….and awareness on thru-out the day, are the things that are the most alive within us at those moments, so yes, they are definitely dynamic, and multi layered, just like dreams, and I’ve found that I will exhaust a dream symbol and then a deeper level of awareness belonging to the symbol manifests, and so on, till the same thing means ten different things, depending upon the plane you are connecting with it on.
I like to think of objects as flirting with me, what I would say as happening when you noticed the smokestack and sidewalk being alive, when an object or even sensation catches your awareness, and you are attracted to it, for whatever reason, I would say it is flirting with you, with your awareness, and if you flirt back, you can go into a really deep experience, either of communion with the object or you can be put deep in touch with the corresponding impulse/object within yourself. I see those moments as potential portals to other dimensions of energy and awareness if they are utilized. It’s like lucid dreaming, twenty four hours a day, if I’m aware of objects in life the same way I’m aware of them in dream, and I navigate via my flirtations with the world around me, I remain lucid and clear and vibrant. It’s when things no longer catch my awareness, when they no longer needle their way into my attention, that I know I’ve become dull and stagnate, my energy is blocking the penetration and invitation of the object that is offering a chance of exhcange and communion with me. I know for a fact in my own experience, and from what I’ve heard and read, that objects dont appear the same on every vibrational level/plane, for example, when I am having an out of body experience, I may be in my own bedroom, but its not EXACTLY the same, each object tends to have an essential quality, and that quality is expressed differently depending upon the level of density of vibration it is percieved in. So a lamp may be a bit different, in structure or size or color or whatever, though it is in the same spot. Same with a couch, etc. So I have found that some of my objects in my home become more and more related to me thru percieving them on a more conclusive level of vibration/awareness, I see more of their essential quality, that is, and so I feel more in tune with it, more than just as an object taking up space, this is true for outer environments too. I have found that the deeper you go, into the frequency of awareness, the less definite things are in relation to the outside, concensual world. So if I am out of body and I am still at a density that can nearly move an object, or that may possibly appear to someone as an apparition, the environment I’m in will nearly exactly reflect the 'waking world’. But if I move, with more and more clarity, energy, and concentration, to a higher frequencty, the more and more shadowy the realms become and the more fluid my body becomes, and the more things are happening at onece, and you would need a deeper and deeper capacity to hold and channel universal energy at this point in order to hold your awareness at that level. So that to me explains why accounts of out of body travel/projection vary so much from person to person. Because depending upon the level of vibration of the persons 'soulbody' energybody dreambody whatever you want to term it, double, or whatever, the environment and the sort of experiences will correlate. So those who have a better capacity to hold highly charged energy and awareness would tend to have more experiences on the 'higher' planes, and it seems that the "higher' or more intense the vibration, the harder it is to navigate concsiously, that is why discipline/practice/and healthy living contribute to a deepening ability to traverse more intense layers of experience. You can contain more of the world around/and thus inside you.
Someone who doesnt have the capacity to hold energy sufficient to stay in a certain 'plane' would tend to have a negative experience of it, because the frequency bears down upon one with intensity, like pressure, that is so 'painful' that you can’t stay aware at that level for long … it feels like a huge current of electricity running thru you, numbing you with pain, until you drift back 'down' to a level more in keeping with your current 'charge' capacity, hmmm. I find that I used to be thrown into a high level energy when I smoked herb, I would have access to deeper vibrations. However with long term use, I have now found that it deadens my energy and dulls it and makes it heavier and denser, so that instead of boosting me, it blocks me….
