By My Journals' Decree (a year on the page)

I just had the most glorious morning of journal writing, and felt inspired to carry it over here, to my long-neglected blog.

Hello friends. Sorry it's been so long. I have missed you too, and come to this page more often than you think... but as life has become a mind-blowing whirlwind in recent months, I've found carving out pockets of time for pretty much ANYthing other than my work and current projects has been hard to do. I even let my journal writing get away from me for a moment, which is a HUGE no-no... when mama doesn't write, mama gets bat-ass crazy. Such was the case recently, when things got all out of balance, and I knew instantly why and how to remedy the situation: "pick up your god-damned pen," I told myself. Doesn't matter how exhausted I am, how much earlier I have to set my alarm to see it through, or how often the blank page stares at me as I stare back at it, overwhelmed and not even sure where to begin... I just simply must do it. It truly is the one tool that has helped me stay sane, keep my life organized, and somehow, magically, keeps my emotions more balanced. I tell all my friends, "When you see me flippin' out on a regular basis, be sure to ask if I've been writing..."

I'm particularly high on writing this morning because I've just finished my sixth journal of the year. That brings happy tears to my eyes. I'm looking at them now, all stacked up on my bed, on top of each other. The tears come because it has truly been one of the most amazing years of my life, and as I look at their spines and pages, even closed, I know the stories that live within each of them. The songs. The poems. I cry tears of gratitude for the present moment, at this amazing time of my life where I am literally walking in the dream and destiny and purpose I have long known was mine, and had been waiting and praying and hoping for and trying so hard not to lose faith... and here it is! I cry tears of pride, pride in myself, looking at the journal on the top of the pile, whose title was simply "Begin." I took it at that difficult time in my life (a little over a year ago) as a sort of command: "Now you must begin Emily. This is your life. It is all up to you. What will you do?"

I started small: "I will write," I said. "I will follow the wheel of the year." "I will be easy on myself, for I have struggled long and hard, and it was a most difficult last year." And so I did. I was unemployed. My husband had left me. I was grieving the death of my father, the estrangement of my family. I had quit my band. I was in a new home. Everything was different. Everything had changed. Except writing. Writing had been there for me since I was eight years old, and first kept a journal. It had been many months - seven, maybe - since I had put pen to paper at that time. In the few years preceding, during my marriage, I didn't write much - I didn't feel comfortable in my morning ritual around my ex-husband. He had violated my privacy and read my pages on a few occasions, so I ceased my practice. We both suffered from it. But, with "Begin," I was in my own space, my own energy, and ready to reclaim my life.

"Begin" took me from a little before Winter Solstice, 2009 until Candlemas, 2010. At that time, I was in Mexico, my other home, with a group of amazing friends who were visiting with me for three weeks. Beloved friends. Friends that bring so much joy and love and patience. It was then I cracked open "Follow Your Bliss." She would carry me through til Spring Equinox, and on her cover were words like "dream, vision, imagine, create, begin, transform, expand." I took her directive as well, and in Playa (the land of my spirit), I allowed myself time to just enjoy life. To be in good company, sharing food, laying under the sun, swimming in crystalline waters, making music, and writing. Dreaming up plans of what I would do when I returned stateside. What did I want to do with my life? Well, I wanted to use my talents and passions. I wanted to create a life of work that involved music, or teaching, or spiritual transformation. I didn't bother with the details of exactly what that might be... just put it loosely out there, into the ethers, trusting that whatever was meant to be would be.

At Equinox, as the sap begins to run through the trees, I chose my new book: "You Can Fly When You Want To." Spring energy is so great for new projects, new habits, new disciplines. I was born just after the Equinox, an Aries, so new beginnings have always been a favorite and exciting time for me. Back from Mexico, refreshed and rejuvenated, I set out to explore new opportunities, even things I would never have considered in the past. I hit up craigslist, and responded to all kinds of ads - ads for singers, for models, for assistants. I auditioned for commercials, cover bands, and teaching gigs. I was going out a lot with friends, and to new social events I would have stressed over in the past - I had always felt great anxiety about going to places with new people, out of my element. I still had some anxiety about all the things I was trying, but I was determined to put myself out there, knowing that new blessings would only come from being tenacious and courageous. I adopted the motto "fake it til you make it." I would feign confidence, if need be, until I truly felt it inside. It's a good trick that really works. I recommend it to everyone.

