Tonight I will be in Boston performing a story for the Evolver Boston's brand new Ayahuasca Monologues with Jonathan Talat Phillips, Joe Moore, Kara Trott, The Medicine Hunter and Adam Elenbaas . . . my storytelling debut, off the page, off the leash . . . 7:30 at the Central Square Y, it would be great to see you there . . .
an excerpt from EL JEFE:
At this point in history, there is absolutely no way of predicting the outcome of anything, even, say, breakfast, no way of knowing anything beforehand, really. From one moment to the next, just like a car wreck, just like twisting your ankle, just like falling in love ~ one minute you are one way and then the next minute, no really the next second, the next nanosecond, and you are altered for life. You cannot prepare for this. On a daily basis, there are moments where you realize there is absolutely no going back, ever, whatever happens~ you will never be the same again.
Last summer, I was in a sweat lodge during purification at a Sundance, way upstate near Canada and a woman in the lodge sang a song that moved me. It was in English, which is unusual both in the tipi and in the lodge and it was so clearly a song for Love:
High above the mountains, across the sea, I sing to you, I know you can hear me
High above the mountains, across the sea, I call to you, come pray with me
I wanted that song. I knew I needed to sing that song.
This is how it goes with songs in the tipi: you need to pray, you want to pray, you need to find your voice, you need to not be afraid, in order not to be afraid you need to find the songs that you absolutely must sing, there is no holding back.
Then the songs become yours, so you must really choose your truth. Other people will pick up those songs, other people will share your songs, but you will be known by your songs. The more songs that call to you, the deeper and more intricate and more whole your prayer becomes.
The true way to learn a song is for someone to sing it to you. Sure, plenty of songs are learned off of YouTube and CDs but really, you need to go up to someone in the morning after listening to them sing all night and you need to find a place to sit down and have them teach you how to pray.
I asked Stephanie to teach me that song. She told me she had sung that song in sweat lodges for years, looking for her mate, someone to take her on with her pack of kids, and she found him, her chief. She still sings the song anyway. We didn't have time though, I thought the song was lost for me. I couldn't find it anywhere.
One night in the middle of the night I got a phone call and it was Stephanie on her way to work out in Seattle. She sang me the song once, because she was in a rush and then she sang it again onto my voicemail. I learned it that way, playing it over and over.
My daughter Nola was in Cuba then, and I called her there in her boarding house, where they had to call her down to the lobby for her calls. I taught her the song, she sang it back to me right there by the switchboard with a card game going on in the background. It was like $1.00 a minute and we were both crying and sniffling a little.
I told Stephanie's sister she taught me the song and I said I was praying for a partner. She laughed and said, no that is an ancestor song, that song is to call your relatives close to you, to help you, to guide you. But, she said with a smile, let me know if it works out the way you want it.
That was all over six months ago. Last night, I was in a sweat with about 30 women, virtually right on the street in the Bronx, in a community garden. We were packed in tight and the stones were hot. We went 5 rounds. Almost every song was in Spanish, but on the last round, Nola's voice rose from deep in the lodge, across the way from me: High above the mountains . . .
This last full moon slammed me, in the best and worst sense of the word. It started out with my cousin Sylvia's wedding at the Jersey Shore on Saturday. It was her third wedding and I don't think anyone expected it to be as insanely joyous and off the hook as it was. I mean it's not like she and Greg are not thrilled to be beginning their new life as husband and wife but I guess I was thinking that maybe Sylvia would be more sober about the whole thing, having been there before. Bad Love Artist. I should know better. True love is like giving birth, you get amnesia. It really isn't til about a week before the baby was due, that I started to get that jumping off a tall building anxiety but, really, it doesn't even cross my mind until then, when it's too late.
Sylvia and Greg got married in a church, just like newlyweds, except that Sylvia's two daughters, 18 & 20, gave her away. Greg had met Sylvia about 24 years ago at a party. She was married to her first husband then. After being introduced, Sylvia, just a little over 5 feet tall and always an over-sharer, showed Greg that she had hemmed her pants with masking tape on her way over to the party. Greg was amazed at her guilelessness and never forgot her. Her marriage fell apart, and then the next one did too. Greg was still waiting for her. Not in touch, just hanging out in the wings, faith in love, faith in her.
Their reception was in a marina in Point Pleasant. It was torrential outside, rain falling in frigid leaden curtains sideways and continuous all night long. After we had all collected ourselves at our designated tables in a banquet room that was totally prom-worthy, the music started pounding quietly and then mounting into a crescendo. We were all called out onto the dance floor in a circle and suddenly the MC was yelling into the mike like it was a monster truck ralley . . . AND NOW FOR THE FIRST TIME AS MAN AND WIFE . . .