~Charleen Johnston, excerpt from a correspondence with a friend in 2002
“There are dead ideas and cold beliefs, wrote William James, and then there are hot and live ones. When an idea “grows hot and lives within us,” he believed, everything must recrystallize around it. The exuberant life, bursting as it does with feverish beliefs, is one of constant recrystallization; in this lies much of its value, complexity, and potential danger. That which is most deeply felt is also most powerfully expressed to others. “We cannot write well or truly but what we write with gusto,” said Thoreau. “The body the senses must conspire with the spirit—Expression is the act of the whole man. that our speech may be vascular.” But our beholdenness to passion assures a darker side. Exuberance can veer sharply into disturbing territory. Champagne enchants, but it also intoxicates more quickly than stiller wines: heed glides into heedlessness as effortlessly as the silk chemise drops to the floor. The things that excite contain the capacity for excess and the potential to shame or devastate. Enthusiasm shares a border with fanaticism, and joy with hysteria; exuberance lives in uncomfortable proximity to mania. Exuberance, as Shakespeare wrote of music, “hath such a charm / To make bad good, and good provoke to harm.” Thwarted or deviant enthusiasms, once pro-voked, are powers to reckon with. The fever of passion itself is not the difficulty, argued William James; rather, trouble lies in the nature of the passion and how well it holds up to the light of day. “Surely the fever process as such is not the ground for our disesteem,” he wrote. “For ought we know to the contrary, 103° or 104° Fahrenheit might be a much more favorable temperature for truths to germinate and sprout in, than the more ordinary blood-heat of 97 or 98 degrees. It is the dis-agreeableness itself of the fancies, or their inability to bear the criticisms of the convalescent hour.” Disagreeable fancies are irksome at best and calamitous at worst. Too ardent or misdirected exuberance creates mayhem for the individual and exposes others to the possibility of mishap, if not actual danger. Unchecked, enthusiasm runs roughshod over reason and intrudes into the private emotional territory of others, imposing, as it goes, its own energy and tempo. Exuberance whips its way in, dominant, and forces itself upon those trapped in its eddy. At its best, it is infectious and enlivening; at its worst, it stifles the ideas and feelings of the less exuberant. Not everyone delights in delight, especially if it is not their own, and few wish to have their moods hijacked by those of others. Sustained or nuanced social interactions are difficult in the presence of great exuberance, and indiscriminate enthusiasm hinders the discernment necessary to sort out true friend from possible foe. The lack of fixity creates discomfort and mistrust: the mobility of mind and attachment that is artistically helpful may not prove an asset in other circumstances. Like Brown-ing’s Last Duchess, who had “A Heart how shall I say?—too soon made glad, / Too easily impressed; she liked whate er / She looked on, and her looks went everywhere,” the exuberant are easily engaged. And exuberance is, in its very effusiveness, liable to misconstruction and suspicion, often misinterpreted as sexual interest when none is intended, or as implying a more sustained emotional commitment than is warranted by the high spirits that, however persuasive, may prove to be transient or directed in any number of places. ….. Carter Brown was mindful, however, that not everyone found his energy to their liking (although most who knew him certainly did). His tendency, as he put it, to “lope into others’ pastures” was, he acknowledged, not infrequently experienced as “grating.” Brown, who could no more keep his enthusiasm in check than an otter can keep to the riverbank, believed that his exuberance was an integral part of his leadership of the National Gallery, but he was also aware that it caused envy in some and made others feel over-whelmed. Brown said he tried to slow down his speech and to keep his long arms and hands from waving into the “emotional space” of other people, but that it was an uphill fight. …… Where does exuberance end and mania begin? What is eccentricity, or simply a normal variation in temperament, and when does it tip over into irrational exuberance and psychopathology? We do not know. The edges of mania may be exhilarating, as Clifford Beers relates in A Mind That Found Itself “It seemed as though the refreshing breath of some kind Goddess of Wisdom was being blown gently against the surface of my brain. … So delicate, so crisp and exhilarating was it that words fail me in my attempt to describe it”. … Normal exuberance can escalate into pathological enthusiasm, anger, or even mania. Those who have what Emil Kraepelin called a “manic predisposition” are not only extraverted, cheerful, and overly optimistic, they also possess highly unstable and irritable moods. Indeed, those most inclined to exuberance are often most subject to despair and hopelessness. These dark sides of exuberance both help and hinder: if enthusiasm switches quickly to wrath or is bound too often to impetuous action, many of the dangers we have discussed are made more likely. If melancholy gives a humanizing perspective to exuberance, however, there is less risk of hazardous behavior and shallow