At this point in the year, right around Beltane, I bought two new journals, and I wasn't sure which one had the right message for that particular time in life. In the end, I chose by the cover art, and "Sometimes Your Only Available Mode of Transportation Is a Leap of Faith" had imagery that echoed the previous book. It seemed the right choice. I had intended that this journal would span from Beltane to Solstice, but as the sap started rushing through the trees, so did my life switch into high gear. I was writing regularly, though maybe not as much. I was starring in a theater production, modeling for artists, recording new music I had written, was dating, was social butterflying all around these twin cities like the queen monarch herself! Before I knew it, Solstice had come and gone, and I was still in the same book, and still not sure how it's meaning pertained to my life.

Until my back went crooked. Right in the middle of summer, and all of my heyday and hullabaloo, I was smacked down in critical and severe pain, confined to my bed for six weeks or more. I needed surgery on my spine. My lease was up, and I had to pack and find a new place to live. I had no insurance, no job, no husband, no family, and the pain was so crippling that simply making it to the bathroom was a true voyage. But I had me some friends. I had me some family of friends that packed me up, cleaned my house, moved me in to a new place gifted me by an ex-boyfriend (Mr. Mean! who woulda thunk???), took me to hospitals and doctor appointments, and took care of me for weeks after my surgery. I couldn't walk, I couldn't drive, I needed great care, and they were there. Sometimes your only available mode of transportation is a leap of faith all right... and a little help from your friends.

Lammas time. The old journal wasn't full, but I needed a change... once I got the message, I was ready to move onto a new chapter: "The Future Belongs To Those Who Believe In the Beauty of Their Dreams." Time to get back on the page, jump back into life (carefully, however - I just had spinal surgery, for God's sake) and resume my path, my intentions and my goals. I was healing, I was in a new spot in an amazing neighborhood, I had taken on a roommate. I was beginning again. The most important thing was to heal, and to take it easy. So, instead of flitting about, I had folks coming over. Musicians bringing me songs to write to, friends coming for dinners, small parties here and there. I had taken on some new lovers, and rekindled old friendships.

It was getting close to Halloween, which meant only half a season until Solstice again... had I accomplished what I had set out to do? Not so much. I had accomplished a lot, oh yes, but unemployment would likely be up soon and though I had created some work to get me by, more was needed. But it had to fit within the guidelines I'd set: only work that suits my talents. From my surgery, I was about a half-season off track, I felt. Add to it, I was partying quite a bit... imbibing, celebrating, living life free of taboo - like the autumnal Devil card of the Tarot. Time to reel it in. I had some work to do!

At Hallows, my next book came: "Fearless." My Dad had called me by this name many times. Uncertain of what the future held, and feeling the weight of finances slipping fast, and no concrete prospects, I decided to go back to "fake it til you make it" mentality: I wouldn't waste any time or energy worrying. I had already learned that the Universe is aiding and supporting me every step of the way, so long as I'm willing to put in the work. So I would be Fearless, and charge ahead and snatch the pieces of my destiny at every twist and turn they appeared.

Mr. Mean pulled through again, offering me a job as Creative Director at his new club! A part-time gig paying more than I had ever made in my life until now. It was the perfect, ideal solution! Using my talents, with time left over to continue to pursue my other projects and dreams... this was more than a gift. This was some serious next-level shit.

But I couldn't stop there. I had this idea. Actually, I had this dream, a dream that began over a decade ago. I glanced at the calendar to see which day my 35th birthday would fall on in 2011... it happened to be a Friday. I had always wanted to have a grand show for a birthday celebration. I considered what my dream venue would be... the Varsity Theater. So, fearlessly, I called the owner and made an appointment to walk through the venue and pitch my show idea: my 35th birthday, featuring a retrospective of my past work and my debut cd-release party. He loved it. He gave me the date, and the venue, with no deposit or anything... confident that I was going to make this a success. The date was booked. It's on!

