the love artist dot org

the end is now the middle

i like to be sequestered away: snow, torrent, fever, love. i like a thick padding. i enjoy a muffled thud. even in a car crash, i actually enjoy the impact -- immediate, startling, yet through the eco-skeleton of the car, the thud to my core carries asylum

there has to be something between the inside & the outside & it has to be more than skin. i know this is an illusion but i love the romance anyway

this is what i find interesting: the interstices. in Berlin there was a green grass between the Wall in the East & the Wall in the West. you thought it was one wall when you were standing beside it, it seemed so finite, the frontier where everything stopped. Columbus knew there was not an end to the world, well maybe, but he went anyway. you can fall over the edge of what you know & maybe there will still be gravity on the other side. in the no-man's land between the East & the West, there were tall look-out towers with the traditional criss-cross supports & a rotating relay retinue of soldiers watching for defectors; the East parlaying freedom into obedience

i have also heard that there were bunnies there, rabbits, in the green grass, in the spring, lots of them. Wendelin told me this one night in bed, whispering into my ear, so it may have just been love & not fact, but i always remember

when i went back to Berlin alone, without Wendelin, the wall was gone & i couldn't figure out where i was going. i looked at the u-bahn map over & over. what was the end was now the middle

mitte: city center. everything was new there, like a trendy, sexy, art money spaceship bandaid dropped over a broken heart

later Fritz & i laid in trodden grass in a scrappy park with open foundation lines where parts of the wall had been & i knew this was where the end had been before. a couple rolled around not too far from us, oblivious to everyone around, in the boundary that was almost making love

honey/crevice (assignment)

the honey is dripping, down of course. it likes to find it's own way & it likes to stay. it likes to follow you home. you will wash your hands & it will still come with you. you think it is gone but it's not. you have a secret wish for honey even if you think you don't enjoy the messy. you do. there is a calling in you that is above organization. there is a crevice in you that the honey came from. you thought you might be merely juicy but it is much slower than that. this is how the crevice grew: from nothing. the honey is so slow, it has all the time in the world. the crevice was there in the beginning. yesterday she told me anger means you are growing. a cleaving does not mean a break. at the inner edge of the crevice both parts come together. it is union & it is not clean

my brain (assignment #8)

i always see an attic in the beginning, every time i start to imagine what it would be like inside my brain. it is usually my great grandmother's attic & it is dark & dusty, alternately forbidding & unexplored & vast. there are a few small windows with indirect light. there are many parts that are unseen

i know there are corners that are unfinished. i sense dirt there, no floors, spaces that dissolve into nature, into the outdoors, dissolve into openness

it reminds me of Rob Hawkin's industrial loft apartment in Paris, where there were scores of rooms unused, that went on & on, more & more unkempt & in various states of decay. though a little scary, it seemed so expansive & free & i thought i could live here & they wouldn't even notice i was here. i could start a whole new life. i would be free, like camping. i don't need much, i thought at the time

those corners also remind me of the movie crawlspace, that terrified me a pre-teen, where a transient man lodges himself in the crawlspace of an unsuspecting surburban couple & will not leave. he haunts them quietly, pervasively. in my childhood home we kept a few things in the crawlspace but we didn't go in there often. it was tucked away under the split level living room with faux french doors not even big enough for a dwarf. we kept the christmas ornaments down there so that held a certain amount of magical allure, however the way my father had to bend all the way over & squeeze himself through the tiny opening was more than a little disconcerting. it reminds me of a repetitive dream i had as a kids where i was climbing through heating conduits to escape some danger but i got claustrophobia & got really anxious. i have been told this is a birth trauma dream, which makes sense. in any case, i never went in there, but i peered hard, trying to make out any figures in the darker regions. someone could have been living in there

which brings up the ever present question i pondered as a child: if there was eminent danger in our home, would my father be able to conjure up super human powers to protect us? or even human powers? these are the things i thought about at night, when i couldn't sleep

in my dreams lately i often find a sudden room or series of rooms or sometimes a whole other house or apartment attached to mine, through a doorway i somehow never noticed; more space, a different life. the most repetitive of these spaces is a grand ballroom, right there under my nose, with vaulted ceilings & smooth floors, empty, immense. often there is a rotunda . . .

the ship is leaving shore

you think it can't be love without the landmarks
but soon there will be no words for the familiar

simple

the ship is so off shore

the tether only a dream showing up as an anchor in an intense spasm in my neck & shoulder that i have been trying to clear up for days now & that has me totally disabled

only an early morning heated discussion/full body brush & massage/& you-know-what-goes-along-with-all-of-that (including eyes rolling back in the head, etc, etc) with mr kingsley (previously known as pdaddy now somehow graduated) did indeed loosen the knot & my tendency to obsess over the details & for a while i did feel so much better

i woke up from a dream that i was marrying a prince i had never met & all the riches of the kingdom were waiting in the lobby of my hotel & i was so content in my little hotel room no amount of cajoling could lure me to the elevator

my kids were with me

all i see lately is: simplify, simplify, simplify

what else could be the reason for the kind of pain that this little twitch in my shoulder caused, like complete paralysis, what other reason could there be for a pinched nerve that rings an alarm every time one thinks TOO hard, or attempts to be too willful about just about anything . . .

