The Devil Made Me Do It.

And I am grateful. 

The other night in Ottawa, I stumbled upon a theatre festival.  A hefty line-up of diverse performances scattered over many days, I had time for two shows before I hopped a rideshare to Montreal.  The first show was called “Morning Star", a solo performance in which the artist appeared as the Devil, and the 6 or so of us in the audience became visitors to Hell, a mandatory stop before our transcendence up to Heaven.

The piece was performed in a dark, Russian bar called Avant-Garde.  I ate carrot salad and salmon caviar on a crusty piece of bread.   The Devil spoke to us of many things, her fall from God, (different from how the “good book” claims it went down), and at the end sobbed and pleaded on her knees for us to not cast her away as evil, but to understand her as our own fear, our own hurt, our own pain.   She bored into our eyes with her spellbinding intensity, and assured us that we are no better than her.  That the only difference between those who’s grace buys them a ticket into Heaven and the ones who are damned to an eternity of Hell-fire is merely a matter of circumstance - like the severely abused child who knows no other way but to grow into an abuser himself.  “Do not think you’re any better than the damned,” she warned, “because you have the same potential within you.” 

And then the Devil visited me again.  The other night I slumbered in a room with a couple of gorgeous soul'd, fun-loving Ausie fellows.  On a 6-week holiday of party destinations (LA, Vegas, New York, Miami, Cancun… etc.), their adventures typically commence post-sunset, while their days are reserved for sleeping.  Our paths crossed on their evening of “recovery” after 5 consecutive nights of heavy drinking, and so we bonded amidst our bunk beds over Tarot cards (because, that’s how I do) – peering into the crevices of each other’s inner and outer ways of being.  I first read their cards, and as the cards never lie, have converted my 2 new skeptic "mates" (that's what they call friends) into quite astonished believers.  After their readings, they felt eager and prepared to read mine. 

My very first card, in the position designated for my relationship to spirituality, was...you guessed it, the Devil himself.  And as darkness has been an undeniable force in my direct world of late, I was in no way astonished by this reveal.  The following day, the Ausie’s and I decided that we needed a sacred mission to exorcise the devil’s presence.  That together, we had the power to set him free.  And so we did what we needed to do… we climbed a mountain.  Right smack in Montreal, there is a beautiful forested mountain called Mt. Royale, and every Sunday since the late 70's (which it just so happened to be on our sacred-mission day, and the final day of my journey) is a "Tam-Tam jam", a vibrant drum circle pulsing at the bottom.  We used our intuition to select our route up, and when we got to the highest point, feeling accomplished and weary, we were greeted by what could have been nothing other than an angel in human flesh - A beautiful woman seated cross-legged on a blanket, with two adorable pups running about, and laid out in front of her were tarot cards of her own.  The Ausie’s and I huddled to discuss our next move, as the serendipity of our encounter gave necessity to interaction.  And so we approached the woman, sat at her feet, and talked about our mission and her sacred role within it.  I don’t know how long we spent sitting with the wise woman at the top of the mountain, an hour, maybe two – but with her, we found the peace we were seeking.  She answered our questions with joy and grace, and we climbed back down the mountain feeling content in receiving exactly what we needed. 

Sometimes we have to climb a mountain so that we can build our capacity to endure.  The devil gives us this - the gift of attaining strength to overcome.  I'm starting to understand the Devil as nothing more than untamed passion and unresolved fear.  But when we climb enough mountains, we begin to notice that certain mountains are made up of a similar form, and there comes a point when we must look at our karmic relationships to heal and correct reoccurring patterns.  A mountain that I keep finding myself climbing has to do with attracting and then dealing with the repercussions of people who are comfortable exploiting the goodness of others.  So many of these mountains I have climbed over the years, and I am now, officially, no longer intrigued by the journey, because it's tumultuous and dangerous, and hurts most of the way.  And so we get smarter, and realize that instead of climbing up that familiar mountain, we can also just flow right around the damn thing.  Not because we aren’t capable of getting to the top, but because there will be mountains that are much more worthy of our climb, and it just makes more sense to conserve our energy for those ones. 

