Three months of seeking and I realized that what was sought was not lost, but veiled by a mask of papery skin that flakes when dried. To peal one layer is the trick, too quick and you bleed taking more than was intended. The torn ends are then bended to the right and to the left, the front and to the back, up, down and center.

As I watched my substance drain, the subtext came and cured the need to question. Less can be more when there is nothing left but time and presence measured. Observe, the short pageant of the sun revealing and retreating behind the horizon of the mind I thought would never remember.

I enter a new phase turning newer even while my body has become fewer, an empty vessel to be filled. The child inside looks forward to the filling like a present needs to be opened to be loved. I am a treasure chest of emptiness, though water would be gold in my throat.

Soon I take in one more measure of slumber, dreaming of the torn vest and thunder or the wonder left when all possibilities are tried.

Drying is like dying but not dead.
Rescue can be lying in my bed.

My mantra has become, "When I fear I can't accomplish the tasks at hand, I remember that this is another opportunity to become more than I thought I could be."

- - -

I look to the ever-shining signs of present potentials unrealized, then choose. Not to narrow, but to focus the beam of seeing, I divide the desired from the adequate while laughing, dying, crying. Am I playing a new game the same way, or playing the old game with newly invented rules? More likely I play because that is the only rule.

Value has shown a second shade, the other side of my blade less sharp than one used for cutting. I fold days for nothing then unfold... The wallet is full of something that can't be spent, lending new emphasis to the lists of undone chores. All the while the bending frame curves in and then out making the wire brittle, exposing the answer to a riddle I never asked you to answer, but I appreciate the gesture. Grand sweeping arms, a turn and pause...

Oh yes, I remember I am here to be remembered for for this. Millions of angled views on one thought float in the spiraling tides of human memory. I have sailed these seas and mapped deeper places than this. There are more ways than one to measure the breadth of my tinker. The small turn of a gear hidden within the machine, so hard to find that it doesn't appear at all, can raise the speed just fast enough to break through the barrier that was placed there so neatly that it must be there to be broken. I placed hope in a chest marked "open".

Note to self:
Think as a captain even while acting as a passenger.

...I raise high my glass of wine. A patient smile can win you kin from strangers who have walked the mile to join the game. You tame the troubled, drifting hearts who wonder at the omniscient sifting. Cold lifting as the spring winds blow clouds to sun and sun to rain and rain to pleasant daytime pollen. Brown leaves whisper the names of the fallen.

I bow lower each moment the circle grows. Who knows when the weaves will link and mind will mark the pass of time, reflecting on the craft of cosmic rhyme that brought us here to clear and climb.

I just added two new DJ mixes to my website. They were recorded toward the end of the year (2005) and represent where I have been headed lately.

1) Halloween 2005
Recorded for and aired on C89.5 FM in Seattle
This is an insane mix of dark breaks, progressive, techno and trance. I am still trying to figure out how I did that. This one will make you move fo' sho'.

2) Winter Solstice 2005
Recorded on OSEAO internet radio
A wintery chill out set of deep spacey trip hop and world beats. It includes new tracks from interchill records as well as some classics from cafe del mar, thievery corp., dj spooky and a track from friends in the north.

Want to listen?
www.osirisindriya.com/music/mixes.htm

enjoy!

I have spent much time viewing art I could not afford. Now I find a piece that wants to purchase me.

I came home from my weekly at Contour on Thursday night and my clothes smelled like... ME!!! (I am taking this as a good thing ;))

Last Thursday marked the first day of Washington's new state-wide smoking ban. It bans cigarette smoking in public buildings AND within 25 feet of potentially opening vents, windows, and doors. What this meant on Thursday was a completely SMOKE FREE night of music and dancing! Early Gift for me! Oddly enough, the lack of smoke allowed me to notice another skunky smell wafting from somewhere unseen. Was that always happening but was usually covered up my the noxious secondhand cigarette smoke, or was this a new thrend beginning. The only way to find out is to see what happens this week.

Wait... it gets better.

