10. Spirituality can be addicting and used out of balance. Too much spirituality isn't all that different than eating too much sugar, drinking too much coffee, smoking too much tobacco, having too much sex or imbibing on too much alcohol or drugs. Like these other substances, spirituality can be misused to assist you in avoiding your bad feelings about yourself or the world. Who likes admitting you are an ass or that you made a big mistake? Much easier to blame it on the approaching 2012 end of the world, or that pluto or saturn is fucking your midheaven or ascendant than actually looking at what a dick you can be.
9. I do not like collective agreements. Spirituality is filled with collective agreements that people agree to every day without ever questioning them.
8. Spirituality isn't necessarily better than religion, despite what people say. Being spiritual vs. being religious doesn't mean you aren't going to be an ass.
7. Death sucks.
6. Please don't tell me that we had a past life together and mean it.
5. I've been happier since leaving my former spiritual communities than any other time in my life. I am content and fulfilled being a loner. It doesn't mean I'm avoiding personal growth or that I'm allergic to spirituality. Poo poo on the evolved pinhead humanoids who say that you are allergic to spirituality if you aren't going with the program.
4. Critical intelligence is as valuable as imagination.
3. Okay, this really pisses me off...can spirituality and spiritual people please stop making 'shadow work'such a big deal? How about, calling a spade a spade. You've got shit, I've got shit, let's admit it, accept it and move on. Turning the shadow into a holier than thou operation is really annoying. The world is filled with shadows and they aren't that big a deal. Adds depth, character & contrast to landscape. In humanoids, it isn't all that different.
2. Capitalizing 'spiritual' words. Stop it. It's arrogant.
1. I'm an ass, you're an ass.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
atheism vs. divine woo woo
I go both ways when it comes to reality. Paradox & duality turn me on. Reality also annoys the hell out of me, but this is okay. So does my fiancee at times. (sorry sweetie). Agitation can be very constructive and useful. I prefer it to om namah shivaya-ing my neighbors.
I'm not spiritual, exactly. I'm not religious. I'm not exactly atheist, and I'm not exactly woo woo. I'm a bi-ality kind of a gal. Sort of.
Eleanor was atheist. And a poet. And she wrote fairytales for grown-ups. That she illustrated with watercolors. Stories about Sheba the Amoebas and the Cat Who Winked. The cat that winked had a botched surgery (the doctor cat was supposed to fix his winking eye which was getting him in trouble with the ladies; instead the doc 'fixed' him. And so the winking cat became a 'pretty boy' as she calls him. He found a boyfriend and sang in the opera. She also wrote about Lucille the worm who once died (because the early bird gets the worm) and Lucille sang and sang and sang and all the creatures cried (including the angels) who felt her singing voice shouldn't be wasted on heaven, so they returned her to earth.
I met Eleanor when she was 92. She spent most of her time at her writing desk --waking up at odd hours to illustrate her little books. I lived with her for one month (as a housemate/caregiver). She used to dream about me. "You were wearing your tall boots and climbing the tree in my backyard. I wanted to join you!" and then I had a strange dream that she died. It was the afterlife, and she was wearing her wedding underwear and her white hair was covered in roses. She was with a white haired beautiful man. She said, "It's my wedding day and it's time to dance."
Three days later, I found her lying on her back in her room --in the same position she had been in in my dream. She went to the hospital and then to a nursing home. She wasn't there long. She got real sick. And then that was that.
Before she died, I asked her what she thought would happen after she died. I felt bad asking, and at the same time, I wanted to know. "Well, nothing! You go back to the earth and that is that! I don't really want to talk about it. It scares me a little. But I will say that it doesn't matter. What matters is if I lived my life. That's all you got you know. None of that other stuff matters, despite what people think."
I had been a sort of atheist for a few years --since graduate school subversively facilitated a war between my critical mind and my divine woo woo way of being. And since living for a winter in a cabin near Lake Superior. The divine woo woo didn't have much to say while I was figuring out how to keep myself clean and warm during a 2 month stretch of 20 below weather in a cabin without running water or any heat source other than a small wood burning stove. Woo woo felt kind of elitist to me all of a sudden. What does Tarot or Astrology or the Divine mucka wucka really have to say when you are stripped of your friends and family and former spiritual communities and addictions to personal fucking growth? Not much. Chop wood. Haul water. Soak your grains. Go for a walk to the ice fishing shacks. Wear long underwear. Be nice to your neighbors. You might need their help if your car gets stranded. Be nice to yourself when it is dark and cold and you are alone.
