The jester, Sat Gnome, and Hare Buggy kick off an epic house-keeping shift.

My bag that I painted in the art hut.

Lunchtime

The Godhead

The new official logo for The Great Bamboozle Boppity Bear!

Minstreling (Part One)

The absurdity continues to move and shake along with the kundalini energy. Yesterday I slept in late, and then did some empire building, which included going to the bookstore in search of the few books about actual practical application of creativity, instead of just unblocking it. I came upon the book "Work as a Spiritual Practice" by Lewis Richmond, which talks about the eight archetypes/paths: The Earner, The Hobbyist, Creator, Monk, Helper, Parent, Leader, or Elder. Guess which one I resonated with? And guess which virtue is the major lesson associated with the Creator? ... Patience. My favorite. So anyway, that was cool, and then Nicola gave me a healing by the lake, and then Alex and Amanda and I went on an empowering drive to Stop and Shop, and then we banded with Monique for dinner and gaiety and harassment of Arch Nemesis Bruce Maintenance, which may or may not have involved him being forced to wear my skirt.

Then I changed into my jester clothes, since apparently I was under strict orders to log some time wandering by my boss, Robin. She'd asked her superiors if I could be the official minstrel during Arts Week, and their response had been that they "wouldn't have a problem with it." Needless to say, this didn't exactly rev me up for the task, but then Robin coincidentally "forgot" to put me on the schedule for the entirety of arts week, and demanded of multiple people on Monday why I wasn't out minstreling. So after dinner I had Betsy follow me around with the camera, and Julia Child came out to do some devotional chanting in the staff dining hall, and then we skulked through the library and the cafe and bookstore with me wearing an "In Silence" tag just for irony's sake. The few participants who were paying attention loved it.

This morning I got up at 3:45 for Sadhana, and it was amazing, and when lying down afterwards I had the sensation of an earthquake happening so that's always a sign that the yoga is working. The cafe is closing and my computer is in a bag of rice right now, long story, so I will continue my chronicles tomorrow. WHEN I SAY WAHE, YOU SAY GURU!

WAHE!

...

Kundalini Rising

Yesterday I did my first 4 am Sadhana with Monique up in Hillhouse. I told myself it was just like waking up early for crew, except this was crew for the soul. At breakfast we had empowering female conversation, and a few men were brave enough to venture in to fill the empty seats, and soon we were all singing gospel to the bemusement of nearby participants. We also decided to have a Pep Squad and Rally to promote Kundalini yoga; we would be called, obviously, "The Kundalini Rising," and our cheers would fall along the lines of, "When I say Sat, you say Nam! Sat! Nam! Sat! Nam!" And other things that seemed foggily hilarious at 7:30 in the morning.

Then for the rest of the day I found myself entrenched in waves of rage, hitting me over and over again as I made bed after bed. I contemplated leaving and going home for five days, but I knew that was just escapism as usual, and so I breathed and brooded through it and after the shift Alex and Monique and I had more empowering female conversation in the cafe as is our tradition, and it all started to be ok again, as I knew it would be. Monique's theory is that the older the emotions, the harder they are to deal with, and I agree, because they are just THERE and stubborn and obstinate, and have absolutely no correlation to present reality. We just want to indulge in them because it's all we've ever known how to do. So I feel like I keep riding the waves to the other side of the anger, where I'm faced with these beautiful friendships and compassion and people who love me and support me and who I love and support in return. And all that love and connection is also terrifying for some deep-seated reason, which I haven't quite yet figured out, and so when certain triggers occur I start falling into the downward spiral again, with waves of fear and anger hitting me in the face, making it impossible to see clearly.

I'm resolved to the fact that I can't fix or change or alter, and so all I can do is ride it out. I'll tell you one thing I know, which is that as the anger clears, the horizon that re-appears is the writing. The storytelling. Going down and in and bringing back what I've learned and sharing it with other people, and then hearing their stories in turn, and so it goes. Because one day we'll all be gone and none of this will have actually mattered, but the stories will remain. The characters and the journeys and the richness that we believe to be our lives will spin into other lives and illustrate and entertain, and out of those moments will spin more stories, and so it goes and maybe that's all there really is. I don't quite get it, and the concept of this all going on eternally doesn't exactly comfort me, but so it is. We remember, and then we forget, we play, we cry, we hurt, we love, and so on. And maybe at some point we become love. And then we forget and it all begins again.