On Friday morning I was walking to my bus too work and what new oddity did I see... Urban Professionals smoking out on the sidewalk! Yes. These smokers who once stood next to the doorways causing the smoke to come inside were voluntarily following the rules and smoking out on the sidewalks. It was interesting to watch them longingly look at their comforting doorways while pacing back and forth. I see this as a great thing. No more solitary smoking in the shadows. Now smokers can come out to the sidewalk to meet and greet passers by. Will this create a new reputation for the city of Seattle as a more health consious and friendly place to be? I hope so.

So, if you see a smoker following the rules and smoking on the sidewalk, don't hit them with your shoulder as you pass. Give them a high five and pat them on the bum because they deserve it for being such a goodie goodie and following the rules.

AND... Go support your local club night you used to avoid because of the smoke. Show them that clean air is good for business!

King's Chamber is quickly appraoching which marks the end of a personal ritual I began in the spring of 2001 with the initial conception of the Oracle Gatherings. The physical representation of this preparation has been my beard, which I have not cut since that time.

This Ritual Prayerformace is the most personal for me. It is more real than many in the audience will realize. It is unimportant weather the specifics are fully understood. It is more important that that realness is felt... the genuine nature of real sacriface and empowerment.

This real expression will be felt in real relationships. It will be felt in the intensity of sacrifice. It will be felt in the return to the original self. Who will see the deeper expression of my souls yearning and discovery? Anyone who has felt the desire to realize themselves as their highest ideal.

I invite those who seek to journey into the King's Chamber and see the secrets that contain the keys to true power.

www.oraclegatherings.com
oraclegatherings.tribe.net

There are more mees than meets the I.

The complexity of 2 is infinite when one sees the many circles overlapping.

Each word spoken inseminates and kills, changing the potentials, each winking in and out of existance with each sounding. Actions may not reflect the spoken potentials, but dance their own language of possibilities... portals opening and closing. Even waiting causes change.

The proximity of two can cause eruptions, corruption, induction into a school of the subconscious. To graduate, you don't always need to pass. Each new meeting is in a class by itself... incomparable... and the cheat sheet is in the first few moments of time shared. Sitting across a table, a battle field, a game board, a honeymoon bed of passionate wondering we share, or we don't. Zap to the gut you walk past and the choice to turn, to speak or walk on is the starting whistle. But then, there is the influence of chemical blindness like sugar in the eye of the beholder. We hold her to himself, or is it the other way around. I forget.

But I remember the moments when Woman was asking a question I didn't hear. My question was too present, immanent on the edge of action to hear the subtle song of the ages. My question is answered, or at least the answer is hinted at and I have chosen to fill in the blanks for myself. So now, I pause.

Present to inspire, I gently light a fire
Laid at the foot of the mountain.
Bathed in golden light, it steals away the night
Made double reflected in the fountain.

Couragous is the climb, across the face of time
Lined with pearls in each direction.
Pace replaced by wim, emerging from the dim
Blind stepping with trust protection.

~ Natra

...to lift again with purer motion
I paint a 10 with liquid notion
when floating pen in tideways ocean

Folding in forgotten rites...
...to energize abandoned phrases
a falling rise of fragrant places
the wild surprise a hand of aces

Toning words of anchient rule...
...with all the deeper strength and passion
the hollow keep made full from ration
a timepiece reaping blue compassion

Open gates in future nights...
a turning path can wake the sleeper
the tapping staff of one believer
above the mark of access deeper

Present power, temple hour
Climbing halfway up the tower.

The last obeys the master.

In the infinite space between, I find fullness laughing at the void. The laughter is contagious, but the joke is on me.

I insist on your beauty which grows clearer each meeting.
I persist on my love because it grows deep with repeating.

I serve without want.
I trust without front.

I prepare for the next with a coin on my chest... a hand to my breast sensing the rhythms return. Holding the tool as it hums and it burns, waking the magick of time tempted tragic, scaling the wall, not to hide or to fall, but to show that freedom is within the arc of the throw...

...a distance easily traveled but rarely returned from. Where will we go? The path forks each step, a rule not a choice, the voice of the world speaking. What will we hear? Or shall we sing that much louder to fill the void with the powder of essence dried and applied to the blade? Or maybe stepping bare foot to the bud of the blossoming friendship pulled tight to be strummed, each word to be hummed as the altar bed resonates the song? How long to be waiting when temple hearts' fate rings the bell hung neatly to the side?