That winter turning into spring, when the sap began to rise and the green moss came with its beard through ice and mud, I had an epiphany. It went like this. "Fuck! winter sucked! That was harsh and cold and shit, I feel depressed." I wanted my woo woo friends back and I didn't. I wanted my woo woo reality back but I didn't. Creative intelligence seemed pretty fucking amazing. I liked the intelligence of what I saw and felt in nature happening around me. It was pretty neat to live on land with wild horses and bears and owls and eagles and not far from lake superior. The ice was cracking and moaning like the whales and who cares what sign the moon was in? or if that owl sighting meant something magical? SOf course it is magical. Owls are cool to see in nature, but it doesn't necessarily mean it has some message for me. The divine woo woo turned instead to mud and rain and slippery and bones and wild horses and evening owls and night and the rooster crowing at dawn. simple and to the point.
At Eleanor's memorial, a few of Eleanor's friends commented on how great it was that Eleanor was probably now discovering how cool life after death was. The woo woo part of me agreed, but the atheist part of me thought --how fucking retarded. Eleanor didn't believe in the afterlife or reincarnation or how great the death place was going to be. She was going to die, and that was that. I wanted to slap them to say that they should honor her by accepting her death as it is --it might suck a little bit more because it hurts to let someone go that fully to nothing. But come on! Sometimes the woo woo feels like a ploy to make you feel better about the things that suck. Some things suck. Death. Icy slippery winters. The bitter cold. Being poor. Having been abused as a kid or adult. Losing a friend to death. Illness. Heartache.
The woo woo part of me thought of the dream --of Eleanor in her underwear, getting ready for her wedding celebration to dance and quite possibly, to sing in a choir with Lucille the worm. And the atheist part of me thought of her ashes being scattered to the earth. The wind taking them away. The worms, not singing, but grateful for the bits of ash that add enrichment to the soil. And that is that.
I don't believe in past lives anymore. And I don't believe I'll be reincarnated after I go. I prefer the 'that is that' to the divine woo woo when it comes to death. I'm open to having grand adventures and all, and certainly, death will be one, but also, I'm open to this being it. Fucking live now! Get real. Go to a yoga class and stick your tongue out at the teacher for talking about your fucking chakras being open or blocked. Go to a supermarket and om in the candy aisle! Screw needing to focus on the fingers pointing to the moon or to the stars or the fact that your ascendant is being crossed by whatchamacalit planet. Who cares?
Of course, it is also fun to play with the divine woo woo. There was a solar eclipse early this morning. And it hit my Sixth house sun in Capricorn and my North Node. And maybe that is why I have to say what I have to say? And Pluto is fast approaching my Sun and so woo woo ka choo ka poo poo. And sometimes when i sit still and meditate I can feel the soul of my little baby in my belly, and I wonder where does she come from and what is she here to do? But then the atheism part of me kicks in and I remember that she comes from the fact that Tony and I love each other deep and wide, here and now, not yesterday or past lives or future incarnations, and that we had amazing, passionate sex one day and it created a big bang explosion inside of me that is no more or less than the most amazingly divine miracle because it is facilitating creation in a way that makes the woo woo seem rather silly and pale in comparison once again.
I'm not going to give it up for good. I might be a bitch about it. I prefer my woo woo to be the salted caramel to the cold, icy, wintry days. I don't need it every day, but once in a while, when I have it, it tastes good on the tongue and feels good in the mouth. It gives me pleasure. I like the pleasure of the woo woo once in a while. And I like the agitation of the other stuff. Life. Death. and everything in between.
I'm not spiritual, exactly. I'm not religious. I'm not exactly atheist, and I'm not exactly woo woo. I'm a bi-ality kind of a gal. Sort of.
Eleanor was atheist. And a poet. And she wrote fairytales for grown-ups. That she illustrated with watercolors. Stories about Sheba the Amoebas and the Cat Who Winked. The cat that winked had a botched surgery (the doctor cat was supposed to fix his winking eye which was getting him in trouble with the ladies; instead the doc 'fixed' him. And so the winking cat became a 'pretty boy' as she calls him. He found a boyfriend and sang in the opera. She also wrote about Lucille the worm who once died (because the early bird gets the worm) and Lucille sang and sang and sang and all the creatures cried (including the angels) who felt her singing voice shouldn't be wasted on heaven, so they returned her to earth.