They burst through the doors, two 50-something newlyweds, holding hands and running out in the middle of all of us and jumping up and down & dancing to GIMME SOME LOVING, GIMME GIMME SOME LOVING, GIMME SOME LOVING > > EVERY DAY >>>>>>>
And then we all started jumping up and down too and danced, really, all night long. Once in a while someone would remind us that the buffet was open and a few people would straggle off, but mostly, yes, on the dance floor. At one point, the MC called Sylvia: the happiest bride EVER.
There were always more men than women though my nephews held their own with their cousins, their aunts and they all took turns dancing with their grandmother. After all, they were born into the tail end of this matriarchy, they had plenty of practice & humility handling their women . . . my grandmother, the matriarch & their great grandmother, was the oldest of 7 sisters, and from there, all the way down the line, generation after generation of all girls.
My grandmother wasn't there, though. At 99, she was in a rehab in Florida after a mini-stroke & congestive heart failure. It is the first big event that she hasn't ruled at. It was a relief to not be faced with her discomfort, for a minute, but it was so strange to not have her there.
Oh god, I hate to be the party pooper.
One of the last songs was of course WE ARE FAMILY and we all danced in a circle. I was next to my aunt, the mother of the bride, my mother's only sister, my second mother. She can barely see, particularly in the dark, but she looked beautiful and she was still dancing and laughing.
My daughters and I slept in a room together right at the marina. We ran across the parking lot in the rain and fell asleep like little puppies, in a pile. I woke up in the middle of the night after a dream about high school filled with so much fear about the little things, being left out, people being mean, realizing that you have been delusional about many things, including who you are, what you look like, your face. One of the those dreams that were so real, you can't figure out where you are.
This was the morning of the full moon. We were still all together and it was still all love.
Brunch at the marina before leaving: a chocolate fountain with strawberries for dipping, cannolis, bacon, eggs benedict (for starters).
By the time I walked through the door to my love palace about 5 hours later, alone, I had already been crying for an hour or so. I didn't know why. I cried all night, I couldn't stop it.
Sitting on the floor in Nola's dorm room, early morning, she is sleeping, still squished over on her side of the skinny little twin bed. I slept over. The birds are outside, speaking French as they usually do in the Spring. The branches of the big tree outside her window are grey, wet & slick. Last night we went out dancing in the Blue Room, a large room in the building with the dining hall that is reserved for social gathering, like dancing, making out, making drama, running around. Nothing new and everything new. We were early because Mama was yawning, we cracked open the dance floor, but soon there were a bunch of girls (not us), seriously busy, writhing around on top of each other on the gogo risers piled up in the middle of the floor to Lady Gaga, Rhianna. Just when we were ready to go, the boys arrived.
You describe in your book that your patrons feel (or want to feel) as if they are the 'special' one, or they that they are the one you were going to love the most, or they are going to show you the real way, the ultimate embrace . . . even if they know, even if they really understand, that you will only love them for one day . . .
When you love your patrons, do they become 'special'? Can there only be one 'special' or do you retain all the others at the same time? If everyone is equal then surely no one is more special than the other, but at the same time, don't you think that you can't feel fully loved unless you feel (at least a bit) more special than everyone else?
Do you think that to feel 'special' is, or should be, the priority for Love?
Beyond the Pale
Dear BTP,
First of all --
They are, You are, I am Special.
I think it is a shortcoming of such a luscious word that in order to call it to oneself, it is inherent that no one else can own it, or only a very select few.
I think the need to feel special comes from the need to feel safe, for if one feels so special, so rare and in need of the most divine & devoted attention, then certainly no one would let anything happen to you, certainly not your one & only, your beloved.
This need to be safe has become so huge in today's world of code-orange-just-about-everything that it has caused this enormous hunger, the need to be special & this hunger only separates one from their mates & just exhausts everyone.
The True Love Project loves the whole world one at a time & I believe that there is more than enough time for people to come back for seconds & thirds . . . I certainly have no concern about the time, or the redundancy & I get excited everytime I get the opportunity to love.
The idea that
there is all the time in the world
is a huge antidote to a compulsive hunger for love. Couple that with
we could all go tomorrow
& you have the perfect formula for love: pay attention & love the person in front of you with your whole being . . it's like the breath of fire where you concentrate on a forceful exhalation, breathing very quickly, always focusing on the exhalation . . you know you will automatically inhale, the body wants to inhale, there is no need to worry . . if you pay attention to the most exquisite details of the being in front of you, even if it is the cashier at the Mobile Mart, & focus on love, the love & specialness will automatically come back to you, probably at least tenfold.