I gathered a team of producers, choreographers, videographers and photographers, light and sound and set designers - the whole deal. I had been working in this town for over a decade. Working for other people, on their dreams and their projects. Now was my turn, my time... and the response was overwhelming. Everyone wanted to be part. They all liked the idea. They all wanted to help see it through. The wheels were in motion... now, I just had to write a debut album!

I gathered music from several local producers and took off back to Mexico, with the intention of writing the songs. Mr. Mean had bought me a new Mac laptop for my job, and I got some simple gear to lay down tracks on Garage Band while there. I went for almost three weeks, and wrote seven songs. I rested, I partied, I lived blissfully and creatively... I had the time of my life. Mingling with djs and producers from all over the world, in town for the BPM electronic music festival. I had photo shoots. I made plans for a cd-release show there in April - I mean, why not? It's my second home, ater all, where my solo singing career started almost 15 years ago! Plus, I knew I'd want to come back soon, and would need a break after a few months of intense work back home. Fearlessly, I dreamed big, and am daily taking small steps to see it through.

So, I've been three weeks back, and tossed immediately into the frying pain of this abundance I manifested! Finding talent for and opening a club in a month; recording my first full-length cd; executive producing this spectacular show for the end of March; teaching 150+ kids each week between 3 schools; conducting 2 choirs... You see why it's been challenging to find moments to blog???

And here we are, at Candlemas tomorrow. I have my new book waiting for me. Her name? "Trust Yourself." During this busy, busy time, my writing will be key in staying on top of everything, releasing stress, keeping sane. To some degree, I'm still faking it - for I have many moments of doubt and insecurity and sheer panic at all that I've taken on... but I will follow the new directive, and trust myself, because the reality is: I have everything it takes to see this all through. I have worked hard, with clear intention and focus. I have acquired the skills needed, and the resources. I have assembled the right team of people, whom as I sit here typing this to you, are all out there working on my behalf! Do you know what a trip that is? Can you imagine how humbling that feels? Studios are being dialed in, promo kits are being drafted, LLCs are being established, tours are being planned, photo shoots are scheduled... and I'm sitting here in my bed, in my pjs, lookin' a mess... I cannot adequately describe to you what it feels like to be walking in your dream. But I can tell you, despite all the pressure and stress, I am smiling.

"Trust Yourself" should carry me through to Equinox, right before my birthday and my big show. I already have the journal that comes after. I knew she was the one the minute I saw her, and as I look at her now, it brings tears to my eyes:

"Your Wish Is Granted. Now Is the Time."

The Dream of the Purple Journal

So, a few nights ago, I dreamed that I had dropped my purple journal (circa 2000) into a murky pond. Without hesitation, I dove in after it, and was able to hold my breath effortlessly for quite some time while I felt around the pond floor until I had it in my grasp.

The dream was interesting to me on three counts: first, the particular journal. I mean, I've been keeping journals since I was 8, have them going back through all the years of my life, and was curious as to why this one popped up into my subconscious. Secondly, I have a "thing" about dirty water - although I was raised in the Land of the Lakes, as soon as I spent a few years basking in the sun and turquoise waters of the Mexican Caribbean, I was never able to dip toe in brown lake water again - let alone scummy pond water! Third, that I dove in and was able to hold my breath, knowing on a very deep level the book must be saved, and that only I would find it. Unsure of what my subconscious message to myself was, I thought the best place to start would be with the journal itself.

Last night, I pulled it from its shelf, and opened to the first page, dated April 4 of 2000 (just as I had thought). I began to read the first few entries and was astonished at what I found: that ten years ago, when I was just 24 yrs old, the elements of my life mirrored directly (and almost entirely) my life today. I mean, it's so uncanny, my jaw completely dropped!

I had made some major life changes at that time - moved from Mexico back to the States, and was finding new work and new living situations. I was about a year out of my last relationship, and was enjoying my singlehood in the city. I had estranged myself from my sisters and family, as I felt myself reverting into bad patterns of my youth that no longer served me, and knew I needed space from them to free my spirit. I was ambitiously trying to record a solo debut cd, and planning a big show/extravaganza for its release. I was entering into the Women's Thealogical Institute, and their priestess training program, Cella. I was reflecting on the woman I was aspiring to be, and what steps would be needed to manifest and embody the envisioned qualities and characteristics...