tsk, tsk, back to no landmarks

back to the sea for thee, missy

elevating mr kingsley

everybody wants to know about mr kingsley's graduation & it's pretty simple, like everything else in my new life, that started yesterday . . . when i get to his house every night,  i feel joy & as long as i pay attention to that,   i'm pretty much home free.  it works for mothers, facing the pretty much impossible in what it takes to raise a human infant, supposedly the most complex being on earth & yet there is so much room for immeasurable damage to occur, those tiny beings so fragile for so long . . & you know what immeasurable damage does occur & oops, you know what heals it, that momma  gaze of love, that adoration, that pure recognition, that's what brings it back to me & you every time, you love me, i love you . . . that momma gaze can be everyone of us & we can turn it around at any moment, wake up, we don't have to wait for the origin of love . . . this is actually the third time around for the love artist & mr kingsley: the first time an aborted courtship that pretended to be casual, the second time we ran smack into each other & rolled like we were on a desert island & now we are back, in the world with eyes wide open . . i am choosing love today & not taking any detours, just now & now & now & now & love & love & love . . & i don't have to worry about tomorrow . . crazy, but true

oh yeah & pdaddy = asleep & mr kingsley = awake

& i am talking about me & not him, if you know what i mean

warrior princess(es)

~ me & mara summer 1987, the pamet, truro, massachusetts, photos by jason gavann



"Why do we focus so intensely on our problems? What draws us to them?
Why are they so attractive? They have the magnet power of love:
somehow we desire our problems; we are in love with them much as we
want to get rid of them . . . Problems sustain us -- maybe that's why they
don't go away. What would a life be without them? Completely
tranquilized and loveless . . . There is a secret love hiding in each problem . . . ."

- James Hillman, *The Essential James Hillman: A Blue Fire



yesterday i was talking with the mega-love-princess-angel mara, the oldest of all the love princesses & we were talking about love or rather she was talking about her love-life & i, of course, was philosophizing about love

(& she called me on not being fun & in the moment & i called her on not being able to control my response . . aah, the love artist lineage can be a treacherous, yet honey-sticky, one . . )

& she was telling me a story of many lovers in love simultaneously & feeling slightly despondent about some long term love affairs that she admired & felt were super hot, that were now over & is it really possible to fall madly in love forever, is it real & is it better to spread yourself over many relationships & somehow keep your center (these are my interpretations & not her words, please) & i implored the present moment version of what may seem as careless or perhaps even, to some, stupid crazy love, where we love hard & with all we have because it is worth it in the moment to exercise our heart like the thoroughbred that it is

this is dangerous (for me) because of the nascent imbroglio between what has become known as co-dependency & love addiction & what could possibly be the highest state of mystical love, total union with the face of god, which is really love, everywhere, in every face, every beautiful & even ugly, face you encounter

now this may seem like an even better argument for the ethical slut-ism of polyamory or friends with benefits, which, as provincial & old-fashioned as i may seem in my current borderline marriage to mr kingsley*, i am not against in any way

the very nature of the true love project itself (where the professional love artist began loving on demand & with total focus in art establishments & on location in total strangers' homes, falling "deeply & madly & passionately" in love for a day or an hour) is based on a free-wheeling energetic form of love-the-one-you're-with, if even for just a moment in time & on the clock at that

(i have been known to answer the constant question back in the early days of the true love project:
is this special, is this different, is this the absolutely best true love appointment ever
with the answer: yes, this is special, different & absolutely the best & they all are
& my next appointment is on the way  . . . )

but i did implore ms love princess mara to love with all her heart always . .

& to not hold back

she did bring up the question of chemistry & true love & polyamory & sex & whoooaaaa . . . that is a totally other lesson

but to come back to the very beginning of the conversation, she was speaking of a lover dear to her heart & his/her (i will not betray your secrets mistress mara, i am a good mommy) issues & his/her problems that come up only in the face of love & to this i murmured, trying to keep my momma pedagogy to a minimum:

if our deepest problems were not sugared with love , we would probably never free ourselves

(or something like that)


*love princess mara is not wholly against this new configuration of the MK/TLA pair-binding experience, in fact, i believe she remarked something like it gave her faith, that she loves people that are "trouble" (my euphemism) too . . . (& i don't think i was imagining) . . & i love that trouble . .

(sigh)

(don't we all)

(i could wish an easier life for my daughters & i do but if it must be . . they are warrior princesses, bring it on)

baby mama love frontier

the origin of love

 

. . .when you understand, love artist, that what most people really, really want is simply to feel good about themselves, and when you realize that with just a few well-chosen words you can help virtually anyone on the planet instantly achieve this, you begin to realize just how simple life is, how powerful you are, and that love is the key . . .

love love

what the water gave me

been rushing around needlessly, just so excited & filled with the spirit since a beautiful seemingly subtle ceremony the other night, til i cracked my head open on the corner of the cabinet & mr. kingsley had to put me to bed with an ice pack

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

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)

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

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

let it go