Yesterday Ji Hyang and I were trying to figure out what past lives we've been in together, and I suggested that maybe we were French Can-Can dancers, and she was about as enthusiastic about that as when I tried to get her to befriend Felix the rubber snake on facebook. Also, I won the latest battle with Arch-Nemesis Bruce Maintenance at lunch today when I successfully hid his rolling tobacco. Although, he thinks I jeopardized my own victory by "babbling incoherencies," which was really just me announcing my decision to turn "Arch-Nemesis Bruce Maintenance" into an acronym: ANBM, and repeating it several times. Whatever, ANBM.

And lastly, I stumbled upon this awesome website all about the art of non-conformity and making your living off of being yourself, and building empires and small armies of support. I agree with it all, except I'm going to have a LARGE army. I didn't spend a large portion of past-lives as a Mongol for nothing! And yes, I DO enjoy creating fictional past life stories and highly recommend it. I'm pretty sure they become true the moment we imagine them. Then again, maybe not. I'm getting a coffee-buzz on and it's probably best if I stop writing now.

Toodle-oo!

Dancing in the Void.

In the spirit of Spiegel, and also life and all that I am pondering right now, here is this excerpt of a poem by T.S. Eliot that Rachel had at Dance Your Bliss:

I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope

For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love,
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.

Countdown to Spiegel: One Day.

Tomorrow, my friends, the most wonderful time of year begins.

That time is Spiegel-time.

My Tent!

More Art-Making!

Mama Amma

Yesterday a group of us went to see Amma, the hugging saint, in Manhattan. I'm so sad I didn't get to get pictures of the crazy awesome outfits Monique and I were wearing, but it was a little like the girls shown below, except turbaned and more colorful with no gigantic hoop nose rings and really not at all. I'm just going to post lots of pictures of Indian clothes since that was pretty much the defining part of the day for me.

Oh, and the hug from Amma was great, too. A warm trickle of giggly, expansive love from my head to my toes. She clutches you close and chortles deep incoherencies in your ear. I felt blissful and large and centered for the next half hour or so, and Monique and Brandon and I sat near the stage giddy and chanting and wrapped in a million scarves and accessories which people from Omega had given us to be blessed. We joked that Monique would soon be a moving mass of fabric, unable to even see beyond the scarves as Amma's attendants pushed her along the hugging line. The effect of the embrace would be lost, the blessing inable to permeate so many layers.

Anyway, Monique wandered off somewhere in bliss and Brando and I went to feast at the delicious Indian buffet downstairs, and it was all very well and good and we were deep in existential conversation when the attendants suddenly came around and ordered us all to leave. They were re-setting the room for the evening session, in which Amma would give her final round of hugs, but no one actually bothered to explain this to us; before we knew it we had been shepherded up the stairs and out onto the street, where a long line had already formed for re-admission to the hall. I still had a full plate of chutney. It was also about 100 degrees, and I was starting to get claustophobic and overwhelmed and panicked about how I was going to get back to Omega in time to pull off a drive to Boston the next day, so I malfunctioned on the corner while Brandon went to try to figure out what was going on. Then our friend Marcy appeared out of nowhere, and in her awesome blunt Marcy way told me to stop malfunctioning and make a plan of action, and between the three of us and a little help from the Universe in the form of my cousin who lives in Poughkeepsie, we soon had an escape route mapped out. While the rest of our group would be hugging and chanting until the wee hours of the morning, we'd be on the 6:00 train out of Grand Central.

Even as the plans were being made, Amma's herders were pulling us away from Marcy and prodding us up the crowded stairs into the hall, where things were getting progressively more chaotic.

"Om Nama Shivaya Get Out of the Way, please!" Someone with a food cart actually yelled.

"Scooch a little closer together, please. Love your neighbor more!" A seat attendant actually said.

And that's about when I decided I was done playing hippie for the day. We left our seats as quickly as we had occupied them and headed back down the stairs onto the street, getting no shortage of poorly camoflauged disdain from the herders.

