Taking Chances Flagstaff is a little gem of a town filled with musicians. I mean, there is music going on here on any given night, with top-notch musicians doing their thing. Usually. Over the past couple of months, the town (obviously) has been silent. There is no music. It feels weird and sad. It was […]
A Town without Music — cosmic holly
May his memory and energy and work and wisdom be blessings and inspirations to enhance and reinforce and strengthen inroads within each of us to strengthen the fabric of our human community, together.
~ Amen, Awomenhotep. Anon-binary. ~
When simply commenting on another’s blog…
(Formatting a bit unjuiced from copy and paste. And, Autocorrect often writes thing fo me that I didn’t Nintendo. No apologies for that. Proof-reading goes to far places to be clear, and then AutoCorrect can be a bully to fluidly writing. 🙂 )
Jordan Hoggard
Krigsgaldr. Rather than war and violence, I felt the Powerful ritual and process over ages of shamanic dismemberment finding Self. Regardless of the words I embrace and resonate with to put to it, the visual story may very well come across to everyone in an ‘all similar, each unique’ way as much as we are All different, like everyone else. Powerful. An epic movie short.
“the shamanic dismemberment finding Self” – I feel like so many of us are going through this right now. Or we can allow this global strange time to be this, the rite of passage to the Self.
“the shamanic dismemberment finding Self” – I feel like so many of us are going through this right now. Or we can allow this global strange time to be this, the rite of passage to the Self.
the theme continues . . .
Yes, and not to be smug or condescending in any way, though what I most enjoy In this time about that, is that that rite of passage to the Self, the child becoming the parent of the Man, The Temple In (Wo)Man and Temple Of (Wo)Man occurred for me in 1991 during my architectural thesis in a psychospiritual set of experiences over 3 months brought forth by my thesis itself, a house for me — catalyzed by my whole life up to that point realizing things I had taken responsibility for, though shouldn’t have (parent’s divorce 15 years prior) — and will continue to occur in small and large ways throughout the rest of my life. This time, now, is gifting me a more unfettered sense of clarity in action. Rather than kneeling at the Altar of Self, I am more reverently seeing the world, and ironically enough, notice I don’t cuss so much now.
Add, Truthfully, I kinda miss the cussing. It’s amazing the molecular things we adapt to that can cause change across the board. The cussing was actually a barb or poison of sorts. It wasn’t seen that way then, though now, there’s a diff tenor to the poetry of it. Adaptation, part of change, part of process, part of slow-form evolution.
New comment, as in a sense it belays my last…
Something about the living petroglyphs in the Krigsgaldr video, something about your post, something about my comments above now expressed out here, something about the people I’ve interacted with here since I came out of a 5+-year radio silence… expressed and birthed and framed a new perspective for me.
Yes, rite of passage in 1991, very powerfully. And, yes many many crushing and spendorous things between then and now. Though, 5 years ago, out of necessity, I took a J.O.B. As Director of Purchasing & Coordination for a company 5 years ago — the people are great, and it’s a solid 2-way street. I won;t mention the company name, as… ya know… work-life balance. This is my work, and that is also my work. Though, this is in support of what I need in life. And, I started 3+ years of bi-weekly Brainspotting Therapy/Counseling. Someone recently expressed to me, “DAYum. Hard core.” I tend to go all in like that. It’s simply my Nature which I find wonderfully cool and resonant.
2 weeks before the shutdown, I was startled awake be a feeling of celebration. Still very liminal, still very ??? Dafuq???, though it was there. Being awakened to the resonance with a high honor given to me several years before — my deck listed 39 out of 50 Top Most Essential Decks (Of all time) by The Tarosophy Tarot Association. Like to took me that long to own it and just say, “Thank you.” Which, of course I had before, though felt a consummate “Thank you” to myself in that liminal moment.
I sat there in the dark. Steeped in it without words or figuring out what this meant. I only had the feeling of, “don’t pollute this with words. There’s more here than you know.”
And, it came. A creative Ex. Not that I broke up with it, just that in 2012 it was complete, and now suddenly as it came rushing forth to greet me, only semi-complete, it had evolved from its chrysalis to unfurl its wings. 8 years of unconscious gestation? Yup, at least to me. It had been active, though, providing its own formative years to itself. It was the 78 Divination Spreads inspired by my art, though now… Now, it came with the same name alluded to in my Tarot deck and book. ImaginAction.
So, two weeks before the 3/19 – 3/20 shutdown, I turned back to wade into this intense pool of my own creation. And yes, with a bit of trepidation in, “Am I creatively strong enough to not get consumed?, and Fantasia style wand it and conduct it into… hmmm, what am I conducting?, and into what?”
