FM dial here in the City of Angels and surrounding areas (and, yes, this is a shameless plea to program it into your radios, or listen on-line via the handy link provided in the Root Cellar of this blog, or even better become a subscriber to this fiercely independent, jewel of a publicly funded radio station) ~ but still... I hadn't planned to write about Mr. Dylan's natal observation. (Full disclosure, I haven't planned much of anything I'm doing on Pollyanna Grounding so far, it just kind of... happens I suppose, and is happening right now, obviously.) Anyway....

I was just now dialoguing with some girlfriends about the latest rash of tornadoes pummeling parts of America ~ really nasty ones these, like the kind that come around every, 50, or 100, or 357 (etc.) years, irregardless of humanity's obvious influence on the all-important carbon parts per million ~ and praying for those whose lives have been torn asunder, hoping they find shelter, comfort, hope, a safe a caring place to grieve...

And then, in my head, I heard Mr. Dylan singing "Knock knock knockin' on Heaven's Door" and something (someone?) told me to post the song (Note: I found a really super rendition for this post, too, where he was joined by Roger McGuinn and Joan Baez... but the video was was blocked by the "Web Police" within a day of posting *sheesh!* ~ apparently pulled from the interwebs even [Happy Bob's Birthday to his fans?] ~ and I've substituted the above photo of Mr. Zimmerman's original 45 ;-)  And then another voice in my head said, "What? You just wrote about Harvey Milk. Why write back-to-back about personal heroes, even if for different reasons and experiences related to them? Not."

But then a sweet feeling came over me ~ and it's macabre that it felt sweet because, I mean, c'mon... death and destruction from tornadoes are not sweet ~ but the sweetness, the sweetness of souls passed and ascending to heaven must be, certainly, preferable to the infliction of fierce winds ripping their very bodies from their spirits.

What's to learn from this? Why do I feel compelled to ponder the relationship, as prompted by a song, between a rockstar's birthday and mass deaths by a tragic weather event? I'm not sure I know, yet. And that tornadoes pummeled Joplin on Bob's birthday, especially in the context of a song that struck my heart hard tonight, just seems... I don't know. Wickedly poignant? Or was it, maybe perhaps, blessedly poignant...?

I mean, if it was, as the proverbial "they" says, "their time" to go, then perhaps those 130+ brothers and sisters of 3rd Rock who transcended our plane today from just that one city ~ as part of one catastrophical event ~ well, is it feasibly less of a jolt to the collective, localized energetic system that, under the circumstance, at least they got to make the approach to knock on Heaven's Door with a group? Would that idea bring comfort, maybe even in some small way, to those left behind? Does that make it any easier for anyone to die, say, than drowned in too much booze and heroine, alone in a hotel room far from a place that used to be home (Janis...)?

Which all but begs the question: Is it the notion of what they believe to be a Divinely-coordinated group-passing that appeals to those (who are also our brothers and sisters) of the eschatalogical Camping camp? Are they rendered by their pastor to be so afraid of living ~ living as they do in their own mass-manipulated fear of God's wrath in whatever ways ~ that they choose by their Free Will to not share God's Love here, unless it's with other members of the gene-pool who entertain and nurture themselves in spiritual practices of identical dogma, with shared charitable causes? (Note to self: Check into Camping's charitable causes ;-)  Is it possible that their souls are silently screaming out to be taken Home in one big group (rescheduling it, and rescheduling it, and rescheduling it) ~ while shouting "DOOM!"through bullhorns  to pedestrians and motorists at busy intersections spotted throughout the land ~ the better perhaps to cope, at a group soul level, during what must be one heckuva mutlidimensional transition into what I believe is Pure, Essential, Eternal Love?

My questions just seem to keep leading to more questions.  This path's course could wander quite awhile, I expect, so I'll ease back on it because I'm tired. Bone tired in a really good way actually. Tired from living so much and so well on good balance today. And thankful. Thankful for it all. For my family, my friends, for the 1,000+ reads of this blog in over two dozen countries in less than three weeks (oh my goodness, THANK YOU!), for a job that affords a cozy enough life to share with others, for the deliciously comfortable bed that awaits me when I'm ready to fall into it and let its warm yumminess envelope me...

And ~ perhaps of course ~ it now occurs to me, a massive earthquake could strike the San Andreas at any minute, and in this moment that's okay. If that should happen, and it's so bad that it takes out me, my family, my dog and cats... I find in this moment that, yeah. I would. I would, macabre as it may sound (perhaps even to myself after sleeping on the idea), find some comfort in sticking with my group. (Or maybe that's just the tired talking...?)
          Aside to the Creator: Not that I should tempt Fate.  My main plan, as we have discussed, is that I live in the reflection of your Grace to be a very old lady, then pass as pleasantly and happily as I can with dear ones near. I'm very happy to stick with that, should it please You to do the same... Namaste.