Spread it around my love & thanks for reminding me of that, so much xoxox TLA
P.S. BTW, A pale (beyond which you obviously grow) is an old name for a pointed stake driven into the ground to form part of a fence and — by obvious extension — to a barrier made of such stakes, a fence. So you see your chosen alias pushes the limitations of such a fence or a safeguard, barrier, or any limit beyond which it is not widely permissible to go . . . <3 xxxox
It was effortless because she was so game about the whole thing, so receptive. She had faith. She really believed that I was loving her, from the first minute, she woke up bright & shiny & feeling loved. I think she might have been the first person ever in the entire history of the True Love Project that wrote me first. Which was a good thing because I was kind of a mess on Sunday morning ~ due to 8 days of fever, I felt weirdly bright & shiny too but kind of carved out & a little empty, like someone else, with a beautiful, divine amnesia in my better moments & the disposition of a cranky 2 year old in my, well, cranky moments of despair.
But Anne was like, "Hooray! No thank you! And good morning sweetie!" from the first minute & "Oh that is so hot! Even when you are drawn a little bit like you have baby bear ears you are super beautiful." (I was modeling for someone at the time, staring at the light fixture, thinking about God & of course, breathing into my heart & loving Anne.)
To which I responded: "I love that you have a sense of humor about love . .& that is hot . . .tho I think I was supposed to be a bat . . kinky ;)"
I feel like most of our significant loving came later in the evening, when I was so tired & we were endlessly emailing back & forth in a form of pillow talk that was so precious, simple. I mean there (at least seemed) was no agenda. I could hardly pick my head up from the pillow and then Anne decided to put our true love on Facebook as complicated, not even really as a joke, because I mean, IT WAS REALLY TRUE but then everyone was all over my page with support & hugs for my new relationship & I got even more queasy & feverish . . . not that I need to explain myself, ever really, but . . I did have a conservative moment though, I really did. I thought to myself, "I don't want to be making fun of other people who take so much time to decide whether or not to go public on Facebook with their relationship" and then I thought, Kathe, you have got to be kidding . . you are in love in the world, you are the love artist, be bold . . & I had to think for a minute: what is real??? & more importantly, what is love????
FROM ANNE'S TRUE LOVE QUESTIONNAIRE:
TELL ME THREE IMPORTANT THINGS ABOUT YOURSELF:
I am awesome. I care deeply. I have a lot to learn.
NOW GO AND LOOK IN THE MIRROR. LOOK INTO YOUR EYES. REALLY LOOK IN AND TELL ME ONE MORE THING ABOUT YOURSELF.
I feel like I live in an earthquake.
TAKE A MOMENT TO THINK ABOUT THE WAY YOU LIKE TO BE LOVED, NO NOT JUST THE WAY YOU LIKE TO BE LOVED, THE WAY YOU NEED TO BE LOVED TO FEEL REALLY TRUE AND RELAXED IN YOUR SKIN. THESE DESCRIPTIONS CAN TAKE ANY FORM. IT CAN BE A LIST, IT COULD BE THE CHORUS OF A POP SONG, IT COULD BE AN ANIMAL, IT COULD BE A NUMBER OR IT COULD BE PURE PUNCTUATION.
The only times I have ever consciously felt loved, and said at the time, to myself, “this is what it feel like to be loved, you have to remember this, this is very important,” was when people spontaneously dried my hair with a towel after a bath or shower. It’s only ever happened with my parents—probably, both of them did it, even though I don’t know that they ever did much beyond that to ensure that I felt loved—and with the person who is my very best friend in the world, with whom I continue to have a sort of complicated connection to. I’ve asked people to do it before, explaining, “look, this makes me feel loved, this is important,” but it was always inadequate or somehow unpassionate.
TELL ME A COLOR YOU ARE PASSIONATE ABOUT.
I like a lot of colors. Maybe I think of orange as the most exciting.
WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE TIME OF DAY?
Mornings after I get enough sleep, spring evenings.
ADVANCE LOVE OPTION: WOULD YOU LIKE TO SHARE THIS DAY WITH ANYONE? (IF SO, FORWARD THIS EMAIL TO THEM AS WELL AS FORWARDING ME THEIR EMAIL ADDRESS. REMEMBER THIS COMMUNICATION COULD TAKE A LITTLE TIME, SO GET STARTED WITH ENOUGH TIME.)