Supported in my direct confrontation with the Devil, I encountered many angels during my week of Canadian travels.  And as it goes, the ones who had my back the most, and the ones who were the realest, had at some point a very intimate relationship with the Devil.  They understood the clenches of darkness, and because of that, believed in the immense power of light. This became apparent through their acts of kindness, protection and support.  My new friend Josh in Ottawa showed me this the most, as the Devil had him in his grips, and now he is free.  I will hold his story and his care with deep respect and admiration, as our greatest examples are those who have the will to transform. 

As a mandatory visitation to Hell is easing its way to a close, I'm pretty solid in knowing that what comes next is a whole lot of light.  A light that has stronger judgement, higher wisdom, less room for bullshit, and oodles upon oodles of gratitude... and a light that can only shine with such genuine brightness by learning profound lessons from the Devil, as we negotiated our relationship in the dark.    

Trauma Awakenings.

Last night, I slept in a jail cell.  Not because I was arrested, but because right now I’m traveling through Canada, on the “up” route (as I call it), creeping my way North from my home in Detroit – which sits oh so conveniently on the Canadian border.  I embarked without much plan, and through a (not-so) random sequence of events, have found myself in an old jail converted into a hostel in Canada’s capital city of Ottawa.  The jail was built over 150 years ago, shut down in 1972, and repurposed into a hostel just one year later. 

I didn’t sleep a freakin’ wink in that cell, and although I was sharing it with 3 other young women, no one spoke a word.  I found my way to the front desk at 5am, intention’ing to weasel my way out of a second night, to be informed of the fact that they have actual rooms too – big ones with windows, and not just tiny, dark, lifeless cells (which they assign out first for authenticity’s sake). And to my great fortune, tonight, I’ve been upgraded.  And although it was a rough night as far as sleeping goes, my one night in a cell did transformative things for me.    

I left for Canada the day after my birthday.  And it’s all becoming quite significant, as I was searching, asking, and seeking the higher purpose of a journey that I knew I needed to take.  

I cried myself to sleep the night before I turned 27, and awoke to so much pain and sadness in my heart, that I continued to weep with out much control for the next several hours into my morning.  As the reason for my sadness felt connected to more recent events, the extent of my sadness indicated otherwise.  I went to my studio to paint, where the tears continued to flow and my heart continued to ache. 

And then Mandy called to wish me a happy birthday. 

Mandy and I met in a Mysticism class in college.  In our early conversings, we discovered that we were signed up for the same study abroad program for the upcoming summer, and spent a month hopping around Greece together, letting each other in on our deepest fears and confused dreams of being fresh in our adulthood.  I was attracted to Mandy because she understood pain.  She had an intimate connection with suffering that you don’t see very often in white, middle-class, college-aged people, and there was something to her depth and her stories that I found interesting and comforting for reasons I didn’t really understand at the time.  Up unto that point, my own connection with suffering was more than the average person of my immediate peer group understood, and it was about to become much more immense as my mom’s sudden death hit just a few months after the Greece trip.  Mandy arrived just in time.    

When she called the other morning and heard distress in my voice, she didn’t coddle it, didn’t hide from it, didn’t try and make it go away.  She knew it too well as her own to do any of those things.  Instead, we talked in great depth about the ways

in which we are constantly confronted with the fundamental traumas of our past.  My personal experience with trauma is rooted in loss and emotional neglect.  Mandy’s recurrent trauma is violence.  Mandy doesn’t know so much about loss, and I don’t have much of a grip on violence, but we both share an understanding of the range of feelings and emotions that accompanies suffering.  We have an all too familiar relationship with grief, and it’s devastating, almost paralyzing, effects.  We also have a heightened sensitivity to joy and a deep appreciation for times of peace.  We get the way that life ebbs and flows, waxes and wanes, transitions and transforms, and we get that when our traumas come back to pay us a visit, it’s because we still have work to do, and that if we do the work, our happiness will prevail.  

And so that birthday morning, Mandy and I discussed in great length the ways in which our traumas continue to reappear for the sole purpose of becoming resolved.  When Mandy was 11, she was strangled and left on the floor, and in the time surrounding that incident, she was physically  and verbally abused.  When she was a little older, she was beaten up by some random ass crazy lady on the street.  In order to cope with her feelings of powerlessness, she started taking classes in martial arts, most recently Jiu Jistu.  She now lives in Washington DC, a city with a lot of economic inequality, crime being a result, and one night a couple of weeks ago pulled out her phone to make a call half a block from her house when a young man attempted to rob her at gunpoint.  Mandy looked him directly in the eye, and screamed and yelled from her very depths, and while doing so, recognized something that she understood quite well in her perpetrators eyes. She saw his fear. And just like that, he turned around and bolted for his own damn life.  Mandy still has her i-phone, and more importantly, she has her power.  At 25, she has quite literally had a face-off with the violent trauma that is generations deep.  Mandy is taking responsibility to resolve that shit.  Because really, no one else is gonna do it for her.      