So, yeah... that kind of brings it back to Bob, because I do hope for him a similar plan ~ to live to be a still much older man, should that please him. And so (I can hardly believe I'm stringing these thoughts into the same paragraph, but here goes): Happy 70th Birthday, Bob. Thanks for the music, for the Attitude, for the courage to be weird and profound... May the next round of your life here extend to you as many good times and freedom of mind as you've given all of us put together. And Godspeed to the Joplinites who travelled today to Heaven's Door... May it open wide for them, with a host of angels to welcome them Home.

~*        ~*        ~*        ~*        ~*        ~*        ~*

"TORNADOS LEAD US... The convection worsens, the sky spinning where passenger pigeons & buffalo & teeming life are replaced by cars tossed over the tops of houses. The Earth leads us now. What would a human leader say in a speech? She/he might sound like a surreal poet, trying to find a way back to life." ~ Rev. Billy, The Church of Earthlajuah

Sunday, May 22, 2011

Thanks, Harvey

Harvey Bernard Milk
May 22, 1930 – November 27, 1978
Photo credit: Harvey Milk Foundation
Once upon a time, there was a kind and brave man, Harvey Milk, who believed that the identifying characteristics of the genitalia affixed to the person we love and seek to commit our lives to ~ or whether we wheel in a chair or use a white cane, and especially if we're functionally ambulant and sighted ~ shouldn't be of import when it comes to fighting for and asserting our social and civil rights as human beings on this shared planet. And certainly such things shouldn't matter when it comes to fighting the good fight for the benefit of the very citizenry where we live.

Harvey left the constraints of a still-somewhat homophobic New York City in 1972 to become a resident of the infamous Castro District in San Francisco, where he found a pocket of relatively safe freedom to establish a life as an openly gay businessman, opening and operating Castro Camera, a place that quickly became known as a gathering spot ~ a haven for lots of laughter, and some tears no doubt ~ where friends and strangers-who-would-become-friends engaged in smart conversation about life and the state of things as they were then and how they could be.

But still ~ even in The Castro, where the openly S&M crowd met and mingled with the secretly homosexual, and questioning momma's boys ~ Harvey witnessed and experienced the brutal blows of bigotry, hate and injustice from anti-gay factions within the neighborhood and throughout the city. He astutely realized that the best way to fight back against the power structure was to get inside it, and although no openly gay person had ever been elected to office in California, nothing was going to stop Harvey's hope ("Ya gotta give 'em hope!").  So he did what any motivated mensch would do: He got out into his community and started educating and organizing.

From the young to the old, to the dog lover and the dog (poop) hater, he was readily beloved by those who knew him... except for those whose hearts were (and sadly, some still are) hard to his message of Oneness, of one humanity in it together, helping each other up the mountain to enjoy the view as a co-operative and creative community, instead of aggressively pushing each other out of the way to get to the apex and claim it for ourself. Even though a good many were against him, it didn't matter if you were female, gay, disabled, minority, elderly, whatever, Harvey was in there swinging for the rights of humanKind at large, channeling the anger and pain inflicted by bigotry, hate and injustice into constructive engagement and action. And if someone was swinging soundbites and slurs at him, he'd do that common sense verbal jujitsu that many great and true men of the common people have, and sway countless opponents and would-be opponents to his point of view.

Still, it wasn't a cakewalk. He suffered multiple losses, both personal and electoral, in his battles for social recognition and political empowerment. But he kept on, and he kept recruiting others to fight with and for him. He even ventured directly into openly hostile, conservative communities to speak in debates and public forums as a human being to a human being, winning supporters along the way with his charisma and heart and tenacity until, in 1977, he garnered the title of "First Openly Gay Man" to receive an office at the behest of California's voters, on whose behalf (and particularly for the disenfranchised) he kept fighting some more until...

The "Twinkie" eating shooter. Milk colleague Dan White's sanity cracked, and in bold daylight he shot dead both Harvey and San Francisco's Mayor, George Moscone. Bright light extinguished... but only in body. Harvey's soul? It soars around and through us, encouraging and calling all to action who will hear his timeless messages of social equality and justice.

Thirty-three years later ~ like a civically liberating Obi-Wan for our time ~ Harvey's spirit has only grown stronger.  Since his death, the rare open mention of openly gay artists like kd lang quickly (in the scope of humanity's timeline) went mainstream with the appearance of an over-the-moon-happy photo from Ellen and Portia's wedding on the August 19, 2008 cover of "People" magazine. A radiant Bride and her radiant Bride actually waltzed through America's supermarket check-out stands and into our hearts. On first seeing that cover, I thought again of Milk, grateful to his influence in getting us this far.

Detail from "Love"
by Guillermo Alonso
Harvey demonstrated a commitment to what the world needs NOW, by his trailblazing examples of the power of love-sweet-multiversal-love in action on behalf of the socially marginalized. Oh sure, love won't feed people, but it might motivate us to donate to a food bank or volunteer on a food line. It won't house people, but it might put us in the mind of finding ways to help a local homeless shelter. It won't clothe people, but we can donate some of those never or rarely worn clothes stuffed in our closets and drawers to any number of charities. It won't save people's physical lives (in a direct way, anyway), but we can donate our blood to make sure someone's physical life can be saved. And, of course, love alone won't guarantee that people can be wed in the eyes of the law (as very distinct from the eyes of God) regardless of race or gender... but it might put us in the mind of helping to make sure that they can be wed. (I mean, really, are straight people doing such a generally great job protecting the institutions of marriage and family, given the overflowing dockets in family and juvenile courts? Not! But I'll not address that worthy subject here, because it's definitely a whole other field of worms, and this is about Harvey.)

