Echo

We’re just a million little gods causing rain storms turnin’ every good thing to rust.
(So let’s just stop it)

Why has everything gone back to Arcade Fire since the Alaska Cruise?

I finished writing the last post about what happened yesterday, and this song came on the radio. I wanted to look up the lyrics because it fit well with what I was writing, but I didn’t know what it was. It sounded like Arcade Fire, so I looked it up, and indeed, it was. A song called Wake Up, which played on the radio as I wrote about awakening. It’s on an album I’ve had for years, but I don’t know the song. The lyrics fit eerily with the things I was telling the guy yesterday.

We walked by this old stone arch with no gate. People were standing around it in raincoats, waiting for the bus. We had been talking about how people are closed, they stick to their projections and sometimes never get down to speaking eye to eye with truth to another human being. I said, “Look at that arch. It just stands there. Even if you put a gate with a giant lock on it, what would be the use? It’s an arch with no walls. You put a bolted gate on it, I can still just walk around it. It’s the same thing with people. They put up these walls, they’re so closed. But we share the same world. We share the same being. So these walls people put up are like the arch with a bolted gate. Anyone can still get in because we’re all connected. So why bother putting so much investment and fear into pointless locks and walls and gates and the illusion of them, when every one of us is wide open? Fear is only as great as fear itself. Truth is complex, both beautiful and tragic, bitter and sweet, but at least with truth, you are never alone because in truth, we are all connected.”

I also realized, I’ve gotten really into Arcade Fire since this new chapter started. Never really paid attention to them. The song that fit everything together when I got off the cruise was Cold Wind. Last time, it was only the lyrics to Black Mirror that could soothe me. Perhaps there’s a creative alignment here. It’s inspiring. Comforting.

Somethin’ filled up
my heart with nothin’,
someone told me not to cry.

But now that I’m older,
my heart’s colder,
and I can see that it’s a lie.

Children wake up,
hold your mistake up,
before they turn the summer into dust.

If the children don’t grow up,
our bodies get bigger but our hearts get torn up.
We’re just a million little gods causin rain storms turnin’ every good thing to rust.

I guess we’ll just have to adjust.

With my lighnin’ bolts a glowin’
I can see where I am goin’ to be
when the reaper he reaches and touches my hand.

With my lighnin’ bolts a glowin’
I can see where I am goin’
With my lighnin’ bolts a glowin’
I can see where I am go-goin’

You better look out below!

-Arcade Fire, Wake Up

things strangers share

“i saw you watching that kid at the bus stop. i was trying to catch you to see if you wanted to get a coffee with me,” he said, an edge of panic to his voice. “then you turned left so fast into the street and that bike hit you. Was it because of me?”

i had suddenly turned left to cross the street, because i had noticed him following me and this was my evasive measure (sudden change in direction, duck into a public place).

“if you were trying to catch me to get coffee, then getting hit by a bike is kind of embarrassing,” i laugh.

he can’t believe i’m not hurt. the rider was catapulted off his bike a bit of a distance and had been pretty shaken up. i’d felt really bad about the accident and apologized profusely. the rider kept asking if i was okay and i said i was fine, so he took off. i think he realized he was more shaken up than i seemed, but i’m just stoic about pain…my left leg was throbbing in the places where the bike had struck me, and i suspected that i was bleeding under my knee. he’s probably cussing me out tonight.

“you made a perfect landing,” the guy following me said. “i can’t believe you’re not hurt. he was flying down the street. you couldn’t have landed any better than that.”

he was looking at me like he was afraid any moment, when the shock wore off, i might collapse.

“i have cat-like reflexes,” i said. but i know, deep down, i’m very lucky.

“i was just trying to ask you if you wanted to grab coffee or lunch,” he said.

we suddenly burst out laughing about the situation, until we both had tears in our eyes.

“that was crazy, what just happened,” i said almost to myself. ” this is the shit that happens to me all the time.”

“accidents?” he asked.

“no, that was the first time i’ve been hit by a bike. but just, really random unbelievable things. welcome to my world,” i said.

