Duty (Doody)

I've realized that in my spare time, I am a cat poop farmer.

I provide the raw materials that go into the cat, make sure that they are nicely mashed to aid in cat intake. Then, I allow the raw materials to ferment. This includes two steps. First, I faciliate a light exercise program for the cat, a hunt and pounce regimen usually involving a stuffed mouse, piece of twist tie, or the end of a pen. After completing the exercise program, the cat retreats to one of a number of soft, cushiony areas I fluff and sweep clean of cat hair biweekly. Occasionally, I stroke the cat to assist in the onset of cat slumber. Now thoroughly asleep, the raw materials can settle and form into their final product.

When the final product has completed it's formation, the cat will automatically arise and seek out one of two cat poop repositories I have purchased and filled with a sandy-like substance meant to futher solidify and refine the finished output. A few weeks of gentle training during the early stages of cat life will ensure that the cat knows exactly what he is looking for and where to find it. After a few moments of squatting, the cat will finish producing output and will cover the final product with the sandy-substance. This completes the processing.

Every other day, I retrieve my kit of tools and journey to the cat poop repositories. There I collect the cat poop from the sandy ground, harvesting clumps of product that is collected in a receptacle. Refilling each repository, I return to the first step and continue to feed the cat raw materials again.

Krud

Google also loathes me.

My body does too, as it finally has given in to the springtime changeover sick, a lowgrade crud that makes me want to sleep and watch cartoons all night. I punched myself in the face last night during a nightmare and that's how I woke up and started my day. But today, I got flowers in the mail from miss sweet thang, and a butterfleur from Calin da Cat. That and the love bomb email from Mug last night is balancing out the bad very well.

I tell you, there is nothing I like better than getting real mail, handwriting, colored pens, envelopes, pressies. Thanks, women, again for coming in and illuminating my world today.

Where is the Love?

Hm. A nightcap. Traffic to this site is probably the lowest it has been since I launched. Traffic to windwalking.com is nil and I mean nil. Tonight I found out why. Google and Google-driven search engines have never picked up windwalking.com, and pages from Netherwhen are a fraction of what they were once. These sites are literally disappearing from search engines. And honestly, there isn't a good reason why that might be.

Thus begins the Google battle. Maybe I'll get those pesky teens and their stupid dog to help me.

Solitaire

It's interesting. I live in this little world of one. I'll be seeing friends soon, yet when I do it will be infrequently. I instant message and email often. Occasionally there is a phone conversation. But for the most part, this is a little universe of one, hours and days and weeks stretching out alone and in relative quiet. I've only ever experienced this once before in my entire life and it was 15 minutes from here, 6 years ago. Of all the places I have travelled across the country, the places I've lived and the things I've been involved in, I am back a short distance from where I was under very similar circumstances and I'm almost completely alone.

Thankfully, I know how to live a life like this and I also know that this situation will not last. I'll move, or I'll become involved with someone or something, or I'll have a roommate, and this universe will expand and change. So for now, I look at myself as on an island and I wake up each day and go about island life. I cut down bamboo. I hunt for food. I stroll along beaches. Sometimes my skin positively itches off and I end up losing sleep for weeks at a time. And somtimes I fall into a sense of groundlessness. Eventually, I'll hollow out a canoe and sail out to the mainland and look back on this time from a greater distance.

I've also come to realize that the teens that are the friends of the teen boy that live in this building loathe me. They don't just hate me, they LOOAAAATHE me the way that teen boys and girls decide to LOAAAATTHE somebody just because. But they seem to do it like one might loathe an axe-murderer, it is loathing that is very careful and a bit threatened. They really hate it when I say hello to them. So, I try to go out of my way to do so every chance I get.

Last night was an amazing night writingwise, probably the best movement I've had in years creatively. Thank you, Mick.

P to the J

Resist it! Resist the facial spa that clears pores and rejuvenates skin. Resist the electric mop that steam cleans tile without the mess of mop and bucket. Oh my dear Amazon, you are evil.

I had some amazing revelations this weekend, and although what I accompllished, all said, was pretty minimal, the changes that these revelations promise are pretty amazing. The first was re-reading some of Pema Chodron's "When Things Fall Apart" (I intend to read all of her books now) and finding out that she meditates with her eyes open. Now, my experiences and teachings about meditation have never included that as a possibility, and I guess I've never run across that idea before. And that fact will probably make most of my friend just shake their heads. At any rate, I tried it, eyes open, and it was incredible. Meditation problem solved.

Secondly, I got to thinking this weekend about personality types. I'm a big proponent of Myers-Briggs, as I've written about on this site many times, an avid follower and applier of the grids. I know that every test I take defines me as an INFP. And yet, when given the chore of 'just create without any boundaries' or 'invent this theory and talk about it', I get majorly stressed out and closed up. I started to think about what I love about my job, mainly a limitless amount of possible creation within a limited scope, in other words finding creative solutions to a specified objective. Some of my favorite shows right now are Junkyard Wars and Rough Science, where teams have to do exactly that. And my favorite creative ventures are those where I know my objective and have to find ways of being creative to achieve it (All Walkabouts start with a concept, a theme and a series of images that have to be tied together to express something specific). What I used to love about being a part of a Metaphysical center was applying creative means to achieving teaching specific concepts or providing for specific experiences, let alone caretaking for people (providing a support service by intuiting on a psychic/human level what people might require to be more at ease, more open, etc). What I love about playing with people is having a set idea and improvising or expanding upon it within the rules of that idea.