So, yeah... Thanks, Milk. I got you, alright. Thank you for standing up, shouting out, sticking your neck out... Thank you for living life so out loud that roughly two generations on from your assassination by a homophobe ~ about the same amount of time that the Lord had Moses out wandering with his tribe in the desert (the better to adjust to their newfound freedom, as my wise soul-sister-in-law once told me) ~ that men and women, slowly but surely, are actually earning the right to marry the prince or the princess, the pauper or the baglady. We all deserve love ~ truly, I believe it's our Birthright ~ and when we find it with someone who's ready to stay with us through thick and thin, committed 'til the end of breaths to grow with us through the pain and celebrate with us through joys, to witness and honor our life in reflection of the best of what we can bring to life... it really shouldn't matter what's between our legs, no...?

Rest in peace, Harvey... or party like the Hendrix equivalent of a political rockstar that you are, on this day that would've been your 81st birthday (and oh, wouldn't that have been a ball!). Whatever, whenever, wherever, your legacy will keep inspiring us, and we'll keep giving 'em (and each other) hope.

Saturday, May 21, 2011

With Apologies to Lerner and Loewe

Illustration credit: Google Images


Sung to the tune of "I'm Getting Married in the Morning" 
from My Fair Lady


There's just a few more hours, that's all the time they've left
A few more hours, before they all get swept...

Oh, they're getting swept up in the EVEning!
Ding dong the Earth is gonna chime!
Untie yer Pale Horse! They've ridden their course,
So get them Raptured up on time!

When they are flying, don't shoot 'em down,
Cuz we are shooing fanatics from our towns!

Oh, they're getting swept up in the EVEning!
Ding dong the Earth is gonna chime!
Untie yer Pale Horse! They've ridden their course,
So get them Raptured up, get them Raptured up
For Earth's sake get them Raptured uuuuuup
On tiiiiiiiiiiiime!

~*        ~*        ~*

Thank you, Harold Camping and similarly-minded extreme religious fanatics. 
While I pray for healing of the untold pain your fervent beliefs have inflicted on your families & communities
...you've unquestionably helped me and my friends to party like it's 2013.

Friday, May 20, 2011

Let Go, Let Dog

Photo credit: Joey Vugalari
Cupcake the Flying WonderTerrier
There is no way to repel the boundless happy energy
available from this portrait.  Resistance is futile.
(Which, in this case, is a Very Good Thing.)


Dog is my co-pilot, my WingMan. Always there with adoring eyes, ever present in faith and love, perpetually watchful of our security, and available to share ~ with wholly present soulful reflection and innate understanding ~ any serenity (or sadness) on a moment's notice.

Indeed, would it not do us all some good in these (or any) times to take a lesson or two...? 


~*          ~*          ~*          ~*          ~*          ~*          ~*          ~*


Bound in delight, with wagging tails, to greet our dear ones each time they come through the door.


                                                             Take lots of naps.


When someone's hard in our faces, bothering us bigtime, and we feel like we want to bite them, offer warning growls to give them a chance to back off... 


It's great fun to play with simple toys like balls and sticks... 
but not if someone's getting hurt by them 
(and if that happens, spring into action to help).  


Wiggle. A lot.

Do goofy things that make others smile and laugh.


Regard our dear ones with warm eyes filled with love.


Drop and roll in joy, for no reason but to do it.














How will you Let Go, Let Dog today...?

Thursday, May 19, 2011

Forgetting to Hate

There's no time like the present
to start loving each other
a lil'bit more, a lil'bit more...
A friend said something this morning I found quite clever: "I hate when I forget what to hate." Simple. Deep. Witty. (I love that! Plus, so typical of him ;-)


Like a big spark hitting tinder, this one sentence of hearts-afire thought lit inside me what feels like a Bonfire of Realization... If, as I presently believe, the Creator and a multiversal multitude of benevolent spirits speak to us in metaphor and actively work with us in a balancing act of Life's expressions (i.e., male/female, dark/light, sad/happy), then perhaps...


Hate "exists" to teach us the importance of remembering Love, sweet multiversal Love. 


Even the very notion of considering this possibly obvious and powerful conclusion as Truth gets me to imagining that we're all taking a consciously present, collective moment to envision ourselves being steeped in Love (I'll take ginger and honey in mine, thank you), so much so that it's less (or not even!) necessary for us to have any hate in our hearts. Let's envision the pockets of hate that are tucked away like dirty secrets in the very fiber and marrow of our bodies ~ creating dis-ease in untold and unfortunate ways ~ are melting away like winter's snow exposed to rays of spring's sun.


So... my morning prayer on this blessed day is that we all do what we can today ~ right now would be good ~ to share So Much Love that we simply forget that there is anything else but to do, any other way but to behave.  


Believe on, carry on, and keep on keepin' on!

