Art, Evolution, Health, Poetry

Healing Feelings

“Creating all this drama while running from our trauma” Professor Nightlife Jones

“Despite all my rage, Im still just a rat in a cage!” – Jai Love

I’ve come to love the sound of the recycling jingling in and out of cans outside my bedroom window on the street below…. not because of the environmental implications, I mean, but because it sounds like home. My home, now. Life on Clement. 94118. I chose this very place, of all the towns and cities in the United States, I picked here. The Inner Richmond. Why?  Many reasons. Fate. Chance.  Coupled with my proximity to work in Tiburon at the synagogue, and for a variety of other factors involving landscape, environment, proximity and creativity, this is my home of choice.  My sanctuary. My center. The eye of my storm.   

That’s not to say I don’t doubt myself everyday. Did I make the right choice? Pick the right city? The right job? The right part of town.   I KNOW that I picked the right partner, thank goodness, and I am grateful everyday for that clarity. So why have I been so…. disillusioned?  So unhappy.  What more could I want?

Yes, I do miss my family. But I like it here. I like who I have become.  I’m not as sweet as I used to be, but much kinder and smarter, I’d like to think.  Rougher.  More careful with my energy and time and space. Protective. A mamma bear.  I work out now, sort of.  I actively DON’T eat cheese at every meal.  I don’t smoke… near as much as I used to.  I don’t weigh myself down with unnecessary bullshit and small talk with people I don’t care about.  So where are these giant waves of sadness coming from? Are they a part of me? Or maybe much bigger than me? Generations larger than I can possibly comprehend, it seems.

And I am open to it.  I asked to understand, the human condition. I remember at six-years-old asking for answers of the universe.  I read Conversations with God and the Four Agreements at an early age, and lots of other spirituality self help type books that seemed reasonably informative.   I remember adults protecting me from the truth, for the same damn reasons we protect our own hearts and tune out our own minds when it’s convenient, which is more often than not these days.  Every night we feel the need to turn the volume up or down, it seems.  To alter our current state, because reality is not pretty. 

And sure, we can blame it on mercury in retrograde, or the solar storms, or claim we are just products of our environment, and that’s nice, to put a name on it. A blame. “Survival of the fittest”, gone wrong.  Of course, I am not niave enough to think it is all outside consequences no, I am open to it being all my fault. By no means is my life perfection; though I wouldn’t have had it any other way.  The amount of beauty and joy I have been shown far outweighs and exceeds the haunting of mistakes and misdeeds, that me and those who came before have scored. Everything we know is constantly in a stage of flux and transition; growing, changing, building, maintaining.  Disruption. Creation. On repeat. New twist.  Developed plots thicken. We grow sicker. We discover a cure.  It is true, that I have grown sicker, weaker, sadder. And it has been very hard for me to admit that to myself, because once you give it power, then it changes, right? 

Upon reflecting of my past, my relationships gone wrong, friendships failed, I have grown discouraged. Though admitting your mistakes is the first step to changing the future.  Please know that if I haven’t followed through or reached out to you lately, and I was supposed to, please forgive me. Life has been like a god damn tornado. I  lived my whole life in Kansas thinking I’d never seen a tornado, until I got to San Francisco and realized that the tornado was all around me. I was the calm. 

Somehow, I’ve thrown myself out of orbit. What was once an eye is now a limb, a gust, an upheaval of old foundation crumbled to new. As I continue to stumble down this dumbfounded road, seeing new walks of life, some pristine and some soot, I recognize my own depression is a result of years of neglect and emotional instability, from my own actions but also from the gusts of wind from other storms, other atmospheres, colliding.  Exhausted.  Worn. 

The storm comes and goes, and so does my vulnerability.  As I continue to try and be as present and available to others all the while taking care of my own sanity.  I want to do more. I aim to do more.  I will not give up on doing more, for myself and for my community. 

Sometimes it is as simple as switching your medication.    

Sometimes, it’s as simple as saying something.  Speaking up. 

Saying I’m sorry if you have to.  

Admitting your truth and finding your next step. 