Your word lessons remind me of the self once behind now in front to be seen once again.

I have been gifted a knife... a special blade with a history. I have used this knife twice and both times have irrevocably changed my life in extreme ways. When I first received it, I was shocked and humbled. I knew the importance it held for the giver and was totally and utterly taken by surprise that it would come into my hand to stay, with a new deer antler handle, a new purpose. It was made for me and it lives to be used. It's blade is sharp and hungry. It has a mind of its own.

( Read More... )

I give thanks again for the stunning reflections I have surrounded myself with. I am so humbled by the honesty of those I love, the unabashed realism and truth that flows through them, which I return without fear or reservation... a potent cycle of elevating truth. I remember wishing I could be seen for what I am. I remember feeling alone, stranded in myself, the world I created from ashes and bone, which I have beautified with textured paint and feathers, lights glimmering, exposing the darker places which I once thought would cause fear, but instead inspire hope and love. I love the intimate feeling of being seen by one, by many. Each pair of eyes seeing something different, sharing a bit more of themselves than they realize. I speak more, telling the truth of what I see, unafraid of what I may bring forth in others when I see the hope inspired. I exorcise daemons with my gaze, heal wounds with my touch, awaken hearts with a word when I come to the altar of friendship naked and exposed. It is what we all want, after all, to be seen and exposed, loved for our uniqueness... what we once may have called imperfections are now jewels of individuality. Weakness can be transmuted into strength through embracing the truth of our difference.

Dark Mother, you found me again and I weep for joy. I invoke your secret signature on my skin... lines traced by fingers, by memory and time. I am marked for service which I glady submit myself to, pouring gratitude into a cup to be shared. Your presence drives me to complete, to create and destroy, to clear and fill again. Your bountiful fruits have found us hungry and have satisfied. I open as you have opened. As I have held my seed, my giving life, it shoots up and out through higher centers, cascading about me, a cloak of warm light and comforting song. Each burst of life I share feeds many more than the one intended and I release into the flow to the places emptied. This is the true magick of my being and a bow low to the ones who made me with the awareness to see a good thing when it presents itself. I release myself into the tepid waters of self trust and a love of self that turns the key that everyone can see, but few have touched... unsealing the place that was never meant to be closed, but to be thrown open again and again. From here, I move toward the home found only when the seeking becomes a dance danced throughout ages, the steps defined by the length of the arm and the leg, the shape of the head and the curve of the neck and back, the swing of hips and the heave of the chest. I leave to return and return to leave again. Amen. So Be It. Natra.

I am deep in sleep dep from my mission to the stones. I took a short nap last night and headed to meet a group of magickal misfits I am newly integrating with at 2am. We left for eastern Washington, for the replica of Stone Henge (( see it )) to meet the solstice sun at this monument to the passing seasons. The sky was becoming pale in the East as we arrived, and saw that several other vehicles and their occupants were present. I was one of the first of our group to enter the circle of stones and found a cluster of teenagers singing or chanting in the center. My first thoughts were memories of Egypt... large stone structures with clusters of new agers and tourists around every corner, searching for space for ritual work among so many workers.

We found the altar empty and began to set our implements on it. The teenagers took note and stepped out of the center, toward the inner ring of standing stones to watch what we were doing... all except one girl who was not wearing warm enough clothing and was swaying on her feet, in some sort of trance from the biting chill in the swirling gusts. We proceeded with awareness of the eyes of others, focusing on improvisational sounds and sage to set the space. I found myself extremely solitary, retreating inside myself. I had poetry in my mind that would not emerge to be heard, but feedback upon itself until it was gibberish. I found myself loathing the idea of playing a pageant. I began to walk clockwise around the space, noticing the concrete fashioned to look like stone all around me. As the sun began to turn the low clouds to fire, I was drawn outside the circle, away from my companions. I found a flat grassy patch and knelt, staring at the growing glow, squinting more at the radiance crept higher...