"Shree Shree Jai Bhagwan, Fuck Off," I could just hear them thinking.

So now Brandon and I were on our own to navigate the New York subway system, which I quickly realized was going to be an equally absurd and formidable task, considering our state of dress and overall being. He was wearing purple pants. I had no bra on and was draped in shawls, dress, skirt, malas; someone faced with all of my contrasting patterns on the subway might well pass out. So we took a few minutes to compose ourselves, which was pretty futile, and then we wandered around the block in a daze, and up and down a few subway stairwells, and after angering various people with our indecision we settled on one subway stairwell to commit to, and once underground we proceeded to anger more people with our overall slowness and discombobulation. It was entirely baffling to me in my post Amma state to understand how people are able to sustain such a panicked, urgent pace throughout every moment and movement in life. One has no choice but to adapt to that if you live in New York City, but it seems to me like mass insanity. Not that Amma isn't a perfect example of mass insanity as well. Anything involving masses generally is. But I prefer my own individual blend.

What a synchronicity! I am in the Wellesley public library, and someone insane just sat down next to me. I just hope he doesn't lean over and read this.

ANYHOO, so Brando and I in our colorful garb and bindis got harassed by many a Jesus-monger on the journey to Grand Central;

"You can't save yourself, man in the glasses!" One yelled, and I agreed. We came upon a huge unattended table covered with various parables, and seized the opportunity to collect some for our Satan-loving karmic sibling Amanda Miller slash Betsy. And then in Grand Central we were thrilled and relieved to receive pamphlets for something other than Jesus.... chocolate!

And then as we ascended the stairs and I turned the pamphlet over, I realized that it was indeed an ad for Jesus after all. Because he's better than chocolate. And the Bible, my friends, is the ultimate comfort food. I'll keep that in mind for the next time I binge.

This insane guy sitting next to me kind of reminds me of someone I hooked up with once. They both smelled kind of bad.

Anyway, we ran to catch our six o'clock train only to be faced with more absurdity; there were "two hot cars, and three packed," meaning you could either sit in the 120 degree car with a few other select masochists, or stand in the 60 degree car with the self-respecting part of the population. Needless to say, there was much symbolism to be derived from the next twenty minutes. There was also much bickering, sweating, and petulant whining, as certain members of the duo questioned how they had come to be in this train car, and what if there wasn't any cell phone reception, and what had happened to all the water, and what they died on the commuter rail to Poughkeepsie, and other members of the duo sat stoically and masochistically by, and occasionally rolled their eyes and said things like, "It's not like the train is going to be underground all the way to Poughkeepsie," and "Maybe you should bring your own water on 100 degree days," and so it went until a fiesty female ticket collector came through and yelled at everyone for choosing to sit in the 120 degree car ("There are three other cars, people!"). And so the masochist was over-ruled and separate seats were obtained in a 60 degree car, and it was a lovely evening ride along the Hudson.

The first person we saw getting out of the train was my cousin's husband, who was arriving home from work. I got to meet my cousin's adorable new twins, and see her rapidly growing and now talking Georgie, and we had a lovely drive back to Omega and Betsy had just arrived back from Ohio and so everything resumed its natural order. I got a good sleep and today drove to Boston to meet with Mike Davidson, a locally based record producer, and we talked about lots of different options for how we might go about making a cd this summer/fall. Let the planning and fundraising and musical collaboration begin! I loved the studio; for some reason, the whole time I just had a Beatles/1960's feel.... probably because they have a Mellotron, which was used in "Strawberry Fields." Anyway, I feel like it is time... and it felt auspicious that right as I exited from the highway to Brighton, my favorite song of the moment, "Home" by the Magnetic Zeroes came on... the energy of that song, mixed with anything by the Beatles, is how I want cd-making and my music to feel.

I think the insane man may have just gone to pee in the corner. Therefore, I also think it's time to head out and hit the road back to Omega... but first maybe a walk around the lake on Wellesley campus. : ) Oh, such beauty.... hooray!

This is the new cover to my computer.

I'm manifesting a peaceful relationship.

The Art Hut!