thought. As we shall see, a close familiarity with both exuberance and despair may lead to a profound understanding of human nature, as well as an ability to more complexly express it in the arts and sciences. Moderation in strong emotions is not always easily come by. Lucretius observed two thousand years ago that the destructive motions “can never permanently get the upper hand and entomb vitality for evermore. Neither can the generative and augmentative motions permanently safeguard what they have created. …. There was, he said, “a sort of uncommon celerity in changing expression, in thought and speech.” His legendary restlessness was summed up most graphically by Henry Adams, who said that Stevenson “seems never to rest, but perches like a parrot on every available projection, jumping trom one to another, and talking incessantly.” Keeping to his bird analogy, but switching species, Adams wrote to another friend that Stevenson looked like “an insane stork, very warm and very restless.” An acquaintance of Stevenson’s in Samoa concurred: “He was as active and restless as if his veins had been filled with quicksilver.” W. E. Henley wrote of Stevenson that he was as “mutable as the sea,/ The brown eyes radiant with vivacity…/ A spirit intense and rare, with trace on trace/ Of passion, impudence, and energy.” Another friend said that “there were two Stevensons … this strange dual personality… I have seen him in all moods… chatting away in the calmest manner possible; and I have seen him become suddenly agitated, jump from that table and stalk to and fro across the floor like some wild forest animal … his face would glow and his eyes would flash, darkening, lighting, scintillating, hypnotising you with their brilliance and the burning fires within.” Stevenson had, in short, a febrile temperament. …. The intensity and variability of Stevenson’s moods-his not infrequent black depressions and his contrasting exuberance— certainly contributed to his understanding of the underbelly of delight. His temperament was peculiarly tuned to not only the darker side of human nature and its ready accessibility but to a firsthand knowledge of man’s multiplicity of selves. Stevenson’s own fluctuating and wildly disparate moods made him especially sensitive to the ambiguities, shadings, and inconsistencies of human enthusiasms and, indeed, of life itself. “It is in vain to seek for consistency or expect clear and stable views,” he wrote. “In this flux of things, our identity itself seems in a perpetual variation…. All our attributes are modified or changed; and it will be a poor account of us if our views do not modify and change in a proportion.” Stevenson’s close knowledge of dark and inconstant moods inevitably influenced his work. It provided him a keen sensitivity to mood states of all kinds, and enhanced his genius for portraying their nuances. It also gave him a hard appreciation for the seductiveness of uninhibited states of mind. Stevenson’s intimate acquaintance with contrary and unpredictable moods did not account for all, or even perhaps most, of his perspective on life. But to underestimate it is to underestimate Stevenson himself; it is, as well, to underestimate the raw, knowing, and deeply human power of his greatest writings. …. The juxtaposition of the exuberant and the malignant is potentially dangerous, but a balance between the two can provide ballast and gravitas. Excessive lightness can be given a grace note by the dark, as melancholy and mania can give each other depth and height. To make use of despair is an ancient gift of the artist: to learn from pain; to temper the frenzied enthusiasm; to rein in the scatter, the rank confidence, and the expansive ideas generated during times of unchecked exuberance. Melancholy has a way of winding in the high-flying expectations that are the great gift of exuberance but its liability as well; it forces a different kind of look-ing. “In these flashing revelations of grief”s wonderful fire,” wrote Melville, “we see all things as they are; and though, when the electric element is gone, the shadows once more descend, and the false outlines of objects again return; yet not with their former power to deceive.” Melancholy forces a slower pace, makes denial a less plausible enterprise, and constructs a ceiling of reality over sky-borne ideas. It thrusts death into the mental theater and sees to it that the salient past will be preserved. Exuberant ideas benefit from skepticism and leadshot. Whether the ballast comes from melancholy, from law or social sanction, from an astringent intellect or the incredulity of others, discipline and qualm are conducive to getting the best yield from high mood and energy.”
{selections from Kay Redfield Jamison, ‘Exuberance’}
“Happiness is strange; it comes when you are not seeking it. When you are not making an effort to be happy, then unexpectedly, mysteriously, happiness is there, born of purity, of a loveliness of being.” ― Jiddu Krishnamurti
🌹⭐️🌹 the biggest gift I could ever have given this reality , is the devotion to my own healing and awareness both before, during, and after becoming a portal for the deliverance of a Child Of the Heart into this fleshDream…. How can we help to heal this fractured schism of a world if we do not undertake the Great Work and then emit that Seed into the fertile Soul of a Soul who will carry on the blessings we bestow through our devotion to Integration?