“your world is incredible,” he said. “i can’t believe you’re not hurt.”

*****

he came with me all the way to the waterfall garden, which had been where i was headed. he told me about how he has always had a way of thinking he should be in a place, and somehow, life just brings him there. he believes i’m magic because he’s glimpsed my world and his belief slipped him into it. he’s also looking at me like he’s afraid the moment he loses sight of me, this world will disappear. i believe he’s magic (either he’s awakening, or he’s already aware), because he can see me…not just julia or another faceless human like a movie extra in the background of a scene, but me. i tell him this world, is so real…real life is stranger and more synchronized than fiction. that most people live in projections, like actors playing out various scenes, so they don’t see everything that is actually around them until they stop buying into illusions. we spend a couple of hours together and i never answered his question, about getting a cup of coffee together. he stays as long as i don’t tell him to go. i’m wary of him because i don’t know him, but i welcome the company because we ask each other a lot of questions. i ask him what time it is. i tell him i’m 10 minutes late…i have to go say goodbye to an old friend. he comes with me, street after street, the heavy clouds overhead, wet, people like the whispering trees of a forest. we get there in time to see the boat making its way towards the horizon. i sit on a stone ledge and watch that familiar giant body move through the gray water, parting the fog. my heart is flooding.

“were you saying goodbye to an actual person?,” he asked.

“the boat,” i said. “it symbolizes something positive and meaningful to me. the end and beginning of a new chapter of my awakening.”

he watches me watch the boat with a respectful silence. the breeze whips the air around us.

“is this something you do a lot? come out here and watch this boat go?”

i laugh. i can just see this image he has in his head of me, this melancholy solitary figure in black faithfully bidding farewell to a ghost ship. like a heartbroken widow or something.

“this is the last time it’ll be here. it’s not always here, it’s just been docking here the last few weeks, but this is the last time. it just felt really fitting that a day like this should end with me saying goodbye to this boat.”

we watch the horizon.

“where’s it going?”

the wind swirls loose paper in circles on the sidewalk.

“no idea.”

*****
he promised that my accident wouldn’t be in vain, that it had inspired him to buy a notebook and write about his life. he said meeting me made him realize that the magic in life is real and that without realizing it, he’s been on a quest of some sort, even if he’s not sure what it is exactly he’s seeking. and he thinks it’s time he starts writing it down, and feeling okay in believing that there’s a deeper meaning in life. so many people will say this–it’s a product of the jolt that opens their eyes, even if briefly–but as soon as the initial surprise and inspiration wear off, they sometimes go back to a state of routine numbness and role-playing. but some do follow through, using this opening to raise their awareness to new levels, finding new doorways of their potential, becoming aware of a wider range of beauty and magic in the world. it really becomes an awakening. i hope steve follows through. especially since i realized that because i’d already noted him following me, there was no way he could have talked to me without me thinking he was a creep. i wouldn’t have been open to it. getting hit by a bike and him coming to help me, was probably the only way the universe could open a window that would allow me to feel safe enough to talk to him. it made me wonder if this connection, on some cosmic level, was non-negotiable in the eyes of the universe.

*****

we parted on a handshake.

“until fate crosses us again.”

i don’t know if we’ll see each other again. my gut feeling is that the most important component had already been put into motion so we were done…if we were to see each other again, it will be far down the road as an epilogue to compare results of the meeting.

i walked home. i did take a roundabout way despite my knee hurting and kept checking through store windows, etc. to make sure i wasn’t being followed. i collapsed as soon as i close my front door, all public eyes finally off me. now i can feel everything. my body, that old stoic, faithful horse, feels broken. i finally check my leg and it’s swollen and cut below the knee (bled through my pants) and on my upper thigh, but nothing too serious. nothing broken (got bones of steel). i’m proud of how tough my body was today.

i spent the rest of the night happily on the couch.

how the hell did i manage to get out of amsterdam without ever getting hit by a bike, and then i get hit by one in seattle?

getting hit by a bike feels like getting hit by a car, but is better than getting hit by a bus.

