the love artist dot org

& for those of you waiting patiently

a micro-blog, aka continuous live love feed aka *super*love*abundance*


i am fortunate enough to still be writing, holed up in miami, writing feverishly & in the most disciplined manner. It is still too much to blog as well (although I do spend reckless amounts of time on Twitter & Facebook . . i mean a girl still needs to chat (love) & stretch her heart . .;) . . :



(excerpt)

. . .the truth about The School of The Invisible Arts (SOIA) is that there is no school of course. It is invisible. When we are born we are in a terrible conundrum. This is the familiar story behind all the falls from grace. Once we pass that threshold into physicality, we are lost and we must be found. We are totally vulnerable: we cannot find food, we cannot clean ourselves, once we find the animal smell of our mothers, we must wait and be patient to her own awkwardness at the maternal instinct (for some it is more difficult than others, yours is quite challenged I am afraid dear one), and then we are completely vulnerable to the gross mechanics of our digestive systems and the inevitable need for elimination, all quite sticky and difficult for a light energy such as yours. I cannot tell you why you made your choice to be here in the School because that would eliminate much of your travails (though in my heart I am with you colleague and would share all if not under imperial command) and these, I must emphasize, are completely and totally ESSENTIAL to your mission here.

I am not sure of the origins of the descriptive label School on our Agency for it is a much more serious, a Secret Agent Training program actually, yes, for the education of such receptive souls, such disciples or élèves, as your beautiful vessel has caught, but this novitiate actually begins at a very advanced level. There is no time for basic training, you would not have been chosen as The Love Artist and would not have been placed here in my care if you had not been trained before. Again, just as I cannot tell you why you have chosen to be born, I cannot tell you why you had to be reborn. These secrets are classified. But this I can tell you: you will survive. And you will rise to the level to which you have been born, THE LOVE ARTIST. I cannot tell you how long and though much has already transpired and everything does indeed happen at once, you can choose time and you can delay as much as you delight in. I am overstepping my (curriculum) by telling you this: delay is no delight and it only comes from misunderstanding and fear, though I know these are words you do not understand, yet, but you will.

I will not leave you until your mother is ready for you. You have not met her yet but, since you are no longer everything, you will.

~from THE SCHOOL OF THE INVISIBLE ARTS (kathe izzo 2009)







***& just remember, although i love you all, it doesn't make it make any bit less love effective but increases your benefit 10 fold, 100 fold, 10,000 fold, well you get the picture, spread it around, don't just keep it for yourself (LOVE) . . .

xo tla

welcome to an unreasonable life

~louise bourgeois (Page from 'Ode A L'Oubli', 2004)



"remember when you take on the chore of being the rouser

you'll want to have room for the rude before the awakening . . .

sage advice comes from a rumi poem "the guest house"

the dark thought, the shame, the malice
meet them at the door laughing and invite them in
be grateful for whoever comes
because each has been sent from as a guide from beyond

rise from your seat and greet those "guides."  being a messenger requires enduring the discomfort of others.  your ego's survival dialogue will seeke to convince you that the unconditional love business is not your business

your Angels of Doing will want to swallow your Seraphs of Being

in the face of adverse appearances, my (our) ego entices me with the promise of escape to Maui & the position of the gentleman farmer

(or insert what dream of happiness &/or completion &/or recognition &/or security you have signed up for here  . . x tla)

welcome to an unreasonable life

we're the ones we have been waiting for . . . "


SACRED COMMERCE
~matthew & terces engelhardt (founders of cafe gratitude)

auspicious

birthday photographs by thomas kiko morini (top) & absolut beauty (bottom)

i'm still here

even if i am dealing with massive psyche reconstruction

i still love you

absolutely

& i still care

absolutely

smooth

it is my birthday next week

i have never been good at birthdays before but this one is already different

lately i have this image in my head as i am meditating:

i am smoothing out a starched white cloth & it is me, i am smoothing smoothing, smoothing & i am waiting for an arrival, a gift ~ of what?

i have no idea

but i really really know it is coming & i don't have to do anything more, i have done it all already

yes

i am ready

i truly am

oh & btw, speaking of gifts, they have already begun to arrive . . mr kingsley delivered with some bling just yesterday (see above)

let it go

olympic love decathalon

i loved the olympics this year & i have to say that is unusual . . tho i spent a considerable amount of time reeking of chlorine as a pool rat way into my teens & i like to do everything the hard way, i am not a jock or even of the armchair variety

i just couldn't get enough of the focus, i was obsessed with the faces before the race, the stare, the talking to themselves, the inside, the push beyond

we were laughing the other night about the love olympics, not the sex olympics, but the relationship olympics:

you would have the mixed doubles, the women's doubles, the men's doubles with competitions like: the long term relationship, the open relationship, the ambitious relationship, the co-dependent relationship or the really specialized events like: do i look fat in this? or did you sleep with her/him?

but seriously

before i disappear too far (gonna take a little break from writing to reconfigure things at the love artist headquarters, work on the manual & to go where no love artist has ever gone before) into the great beyond of the super love extreme heart of hearts, i want you to know that

you must prepare the vessel to play hard, love hard

you gotta know yourself to gallop

to take the high jump head on

& that it takes a super amount of clarity & commitment to yourself to let the love wash over you & through you & to stretch the heart outside of personal history, to not let the drug of our aching voids get in the way of the joy, i am working hard for you my warriors & will continue to give you the live feed from the front, starting again sometime in october

remember the workout: love love & not the person, don't hold back, detachment from the outcome, use a lot of disciplined heart muscle & a whole lotta green leafy love (you can find me here & there at THE INNER GARDEN during my love artist sabbatical) & a whole lotta prayer & leave some room for spaciousness, leave some room for that beautiful nothing to happen (the real olympics)

remember i am watching your back: HOW TO BE A LOVE ARTIST: coming soon

keep checking in & i will see you on the other side my love puppies

into the (mama) wild pt 2

me in lamb drag, ptown, halloween 1999, photo by jack fehrenbach-schnipper

i am here in provincetown wrangling the goddess princesses out of the bohemian chaos of their daddy's lair & escorting them like a royal police convoy out onto the road to their respective septembers . . 