Because my trauma has to do with loss and neglect, I’ve been subconsciously working on resolving mine by moving and traveling to places where I don’t know a single soul.  When I do this, I’m confronted with my deepest fear – loneliness and isolation.  And as it goes, I will find myself in many moments of fear, sometimes brief, sometimes extended, yet it’s always a mere matter of time before I’m connected with just the people I need, and who also seem to need me too.  The fluctuation of experiencing hints of my deepest fear and finding emotional safety is something that I encounter often, but it becomes more condensed while journey’ing, which gives me the opportunity to examine and work through that process with a greater sense of courage and awareness.

As I laid awake in that rickety bunk bed, trying not to toss and turn too much, as my cell-mates seemed not to have a problem slumbering as detainee impersonators, I was inundated by thoughts of true isolation.  What it would be like to be forever disconnected from the people you love, people in general, and the outside world all together.  And suddenly I felt that the grief I feel so deeply and so often is not just my own.  It’s a collective sadness for the social conditions that keep us separated and scared of love and connection.  I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the abundance of love I do have in my life (which was so beautifully verified in the evening of my birthday, much praise to those who came out), and how my greatest fear has turned loving relationships into my greatest priority and because of that, I’m okay.  And I will always be okay, because I don’t see that changing any time soon. 

And so I journey these weeks to work on reconciliation.  A resolve that probably won’t be achieved in my travels, but a resolve that is now much more intentional than it has ever been, and with that comes a certain surrender with immense healing power.  And because of the collective consciousness that we all in some way or another energetically share, my healing is your healing, and your healing is mine.  And identifying and owning our traumas is a really big step toward healing ourselves and each other.      

Farewell 26, Thanks for Everything.

We’re always hearing about them lessons.  All the time hearing all this valid stuff from all of these valid sources that makes all this perfect sense, but that we can’t truly and fully appreciate until they become our own lessons learned.  As we grow older, we discover that there is no real replacement for first-hand experience, and that doing is the most effective way to truly learning, and there’s just not much of a way around it.  And as it goes, learning the hard way is usually the best way, for there is great purpose and opportunity in struggle when endured with grace and fortitude. 

So, As I close in on my 26^th year, and welcome this next fresh chapter, I’m using this week to reflect on the lessons… what did 26 do for me?  How am I, after one year’s lapse, more prepared to do stronger and be better?

Although everything affects everything, and there’s no real separation between our areas of life, I’m going to break it down into categories anyway for the sake of organization (because organization is sexy).  

On Work:

It’s okay to try many, many things.

It’s okay to quit most of them, knowing that I’m gaining something from all of them.

It’s okay to think and declare, “This is it!  This is what I’m gonna do now!”

It’s okay to change my mind.

Here’s the kicker: Paying attention to what I don’t quit, even if it’s just one commitment emerging from every 20 attempts is where the clues lie… this is where my higher purpose is imbedded.

There's a time for discovery, and there's a time for honing.  Bruce said it best:

(illustration by Dante Cureton. He's the freakin man y'all).

Patience, patience, patience.   

Self-guided work with collaborative exchanges (please hit me up if you ever want to partner on a project) is the way I do best.

On Love (the romantic kind):

Shit. Aint. Easy.

To love fully and fearlessly, even at the expense of a broken heart, is still somehow the most worth it thing I’ve done yet. 

And with that experience, I’m now much more interested in the “slow and steady wins the race” approach. 

I’ve learned the most about the contents of my soul by loving another. 

Honest and open communication is the golden stuff.  It doesn’t exactly lessen the pain if it doesn’t end up working, but it does take away some dreadful agony in trying to figure out why it failed.  

Meeting halfway, compromise, a balanced give and take = essential components to healthful relating.

It really is about loving myself first and most.  When this is true, I’m only open to attracting those who encourage and illuminate my highest self. 

We get exactly what we ask for.  Which means that it’s really crucial to be mindful about what we’re asking, with our highest values at the forefront. 