I met Eleanor when she was 92. She spent most of her time at her writing desk --waking up at odd hours to illustrate her little books. I lived with her for one month (as a housemate/caregiver). She used to dream about me. "You were wearing your tall boots and climbing the tree in my backyard. I wanted to join you!" and then I had a strange dream that she died. It was the afterlife, and she was wearing her wedding underwear and her white hair was covered in roses. She was with a white haired beautiful man. She said, "It's my wedding day and it's time to dance."
Three days later, I found her lying on her back in her room --in the same position she had been in in my dream. She went to the hospital and then to a nursing home. She wasn't there long. She got real sick. And then that was that.
Before she died, I asked her what she thought would happen after she died. I felt bad asking, and at the same time, I wanted to know. "Well, nothing! You go back to the earth and that is that! I don't really want to talk about it. It scares me a little. But I will say that it doesn't matter. What matters is if I lived my life. That's all you got you know. None of that other stuff matters, despite what people think."
I had been a sort of atheist for a few years --since graduate school subversively facilitated a war between my critical mind and my divine woo woo way of being. And since living for a winter in a cabin near Lake Superior. The divine woo woo didn't have much to say while I was figuring out how to keep myself clean and warm during a 2 month stretch of 20 below weather in a cabin without running water or any heat source other than a small wood burning stove. Woo woo felt kind of elitist to me all of a sudden. What does Tarot or Astrology or the Divine mucka wucka really have to say when you are stripped of your friends and family and former spiritual communities and addictions to personal fucking growth? Not much. Chop wood. Haul water. Soak your grains. Go for a walk to the ice fishing shacks. Wear long underwear. Be nice to your neighbors. You might need their help if your car gets stranded. Be nice to yourself when it is dark and cold and you are alone.
That winter turning into spring, when the sap began to rise and the green moss came with its beard through ice and mud, I had an epiphany. It went like this. "Fuck! winter sucked! That was harsh and cold and shit, I feel depressed." I wanted my woo woo friends back and I didn't. I wanted my woo woo reality back but I didn't. Creative intelligence seemed pretty fucking amazing. I liked the intelligence of what I saw and felt in nature happening around me. It was pretty neat to live on land with wild horses and bears and owls and eagles and not far from lake superior. The ice was cracking and moaning like the whales and who cares what sign the moon was in? or if that owl sighting meant something magical? SOf course it is magical. Owls are cool to see in nature, but it doesn't necessarily mean it has some message for me. The divine woo woo turned instead to mud and rain and slippery and bones and wild horses and evening owls and night and the rooster crowing at dawn. simple and to the point.
At Eleanor's memorial, a few of Eleanor's friends commented on how great it was that Eleanor was probably now discovering how cool life after death was. The woo woo part of me agreed, but the atheist part of me thought --how fucking retarded. Eleanor didn't believe in the afterlife or reincarnation or how great the death place was going to be. She was going to die, and that was that. I wanted to slap them to say that they should honor her by accepting her death as it is --it might suck a little bit more because it hurts to let someone go that fully to nothing. But come on! Sometimes the woo woo feels like a ploy to make you feel better about the things that suck. Some things suck. Death. Icy slippery winters. The bitter cold. Being poor. Having been abused as a kid or adult. Losing a friend to death. Illness. Heartache.
The woo woo part of me thought of the dream --of Eleanor in her underwear, getting ready for her wedding celebration to dance and quite possibly, to sing in a choir with Lucille the worm. And the atheist part of me thought of her ashes being scattered to the earth. The wind taking them away. The worms, not singing, but grateful for the bits of ash that add enrichment to the soil. And that is that.
I don't believe in past lives anymore. And I don't believe I'll be reincarnated after I go. I prefer the 'that is that' to the divine woo woo when it comes to death. I'm open to having grand adventures and all, and certainly, death will be one, but also, I'm open to this being it. Fucking live now! Get real. Go to a yoga class and stick your tongue out at the teacher for talking about your fucking chakras being open or blocked. Go to a supermarket and om in the candy aisle! Screw needing to focus on the fingers pointing to the moon or to the stars or the fact that your ascendant is being crossed by whatchamacalit planet. Who cares?