I know the extent of how much of my own lineage of trauma and pain has been cleared thru my own participation in the dance of alchemy, by watching my son become a man…. By seeing how different he navigates and how few ‘holes’ he has to fill , and how ‘whole’ his mind and heart and body is; I am grateful beyond words that I dug so deep into the underworld, even if the only result were to be that my son did not have to spend most of his life undoing the patterns and poisons and dysfunctional inheritances we bear from our ancestral lines. We are the forebears, each and every one of us who choose to alchemise the vessel, of a different way of coCreating reality here in this Realm. It’s starts with Us, and with what and how we Birth our Fruits into this Womb, for we are a womb just as the Mother Matrix is a womb, and we can only produce seeds from the particular fruit we have grown.
We CanSeed this Dream Consciously
There are many ways to alter the design and help raise the veils to see the beauty of creation and the dance of selves at play; the absolute miracle of the process of gestating and birthing a new Being into this playground is so beyond scope , and is an absolute wonder to behold.
Have we forgotten what is at play when we participate in this adventure? Please don’t forget, find the magic and majesty in this engagement and watch the seeds become mighty oaks ❤️
The aesthetic finish calls up an image of genteel elders passing serenely away. This is not at all what I mean by “aesthetics.” The word roots itself in a gasp (aisthou), a sudden short intake of breath in the face of wonder, or horror. Aesthetics begins in the startle of surprise, the breath caught, held in astonishment. Aesthetics arises from an epiphanic image, the full force of character revealed as in a work of art.
Can a person become an epiphany?
Can we entertain the idea that all along our earthly life has been phenomenal, a showing, a presentation? Can we imagine that at the essence of human being is an insistence upon being witnessed–by others, by gods, by the cosmos itself….and that the inner force of character cannot be concealed from this display. The image will out, and the last years put the final finish to the image.
It is then only natural that we become more like apparitions, already sepulchral effigies, stand-ins for ancestors. Visits to us become ceremonies; gifts, offerings; conversations, liturgical repetitions. We are left as traces, lasting in our very thinness like the scarcely visible lines on a Chinese silkscreen, microlayers of pigment and carbon, which can yet portray the substantial pro- fundities of a face. Lasting no longer than a little melody, a unique composition of disharmonious notes, yet echoing long after we are gone. This is the thinness of our aesthetic reality, this old, very dear image that is left and lasts.
James Hillman, the Force of Character and the lasting life
The Ninja Steed has resurrected!!!!! Fresh paint and art and all the goodness and Happy vibes, thank you mister Happy (James Kuhn )for this fabulous expression of the BlissNinja creed 🔥🌟🃏🌟🔥
Happy had some of my ai art with Frankie the opossum etc printed into vinyl and adhered to car, and it’s so fun!!!!! Along with my business logo and the artspace logo and other amazingness.
It looks nice and colorful and fun outside of The Art Space on 211!!!!!!!!!!
Happy the Artist finished repainting the ninja steed!
Restless nights breed breathless dreams Selves are bursting through my seams into Abstract messes of Me slipping over stars in velvet thought cars weaving in and out of Light but never getting far too many times I have read between the l i n e s and still SunsRays seep into mine split and splayed she sings her rhyme time after time and sight after sight fighting for life In this restless night these listless dreams free me it seems but still I am salvaged from selves sweet struggle pledged against the rubble of Will to lift the gift to the top of the Hill where light and rhyme build to climb puzzles melting into Mind sweeping color over the lines smiling despite the salt crystallized from tear formalized Into fear and the night grows on the night glows on strangers in song whispering parodies In Vogue tongues outstretched to taste the load this I know Is Selves in Silence shards of sacred on shelves of violence whence we came and whither we go spiraling in and out of the show taking our turns on tiptoe as the shake moves thru the dance penetrating glance from those who star In the versions of Play that gather where you are.