The 11-page Creation story spilled out of me as if I was taking dictation, was a story I’d reverently kept to myself, never spoken of before. The 10-page easy-to-use How-To method just tracked 1 by 1 by 1 start to finish to… enter into several hundred hours of file prep to set up to assemble the pdf for consistency start to finish. I had woken up to start to finish a project not even on my radar until then. Isn’t the not-knowing and going with its serendipity grand?!! And, Voila! There it was. ImaginAction.
Thing is. ImaginAction may be the biggest, most wonderfully robust thing I’ve ever created, though that’s not where I am going here in this comment.
Something about the living petroglyphs in the Krigsgaldr video, something about your post, something about birthing ImaginAction, something about my comments above now expressed out here, something about interacting with people who currently inspire me beyond my historical friends (My Friend Fred for example) and something about a shift that just occurred now, and was seemingly always occurring throughout the past milestone cairn that was building itself over the last 8 weeks… expressed and birthed and framed a new perspective for me.
That perspective. I haven’t had fear and anxiety about this pandemic. At all. In fact, I;ve come into joy and excitement, and not the Freudian minor hysteria type. I even felt a bit ashamed and tentative at one point that I shouldn’t express what I felt as it might seem to demean the vast and real feelings of fear and grief others were legitimately and strugglingly going through. Though, that wasn’t what I was going through, and I came to terms with the experiential fact that these things aren’t relative. Each of us grieves differently, and each of us grieves differently each time. And, I should in no way apologize for feeling that something clicked, and I resoundingly opened to my way. LOL. I came out so to speak in regards to the gravity of my ideas, even if for none other than myself, to love my work again.
That perspective is that. It is what it is. Sometime around two weeks before this all this shit hit the fan across the human community, I woke up and nestled in to seat in myself and my work again. And, more naturally This time. And, dare I say, though feel it to be so… I may have just seated another natural notch into the Heartfelt Hierophant of my Soul Seat. That sure goes to 11.
Thank you for being part of that. You and Paul and other wonderful people I have interacted with have provided a perspective from you continuing your work through these times, and adapting. That’s part and party to my nestling in to… not a 6-speed turbo convertible This time, or my current car, which LOL needs brakes… nestling in to seat in myself, soulfully, and actively through my creative works.
Thank you Holly & Paul. Thank you for being part of stacking the stones of this milestone cairn time. And, thank you to you other 6 who plussed my sense of the world being wonderful, especially if you didn’t know you were.
I place no “What they do” here. I wouldn’t want to pigeon-hole your serendipity. Check them out. Poke around, and look at the breadth they offer. Heck, potatoe chips? More substantial than that, though still can’t have just one. I suggest to explore them. Enjoy the serendipity of what you find…
The pdf is 18MB. Depending on your connection, it may take a bit. Again, no charge. My intent is not that it’s free. No charge, and you determine the value. Download for nada. Please tip at BuyMeACoffee and/or comment and/or Like the post AFTER you’ve had an opportunity to work with it. And, on your own time. No fuss, no rush. You decide its value to you in your own good time, in your way. Money currency, the currency of liking, commenting, sharing, re-blogging. I simply ask tht you value ImaginAction in your own way, even if that’s simply looking out the window and smiling from it if you do. That kind of thing, that kind of energy put out there makes to world a better place to be.
I look forward to what ImaginAction feels like from YOUR perspective.
(c) 2020 Jordan Hoggard
We were all small children once. Can you see the child in your eyes?
via We are in this together! — cosmic holly
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(C) 2020 Jordan Hoggard
Pairs well with John Shedd’s, “A ship in harbor is safe, but that’s not what ships are for.”
…to which I add…
And, as the weather always washes through, washing up on the shore after the storm has broken is all but assured. Sometimes we even stand up strong through the whole thing. Sometimes we even open our eyes when we wash up. Though, if we don’t, then on to something else already, huh? I like weather, though I also like the roller coasters at the fair.
Read this poem!
Karen Sealey really takes Mystereum places, and then goes beyond in her own way. THAT is a high honor to me!