Lifestyle is a biggy.

A mutual striving for balance is the biggy-est.

Passion is a feeling. Love is an action. It’s a choice.

On Friendship:

If it weren’t for my friends, I’d probably be checked-in to an insanity ward by now.

It’s the quality of character of our people that give us the best indication of who we are. 

For extended words on friendship...

On Everything:

It’s not the best idea to make big decisions when feeling emotionally fragile.  Even though in those moments it seems like THE thing to do. 

Struggle informs us of our strength and reinforces our values.

Quality of Life is everything.

Action is essential to getting through.

Establishing a keen awareness of the actions that contribute to my personal quality of living keeps forward movement ever-happening.

Embracing the unknown with courage is how we receive exactly what we need. 

There are NO LIMITS when happiness is the ultimate goal. 

----------------------------------------

Hey, 27. I’m into you… and ALL of your impending lessons (the ever-so-slightly easier way because 26 happened).    

Biggest lesson(s) of your current (or recently past) Birth Year: Go!  

Trifecta’d

Thinking triangularly has been my jam this week. 

It brings about understanding in a way that’s simple and essential, connected and controlled.  And because the triangle is such a prevalent shape in our human'd world (not so many triangles in nature), there are subtle reminders ALL OVER THE PLACE of the balance required to achieve greatness and sustain goodness.  

I was first introduced to the sacredness of the triangle this past fall while studying Hawaiian healing (Lomi Lomi) on the far-too-beautiful-to-really-comprehend island of Kauai.  The triangle, Lokahi is a very significant and culturally integrated symbol reminding the Hawaiian people of the 3 essential components to a balanced and harmonious life.  The three lines of the triangle represent: ‘Aina (connection to the land, mother earth), ‘Ohana (connection to family, community, our fellow people), and Akua (connection to spirit and our ancestors).  If there’s a disconnect in Lokahi because of a broken or lacking link, it is of Hawaiian wisdom that one will experience pain on all levels - mentally, physically, emotionally, and spiritually.  The more disconnected from the fundamentals, the deeper and more damaging the suffering.  It’s through identifying the areas of separation that appropriate healing can transpire. 

The triangle has been used to symbolize countless associations, some of the more common being:

In my triangular research, I came across a rather detailed diagram about Love that felt quite useful… As we can always benefit from some Love-Ed (if you feel me):

In another recent discussion with my roomy Mel about “best practice” relationships for productivity’s sake (aka seeking and fulfilling our life missions), there was a lightening bolt moment as she described a triangular configuration, emerging from the pits of my sub-conscious, to the joyful forefront of my thinking.  

It goes as such: 

Peers: Collaborating with those who have a similar skill/passion level, and are generally in a comparable place in their life process.  This doesn’t mean that our peers share our skill set (nah, cuz that would be boring) but rather have complimentary intelligences around a common goal that allows for a much more dynamic outcome then what we can accomplish on our own.

Mentors: A mentor is defined by their experience, resources, and knowledge + a willingness to pass that on to those who are fresher in their process.  A mentor cannot be greedy about what they have acquired over their years of trial and error and instead thrilled to support someone on a similar journey.  A mentor sees great value in passing on the torch, continuing their noble mission through the efforts of others.  A great mentor not only supports, but also really challenges growth, pushing the mentee beyond what’s comfortable and into territory that will make them smarter, stronger, and better equipped for the task at hand.

Mentees:  And then at all phases of our learning, we are going to have insight and knowledge that someone with less experience would love to have as well, even if that person is a 6 year old.  We don’t raise consciousness by feeling insecure about not knowing enough, or by hoarding what we learn through fear that someone is going to steal our ideas.  Giving is, without question, the ultimate means to receiving.  Giving will show you who you are.     

And the wonderful part about it is that we can learn as much from our peers and mentees, as we can from our mentors – as it’s the different kinds of learning that allow for our deepest and fullest growing.  

So yep, the triangle yo!   so deep, so powerful, so simple. 

And if you’re still not convinced of it’s mightiness… here's one last kick of proof:  

And as always, I invite you to share any sweet triangular wisdom.

Illustrations by Dante Cureton.  A crazy-talented peer who gets down BY HAND, bringing LIFE to the ideas that get us closer to our dreamsà(signs, logos, posters, portraits, books, blog posts… whatever you need drawn, he’s got you). 

dante.cureton3@gmail.com