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Back to Our Old Apple Tree

Photo credit: NASA















Spread wide in sublimation

       Inside deep symbolic drifts

              In absence of all reason

                     Surge unsettling psychic shifts

                           The jigsaw of creation

                                   Forms an ever changing game

                                             Dimensions not encountered

                                                         Yet familiar all the same

                                        

With rules not comprehended

     Yet deeply understood

          That love will guide the pieces

               To a higher good


Eve spread 'em wide for Adam

       As the cosmic Eden burst

              Angels came on meteors

                     Saying prayers that they'd be first

                            Knowing they would encounter

                                   The Devils of the Highlands

                                          Fighting for our creation

                                                 A showdown in the Badlands



With rules not comprehended

     Yet deeply understood

          That love will guide the players

              To a higher good


Now my dear I will reveal


       Such are things I think and feel

              Sometimes when you wake at night

                     Kiss my hair and hold me tight

                              I pray that you soar with me

                                     Back to our old apple tree




We'll recreate what's meant to be

Under our sweet apple tree

The shade is oh so heavenly

There's all we need for you and me

We'll settle there, eternally



With rules not comprehended

Yet deeply understood

That love will guide us home again

To a higher good









A Peek Into the Kinda Wayback Machine

Whooooo are youuuuuu....?
I spelunked an old notebook during yesterday's very blustery evening in this City of Angels ~ caressing and turning its soft-worn pages, enjoying the warmth of penciled words from times gone by ~ and discovered within it a small reservoir lit with rediscovery and reaffirmation, in the form of a small collection of poems from about fifteen years back, which I'd wholly forgotten about and doubt I've re-read since recording them, until last night.

It was kind of curious, actually. For one, I had no memory of writing them. Full stop. Although I'm 1,000 percent certain they're written in my own hand (tangentially, as a big bonus, my sweet and then-little artist-girl doodled all over them.)
And slightly unsettling, too, this realization of having No Recollection of composing them, because it's not like I am or was a pill-popping drunk who managed to write while suffering blackouts (well, except for that lil'phase while under the tutelage of the University of California, but, you know... it was the 70's.)

Whatever... somewhere, somehow, in the middle of the mindblast that was mothering a then-preschooler, working full time in a stressful office job, paying bills, doing housework, not eating well or exercising enough, getting sick a lot, and trying to figure out who the heck I was and who I was married to anymore (a common parenting phase, in my experience), I actually managed to find some self-time for reflection and writing.  Miracles do happen, even if you might have zero remembrance of them.

The other curious thing was finding how gracefully these 'til-last-night-tucked-away-and-forgotten inscribings synchronistically, serendipitously complement and reflect what I regard as a mission of Pollyanna Grounding's emissions: Spreading Light and Love around 3rd Rock. Giving it. Showing it. Living it. Glowing it. Singing it. Taking it. Bringing it. Making it. Tending it. Sharing it. Blending it. Daring it...

Photo Credit: Joey Vugalari
Punchbowl o'er my shoulder
makes me happy...
As I return to writing with a passion not felt since the dazy days of young adulthood on this particular plane, coming upon the old verses last night co-incidentally revealed (and supported) a clarifying consistency in expression of my basic life philosophies, articulated through poetry, that literary sphynx of illumination for the ages. I guess it shouldn't be a surprise to see such synchronicity manifested, given the universal notion that opening doors and windows of opportunity generally leads to paths of opportunity (which lead to more doors and windows to open). Rediscovering these poems in particular was like settling in and grounding to a comforting, rock-solid ledge within my sense of internal stability.... a safe place from which to observe ~ and engage as I choose (or when I must) ~ the seismically shifting sands of our present times.

Anyway... as I revisited within an old notebook an aspect of myself that I thought I'd forgotten existed at the time, Hub cradled his iPad, noodling with a rhythm strumming app he'd found. He improvised a beatnik-style accompaniment while I read aloud, and a nook in the corner of our warm and cozy living room spontaneously sprouted into our own private poetry jam (much mo' sweet and juicy than a "slam").  So, yeah... now we won't be able to say we've never done that (with snaps to my main man for finding ways to keep it fresh after thirty years).

In reflection, it was Johnny Mathis Wonderful Wonderful. And I gotta give a big ShoutOut and ThankU to Life as I count the enormous blessing that such moments, dripping in sensuality, actually result in my life. I'm sure that if I had only just met my husband, my heart would be skipping and pounding in anticipation for his phone number to pop up into my ringing cell phone's screen (or for his friend request to come in on fb, or to get an email... probably not a fax... though, come to think of it, that'd be real hoot). Unquestionably, last night I found romance and restoration in re-experiencing my own words ~ inspired aloud to the beatnik beat of a dear one ~ in the process becoming reinvigorated and refreshed through re-steeping in once-upon-a-ponderings spoken anew.


Photo credit: Google Images
MAD about the Professor...!
Everything old really is new again.