Of course, it is also fun to play with the divine woo woo. There was a solar eclipse early this morning. And it hit my Sixth house sun in Capricorn and my North Node. And maybe that is why I have to say what I have to say? And Pluto is fast approaching my Sun and so woo woo ka choo ka poo poo. And sometimes when i sit still and meditate I can feel the soul of my little baby in my belly, and I wonder where does she come from and what is she here to do? But then the atheism part of me kicks in and I remember that she comes from the fact that Tony and I love each other deep and wide, here and now, not yesterday or past lives or future incarnations, and that we had amazing, passionate sex one day and it created a big bang explosion inside of me that is no more or less than the most amazingly divine miracle because it is facilitating creation in a way that makes the woo woo seem rather silly and pale in comparison once again.
I'm not going to give it up for good. I might be a bitch about it. I prefer my woo woo to be the salted caramel to the cold, icy, wintry days. I don't need it every day, but once in a while, when I have it, it tastes good on the tongue and feels good in the mouth. It gives me pleasure. I like the pleasure of the woo woo once in a while. And I like the agitation of the other stuff. Life. Death. and everything in between.
Monday, January 3, 2011
i'm an ass, you're an ass
My first and only spiritual teacher was a big pain in the ass. She liked to say so. She was close to 200 lbs, Sicilian-American and filled with over 100 pieces of metal from a car accident that put her in a nursing home in her early 30's. "They wiped my ass, I couldn't. That's about the most humbling experience you can have when you are young." She was told she'd never walk again. She had a near-death experience during a risky operation on her spine. It was 50/50 she'd survive the operation. She died for 4 minutes or so. And she went from having been a radical lesbian punk artist map-maker in the army, to discovering, despite being a total skeptic, that she was supposed to make maps for people to help them do what they came here to do. "When i was in the death place, they told me that i wasn't supposed to make maps to blow shit up. They said I was a gifted astrologer. Burn that in your novena, catapilla!" That's what she called me. Catapilla.
She used to say annoying things like, "Oh Catapilla, you stand on the ledge of all that you know, and still it isn't enough to cross the Grand Canyon."
I met her when I was doe-eyed and lost and in my late 20's and pretty crazed to discover what my life purpose was. It was just before my Saturn return, which i was told at the time was a big deal. This will mean nothing to those of you who aren't into astrology -which is fine, sorry to digress with astro garble; Saturn returns to the place in your chart where he was when you were born. Takes 28 or so years for Saturn to return. Archetypally/mythically, Saturn is the task master and the often stern teacher wanting to teach you some important lessons about maturation and growing up. He wants to know also, what is your purpose? Are you doing what you came here to do? They say that if you ignore Saturn during the 28 - 31ish time frame, expect a big 2 by 4 on the ass to wake you up. Father time wants you to stop wasting time.
The woman was insane. She heard pencils talk. And everyone's 'chart' spoke to her. Wherever she was, she could hear the different parts of their astro chart speaking. She wasn't a 'you're a capricorn so you are blah blah blah', or 'your moon is in scorpio so that means gobbledy gook.' She hated astrologers and people who told you who you were based on what the stars fated for you at birth. It was NEVER about your signs and/or your planets. I'm not sure how that made her an astrologist, but it worked for her. She barely needed to look at your chart; she knew what you needed to know and it usually had to do more with your shit and your anchors, as she called them, than how great your spiritual gift and purpose was.
It cost a decent buck to have a session with her. She did her job well and she didn't fluff you up the way that a lot of alternative readers of cards and stars do. If she didn't like you, and if you were full of spiritual bullshit, she let you know. She didn't talk about you behind your back and act nicey nice and spiritual when you were around.
In addition to Star Trek, Baseball (oh, and deep dark black coffee) was her favorite thing. "Professional baseball players are amazing! Why don't you like that they make so much money? Hell, they are masters of what they do --and they are doing what they love! That's more than I can say for most of the humanoids on this planet."