it's the only way out of here, you gotta get yanked by the roots

the ocean, the calcutta holy terrors of commercial street in the summer, the barren luminosity of the commercial street in the winter . .

me, i'm just wandering around soaking it all in, the sun , the salt, the mixture of my past infamy (if there was a ptown version of the enquirer in the 90s, i would have been on the regular lindsay lohan not-so-baby dyke repetitive cover circuit) & my current below the radar persona . . interesting that from way out of the blue, another ptown mamma responds to the love artist dot org from her blog on the melancholy anniversary of the tragic death of her child & some powerful writing it is:

who is avis

i am honored with your serediptious visit avis, much much solace to you

into the wild

there is no map to my heart

it is never the way you imagine it, ever

when i was a little girl, my mother always lectured me: do not stay home with your children, never depend on your husband, keep your money separate & in the same breath, do not count on your friends, the family is sacred . . .

i have been learning how to let go

i now walk into the wild

those that know me well can tell you i am something like 500% more serene & content than maybe 5 years ago, maybe one year ago but then there is mr kingsley who will shake his head with a grin & sometimes some tired eyes of deep saturated love & say

buy the ticket, take the ride

& by that he means, of course, me

the love artist

i watched into the wild the other night & it disturbed me so much, i must now watch it again

i felt lonely & sad

broke open

& i still do

ringing like a bell

it is such a mess really, to wonder why chris mccandless did what he did

but i also thought, if not now ~ when?

there are so many questions:

what is safe? what is reckless?
what is selfish? what is love?

i just want to bust it all down

here i am in such head-spinning hallucinatory bardo for what feels like ages now, it is hard to say if it started when i chose to leave mr kingsley last november after a mess of bad behavior on both our parts, or when i took the journey deep (or high) into my light body on my own on my extreme living foods odyssey or if the bardo actually began when i chose to come back to the burrow of my lover's embrace last june . . has it been only 3 months?

i have to be honest here or there or everywhere, because the stakes are just that high . . . i spend half of my time these days tripping on joy & the other half pissing & moaning & what is the struggle:

when the intimacy gets that close, it feels like sugar, feels like heroin, feels like a lot of too much

so how do we know what is too much

we all have been noticing the lies, it keeps coming up everywhere, in every conversation, at every dinner table: the shoulds & shouldn'ts

why MUST we do anything?

why buy a house?

why drive a car?

why pay health insurance?

why save?

why be out of time, this time, this time you are breathing right now, why cheapen this breath you are breathing right this minute for the illusion of some safe harbor, somewhere just beyond the horizon?

& to this i add why hold back . .

i know the wild is relative & that within the heart a great unknown & in love a tremendous solitude & in this risk of trust there lies huge white open air, a subtle security unlike anything i (we) have ever known . . .



(to be continued)

white flag

i am still on my quest to simplify.

it's not like i have much choice: paralyzed by a stiff neck a week or so ago & then last friday cracking my head like a prize fighter just bending over to get my shoes

some people think i have been playing with too much of the high stuff: the green, the raw, the spirit medicines & let us not forget the holy love that i have been ingesting through every orifice & that includes every pore of my skin & there is not a free radical left unpaired in my chemistry . . & it is not just mr kingsley that is breaking my heart on a regular basis, it is absolutely every one of you & your friends & family . . i am back to loving the world full time, over time . .

some people just don't understand the commitment . . & i guess i'm an easy target when i am falling down & getting banged up . . it reminds me to be compassionate & not be judgmental when i actually have no idea what is going on in someone's life, which is 95% of the time, i mean i am not even 50% sure of what is going in my own life, especially, especially lately . . which brings me back to my quest . .

so, tho i am not sure what is happening at the very core of me . . i think that one of the reasons i keep falling on my ass is because of the powers out there WANTING ME TO SLOW DOWN

listen, i am the kind of girl who loves, loves, loves to take to my bed, specially when i have such a super willing lover waiting for me, but this is ridiculous, i mean

i have so much to do

& the craziest part of all of this is that when i have ended up completely STILL, i have not been able to read or write or be on the computer, both injuries were to the head so i was forced to lay still & not even pick my head up off the pillow, just laying inside of my own skin . . & what i learned from this was that things fall away, they just fall away & tho i still have my moments where anxiety wanders into the room like a stray cat & i wonder

who let that in?

i am continuing to explore the places in between that are opening up like the great white glaciers of antarctia i was able to witness in herzog's ENCOUNTERS AT THE END OF THE WORLD last week (in an injury clear period) where as it says on the website: off the map, things get strange

i loved that movie

where the tiniest thing is the biggest thing & the biggest thing is the tiniest thing, where the scientists & travelers just surrender to the immensity & complexity of all that is solid & white & yet not what it seems like at all

i have always been obsessed with surrender but i thought it was just a sexual fetish

now i have cells surrendering to cells on the daily, i kid you not, inside my body i feel some hot spots & coiled knots giving it up, that i have carried long long before i was even wished for

anxiety like stray cats that can leave as invisibly as they entered

vats of love oozing to the surface like secret oil geysers, enough fuel to get me to the other side

to you

& you & you & you

off the map, things get strange