Sourcing the pain, so you can work on healing the wound. 

My friend taught me a learning recently. She said “Sara, you’ve been so open, you’re forgetting to protect yourself”. And then she taught me to clear.  After years of being an empath, I now am aware of the consequences of neglecting that power. 

“Thank you (insert higher being here)
for clearing all draining and negative energy chords
in all directions of time. “

» three deep breaths – then follow with «

“Thank you (insert higher being)
for shielding me with 1000 feet of silver light
in all directions of time. And so it is”

-From April King_

Ripples that we make go everywhere, in all directions. We make them constantly- some microscopic and some so big we can’t even see that it’s a wave.

I Invite you, to be careful what you put in motion, as it may not turn out like you thought. You may not even be thinking about it consciously at all. Luck is chance and fate is a game. Back and forth. Sometimes you win sometimes you loose and you don’t have to play. You choose to feel it all or feel nothing. Both have consequence. Balance is only possible with out attachment and then constant upkeep of the body soul and mind / space we occupy. None of it matters and it all matters we all could argue reasoning for both. We are that enlightened. And yet we are our own enemy. We hold each other back. We fight the way of nature. We protect what we have know we hold onto tradition and the sacred for dear life maybe for a good reason maybe not. Sometimes both. The complexities of chance and fate and intentions at work here are astronomical unpredictable. The equation is long and the ripples are strong. Waves so big you may not even notice it.

In this day of age we are all ripe and raw.  We are BOTH sides of the coin and the paradox. We are all misconceptions. We could all argue both sides of the fence. So be careful what you say and always tell the truth. If you have the facts and integrity and kindness you will come out ahead and if for no one else but yourself. Be your own karma. Don’t forget to breath through it all. I love you. I’m working it out just as you are.  Maybe you’ve learned something and have something to teach me.  Don’t hold back; please, we need your voice.

“It’s about planting a seed, letting it grow
Nourish it, flourish is, give it grow, flow,
Water it down until the roots take hold
from the leaves on the trees to our breaks get old
Cultivate relationship millions of years,
Keep it strong, erase thereof fears.
Don’t you let no producer tell you that you can’t,
Just make sure you’re careful which seeds you plant” 

-MissConception, 2009, Plantin’ a Seed-

Evolution, Poetry, Sacred Space

A Love Letter

Dear New York,

How I’ve missed you. I know it’s been a while since I’ve seen your face and I am truly sorry.  You have not been forgotten. There are just other places I need to be right now. I hate to keep you waiting, but we must trust it is in good faith.

Oh, I miss your skin. Your touch. I miss the way you smell, even before a shower. I miss your intoxicating allure in the evenings; the grunge and the dirt along with the beautiful city lights at night. You’ve always been a true romantic and for that I see potential. Most of all, I miss the way you hold my hand when I am afraid. Even on cold nights in dark alleys, you’re warm.

But I am never afraid of you. No, you are my inspiration. My muse. And I think of you often, wondering when will we meet again? Perhaps some day on a long awaited vacation? For dinner and a movie? Or maybe a more permanent fixture in the long term we could be together for real.

For now, California may have my soul, but you will always have my heart.

Take care. Stay strong. Eat your veggies and drink some tea or whisky for me and may it fill you with warmth and grace to know that even though we are far apart, we will always be together in spirit.

With love,


Job Opps for the Anonymous

Imagine this: Center stage.  All eyes on you. You are not able to make any eye with your audience.  It’s a cold, stark room and only the sound of pencils scratching can be heard.  White walls with harsh light echo a mini space heater that blows vapid air upon your legs; an attempt to keep warm.  An old man stands in the corner gazing intently upon the classroom, while 30 art students attempt blindly to transmit what they see onto paper.  And you are completely naked.  

It sounds a bit like a nightmare.  A narcissist’s dream, perhaps?  For three hours, you, the model, are wide open on a stage, and while shame is not allowed in an art class, for the models, every single pimple and bruise and ingrown hair is almost audible.  

For Sasha*, “it’s actually the MOST interesting job I’ve ever had, hands down,” she says.  Let’s lay it all out on the table….