No, actually I am going to take this day and be emotionally monogamous by conscious choice. I hope that’s ok with you! I’m doing it out of an interest in concentrating, and not because I require or demand that of love or whatever.
(please let me know if you recognize this image, cannot remember origin . . )
Oh my loves, it has been a long road through the fevers of isolation this week, in & out of really not feeling well & utter exhaustion, but, as you might expect, I LEARNED SO MUCH . . .
Despite invitations to so many spring tipis . . I am at home, still recovering, still so tired but fever gone, fingers crossed, emerging tomorrow in time to teach in Woodstock at the Sage Center for the Healing Arts . .
Currently working on a piece about metta, everything is everything, I am the water & I am the wind & you are the water & you are the wind & you are me & no exclusion, but til then, come and pray with me . . . or, no more separation ~ bring me to you, it's better when we all pray together.
I love you.
Sunday April 10th-- 3:00pm-6:00pm
MANIFESTATION: CLARITY, SURRENDER & LEARNING HOW TO PRAY
with Kathe Izzo
In this three hour workshop we will first clarify our both our needs & discomfort ~ second, list & loosen what we are willing & able to let go of ~ & lastly, in very practical & specific ways, utilize a combination of heart opening techniques based on Kundalini kriyas combined with writing & partnered work to develop a new working relationship to prayer.
Kathe Izzo it's weird, when I was young I had a repetitive dream of newborn puppies, that I forgot were there, living under my bed, last night I dreamt of full grown tigers & jaguars roaming around my house (it's not the first time)
last night i was in a warehouse & outside it was storming & i received a folded up blanket with batik writing on it, a message from your daughter (not sure which one) to me. but the blanket was from both of you. when i unfolded it the blanket had a giant picture of an eagle on it. i was confused by it, an eagle? then i put it over me and there was such an immense sense of comfort. and i watched the storm outside and felt safe.
love the imagery from your dream about the cats.
blessings, eve
I have been feverish for 3 days.
There is a large red anarchist's A on the garage across the alley from my bathoom window. I stare at it when I sit on the toilet. Every day. Many times a day. My eyes fall on it and I automatically go into some kind of trance.
I witnessed an ex yesterday and he appeared to me, in my delerium, as a feral animal, I am not quite sure which kind. What is that static that appears in someone's eyes when they are not telling the truth, a kind of pixelation, a lack of clear frequency. I hadn't asked him anything and he hadn't really said much, but the smell of a lie was in the air. It was strange. Like a disturbing perfume, it had a violent base note to it, whether intentional or not, a element of danger and it wasn't the sexy kind of danger. Or maybe it once was, but was not anymore. Bad danger. This perfume was so exhausting, I mean I was sick and this was clearly the wrong time for this kind of thing. And don't shoot the messenger.
Last night I dreamt of untethered tigers, well actually a large female tiger and a much smaller male jaguar. They were living in the large house of a friend, where they had their own wing. She gave them to me and I really wanted them. The weird thing about the dream was how conscious I was, from rubbing my hands over the sinewy bodies of the big cats, to touching the huge fangs of the tiger, to wondering, once the animals had been sedated and placed in large crates, how I would get them up the three flights to my home and then what would I do with them once they were there.
I wanted these animals so much, but I wondered if I could really sleep with them in my large single room, if I was safe. I spent a lot of time thinking about if they needed to run and the safety of the other people around me, the people that didn't know about the cats, had not had a chance to decide if they wanted to live with wild carnivorous animals. At one point, I saw the jaguar leap from my window, 3 flights up, down to the street & I felt a deep pull in my gut as I surrendered control, like "the cat might die, it might survive, it might run, it might attack, I give up all accountability for this wild animal, I surrender, it is free" but then, of course magically, the way dreams work, suddenly the jaguar was back in front of me, needing my attention.
It has been a very long time since I have had to remind myself several times, throughout the day, that it was only a dream.
oh my loves, i am so sick with the flu & i was going to write off ANOTHER day but then i saw this picture of jules on facebook & i just couldn't resist so here you go ~ my gorgeous daughters & i'll try again tomorrow . . pray for me . . .
love can be quite distracting, i must admit, i have totally fallen victim to it.
i must tell you when i was riding the subway to meet you i was tired and hesitant and was wishing to take a nap instead, and then once we started it whisked me away, the subway back home, i was so excited and felt so much better. you made me giddy.
thank you darlin,
kelie
5/15/03
It is so difficult to find the beginning of love. Just as hard to know the end of love. Like the last time you are going to actually make love with someone. You can think you know & then another time always creeps in. Or you can think you will be with someone forever, like you are madly & with unmitigated passion, undeniably in love and then, oooops, you never actually touch that person, ever ever again. It happens. More times than any of us want to remember.