And I'm reminded now, again, of that Einstein quote about play being the highest form of research. One corollary, I'll take a gander, is that research is the highest form of play, and its apex is that place where the examiner reaches a suprasexual state of synergistic, vocational arousal ~ asking questions, checking facts, wondering while wandering in a direction that points to an answer that's in alignment with our own soul's compass ~ a state of flow where connecting the dots leads to answers that have a habit of revealing larger questions that, in their turn, beckon more exploration.  

Similarly, in recent years, I keep hearing from wise spiritual guides of the value in questioning what we think ~ to fact-check (and heart-check) our beliefs as we can ~ the better to live an authentic life for our own self.  In recent hours, rediscovering aspects of myself I thought I'd forgotten (but who are nonetheless intimately familiar) is like documenting corroborating sources that support the authenticity of my own soul's journey, whatever it is, and wherever it's leading.

And wherever that is ~ day or night ~ I can look to the area of Orion's belt and ask my Daddy's star, Alden Dale, "Set the course, Colonel?" Now more than ever, I know to trust my heart when I hear his rich warm voice answer with a big ol' smile infused through it, "You bet, Kid. You bet."

Sunday, May 15, 2011

It Was Only a Matter of Time...


...before the Snark-the-Royal-Wedding internet meme roared beyond a feline (or other mocking creature) absurdly and obviously digitized atop a princess's hat, as if exiting through it..."Can I haz Couture?"

During the latter part of this week, in a tantalizing tangent to the Bea-hat's randy roar that echoed in the wake of Kate and Will's nuptials, multiple girlfriends of a certain age (myself included) enthusiastically shared around a cheeky webgrab featuring Will's Aunt Fergie's daughters next to the Disney-fied Ugly Step-Sisters... with their dresses clearly in the same colors.


How cool was THAT?!


A rush of speculation ensued via social network posts, shared like squawking little birds blown through the ether, tweeting about and landing on facebook walls. Not unlike a mainstream media-hound seizing on a James O'Keefe video, I enthusiastically jumped in with wild, wide-eyed wonderings... Did Beatrice's and Eugenie's stylist have it in for them? Were they were that clueless? Or perhaps did they do it on purpose... which, if so, would beg the question: Was Kate in on the joke...?


And then a girlfriend did what I wish I'd thought of first.  She fact-checked the picture. The colors of the Disney step-sisters' dresses had been changed to match those of the real-life prince-cousins. Our furiously fanned fairytale fantasies had been Breitbarted by a seemingly frivolous meme (one which, admittedly, is planted in this blog in service of pitching my shameless admiration for The Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster).  


Why and how did I let myself be duped by a cleverly ridiculous photo-prank on two style-challenged royals?  Am I not a more discerning internet consumer than someone who would be so readily, willingly fooled by such a retrospectively obvious joke, particularly when the truth can be really easily verified by multiple sources?  Was I overly enchanted by the idea that this could actually happen ~ truth being not a stranger to being stranger than fiction ~ that I just flat fell for it and passed it on?  And why would I and a good many other usually smart women give a care, when a multitude of other looming matters beg our attention, truly vital issues of war, torture, food safety and supply, the corporate-crony chokehold on our constitutionally derived democracy, on and on and on... Why do we permit this cultural distraction of princess weddings and royal snarks, when so many more important things in the world are desperately deserving of our collective time and urgent cooperative action? 


I can't postulate for anyone in the UK or for other of the Queen's subjects throughout the world, but speaking as an American female fiftysomething:  Our childhood fantasies were guided by common cultural markers of idolized young womanhood, and highly exalted amongst those are the sweet sirens that comprised the coterie of Disney's perky, peppy, perfectly exquisite "princess" heroines.  One after another, commoner or already-royal, they found ~ and represented that, some day, we too would find ~ true love and the promise of living happily ever after with a generically stoic, strong and handsome prince. Such a conditioning may explain to some extent why (in particular) the (female contingency of the) national heirs of my country's citizenry ~ who long ago rebelled against a King to establish this nation purposefully absent of royals ~ would go to some extent culturally ga-ga for fairytale-come-true commoner-to-royal weddings.  (Well, some credit must go to the hats, too.)  


It may be one massive rationalization, but perhaps we were somewhat culturally programmed to see, in that viscerally-stirring Cinderella-n-Steps quad-graphic in my fb feed, our latent princess dreams come true. We saw the catlike, gorgeous Kate, wearing a dress not entirely dissimilar to that of Disney's Cinderella, on the arm of her Prince Will, on whose traditional royal attire the cartoon prince's costuming was indubitably fashioned by Walt's animators... with the delivered the added punch of some feline-scratched fever vis a vis bagging on the "Ugly" Cousins-in-Law. MeOw.


From Snow White to Sleeping Beauty to Cinderella, generations of women (regardless of our inclinations on the sexual spectrum, which have only in recent years been a topic of relatively open discussion) derive encouragement from the idea that our prince could be just a song or dance away, and he will hold us in esteem higher than any other fair maiden no doubt copiously available to him (should he desire, which he won't as soon as he sees us).  Consciously and subliminally, we anticipate his discovery of us in the woods or tower, coming any minute around the bend on his white horse, so much so that we, the flower girls of the 60's and 70's ~ even many of those among us who are the potential philosophical heirs to the hippie chicks of the Haight ~ grew up to be moms who facilitated the proliferation of Disney stores in major malls (though, to our credit, we did break some barriers by breastfeeding in them).  We'd dressed-up our Barbies as princesses, and by golly if we didn't end up marrying up happily-ever-after with a royal (or a wealthy magnate) we were going to dress-up our daughters like Barbie'd princesses who might someday themselves....