So, when I think about all these things, and specifically what I do on a more healing path, I find that they point to creative, non-traditional problem solver and counseller, firmly in the realm of INFJ. So, confused and interested, I started taking tests this weekend and comparing results. Every test I took put me as an INFP, but I started to examine the strength of those parameters more closely. What I found was a very, very strong percentage in I, N and F. But, my P percentage was small. In fact, if I were to answer, in some cases, one or two questions differently on the tests, I'd come out as an INFJ.

This to me utterly changes everything. As somebody on the cusp of P and J, this tells me that I get my most energy and fulfillment when I have a goal to reach, a skeleton structure or a set of rules and then can go wild within that framework to do what I want. If I don't have that goal or that framework and are supposed to just fly without an ending, it stresses me and I end up with so many options in front of me that I do nothing. If there is too much structure and not enough room to create and be creative (and break rules) within it, I close down and lose interest. I enjoy web development (and design) because it is just this. I don't enjoy theorizing or talking about theory because it is too open-ended.

This changes how I look at writing. Freewriting, when one sits down and just writes what is in one's head without trying to accomplish anything completely unnerves me. I couldn't understand why it did before, because as an INFP, that should be heaven. Based on what I know about myself, I have been pushing myself to do this every day and finding that I actively detest it and avoid it. However, if I think of myself as an INFJ, something like that would be pointless and very hard to do. With no objective at all, no goal, even a goal that can slip and change, there is just a huge amount of empty space and ocean and wandering. What I need to do instead is have a goal, write this short story or even work on this scene of a novel, and find creative ways of accomplishing it. If I can't think of an objective or a skeleton structure or goal, it is far better to think about that than it is to go off without one.

In terms of spiritualtiy and magick (in a more wiccan/pagan sense), it means I should create projects for myself and apply myself to them with enough structure that it supports me, but not so much that it squelches me. And this creation of projects can extend to web design, music, non-fiction writing, reading, anything. I can even apply it to my choice of a new career and/or new job in the future. Knowing that I'm an INFP/J could potentially be the smoking gun answer I've been looking for as to why things just don't work for me in my pursutis the way I'd like. And it eases my own expectations of creation and outcomes and progress. As an INFP, I really could care less about progress. But as an INFJ, I need to know that I'm working towards something.

It's a very interesting mix, and it is involved with pleasing two very different needs inside myself at the same time. Huzzah!

New Walkabout

New Walkabout posted late last night.

Sin of Comparion, II

Then again, all the bleeding hearts and artists seem to be notably either off the list of contacts or 'missing' and definitely not represented in any of the bios. Interesting, eh?

MISFITS UNITE!

The Sin of Comparison

Let me tell you something. There is nothing more depressing than reading about the lives of people in your high school graduating class. Unless your life is just where you want it and you've never been divorced, and you are married now (kids are a plus), I'd stay the hell away from those pages. For example, the guy who was suspended for a bomb threat against the school and who told everyone he was James Jones is now a stockbroker in New York. The strangest guy I ever knew in High School is in Hollywood and has sold two screen plays and is listed in IMDB. Everyone is married with children and living pretty happy rich-folks lives in successtown. Then again, I did go to school in Heathers-central.

Rich white folks are living their rich white lives with aplumb. And me, victim of that environment, just continue on, trying to figure out what in the hell I'm doing and what just happened. Every single aspect of my life is now up in the air. Where will it all land?

No travel to my reunion for this one.

The strangest little thing, my best friend in high school is living in Seattle. I have no plans to contact him. But that gives me chills.

I might have to take up drinking again after this.

Trace Elements

It's been a long, difficult week, full of frustrations and more endings and changes. As I emerge from a daze this month and into the real questions of "what am I going to do now?", I find myself wandering around, bumping into furniture, talking to myself. I seem to be looking for something, some way of being that I really liked, but finding just trace elements. More upheaval and uncertainty comes and I just try to find that connected, childlike place that I need right now.