why don’t i talk more to women in my daily searches? i actually talk to many, but deeply connect with few. men are more open to truthful deep connections with me, maybe because i’m a woman, maybe because less dysfunctional ego comes into play or they’re more open to being disarmed. sometimes women don’t connect truthfully or are unwilling to let down the barrier–i attribute this issue to the fight me, fuck me, be me issue. through centuries of being assigned (inaccurate) roles as second class citizens in patriarchal societies, there’s a very subconscious wounded ego issue with women that translates an underlying insecurity to the evolution of women. once upon a time, we were recognized for our true essence, our connectivity to life force; but the wrong script has distracted us from our true essence and made us forget. we bought a bad piece of propaganda as our reality, so to speak. women who are more open tend to be either more conscious of this ghost of ego pain and so they know it is not a true part of their core identity and can disentangle it, or they are so naive, they step above it without realizing it hinders many women, because they don’t relate to it (“woman” = negative connotations). i know it took me years to separate the role from who i was as a person and understand that it’s not mine. a woman who can harness her connection to mystical rhythms and their emotional depths can harness the mystery behind weather and storms. just as with the cycle of life, we can create life and sentience out of non-life. spiritually, we can influence outcomes beyond the mundane world.

i do talk to women. i’m always relieved to meet a “sister.” real women. strong, open, beautiful women who speak truthfully, expansively, rather than through their human wounds, wounds that often aren’t even theirs personally, but a traditional psychosomatic cultural/social scar created by infant cultures driven by fear. it’s not about the sex or gender, but about the soul of a person, and the level of self-awareness they’re on. someone who understands their true identity and the nature of this world we’re opening, won’t have time for the petty shit. they will know a projection from a truth. and even though we are all part human and emerged from the reins of these illusions, our beings are the truth, and even when we fall, we quickly rise back towards our recognition of truth. that said, I don’t have time anymore to battle swords with illusions. i need to get as far as i can without wasting time or getting distracted.

i don’t care whether the people i connect with deeply and truthfully are men or women. i am only in it to create an opening of greater awareness, which creates a greater opening of my own awareness, which i in turn bring into future reactions. it’s a cycle that’s building something. it’s not just about me, because it goes beyond me, though because we are all connected, i and all future manifestations of i (and you) will benefit.

in terms of life partnerships, sexual explorations, i’m pretty fixed. surprisingly because gemini’s are known for being sexually fluid (it’s a dimension of our androgyny), my fluidity seems to run the spectrum of feminine/masculine energy balance within men, but my interest is limited to men. i’ve felt great love towards women, but no sexual curiosity. i feel it has less to do with my being closed to a woman, but because deep down, i was born into this world knowing who i’m looking for and his currently physical manifestation, even if unconsciously at this stage, i haven’t been able to raise a full picture of him in my head yet. it’s the same way i’ve never felt anything for blue eyes or blond hair. inherently, i know these physical attributes are not him. now whether he’s dark-haired white, black, asian, hispanic, whether he has green, hazel, brown eyes…i haven’t been able to narrow it down. i suspect he’s not asian because asian men do not approach me. it’s quite the phenomenon. unless that is the surprise, if he’s the one asian who will. my guess is he’s white with dark hair and there’s something about his eyes.

but i’m not fixed on the form. all that matters is that it’s him. i will know him by his being.

a writer i met in amsterdam told me that when he gets out of the navy, he wants to take a road trip across the us and visit hometowns of famous american writers, drinking what they drank when they wrote (careful of the bukowski black hole). every writer has a vice. some say it’s what gives them the juice to write. as a fellow writer, i say, it’s whatever they need to contain the voices in their head long enough to release them in an orderly fashion. i often wonder, are writers those who bring life to voices? or those trying to silence the voices which haunt them? are we bringing spirits to life or are we releasing ghosts?

if ryan wants to go to fremont and drink what i drink when i write, he’ll be drinking gatorade. even in creative endeavors, i’m still an athlete at heart.

by the way, i made a graph:

standing up………………..sitting down…………….laying down

julia’s power graph

Yes, it is a parabola. I find that my power is at its peak when I am standing up or laying down, but not so much while sitting. Infer what you will. This is science.

