July 12 - Intent, form, feeling
Good morning. It's moody brooding summer, but still a coolness in the morning air. Mosquitos are hungry. There’s a soft grey weight to the leafy morning, a breath of rain coming, the heft of the building humidity, the legacy of July unavoidable.
WW report: OK, up a pound. Time to chart the last few weeks, slow progress, but progress down below 290. Still, I now weigh 2-something, not 3-something. A victory. KEEP GOING.
Enjoying MK’s book more and more. I detect the Vinfluence - Caramel voice indeed! Very inspiring. Love my new friends. Feeling clingy and needy? New friends oh goodie new friends!. Hmm still obsession roils here. How to keep it good, moving?
Where is my mission focus? Where is the form of my intent?
Conceal me what I am, And be my aide
For such disguise as haply shall
become the form of my intent
12th Night, Wm. Shakespeare
Conceal me what I am – a frightened woman, insecure and unconfident.
And be my aide – boy howdy, do I need help!
For such disguise – my fat shell that I hide behind, and all the pretense.
Haply shall become – perhaps will manifest,
the form of my intent. – so far, the big intent has been to survive and protect myself, a defensive stance.
Try this again, with confidence:
Conceal me what I am: an uncertain person, sheltering her vulnerabilities behind a crisp steel mask.
And be my aide – mask, persona, be my loyal ally.
For such disguise as haply shall become – this costume and persona will transform me –
the form of my intent – into the focused, accomplished being I desire to be.
I form myself from the clay of flesh. I form my intent. I form a plan. I inform, transform, reform, and deform.
Its morning in July and the mosquitoes are biting.
Dream: poodle on the porch with a big pink cake in its mouth! Traveling in France with a group, we stop to take pictures. Someone is picking tarragon along the road. We stop and get all involved in trying to put things back they way they were, and end up at a dining table with the family, who has just had a loss, and there are lots of flowers, and time is a wasting and we want to go on, but don’t want to be rude or unkind.
I feel the coffee in my gut, I feel the moisture of my skin. I feel the ache of lost love. I feel the weight of the fat around my chin. I feel the sound of birds warring – crows and jays. I feel the breeze lifting. I feel the stretch of side muscles. I feel the breath in my lungs. I feel an ache in my heart, a longing, a grief, it becomes a space, an ocean. I feel. I feel.
Feel deeply, make beauty. My mission. Still? This came to me, like the voice of god, on a road trip to Michigan some years ago. a trip to dismantle my childhood home, to dispense with my parents estate. Is this still my mission? Has it become more clear? more essential, in spite of shifting details?
Feel deeply, make beauty.
In magic, the intent infuses the ritual. Intent becomes the form, form expresses intent. It arms us with imagery and momentum to pursue the goal, the vision. In MK's Composure, a remarkable visualization of the energies interacting, the color, plant and musicality of the energy is fascinating. And realistic.
Reach for the node, down below. It doesn’t need US to feed it, does it? MK's villain, stealing fear and charging the Black, I can’t imagine it working that way, although maybe I am not wired for it. It feels plausible when read, at least. And terrifying.
Think about the psychic vampires, the people I avoid because of their energy sucking proclivities. Or maybe it is just a threatened fear. DL, DA, AP, even Cat, the stubborn refusal to change, the clinging to misery, the blaming outward, and castigating viciously inward. I cannot be around this. I fear exposure to this. I avoid this. I am halfway or more to healing this wound - and those beleivers keep re-opening it, picking the scar.
What if I had my protections, by brambles and vines and thorns, in good working order? Could there be less fear?
WW report: OK, up a pound. Time to chart the last few weeks, slow progress, but progress down below 290. Still, I now weigh 2-something, not 3-something. A victory. KEEP GOING.
Enjoying MK’s book more and more. I detect the Vinfluence - Caramel voice indeed! Very inspiring. Love my new friends. Feeling clingy and needy? New friends oh goodie new friends!. Hmm still obsession roils here. How to keep it good, moving?
Where is my mission focus? Where is the form of my intent?
Conceal me what I am, And be my aide
For such disguise as haply shall
become the form of my intent
12th Night, Wm. Shakespeare
Conceal me what I am – a frightened woman, insecure and unconfident.
And be my aide – boy howdy, do I need help!
For such disguise – my fat shell that I hide behind, and all the pretense.
Haply shall become – perhaps will manifest,
the form of my intent. – so far, the big intent has been to survive and protect myself, a defensive stance.
Try this again, with confidence:
Conceal me what I am: an uncertain person, sheltering her vulnerabilities behind a crisp steel mask.
And be my aide – mask, persona, be my loyal ally.
For such disguise as haply shall become – this costume and persona will transform me –
the form of my intent – into the focused, accomplished being I desire to be.
I form myself from the clay of flesh. I form my intent. I form a plan. I inform, transform, reform, and deform.
Its morning in July and the mosquitoes are biting.
Dream: poodle on the porch with a big pink cake in its mouth! Traveling in France with a group, we stop to take pictures. Someone is picking tarragon along the road. We stop and get all involved in trying to put things back they way they were, and end up at a dining table with the family, who has just had a loss, and there are lots of flowers, and time is a wasting and we want to go on, but don’t want to be rude or unkind.
I feel the coffee in my gut, I feel the moisture of my skin. I feel the ache of lost love. I feel the weight of the fat around my chin. I feel the sound of birds warring – crows and jays. I feel the breeze lifting. I feel the stretch of side muscles. I feel the breath in my lungs. I feel an ache in my heart, a longing, a grief, it becomes a space, an ocean. I feel. I feel.
Feel deeply, make beauty. My mission. Still? This came to me, like the voice of god, on a road trip to Michigan some years ago. a trip to dismantle my childhood home, to dispense with my parents estate. Is this still my mission? Has it become more clear? more essential, in spite of shifting details?
Feel deeply, make beauty.
In magic, the intent infuses the ritual. Intent becomes the form, form expresses intent. It arms us with imagery and momentum to pursue the goal, the vision. In MK's Composure, a remarkable visualization of the energies interacting, the color, plant and musicality of the energy is fascinating. And realistic.
Reach for the node, down below. It doesn’t need US to feed it, does it? MK's villain, stealing fear and charging the Black, I can’t imagine it working that way, although maybe I am not wired for it. It feels plausible when read, at least. And terrifying.
Think about the psychic vampires, the people I avoid because of their energy sucking proclivities. Or maybe it is just a threatened fear. DL, DA, AP, even Cat, the stubborn refusal to change, the clinging to misery, the blaming outward, and castigating viciously inward. I cannot be around this. I fear exposure to this. I avoid this. I am halfway or more to healing this wound - and those beleivers keep re-opening it, picking the scar.
What if I had my protections, by brambles and vines and thorns, in good working order? Could there be less fear?
posted by Ven at 5:07 PM
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