The point of this little blog tonight, though, is my answer to the question "what if you won the lottery"? I like to dream these days. What I'd do first, before any plans at retreat centers or funding my friends' projects or whatever is simple. I'd buy a laptop with every conceivable upgrade. I'd drop the cats off at some cat hotel somewhere or hire a professional sitter. Then I'd pack the car and take the digital camera. I'd start off driving east, taking all the time in the world, driving two hours or ten hours a day, staying in any place that calls me and exploring with luxury. I'd go throughout Washington, Idaho and Montana, and into Wyoming, then through the northern states of Minnesota and Wisconsin and perhaps the upper peninsual of Michigan. I'd swing down, then, and rest in Columbus, see everyone that I wanted to see for as long as I wanted to see them. Then I'd head east again, across Upstate New York and New Hampshire into Vermont, where I'd visit with Aarti. From Aarti's, I'd go east to Maine and Bar Harbor and stay there as long as I wanted. Then, I'd head south, down the coast, into Philadelphia, where I'd visit with Aisling. From there, south again, down the outer banks and into Florida, to visit with Calin. From there, west through the southern states and into Texas to visit with Paul. Up, then, into Missouri and Sean, across to the West into Colorado and Liralen, and then across to San Francisco to visit with Anastasia. In San Francisco, I'd dump my car (because it would be ruined by then) and buy a ticket to Hawaii. There I'd soak up Ana and Hamsa until I was ready for the mainland. I'd fly back to Seattle and buy a car, retrieve the cats, and figure out what to do with myself. Probably try to publish the book I'd just written along the journey. The idea has struck me as well to buy certain friends tickets to select locations I'd pass through and let them be a part of that journey for as long as they wanted, and then buy them plane tickets home.

Instead, since I didn't win the lottery, tonight I'll just pay bills and go for a walk around the block. But a girl can dream, can't she?

She Leans In...

It's past midnight on the coast, and in a relatively balmy 54 degree night, the rain is falling. I have my windows open to clear out the energy of the day, and across the dark distance I hear the sound of the ships under the bridge along the canals, one long and one short. It's an eerie thing coming in the middle of the night, rising up like owls in a otherwise calm and restful forest canopy, or of the recordings of moth men, sasquatch or jersey devils.

It reminds me at the same time of trains in the midwest and of the Seine on a foggy Paris winter evening. I remember walking through some of the oldest sectors that night, drunk out of my head, courting vampires and ancient kings. What a hopeful, hopeless idiot I was, cleaning up my own vomit in some dank hotel room at 4 in the morning. I leave the window open for a few more minutes until the cats are out of their minds, and then shut it away again.

I'm a bit stir crazy today, a bit house worn, a bit burning for the lack of touch. My skin feels itchy and my legs tingle and will not be still. I long with lips and fingertips. And that cold night air and the sound of the deep voiced moan calms me somewhat and tells me to sleep.

Today, I've looked up to find myself surrounded by amazing, love-filled women who are giving of themselves to almost cocoon me in care. They are incredible people. I'm more sensitive to love now than I ever was before, and I'm more able to express it on more levels than I ever knew I had. The last year was the worst year of my life, and it's made me tender, reserved, quiet, and very thin-skinned. So, I'm more thankful for any show of affection and concern, for any interest in my well-being or my story or my person than I've ever been before. I've had offers of new friendship, offers that have existed sometimes for years that I just haven't accepted. I've had occasions to deepen my connections and my love for those who already were my deep and loved friends. The more I reach out and extend my own love, the more I thankfully accept offers to spend time together or connect, the more it comes back to me in resounding multitudes. And I know that's what I want and what I need, to delve deep into their presence, to lay in healing amongst lands of women. The energy washes over me, makes me feel softer, sleepier, loved in a way that stems the tide of doubt and mends holes. I never thought it was possible to love women more than I did. So thank you all for bursting forward and literally showering me with an amazing outpouring of compassion.

Mary, Anastasia, Aarti, Kristina, Amber, Calin, Amanda, Melinda, Molly, Aisling.. I am speechless. Thank you.

A Low Rumbling

Hello all. I moved postings from this blog to the Walkabout entitled 'fragmentation' and post-dated March 20th, 2003. With that, I'm going to shift gears and start to present something here that is more in line with what Netherwhen is to me, and more welcoming to new and old friends. My focus on that one, single topic was driving me crazy every time I came back here to rest.

Soon, I am going to be switching hosting companies, so there may be some downtime and/or strange behavior of the site in April/May. For those technically inclined, every other project I work on these days is .NET/SQL. This is ASP/ACCESS. I'm tired of maintaining windwalking.com on ancient technology and have no desire to create new content or proceed with the redesign/repurpose of Netherwhen on that platform. So, in the future, the near future, windwalking.com and all associated sites that fall under the Windwalking Arts banner will be .NET/SQL based, and I plan to mix up the presentation layer by including some very nifty Flash components, utilizing FlashMX. Technology has finally reached the point where it allows me to do what I really want to do, and is supported by the mass audience. Unfortunately, my hosting company is based in those past, more restrictive platform choices, so move we must. Every try to move an entire world? It takes a powerful fulcrum, a long lever and the right position to stand in.

But enough of the tech talk. There may be Earthquakes and surfacing Dragons here for a while. Bear with me and if the site is down or you get strange error messages, please try it again. Be aware that email going to windwalking.com accounts, including the webmaster account, may fall victim to the same dark matter forces. Hang in there and Mickie and I will shift ourselves accordingly. Look for some new concepts, contents and sites in latter 2003, early 2004.

Welcome to the Garden.