She was real in the best possible way. She didn't hide her mistakes; she didn't feign sweet sticky new age perfection. She didn't want to be anyone's spiritual teacher or astrologer. She spoke the truth. Raw and to the point. "Catapilla, you can't handle the truth." And she was right. At that time in my life, I couldn't. I wanted to hide in the beautiful spiritual mystical and shamanic things --i wanted to romanticize native american culture and be completely unaware of what a spiritual prick i was. i wanted to judge others, nicely of course, for not being as spiritual; i didn't want to look at the shit she wanted me to look at in myself. i didn't want to do the work she suggested i do for myself. i wanted to understand how my planets gave me special gifts and i wanted to know what those gifts were so that I could set out to heal others.
I was trying really hard to be spiritual and/or a healer --apprenticing with others --energy workers, shamans, blah blah blahs and highly esteemed mystics; yet brook & her loud mouth was continually shattering my idea of what 'spiritual' was. I apprenticed with this crazy woman for 1 year. She took me to the dump once. "You want sacred? You want spiritual? Well here it sits, catapilla. There, how's that for you. You keep trying to make everything, including yourself, so goddamn spiritual. Knock it off, it's annoying. You are polluting everything around you that think isn't 'spiritual'. There is no such thing as spiritual or not spiritual. The more you do this, the more you rob yourself of life and beauty."
She used to say, "I'm an ass and your an ass, and my ass is bigger than yours, so watch out." It is true. She had a huge butt. She moaned at the 'I'm okay, you're okay' mentality of the new age. "They should have written the book, 'I'm an ass, you're an ass' instead. I'd have bought a copy." She dreaded coming to Boulder. She was allergic to 'the new age assholes trying to heal themselves. If they would just accept that they are asses too, everything would be a hell of a lot better.'
Her spiritual teachers: Yoda. Rose from the Titanic (because Rose wanted to learn how to spit instead of being a rich, elitist bitch) and Spock. She once gave me a map of the chakra system based on the characters in StarTrek.
Our 'teachings' included: reading Anthony DeMello's lectures, Awareness. DeMello was a subversive and rebellious Jesuit Priest who'd been banned by the Pope because he was too much of pain in the ass waking people up with his anti-ideology anti-religion lectures; watching the movies the Matrix, Babe, Eddie Murphy's Holy Man and The Star Wars Trilogy. And we spent months talking about my so-called anchors --the things keeping me from living my life --and what she referred to as 'a foundation in metaphysics. Spirituality for Dummies'. She wanted me to learn how to clean a frickin' toilet for someone without complaining about it --to do it with joy in my heart as if i meant it. I thought she was a bitch for that. "I don't care if you are psychic or powerful or a great teacher. I want to know --can you clean your own toilet, or someone else's and clean it well? Lovingly, with joy in your heart?? Without pretending? If you want to know how well someone performs metaphysically --ask them to do physically. lots of people out there hiding behind their spiritual trips. Question every single one of them. Every single one. Including me."
She rarely offered compliments. I worked hard on my lessons and teachings. I was becoming a good spy of my shit, and began smelling other people's shit too. I learned that most people, including myself, do not like it if you smell their shit.
According to Brook, I, like the however many billion other humanoids (as she called them) on this planet, were pinheads. I told her I didn't think it nice, her being a spiritual teacher and all, calling people 'pinheads'. She laughed. "Your right, catapilla." However, when we finished our year long whatchamacalit (she wasn't big on formal apprenticing or teaching others), she said to me lovingly, in the same accent and rhythm as the farmer in the movie Babe, 'That'll do, that'll do." And then she blessed me as I set out on my 'journey' to Europe for an almost 2 year self-imposed lesson in waking up to my shit during my aforementioned Saturn Return.
She died unexpectedly. In her 50's. She was in terrible pain, living like a hermit in a cabin in somewhere, nowhere New Mexico. Tired of the thousands of humanoid pinheads who were lost and needing to know what their purpose was. She told me, "When I was in the death place, they said that I have to do 3,000 charts and then I'm out of this stupid place'. She also told me that it was important to go above and beyond --not for extra favors. Just because. She did over 5,000 charts. Maps. Readings to folks from the Hollywood famous to the spiritual addicts to the Texan farmers and in between. And that was that. Several years ago, she fell asleep and didn't wake up. Carbon Monoxide poisoning and then a fire. The only remaining items in her cabin when the firemen came w/ her daughter to open the door --100 or more odd pieces of metal lying on her bed, and a monarch butterfly that flew out the door leaving the firemen with their mouths hanging open. She had a thing for butterflies too...told me that when you die, you get to be whatever the hell you want, at least for a short while, and so that when she died, she knew for damn sure she was going to be a butterfly.