Episode 9 of Season 4 of Bones is outstanding. They’ve definitely gotten fresh blood with the writing because the characters have really great depth and their relationships are endearing. I went to school with one of the writers. I had certain reactions to him, but it’s hard for me to understand if it was a negative reaction towards the way he used his power or childish envy. But it was a strong reaction.

The first few seasons of Bones I watched out of mild entertainment and obligation (I like to keep abreast with media to know what’s interesting the collective masses). There was one season that had a god-awful twist. And then recently, it changed. Whereas before, the show seemed run by adolescent boys (want to know the work of an adolescent writer? Remember how boys talk about sex when they pretend they have but really haven’t? That’s the mark of adolescence in writing. Every writer will experience it when they’re challenged out of their comfort zone, but Bones wasn’t great for a while because of it). Now there’s such a beautiful God running that world. An understanding of the best parts of each character, their heart and soul, and bringing them to the surface like a sun magnet. I can always see in a man’s eyes when he has a good woman in his life. The same, I can always tell characters who have a writer who loves them and understands their evolution, wanting to challenge them while bringing out the best of their nature.

Great job, Bones. Whoever brought about this change in you, is a keen and powerful writer.

You’re a Taurus, aren’t you?

tell me, why am i here?

i’m not in the business of engaging in problems. i’m in the business of finding solutions.

Not everyone who drinks is a poet. Some of us drink because we’re not poets.
-Arthur

I’m definitely a poet.

He was a commercial pilot–caramel skin, neatly cropped hair. He’d spent the better part of the night staring from the opposite side of the room.

*****
“My father’s a Gemini,” he said.

“Did you ever feel like you really got to know him?”

He looks surprised by the question, surprised like he believes I might already know his life, know his stories.

“No, not really. He passed away a few years ago…but no, I can’t say I really got to know him.”

“I’m sorry to hear. Gemini’s aren’t long for this world.”

He looks at me, deeply.

“Perhaps there is no one who wants more to be known and understood than a Gemini. That’s why we’re known for our obsession with communication. But the tragedy is that we are the hardest to be understood. That no matter how deep people dig, no matter how much we try to show, we’re never able to fully communicate our deepest truths. Souls trapped in a prism. In a way, that desire and that denial of desire make us inherently tragic characters.”

He looks away, searching for an answer in his glass. I can already tell he’s in over his head.

Finally! 1 month later…I have working wifi.

this song came up in my songs at night mix tonight. it’s from babel. i haven’t heard it in a while but on a cold, rainy night, it was perfect.

He told me he didn’t have enough time to do the things he wanted to do with his life.

I told him, “How you can make time…maybe that’s your lesson. Time is not just linear. It’s multidimensional. If you feel like you don’t have enough time, make time. Expand it. Stop complaining. Unless what you really like getting out of it is complaining.”

today, i was at a stoplight and said to myself, so when do i get to sleep with everything beautiful that moves me, like you promised?

i suspect i tricked even myself to get me to seattle.

were you born in 1982?

i am many things
and there are many things i’m not

“I overheard your conversation about the people of Seattle. I just moved here and I’ve really found that to be the case, that the people are very closed here.”

“Yeah, I mean, I grew up here, but I spent the last year living overseas. Coming back here, it’s just apparent that people are really hard to talk to. They’re very protective of their worlds if they don’t know you. Especially with the nightlife.”

“I’m thinking Seattle’s about ready for a revolution.”

“Whoa whoa, what do you mean, revolution?”

“It’s time for this city to relax and have something to be happy about. People need to warm up. We need a revolution to thaw the freeze. Get people to stop being afraid and mean. Cold weather doesn’t have to mean cold hearts.”

He kind of looked at me like he didn’t know whether to believe me or fear me.

“Maybe,” he said.

Yet, he kept coming back trying to figure me out, when I said exactly what I mean.

julia has found her home in the 12th house.