And then came what for me was a big breakthrough in the Disney princess parade: Pocahontas.  I remember the glee in my partially Native American heart when our daughter first watched that particular video (which it was, actually, then), and about a third of the way into it she turned to me and asked with some cognitive dissonance resonating in her voice and on her face, "When does the prince show up?" Oh, the gratitude I felt to Disney for finally breaking through with a story about a strong female from one of my ancestral nooks of America's woods who didn't need a man, much less a prince, to rescue her from her plight:  This one actually rescued the lead male...with whom she didn't hook up for a happily ever after.


That was quite a switch, a cultural rubicon perhaps, one that my Spidey Sense suggests played at least some role for some of my flower-powered generation to dig deeper at the roots of a patriarchal, fear-based power system, to dream further awake other influences of our youth who didn't end up with stores in malls (or theme park resorts around the world) named after them ~ names like Gloria Steinem, Shirley Chisholm, and Betty Freidan, influential women of their time (and for all times, if we're smart enough to mind and mine their ideas) ~ strong women who carved out a swath of cultural influence with those of us lucky enough to have mothers or other prominent people in our lives who were swayed by their fiery, feminine mystiques and passionate, paradigm-shifting messages that motivated us out of our bras and kitchens and into the workforce in numbers previously unseen in peacetime.


But still.... deep inside... I find myself unsettled by what I see as an obstacle to be overcome in the evolution of humanKind, which is that a big piece of the heart of too many capable, talented, creative, vital women of our new age remains overly influenced by the fairytale-pounded, old-school Damsel-in-Distress. ("Calgon, take me away!") Oh, wherefore went thee, Feminism? The "Ugly Step-Sisters" take on the Snark-the-Royal-Wedding meme may provide a signpost towards an answer.  


Understandably, many in the world enjoy a touch of fascination with fabulous weddings of the rich and famous. But to present Beatrice and Eugenie as the Disney characters Anastasia and Drizella reveals what I see as an ugly undercurrent to the happy energy and excitement of a fairytale-style marriage that keeps some hope alive for young girls (experienced women, too) that someday their prince will come, by golly, and the undercurrent is this: The bits and bytes of photoshopped fun under examination in their way articulate why I suspect certain aspects of decades of Disney-fied gender, class, and consumer conditioning ~ while providing worthy, uplifting messages, and encouraging an unwavering belief that good will out in the end (and I do, I do believe on that!) ~ have unwittingly served to help repress women, and in turn dis-serve the evolving condition of humankind.  


Now, that is a rough charge at Disney ~ to whom I'm nonetheless thankful for countless, enjoyable entertainment hours for my family, not the least of which involve a good many delightful songs ("The Bare Necessities" comes immediately to mind) ~ and of course there are plenty of other cultural institutions that have participated in the dis-service I've alleged. For now, though, it's the "princess" paradigm that I'm digging hard at, and such a dig deserves a bit of back-up.  I'll use Princess Cinderella as a supporting example, while simultaneously checking the rear-view mirror...
     Unquestionably, her classic story ~ as adapted by Disney from a 1697 version titled "Cendrillon, ou La petite Pantoufle de Verre" by Charles Perrault ~ teaches that graciousness and kindness are more valuable than physical beauty, that miracles are all around us, and that the most lovely of all princesses is she who understands this well: privilege comes with the responsibility of ability and resources to care for and tend to the benefit of others.
      Unfortunately, the ugly undercurrent of the story is that the beautiful, nobel of heart female suffered the slings and arrows of her own gender, her own mother and sister figures even, in pursuit of her true love.  Even the ball itself was staged with the intention of being a type of trophy-wife contest... and I'll postulate that such a conditioning fed our national gestalt in a sort of way that, in time, led to the development of cultural phenomena like "The Bachelor," where (in my esteem) the catfights of the rose-receiving sisterhood assisted in further devolving the hard-fought successes of the women's rights movement and the sexual revolution.


Those are the dots I'm connecting, anyway.  (Please do connect your own, and let me know if your drawing comes out any differently...?)


I also think that our food check-out stands are purposefully designed to program our generally not-well-educated populus ~ through the relentless stocking of celebrity tabloids (known widely and appropriately for reading on the toilet) ~ to continue to buy-in to the wealth-worship that's woven into a large and ugly swath of the Americanized-Western consumer condition. My guess is that we "the little people" enjoy feeling like we're up-close-and-personal to the happy events of the rich and famous in part because we anticipate that special tingle of shadenfreude when they eventually, inevitably suffer embarrassment, or tragedies, or their lives otherwise fall publicly apart in ways that are psychically, spiritually similar to the slings and arrows of we the financially struggling and mostly invisible. 