She planted a lot of thoughts in my head (and in my journals). I have sat quiet with them long enough to grow deeply strange roots and a pretty wild, gnarly, crooked set of branches. I met her in 1998. Finished my work with her in 2001/2002 before she told me 'Sayonara Catapilla'. Painfully. She pretty much told me to fuck off and leave her alone. --she didn't want me to be addicted to her or to anyone else who's fingers pointed to the moon. She wanted me to think for myself and to get real. She wanted me to stop the nicey-nice and become a bit more of an ass. It's taken me a while and I've swung back and forth btwn extremes, but 10 year anniversaries make a girl think -even if she has a pinhead.
What's the point of this blog? Okay all of you self-proclaimed shamans, new age junkies, astrologers, recovering new agers, spiritual do-gooders, atheists, healers, spiritual bypassers and everyone in between: No offense, but I'm an ass and you're an ass.
I'm an ass and you are an ass. Capiche? Take that and burn it in your novena.
She used to say annoying things like, "Oh Catapilla, you stand on the ledge of all that you know, and still it isn't enough to cross the Grand Canyon."
I met her when I was doe-eyed and lost and in my late 20's and pretty crazed to discover what my life purpose was. It was just before my Saturn return, which i was told at the time was a big deal. This will mean nothing to those of you who aren't into astrology -which is fine, sorry to digress with astro garble; Saturn returns to the place in your chart where he was when you were born. Takes 28 or so years for Saturn to return. Archetypally/mythically, Saturn is the task master and the often stern teacher wanting to teach you some important lessons about maturation and growing up. He wants to know also, what is your purpose? Are you doing what you came here to do? They say that if you ignore Saturn during the 28 - 31ish time frame, expect a big 2 by 4 on the ass to wake you up. Father time wants you to stop wasting time.
The woman was insane. She heard pencils talk. And everyone's 'chart' spoke to her. Wherever she was, she could hear the different parts of their astro chart speaking. She wasn't a 'you're a capricorn so you are blah blah blah', or 'your moon is in scorpio so that means gobbledy gook.' She hated astrologers and people who told you who you were based on what the stars fated for you at birth. It was NEVER about your signs and/or your planets. I'm not sure how that made her an astrologist, but it worked for her. She barely needed to look at your chart; she knew what you needed to know and it usually had to do more with your shit and your anchors, as she called them, than how great your spiritual gift and purpose was.
It cost a decent buck to have a session with her. She did her job well and she didn't fluff you up the way that a lot of alternative readers of cards and stars do. If she didn't like you, and if you were full of spiritual bullshit, she let you know. She didn't talk about you behind your back and act nicey nice and spiritual when you were around.
In addition to Star Trek, Baseball (oh, and deep dark black coffee) was her favorite thing. "Professional baseball players are amazing! Why don't you like that they make so much money? Hell, they are masters of what they do --and they are doing what they love! That's more than I can say for most of the humanoids on this planet."
She was real in the best possible way. She didn't hide her mistakes; she didn't feign sweet sticky new age perfection. She didn't want to be anyone's spiritual teacher or astrologer. She spoke the truth. Raw and to the point. "Catapilla, you can't handle the truth." And she was right. At that time in my life, I couldn't. I wanted to hide in the beautiful spiritual mystical and shamanic things --i wanted to romanticize native american culture and be completely unaware of what a spiritual prick i was. i wanted to judge others, nicely of course, for not being as spiritual; i didn't want to look at the shit she wanted me to look at in myself. i didn't want to do the work she suggested i do for myself. i wanted to understand how my planets gave me special gifts and i wanted to know what those gifts were so that I could set out to heal others.
I was trying really hard to be spiritual and/or a healer --apprenticing with others --energy workers, shamans, blah blah blahs and highly esteemed mystics; yet brook & her loud mouth was continually shattering my idea of what 'spiritual' was. I apprenticed with this crazy woman for 1 year. She took me to the dump once. "You want sacred? You want spiritual? Well here it sits, catapilla. There, how's that for you. You keep trying to make everything, including yourself, so goddamn spiritual. Knock it off, it's annoying. You are polluting everything around you that think isn't 'spiritual'. There is no such thing as spiritual or not spiritual. The more you do this, the more you rob yourself of life and beauty."