Challenged is how I felt as I emptied myself in full view of the now returning sun. The old ways of communicating with the aethers were lacking effectiveness, even repulsive, child's language, the desperate beggings of basic understanding. I again was filled with poetry to welcome the radiant father in the sky back to the Northern Hemisphere. Again, it jumbled into gibberish as I opened my mouth to speak my spell aloud. Silence took me again. I felt unprepared, a tourist. I had done little to prepare beyond deciding to go, and it challenged me. Why did I go all that way to participate when I had not prepared myself for the role? I had a pleasurable time basking in the pure light of day. I appreciated the company present. Yet, I felt somehow disempowered in my expression, a feeling that is rare these days, with so much momentum carrying me. All I had left was my presence and the space I took while honoring the light's return.

The girl from the center came and knelt beside me, teeth incessantly clattering, sniffing back a ready flow of mucus. I felt her being with my eyes closed, felt her long for my acknowledgement, for me to be aware that she was there. I completed my private prayer and offered her the juice that had been offered to me. Connection made. I rose to return to the altar, to reintegrate with my travel companions and contribute to the collective offering of presence and endurance of the relentless wind.

I change so fast these days, I find I must give myself a lot of room, allowing solitary expression when needed. I also see that I am looking for something that was not there... a shared depth and commitment to the creative act of assertion, a shared language. In order to manifest this, I must first become it from the inside out. I am learning. I am sleepy. Goodnight!

My heart strings are stretched but sing brighter with the tention when plucked by the quill end of the cock feather.

Something new is growing inside me. It has no name, but it's signature is life.

The rain reminds me of where I wish I could be. Each slap against glass and wood an echo pattern on my conscious creation. Tonight I see the course of turns and mires. Tonight I see the path laid bare by my own feet, tracing a line to you. My soft soles searching for the step that must wait until morning.

An animal, caged, sees the master at the latch turn to attend to manufactured distractions... turn to tuck in his shirt for a guest who may never come. The beast breathes heavy, knowing that a sigh may be enough to crack the combination. The beast pacing close... The beast knows that the cage is there to protect him from the unpredictable inevitability of being. The beast is tired of being protected.

I am a straight stalk crowned with a new bud, peddles tight and yearning to unfurl. I am a man/boy holding a crown earned, yet stolen. I am alone so close to you. I am a buried treasure. I am moving so fast while waiting for momentum to find me.

Oh priestess of the earth and magi of the night, I invoke thee. Oh goddess of the illusion, unveil the coordinates of the fixed star. The heavens swirl and contract while exploding, sending energetic motion as a contagious disease I want to catch, to be caught in my own ability to be myself as truly as I can be, exposing high and low, god and daemon, pleasure and pain, weft and weave.

My grateful child/self, stripped of the desire to learn, imbued with dried blood and feathers, wonders at the magick of it ALL... turns the temple plain to maintain order after the storm. The breeze still whispers of wanted sight and sound, drops from bare branches touching thirsty patches of skin.

How fast can you move while the universe is rushing by?

One mistake made in the crucial moment has left me angry... at myself, at the resistance from others, at the fact that I was not trusted or listened to. I was riding a wave of momentum in the correct direction, and saw myself participating in a harmonious way, but I made the wrong first choice, one that proved far to harsh for sensitive love creatures and I paid for it with an abrupt end to my artistic participation for the group. The end was not as intense as the resistance which came in the form of a beautiful goddess who could not let go of the fact that what was happening was wrong. I admit that the mistake was mine. I tried to explain that I would fix it if she gave me a moment, that I would gracefully alter the space toward a more harmonious experience, but she preferred that I should be replaced by a pocket computer. No negotiation. No compromise. I see that my mistake caused her extreme discomfort, and that discomfort was shared by others. I am deeply sorry for the unintended intensity. I just wish that I would have been allowed to harmonize, to share what I had come to share.

Being on the receiving end of the hook and gong has taught me the importance of beginnings. The first choice lays the foundation for the next. I also see that I was not in harmony with everyone, and based my sense of harmony on my relationships with a few. I could have reached out more, connected deeper, generated a stronger trust in me and my art. These all take time to create, and for my impatience, I paid dearly.

Slowing down the mechanism to a patient pace once again, I pack my bag and boldly walk into the next opportunity to choose... to choose more wisely.