And that's not so much an attitude or behavior that most of us would consider compassionately co-creative, a concept the world can't wrap its head around fast enough in service of our quality of life and that of future generations. Compassionate co-creation is something we can all share with others for free, for nothing in return but to know in our hearts, to the marrow of our bones, that we can speak and act from a place of multiversal love, when and wherever we consciously choose....


But, hey, those folks are loaded with money and power and botox and gorgeous houses and luxurious clothes and travel the world on private jets drinking champagne and that's the golden ring we're all really chasing here, right? We'd be happy to work our butts off (well, those of us in the bottom 90-ish percent who can keep or find work just now) and suffer they way rich and famous folks suffer, right...?


Which brings me back to the teeter-totter of princess conditioning in an age of rising, divinely-inspired feminism, and the alternative the latter offers to the current, testosterone-fed rat-race-to-destruction in which humanity finds itself in these times of climatic shifts and chaotic changes. 


My generation of women was also raised with the hopeful suggestion that the only major difference between us and menfolk was between our legs, along with the bold encouragement that we could reach beyond a great husband and kids to achieve our own financial peak on the mountain of money that was a predominant 20th Century American dream. Of course, in time, we learned that was bunk for the majority of us. 


My lessons in that regard are that the Creator, in inimitable wisdom, quite assuredly fashioned us quite differently (which I have thankfully come to regard as a blessing); that to the detriment of the advancement of women's power in society, institutional and cultural roadblocks remain to prevent any more than a few percent of our female feet from treading the topside of the proverbial glass ceiling; that even in 21st century America we earn roughly three-quarters of what a man makes for doing the same work; that after almost 90 years since its first introduction in 1923 ~ and after passing through both houses of the U.S. Congress in 1972 but not receiving ratification ~ we still can't get the Equal Rights Amendment passed.  Think about it: Corporations gained political free speech under "Citizens United", but women can't secure constitutional acknowledgement in America that we have the same basic rights of citizens as do men (well, straight men, anyway). 


Beyond what seem like simple concepts of equal rights under the law, legal discrimination against my fair sex still holds unrestrained influence in insidious ways that infect our nation's attitudes and actions to the extent that  ~ even after being splashed by the waves of sexual revolution, being nurtured and schooled in seminal books like "Our Bodies Ourselves" ~ certain sectors of society still think that how a woman dresses, particularly if it is in keeping with the culturally-encouraged idea of "sexy", can be called out in public as an invitation for rape. What a crazy-making set-up for the little girls of our time, who are pitched Snookie-style hoochie-girl attire via what my daughter astutely and deridingly referred to as "The Little Ho' Store" that's popped up in selected malls.  


Looking back to how we got here, the birth of America's establishment and national identity was midwifed through a Puritanical lens, grounded in values by pre-Founders who repressed their people's birthright to enjoy sensual pleasures and loving sexual acts for other than procreation (which science has shown are immensely healthful in the production and distribution of yummy hormones that pump vitality through and through).  Semi-clinically stated, to repress innately healthful desires is to create disorders of the mind and body.  


Now, in my mind, for a human to deny his/her intrinsic sensuality ~ of which creations of countless kinds are rich in measure ~ is to deny one of The Big Reasons to show up and wake up every day on this planet. No matter whether we inherit genes that provide an aesthetically pleasing bone structure and facial composition, for the vast majority of those who live in what's known as the Western world, our lives are downright comfortable in comparison to the majority of our brothers and sisters of 3rd Rock, so there's little reason not to find ways to fill our days to the blessed brim with opportunities for sensuality, a horse of a slightly different color than sexuality, and still such a pleasant rush of a ride because you're getting off on the smell of the wind, the feel of the saddle, the splash of the last rays of daylight on your face, the tear-inducing beauty of the mix of colors in the sunset...


While the effects of sensual repression may be kind of elusive to identify, we see sexual repression disorders manifest themselves routinely, through one of the key rim-shots of all lead news stories:  The sex scandal. Exposing the sordid sexcapades of the loudest talking-head homophobes and prostitute-damners have for far too long been standard fodder... only now such true-life tragicomedies are lived out in real time under the harsh glare of 24/7 media scrutiny... and my heartfelt hunch is that the mesmerizing luridness of such scandals has done quite a number on the gains we made, or thought we made, as part of the sexual revolution. 


Oh, sure, the women's liberation movement that made possible the sexual revolution movement got women out into the workforce (as well as into lots of beds). But where has it gotten us in our acceptance of and pleasure in being in our own bodies, being our own selves?  Why do so many of us still frequently measure our faces and physiques and bank accounts against a version of what society-at-large exalts as rich and beautiful? Whether or not you're what society-at-large exalts as rich and beautiful, where's the rest of that liberating power we were expecting to generate and harness?  