She used to say, "I'm an ass and your an ass, and my ass is bigger than yours, so watch out." It is true. She had a huge butt. She moaned at the 'I'm okay, you're okay' mentality of the new age. "They should have written the book, 'I'm an ass, you're an ass' instead. I'd have bought a copy." She dreaded coming to Boulder. She was allergic to 'the new age assholes trying to heal themselves. If they would just accept that they are asses too, everything would be a hell of a lot better.'
Her spiritual teachers: Yoda. Rose from the Titanic (because Rose wanted to learn how to spit instead of being a rich, elitist bitch) and Spock. She once gave me a map of the chakra system based on the characters in StarTrek.
Our 'teachings' included: reading Anthony DeMello's lectures, Awareness. DeMello was a subversive and rebellious Jesuit Priest who'd been banned by the Pope because he was too much of pain in the ass waking people up with his anti-ideology anti-religion lectures; watching the movies the Matrix, Babe, Eddie Murphy's Holy Man and The Star Wars Trilogy. And we spent months talking about my so-called anchors --the things keeping me from living my life --and what she referred to as 'a foundation in metaphysics. Spirituality for Dummies'. She wanted me to learn how to clean a frickin' toilet for someone without complaining about it --to do it with joy in my heart as if i meant it. I thought she was a bitch for that. "I don't care if you are psychic or powerful or a great teacher. I want to know --can you clean your own toilet, or someone else's and clean it well? Lovingly, with joy in your heart?? Without pretending? If you want to know how well someone performs metaphysically --ask them to do physically. lots of people out there hiding behind their spiritual trips. Question every single one of them. Every single one. Including me."
She rarely offered compliments. I worked hard on my lessons and teachings. I was becoming a good spy of my shit, and began smelling other people's shit too. I learned that most people, including myself, do not like it if you smell their shit.
According to Brook, I, like the however many billion other humanoids (as she called them) on this planet, were pinheads. I told her I didn't think it nice, her being a spiritual teacher and all, calling people 'pinheads'. She laughed. "Your right, catapilla." However, when we finished our year long whatchamacalit (she wasn't big on formal apprenticing or teaching others), she said to me lovingly, in the same accent and rhythm as the farmer in the movie Babe, 'That'll do, that'll do." And then she blessed me as I set out on my 'journey' to Europe for an almost 2 year self-imposed lesson in waking up to my shit during my aforementioned Saturn Return.
She died unexpectedly. In her 50's. She was in terrible pain, living like a hermit in a cabin in somewhere, nowhere New Mexico. Tired of the thousands of humanoid pinheads who were lost and needing to know what their purpose was. She told me, "When I was in the death place, they said that I have to do 3,000 charts and then I'm out of this stupid place'. She also told me that it was important to go above and beyond --not for extra favors. Just because. She did over 5,000 charts. Maps. Readings to folks from the Hollywood famous to the spiritual addicts to the Texan farmers and in between. And that was that. Several years ago, she fell asleep and didn't wake up. Carbon Monoxide poisoning and then a fire. The only remaining items in her cabin when the firemen came w/ her daughter to open the door --100 or more odd pieces of metal lying on her bed, and a monarch butterfly that flew out the door leaving the firemen with their mouths hanging open. She had a thing for butterflies too...told me that when you die, you get to be whatever the hell you want, at least for a short while, and so that when she died, she knew for damn sure she was going to be a butterfly.
She planted a lot of thoughts in my head (and in my journals). I have sat quiet with them long enough to grow deeply strange roots and a pretty wild, gnarly, crooked set of branches. I met her in 1998. Finished my work with her in 2001/2002 before she told me 'Sayonara Catapilla'. Painfully. She pretty much told me to fuck off and leave her alone. --she didn't want me to be addicted to her or to anyone else who's fingers pointed to the moon. She wanted me to think for myself and to get real. She wanted me to stop the nicey-nice and become a bit more of an ass. It's taken me a while and I've swung back and forth btwn extremes, but 10 year anniversaries make a girl think -even if she has a pinhead.
What's the point of this blog? Okay all of you self-proclaimed shamans, new age junkies, astrologers, recovering new agers, spiritual do-gooders, atheists, healers, spiritual bypassers and everyone in between: No offense, but I'm an ass and you're an ass.
I'm an ass and you are an ass. Capiche? Take that and burn it in your novena.
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