In the last days I have fallen into the central channel of a love vortex, the layers of which, I think will take quite a while to (continue) to reveal itself . . it's like J said last October "rolling with you is like being in a sci-fi movie" . . . & there is nothing in these crazy TLA parallel universes that are not love, so safety in that respect, even if it feels like somewhat of a free fall at times, we must remember, at the bottom (& there is no bottom, remember) is only love.
If you want to play the video game version of the tunnel of love today, follow this map:
1. In 2003, I thought of this love puzzle: LOST & it worked like this: You are a virtual stranger. You write me an email, I tell you to go a particular neighborhood that we have both decided on in NYC (Miami, Toronto, Berlin, London, etc. etc). I tell you to find a place to sit at the prescribed time & I will call you. We speak on the phone & separately we begin to wander around, taking pictures, talking on the phone, picking up odd "gifts" for each other, until we find each other. Many loves, many cities. So. Much. Fun.
2. In May of 2003, Kelie contacts me. She wants to be part of LOST. She appears to be very skeptical but carries on, regardless. We meet in the Lower East Side. Halfway through our love date, she calls & tells me she has to go back to work . . ????? I meet her. I give her gifts. We stand on the sidewalk awkwardly but clearly in love.
3. I saw Kelie last night, yes last night, april fool's day 2011 & hugged her hard.
(But back to the story)
4. I think at this time (2003) Kelie & Sto are falling in love.
(admittedly tiny & not a clear representation of kelie & sto, & from the end of cinders & not the beginning of love, but i love this picture & what is representation but an illusion anyway)
5. They become conceptual baby mama/daddy together & start a magical gallery in Williamsburg that gets a whole lot of attention. It is called Cinders because there is a fire that burns down all of their possessions in the process of their beginning this love, this adventure, this power beat beat beat of community.
6. Though we only had a moment, Kelie believes in the love & brings to Cinders, one hot week in July, 2004. I live in the window of Cinders & love the neighborhood, day in & day out, even though some guy in New York Press insinuates that I am giving handjobs in the gallery. I particularly fall in love with Kelie & Sto.
7. George wanders in. She is more magic, her studio around the corner where she alternately fills things with light & repairs large religious effigies for churches. We are like sisters & drink each other up.
8. As is true of NYC matrixes we do not see each other for many years.
9. Oddly, my NYC Inner Garden Cleanses begins with a recommendation of George's to a random friend. George has never done the cleanse, only felt the love.
10. After many years, I call George a few weeks ago, because I need a hug & through the wonders of Facebook, I can tell she needs one too. This is revealed to be absolutely true.
11. George has some new revolutions going on. She is learning to surf in a new way. A new project: Wayfarers, a studio/gallery space in Bushwick. She asks me to come & bless the space at it's inaugural event. I feel sick & half well (this was this week) alternately. I confirm & cancel, repeatedly, but I think to myself "You need to go to Wayfarers. There is someone you need to meet there."
12. In the meantime, a woman, Susannah, contacts me to do the cleanse. She is in a grieving process. She wants to bring the molecules some love. She is the old friend of another friend. Until this moment she is not part of the Kelie/Sto/Cinders/George love continuum.
(susannah who I met through laurel:
who i met through giorgio:
who i met through jonathan:
who i love (all) beyond the cells & then some . . . )
14. On Thursday night, I drive the food into the city & make many deliveries. I bring Susannah her food in Bushwick. We only have 20 minutes together. She is brave. Her heart is so open. I am dumbstruck & so honored. We are both (kinda) electrified.
15. George contacts me yesterday to give me time & address info. The Wayfarers is located IN THE FIRST FLOOR OF THE SAME BUILDING THAT I DELIVERED THE FOOD TO SUSANNAH THE NIGHT BEFORE. They do not know each other, but George opened the door for Susannah just a few days before.
16. I bring the blessing last night. Susannah comes downstairs with her young daughter. She is like my family that has come for support. I feel like I have backup. I begin by drawing a prayer in the center of the space. I then draw a wiggly circle inside the space people have cleared for me. I am singing, also wiggly. Those of you that know The Love Artist Greatest Hits know the part when I get to I LOVE YOU, ALL OF YOU . . I am now looking each person in the eye. Suddenly I am looking at Sto in the eye. Then suddenly I am looking at Kelie in the eye. Then George. Then Susannah.
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