And yes, forty years on from the Summer of Love a woman finally became a viable contender for the U.S. presidency, but still... In the entire history of the United States Congress, only 2.1% of its members have been female, even as we comprise over 50 percent of the population.  This is just one example of how society represses ~ at a systemic, national, institutional level ~ perhaps the most powerful tool that consciously aware women can offer in powerful portions to the world, irregardless of our facial and body structures, eye and skin colors, or forms of hair style: The tooling of our very construction, which makes it possible to "shake & bake" (so to speak) a baby, is calibrated by the Creator's hands to love unconditionally the unknown, to protect and nurture the unborn, to plan as best as we can for its welfare and comfort, and to fight hellfire with heartfire and every sinew of strength we can summon to protect its environment.  


In the context of considering how we can reclaim and regenerate the women's rights movement in this time of multi-pronged legislative attacks on our gains, the remaining fascination with (in particular) Britain's royal weddings by a royal-rejecting nation provides an opportunity to consider whether the trophy wife is still viewed, consciously or not, as the exalted pinnacle of Westernized feminine success. If so, as Kate Hepburn said in a climactical scene in On Golden Pond, "Not good, Norman." Not a good state of affairs for females, not a healthful state of perception to pass on to the future women and men of our world (who need us to encourage them ~ and who in turn are encouraging us ~ to Bring It, NOW). And not a place of power from which to fight valiantly back against certain legislators who appear determined, spinzone by spinzone, to reduce and remove the hard-fought gains earned with blood, sweat and tears since brave suffragettes in the late 1800's and early 1900's went to prison for demonstrating in favor of a woman's right to vote.


As a practically perpetual Pollyanna, I'm of a mind that God-sent sparks eternally fire in the depths of our beating hearts, inspiring our tongues to gentler words filled with eternal strength, and encouraging us to dance our way through these dazed days of the death throes of archaic, fear-based ways... to dance like no one's looking, dance like we don't give a care whether or not we're of royalty or the help, an executive or a housemom, a family matriarch or a single woman living her own life as she chooses to the very fullest. And my fervent wish is that now is at last the time... time we reject the societally-pounded notions of feminine success as primarily measured by our physical beauty, our bank account's size, or whether or not we can get recognition in some sustained form or another by what's generally considered Major Media... time when a vitally growing number of us choose ~ at every reasonable opportunity ~ to recognize, embrace, imbue, and harness a rising consciousness of the energy that charges our world with pulses of Eternal Love and Oneness... time to transcend the princess-competing-for-a-prince paradigm, and dream awake into daily action the personal gifts we each carry, divined by the god and goddess who lives in each of us (even if only, maybe, at an archetypical level). 


I'll even go so far out on a limb as to posit it's our call and duty to ourselves and to 3rd Rock to risk the courage to behave in such a way, especially now, in these turbulent times of chaotic change. 


On September 27, 2009, the Dalai Lama said in his address at the Vancouver Peace Summit, "The world will be saved by the western woman." During a moderator's subsequent question about what he believes are priorities for peacemaking in the world, he responded: "Some people may call me a feminist... But we need more effort to promote basic human values ~ human compassion, human affection. And in that respect, females have more sensitivity for others' pain and suffering." 


On reading this, and realizing that it took a man to say it, to call it to my attention, it became more clear to me how feminism in its current cultural interpretation has failed us: The main spotlight on feminism in America has been on getting along and getting ahead in a man's world on men's terms... when, from where I sit, it's really about waking up, standing up, shaking off the shackles of testosterone-fed notions of achievement through competition and coercion, and grounding in our own divinely deigned powers of a gentle strength of heart that naturally and intuitively results in benevolent thoughts, words, and actions in carbon-based creations derived from our divine Source. It's about synergizing and balancing the male and female energies that form and inform us all, about facilitating a rise of the co-creative Divine Feminine and Divine Masculine.  And I propose that what might help is to forget the sexual revolution.  Let's declare a SENSUAL EVOLUTION


Exception to houseblog (c) rule:
This is the only proprietary illustrative content
in the entire piece. All others are webgrabs, for
which I offer my deep and heartfelt thanks.
:::Curtsies:::
I realize by now, of course, that for me at least this silly meme has served its purpose: I see it as an alarm going off. This present era is too critical for us to cling to the remnants of our "damsel-in-distress" historical icons. Now is the time to harness the best of our fairy tale fantasies ~ the kind heroine who is at one with nature's creatures, the loving free spirit whose lust for life can't be contained by repressing boundaries of those who would restrain her, the generous and empathetic acts of assistance to those less fortunate, the gentle reminders of our femalehood like manners, warm smiles and curtsying ~ and rewrite them with considerations of the neo-notion that the spark and energy of the gods and goddesses of the ages are available to each of us if we simply acknowledge and embrace their divinely innate wisdoms. From now on, let's define "ugly" only by who we are in our hearts and deeds, not by what we look like.  


Back to the beginning, a very good place to end... If I could, I would personally thank Princess Beatrice for selecting a ridiculous, Minnie-Mouse-resembling couture chapeau, and shake the hands of the photoshopping pranksters who cleverly rendered into it such things as a big red flaming eyeball and a world-wide symbol of playful piratehood. For me, at least, the phenomena that was The Hat ultimately sounded a wake-up call to remember that we fashion our future through how we consciously, critically behave and believe, through how we ground our bodies and our selves to enJOYing the present... a truly great, God-given gift that keeps on giving.