I am currently writing about all of the exact same things - have filled 5 whole journals already this year, and now in journal 6 of 2010, am reflecting on how far I've come, and what still needs to be accomplished, as well as my plans for how to set about manifesting these goals and dreams. The words, the phrasings from ten years ago are almost identical to the words I write today... almost...

Ten years. I am reminded of the numbers ace through ten in the Minor Arcana of the Tarot. When I explain the numbers to people, I ask them to imagine that ace through nine is a long cycle of life, with little mini-cycles in between. By the time you reach ten, you are at the beginning of the next big, long cycle - but it's not something entirely new. With this cycle, you take with you all that you experienced and learned from the ace through nine cycle before... which, hopefully, is a lot of wisdom, maturity, resources, developed skills and talents. You have been winding your way into the labyrinth of your spirit, and are considerably deeper in, but are beginning the next phase, or have fallen back onto the true path of your soul and ready to move forward. Man, does this all resonate like crazy for me right now!

In going back to the dream, after reading these entries and reflecting on these cycles of life, what stands out most is the journey itself. The visions for my life, my work, my purpose, my spirit have always been clear - articulated beautifully in these books of my decades. However, at that young age, I also am able to see the impatience, the disappointment when plans changed, the difficulty in holding fast to the goals and dreams, while simultaneously being flexible and bending with life. I spent so much of my 20s struggling against life, relationships, bosses, etc. Now, what's changed most is my enthusiasm for the ride: knowing that it's the process, not the product, that holds the real joy, the real transformation, the real manifestation and expression of the spirit. I'm no longer excited only by the dream, but by the satisfaction of undertaking the real work to make the dream come true. That's been a huge lesson for me.

So, I'm not so surprised I dove head first into the murky pond of my past, to retrieve the stories of me. All of these years, all of the dramas and traumas, the blessings and gifts, the fights and the fury, as well as the immeasurable love - all are so sacred to me. All have brought me to where and who I am now: a strong, capable woman who is fighting against complacency and intent on striving farther, and working harder to make those dreams a reality. There is nothing I wish to let go of, or to forget. Indeed, I am able to look back, despite past and even recent upsets and betrayals, and honor each experience for the lesson and wisdom gifted to me. I wouldn't trade my life for anything in the world.

Book rescued, rinsed the muck from my skin, breathing deep and steady... ready to get back to the clear-blue sea of my mid-30s. I may be far away from the safety of the shallows, but am pretty sure I have the wisdom now to save myself in dangerous waters...

(... and getting closer to the one-eyed Sea Hag for our long overdue conversation...)

The Little Note That Could

I ran across a few of my journals, digging through boxes in the garage tonight. They were all there - over twenty or thirty books, I would imagine. But the ones that popped out tonight went back to the years between 2005-2007. I would have been 29 years old in 2005. I vaguely remember each book and the times recorded within until I leaf through the pages a bit. This book opens with a fortune from a fortune cookie on the very first page, which reads: "Someone who deserves special attention awaits your magic voice." Hmm... seems like a good enough start.

The very next page, my first official entry, is dated November 1, 2005. All Saints' Day. An auspicious time. I wrote a poem to set the mood...

"It's going to be a long,

cold winter...

and so I have re-lit the fire

of my own spirit ~

indeed, of my life ~

and must depend on her

alone

to keep me safe and warm.

I have not wanted to do this.

I have searched for another

searched many others

to provide for me this sanctity, and nurturing.

Alas,

none can do this but me.

And so I pick up the thread again ~

the thread which is the fabric of my life ~

alone, in darkness. My self.

I've spent too long in the Underworld already,

but the box of beauty must be close now,

closer than it's ever been.

I am on the right road ~

my path, at last.

Now, where is that Persephone hiding?..."