Is my favorite place in the world, ever. This week Valerie Dearing is the resident artist, and holding late night sessions. And since I don't exactly have another good outlet for all that second chakra energy...

Teacakes and Doilies

What a week! Today I worked a lovely shift with other Liz, where we tooled around in the sunshine on our golf cart in our skirts holding a parasol behind us. We chattered incessantly about teacakes and doilies and bid a high pitched "Helloooooo!" to everyone we passed. We thought our parasol had been abducted while we left it to go clean the Stinkhouse, but it had merely blown over to the other side of the parking lot.

After our shift I went to Dance Your Bliss with the lovely Rachel Fleischman, had dinner outside with lovely people, and then we headed to get deeksha, which I won't even tell you what that is because it's so woo woo. But I'm in Omega-land now, so I might as well go on all the rides. Tomorrow a pack of us are headed into Brooklyn to get hugged by Amma. On Wednesday I'm meeting with a record producer in Boston. On Thursday we're going on a pilgrimage to the World's Largest Garden Gnome. And on Saturday I'm holding a party slash irreverent open mike night at my tent before heading to Heaven on Earth, aka the Spiegeltent at Bard College.

AND I just bought a 33$ skirt for 7.49! I LOVE THE UNIVERSE! xoxoxoxo

This is what I did while waiting to hear the final verdict on the Balsams.

There was a lot of pent up energy!

Pimp my Ride: Sofa-Face Edition

This is our House-keeping cart, Sofa-face.

Note the Sarah Palin picture in the foreground.

Fourth of July

Well! What a whirlwind. I did not end up getting the Balsams gig, but I DID come in second place, which was awesome and amazing! I'm so grateful for all the support and enthusiasm people showed for me. Also, Martin, who won, is perfect for the job. It was such a great learning experience on so many levels; and now I am equally excited for a summer at Omega, building my empire of absurdity, frolicking, teaching dance, and hopefully scooting over to Boston now and then to work on recording a cd!! Woo woo- it will be called "Do You Know Any Dylan?" and will include such chart-toppers as "Hot Damn!" "The Train Song," "Break Me Down," "Adelaide," "Glorianne," and more. I'm so psyched to have a real cd which I'll be excited to record and sell and promote. There will also be an illustrated booklet of lyrics, of course. Hooray!

My plan is then to take it on the road in the fall, and follow with various wandering minstrel adventures.... but for now, it is a beautiful summer and I have a new tent with ample platform space for open mike nights and festivities, and the Bingeing with the Buddha web-series is on a roll. Check it out here, on facebook, or here, on youtube. You'll also find a back story on Betsy and Wetsy and the Unconscious Movement to your left. Betsy and Wetsy worked several shifts together this week, which was mildly terrifying for the rest of campus. Above is what our cart looked like. Below is our threatening note to Arch-Nemesis Bruce Maintenance, which was

written on a box that was later thrown at us from a moving golf cart during a thrilling cart chase, and even later placed on his abducted bike.

Yesterday I took a day-long workshop with writer and performance artist Laura Zam, who was wonderful and funny and real and it was just what I needed to get some grounded tips about making a living as a freelance artist. It's all about the multiple streams of income, which sounds about right to me. I'm also jazzed about a six week class being offered by a freelance writer on getting published. Slowly but surely my faith in the ol' Whatever It Is is re-building... it never completely left, but I was just unsure about how much to weave it in to a rational, grounded existence. But it's already weaved itself, and all I have to do is follow where it leads me, and work hard at what I love.

Yesterday I also went on an empowering seven mile walk through the countryside with friends, and there were horses and camels and a gorgeous sunset and beautiful farmhouses and it felt like we were in a Mark Twain novel, except for the camels. Although there were lots of camels in Innocents Abroad. I had a stick I had been chewing on and at one point it was gone and my friend Melissa is pretty sure I ate it.

Anyhoo! Thanks so much to everyone who has been awesome in voting and subscribing and following and all that and stay tuned for continuing fun, and check out Bingeing with the Buddha on facebook! Upcoming webisodes will include "Julia Child Survives in the Wilderness," "Small Talk" with special guest Monique Powell, and a pilgrimage to see the World's Largest Garden Gnome.

Good-bye for now! xoxo

The Omega Garden