Crossing to Avalon, Jean Shinoda BolenWilliam Styron , Darkness Visible Dante’s Inferno
🌱Viriditas🌱
My bedtime reading a reminder of the lush greening and the moisture of aliveness. Venus in the glory of bountiful natural juiciness of expression in abundant hues of green. Taurean fertility and adoration of the sensual world that saturates and quickens the blood. The Power of the Greening. That which is alive is wet, is moist, and as Time takes it’s toll, demands payment, it is in moisture, removed……Saturn is Dry. It contracts and dries things out. As moisture dries up, Life dries up. Turns to salt? Saturn is salt. Salt is wisdom. The journey from Green Venusion birth into the sensual realm of aliveness and bodily experience. Ole Saturn, through Time pulls the moisture out, condenses, constricts, makes dry and brittle and rigid. The wisdom that comes from embodiment and disembodiment in patterns and cycles of knowing and forgetting, being, and letting …be. Saturn is melancholia. The darkness that overtakes when the moisture of life has gone. The Melencholia of intense depression states, the complete loss of all the juice of living. If you know you know. Saturn is a harsh task master but always wise. If you’re worth your salt, your worth your sea as the womb space of psyches dream pulls you in.
Went to bed with these contemplations. But never slept. So eventually re/lit my candles, and grabbed a book that had been in que. William Styron ‘Darkness Visible’ about his descent into Melencholia and Madness. Saturns initiation. If you know you know. Read the whole thing before falling sleep. The journey of Saturns slow wicking off moisture from the body and mind and heart. The seemingly inexplicable dance with the leaden realm that makes the Viriditas ever so sweeter when the waters return. Saturn and Venus and their dance.
I went into a laughing fit that lasted probably ten minutes, towards the end of Styrons book. One single paragraph seemed to me so hilarious…..he spoke so articulately sardonic and it was so metaphoric of how little the ‘system’ understands the ramifications of Madness of Melancholia when Saturns slow shrivel has dried up every last bit of wetness from the soul. (See photo of the excerpt).
“Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita Mi ritrovai per una selva oscura, Ché la diritta via era smarrita” ~Dante
I awoke to the sound of the pouring rain outside, could feel the earths reception of these heavenly waters as a tonic for her thirst. Ah. The greening. And the wet juiciness of life. The green hue that surrounds my house a reminder of the love for living that Saturns dark lessons make New and make pertinent. Knowing the hot dry temperatures coming up in the next week, I felt myself relax into this rainy downpour that quenches the parched earth.
I rise with the sap …don’t they all? But do they savor The agony of the thaw? The golden whisper The gilded walls That crumble within The twisting halls The manic moments …electric sea Magdalenes womb Opens through me In chambers of gold Ripened carbon Break the mold With diamond body I rise with the sap Pulled by the tide Waking the wonder That sleeps inside.
We all Matter into Mother Measured by Maats Tether Twisted Sines Waving bravely In the maze of Ether All ways Always riding Nows And nursing from the Sacred Cow ……….but some.in.Time Rewind the Bloodlines And find the WideOpenSee And Enter Consciously Into the LivingDream No longer Trapped In mapped Out mirrors No longer wrapped in Fears and Tears…. Tangled in whethers And whithers and whence Blaming the Game And shaming All Sense For the Terrors that rip choice from voice as Moistened lips Part The Red Seams of this Begotten Reality. To be Sovereign Is to Reign Free From Root to Crown As Seed to Tree Becomes What Is And Always Will Be… Adventures In Seaming And Dreaming I and We Between Games of Waking And Falling A Sleep.
We wait our whole lives for this Morning light strikes my lips It’s a kiss I don’t want to miss It’s it’s own kind of bliss When the sun rips my mind to bits And fists let go of the need to know Why the seeds we sow Grow into deeds that show Just how little of our roots we know As saltwater tears turn into mist Our stories Rise from the black abyss And sing our scars into soft lips That open like flowers Held in the spell of Life’s deep Power As tongue touches wounds so deep The blood and the salt trickle thru sleep To dream of a Well that will topple the tower As Green Man reclaims the game again And turns Hours into Nows That are forever Ours Somehow.
BlissNinja 