It struck me to read this and register this particular moment in my life. I know exactly from this one entry what lies in my own writing on the pages to come. This was a particularly bad year. This was after a most traumatic ending of a relationship I refused to part ways with. This was me after having a nervous breakdown and being hospitalized. This was me at 95 pounds.

As I turn the page, I see the next entry is a two-page letter to one of my favorite goddesses, Psyche. A petition for her benevolent guidance and aid, knowing that of all my favorite deities, She would surely empathize with my situation. For She, too, was the youngest of three daughters, abandoned by Her parents, left alone, waiting to be saved by another. I don't read the entry... I know the story, both stories - Hers and mine - all too well. I keep flipping pages.

Words pass by quickly: "Empty, so empty;" "high anxiety in my belly;" "eyes wide open, yet heart as dumb as a fool; "And yet, I settle. Again." Oof! It's funny how even five years later, just the little quips can make me shudder, remembering a pain unparalleled to anything I've ever experienced before or since. Even the pain of death of my beloved father was so different from this - this was sickness. Mental, emotional, spiritual rot. I shake my head in mixed shame and sympathy.

As I keep flipping, I suddenly come to a page with no writing, but two more fortunes, and a curious note. The first fortune reads: "Be what you wish others to become." The second: "A thrilling time is in your immediate future." The note, which is scrawled in a man's writing on a small, torn piece of paper, says: "Know in your heart that you are loved more than you can imagine."

Very curious, for I can't seem to place where it came from. I start to dig back a few pages, and see that I was visiting my best friend in New York at that time. Actually, I had been sent there by the man I loved - he wanted me at a safe distance, she wanted to fatten me up. For two weeks, I stayed in her home, only venturing to go outside a mere few times. I laid near her fireplace while she worked during the day, coloring mandalas, and grieving. At night, she kept putting food in front of my face, trying to make me eat, to smile, to sing, to write, to just be in her loving energy. Yes, I remember that trip. And, now, I think I remember the note too...

It was one of my last nights there, and she persuaded me to go to a nearby bar with some of her friends. I reluctantly agreed. It did feel good to get out of the house, and her friends (who all knew that I was in a bad way) were all so kind, and warm and comfortable. While we had some drinks, we took notice of some local college boys nearby - cute boys, for the most part - who, for some, as of yet, unknown reason, were wearing the most hideous, gaudy Christmas sweaters you could imagine. I mean full on. I can't remember if they were Jingle Bells or Rudolphs or what, but as soon as we noticed, we couldn't take our eyes off of them! For the first time in weeks or months, I was laughing my ass off.

I sent them a note, grade-school style, that read something like, "Dear young men, You are both very handsome and pleasant to look at, but I must INSIST you remove those hideous sweaters at once! Thank you." The boys in return got a huge kick out of the note, and we all had such a good laugh over the incident. It was turning out to be a pretty good night at the end of a pretty tough year.

Before we left, one of my new friends gave me this small piece of paper, and said that someone unknown wanted me to have it. It was the note. "Know in your heart that you are loved more than you can imagine." Just like that, out of nowhere. I'm struggling to remember if my friends maybe knew the guy who wrote it... I can't recall. But in receiving it, and at that moment when the black cloud of my thinking had surprisingly lifted in playful reverie, I really RECEIVED it.

I remember looking at that note, thinking about it before I went to sleep and when I would awaken for many days after. I taped it into my journal. It resounded a deeper truth, a deeper voice from within me that I had all but blocked out in my recent grief and despair. It was the voice of my spirit. It was the voice of my best friend. It was the voice of the Goddess... It was the voice of a stranger who in a span of a few hours was able to see something in me that I had spent months never hoping to again believe.

I love my journals, just as I love my life. The good and the bad. The painful and the blissful. I love that I tuck these keepsakes into them that are completely forgotten and need effort to remember again. I think about the last five years, and all the other losses and grief I've endured, to find myself here - really happy, and optimistic, and full of life and love for myself and those around me. I'm in a completely different place, thank God, than I was back then.

I think, too, about the people I see who are in that dark hole. People who are struggling. People who are addicted. People who are asking or not asking for help. I think about that one little anonymous note, and what it meant to me then, and in remembering it now.

I think I need to start writing my own little notes.