It was an uroburos, head bite-touching the origin of its tail for just an archetypal nano-split second until that quark of an archetype embedded itself within just as quickly to disappear to become... a circle with no beginning and no end... with mystery intact living within it. Drawing a circle with a compass slowly is like... is like unfolding a watch's movements gears stretching their stationary orbiting to slow-slingshot outwards while still engaged becoming time-telling fractalled facets not infinite facets on a finite sphere as they shift focus and redirect scale in a constantly continuous manner consistently such as when drawing a perfect circle by hand without a compass for to draw a perfect circle one must be able to dancingly integrate the circular branch nature of the relatedness of things even if simply related by adjacency or infinity of non sequitur so as not to distract the focus of the drawing of a perfect circle in one continuous stroke as a perfect circle is composed of an infinite number of mini-chord lengths each just longer than a point while changing direction continuously. That is the alleged difficulty of drawing a perfect circle by hand sans compass being comfortable enough with planning to be able to be even more comfortable with the forgetting for getting within and about to orbit in a naturally moving not-knowing conscious of the feeling though again transcending the step-off-the-path-never-stepping-off-the-path of the circular branch simply having the circular branch integrated as dog-eared and well-worn experience being comfortable enough with planning to be able to be even more comfortable with the forgetting for getting within and about to orbit in a naturally moving not-knowing living right in the tip of the pencil tough again transcending the steps of the circular branch to dance continuously changing direction naturally always changing direction naturally moving The circle may have no beginning and no end once it is drawn or drafted or delineated or rendered. While drawing it, though, whether with a compass or freehand infinity naturally dwells in the feelingsense of the action prefiguring the nano-split second uroburos archetype to quark in and then embed within the chthonic reaches of it each and every time a circle is drawn. Do it long enough and simply thinking about your compass will do it. I can call the Self, Chthonic Numinosity. I can call it The Temple in (Wo)Man. The Temple of (Wo)Man. Neverminding that pedant statement The first circle was not a circle at all. It was an arced freehand line completing itself, a curved compass line touching its beginning to overlap with seamless segue where no knowing was required, and the very act of lead passing over onto its own lead arced-line origins, formed knowing as the head of the snake as it touch-bit its tail becoming an archetypal figure that disappeared just as fast within itself as it moved inside the line as chthonic heartbeat full and pure in the unconscious depths Shadow lands, living as mystery within, a fitting resident for the darkness. The first circle was not a circle at all when the inner journey of The Hermit opened his eyes to unfurl and sail on the mysteries as he noticed his first steps and fully engaged the big picture by focusing so intensely on the detail that time dilated to be so big and so there as to disappear and birth an archetype in the aftershock of the moment of The Hermit noticing his feet meeting The Wheel. And, another day the serpent within squirmed and twisted over. The aftershocks of the inner movement twisted the circle, twisted the circle into infinity, and the lemniscate was formed. And, you thought drawing with a compass was just going in circles. Ha! It is why I like Grand Prix F1 over Indy. I like to do more than turn left all day. Oh, enjoy that factually fractally faceted circular branch. And, draw a circle slowly a million times. At least take out your compass and draw several circles slowly while fascinating your self with the curved arc continuously changin direction and especially the place where the lead touching the paper touches its beginning. I guess that going to the office to draft my own plans for decades actually served a purpose. I got a single blog out of it. I rather like that. Hidden within that, though, is a blessing... the blessing of drawing circles by hand and with a compass as a guide for 3.1 decades. This thought was always in there. This thought was always in there, and I was conscious of it every time. It was in there both consciously and unconsciously rattling around in there rattling around as my temples flexed knowing something was there and simply Hermit to Wheel experiencing it... until today I hadn't written it down. Strange how deadlines met are met yet still take idea-casualties. Plus, when drawing a circle with a compass, you don't punctuate the arc while doing so. Breath does that for you. And, there's your rationale for me waiting to start punctuating this until I made drew the circle. When drawing a circle with a compass, you don't punctuate the arc while doing so, until you have, and then you do. It's called dimensioning. Center location. Radius dimension. Angle of arc if not a full circle. Try it. Be aware of your breath while scribing a circle with a compass. You might want to practice first, though, by patting your head while rubbing your tummy. Have a great one! Scribe ON!
Circle was born for all time timelessly without beginning or end at that point in time hidden in the compass swinging the arc when the curved line touches and lead passes over its own Self lead origins…. at which point in time The Hermit, becoming aware of his steps and seeing his first steps and the familiar surroundings differently, meets The Wheel… at which point in time The Hermit meets The Wheel.
Oh, Identity. The uroburos. Let identity be embedded, though don’t let it disappear. I really should come up with a relevant card for this uroburos and identity thingamabobbadoodle… OH! Silly me.
who you were when you were born, Self, return, identity, bright success in context
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(c) 2013 Jordan Hoggard
All images (c) 2010 Jordan Hoggard
Jordan Hoggard
Holly Troy