Everyday, Sasha leave work feeling refreshed, stimulated and physically confident.  “Bathed, lotioned, and as pristine as possible, this position forces me to take care of my body.”  Yoga, diet and healthy living should all be priorities in our lives, and modeling, certainly helps keep one even more accountable.  

Posing as an art model for KC Art Institute students has furthered Sasha’s mission in life (as a muse) with this unexpected part-time job position.  As an artist, dancer and model herself, Sasha considered a lot of options when looking for a part time job.  Making ends meet was getting tight.  Sitting behind a desk = not an option.  Stripping?  Not really her ethical background.  “Gotta pay the bills somehow… and I refuse to compromise my own art for the sake of others.  So I decided to model,” Sasha says, nonchalantly.   

And with that decision came something unexpected: time.   A resource Sasha never knew she desired so intensely.  Three hour sessions give her time to confront her own insecurities, for one, while providing a chance for art students to brush up on their life drawing skills. This position also offers her, an endless variety of invaluable opportunities she did not foresee.  

Opportunities to not only become a ‘prop’ for the art institute, but to be a symbol.  An image.  A vision.  An icon even?  (#AndyWarhol)  Meanwhile, the internal opportunities to grow as an artist are endless. All the while, combatting this pull of the narcissist vs. the muse.  

Narcissism.  A term that originated with name of a Greek Hunter, Narcissus (meaning sleep or numbness) in Greek mythology.  Narcissus fell in love with his own image he saw reflected in a pool of water, and the ego was born.  Currently the word is used to describe the pursuit of gratification from vanity, or egotistic admiration of one’s own physical/mental attributes.  

Continuing along the methodology of the Greeks, the Muses were nine goddesses who symbolized the arts and sciences.  They were considered the source of the knowledge, related orally for centuries in the ancient culture that was contained in poetic lyrics and myths.  Today, a muse is a person who serves as an artist’s inspiration.  As a verb, to muse is to consider something thoughtfully. As a noun, it means a person — especially a woman — who is a source of artistic inspiration.  So what does a muse and a narcissist have in common, if anything?  And what would inspire someone to get up naked in front of people for extended periods of time?  Is the battle of the ego really the battle of a narcissist vs the muse, inside our heads?   Or are the two mutually exclusive?  

This is the sort of existential internal dialogue Sasha weighs in her head during a typical day at work.  To think, or not to think, is really the question when it comes to this profession.  “If you think too much, your purpose loses its rush when it comes to being a muse,” Sasha says.  “You have to just let go, and let it flow, like with any art.”  

So what does one do with three hours, naked, on a platform in front of artists in training?  Well for starters, “I begin with yoga poses.  Stretch it out a bit,” She says.  She tries to move as much as possible during the one-minute gesture drawings that typically start off the sessions.  As the longer poses take hold, so begins the internal dialogue, taking note of every part of the body and how open it feels to be so comfortable, so naked in such a space. Observing the room (without making eye contact with students…a big no-no).    

“Sometimes I try to remember detailed memories of my past.  Usually, I spend a good 40 minutes singing Hindu and Buddhist Kirtan chants.   Meditation and breathing exercises are key.  I daydream of my lover, process events from the week, send prayers to my friends and family and focus on what I want my life to look like as an artist – the manifestation of my dreams.”  She describes this time as “sacred”.    

Staying still is not one bit as easy at it seems, for the mind or the body.  The ego screams “Why DO you feel the need to be naked in front of people in such a fashion?  Is this worth $15 an hour?  What WOULD your mother say?”  Meanwhile the inner muse allows for the greatest inner peace to take over, so the real work can begin: the work of meditation, observation, peace and artistic production, which is now flowing both ways. “I am an object and a symbol,” Sasha says, “along with a ‘goddess’ who is being documented in her purest form.  I am wide open and the creative energy is abundant!”   

It is sacred space.  Invigorating.  A time to cherish.  As an artist herself, to further the art of others whilst meditating and bettering her own morale, there is no greater gift to give for Sasha.  She is a muse.  For the students, and for herself.