I’m Not A Witch! I’m Your Wife!

imnotawitchimyourwife

I’ve called my belief system “The Orthodoxy of Christie” – a play on my name and my Christian roots – for decades. I didn’t realize until my thirties that I really do believe in magic and energy. I’m a witch! A little red-haired witch with a black cat, no less!
eclecticHappy Halloween!

Here I am with my friend, heading to an early-evening outdoor festy in our ‘hood. I’m a Mormon. Didn’t you know we have horns?renae-and-me
Later, Jax and I sorta made our couple’s announcement by playing matchy, matchy. We hit 2 friends’ houses and closed the party-crawl like we did last year, at The Guthrie, a funky arthouse in downtown Salt Lake where several of our friends have studios.

hahahalloweenHahaHalloween! Love, Silver Fox and Brown Bear

Wingspan

A Terrible Blow

I was telling my roommate about the dream I woke up with. I only remember the feeling, the connected bliss that greets you when you spent the night conversing with Nature!

Last night, a golden eagle guided me from place to place in Yellowstone, my childhood playground, telling me what it all really means. Of course, I don’t remember what it means but I’m swimming in serenity, still. What a great dream!

Then my roommate asked me, “What is your wingspan?”

“Too long,” I answered, glaring.

“Let’s find out!” he pestered. I can’t resist a caper, even when my vanity’s at stake.

It’s 5’9″. Five, nine!!!!! (I’m… not.)

I’m not a graceful, enigmatic eagle. I’m an ape!

Oo oo!

Progress Check

I was supposed to go to yoga yesterday. I was excited to keep up the momentum, but this new job triggered a bout of insomnia unusual to me. I get them, but typically I can kick it in a day or 2 and get back on schedule. This time, though, this fibro flare put its 2 cents in, and stress and discomfort conspired to keep me awake.

My pain perks up at bedtime, it seems. Skin-crawling, jaw-clenching, aching pain. It’s pretty distracting, but not too worrisome since I’ve put a program in place that’s already showing that it means to succeed. I have total confidence I can quiet this down and live with the ebb and flow of this disease.

Now if I could just quiet my mind.

I haven’t slept much in a week-and-a-half and by yesterday evening, I was so tired and spun, I wrote an entire set for my stand-up act. I have to check the Off Broadway comedy club on Main to see if there’s an open mic night now. Seems I’m a comic.

So it’s been a nice, pleasant little buzz of the mood and I slept like a baby last night. (“Shit yourself and rolled over in it?”) Today, I’m sleepy and feeling right on track.

Korejuga

Finally!

For the entire class last week, I was trying to think of the name of the Lakota group that’s an approximate equivalent to the Korejuga, from the Malinke tribe in the region of Guinea in Africa. (Korejuga are the jesters who show up to your party and tell jokes about you ’til you pay them.) They are the Heyoka. Phew!

Among the Lakota people, the heyoka (heyókȟa, also spelled “haokah,” “heyokha”) was a contrarian, jester, satirist or sacred clown. The heyoka spoke, moved and reacted in an opposite fashion to the people around them. Only those having visions of the thunder beings of the west, the Wakinyan, could act as heyokas.

Korejuga is a really fun, challenging rhythm. It’s a little frustrating, because it’s one in which the difference between slaps and tones really makes the music, and I just don’t differentiate yet. I try not to get – rah! – with myself because I am a beginner and I get to sound like one, but it makes a difference with timing, somehow, when you muddy over the distinct voice of each beat. I catch myself falling out of sync with the recording when I practice. I do love this one, though, and I love Quinn.

Quinn is the Korejuga of my life. He likes me, too, because I make faces and swear at him, haha! When I really zing him, he calls an “Air five!” or “Air hug!” Sometimes when I go for it, I get “DENIED! Oh!” Straight out of the 90s. He’s so much fun! He’s like a kid brother and I couldn’t love him more.

Now… I have got to figure out this signal! Why is this so hard? I can alternately play and fake the rhythm, but this signal is mocking me!

______

In my first sweat lodge, my leader was Heyoka. I was confused, because this event was supposed to be so holy. There was no frame of reference for such an irreverent man. I, myself, am quite an irreverent person. Paradoxically, I also have a great reverence for spiritual things. In my own “Orthodoxy of Christie,” God or Whomever is freaking hilarious, and one of the most healing, loving, delicious things we can do, privately and communally, is to laugh. But my upbringing made occasions of gravity… somber. Not really. People tell jokes at church. The funny talks are always the most touching and human, memorable. The Bishop who made me laugh is still my favorite. But Sweat Lodge seemed to me like going through the temple, I guess. I’ve never done that, but I know how you act in there. Hushed and humble, not cackling and contrary!

I caught on to Chief Shellbone’s oppositional humor. Between one of the sessions, when he opened the door covering he bellowed, “Hot enough for ya?”

“NO!” I hollered back.

He threw cool water on me and I got street cred, haha! Aho Mitakuye Oyasin!

(Incidentally, whenever I start to “go” into the heat, I have visions of prairie people in wagons. Every time. Many of those with whom I pray here are Native. I have come to believe that my people, who met theirs while crossing the plains, are joining with us, just as their ancestors are. It’s so beautiful.)

______

Oh my gosh, I’m the Korejuga! My friends paid my way for all of my twenties. (The “’til you pay them” part cracks me up!) I’d consider myself a mooch if I weren’t so amusing. Also generous and loving. 🙂 I babysat a lot of kids for free. Lucky me.

Open Prayer for an Open Mind

As for the low profile, oh alright, I’d already met someone before Adonis called but I didn’t mention it because, well, I’m embarrassing, addicted to love and loving and longing and god knows what it is. It isn’t really love I’m after, it doesn’t seem, with this 25-year string of stops and starts and fits and giggles.

It’s two-fold, I imagine: I really do like dating. And I’m always running. So there’s that.

This gentleman and I met a week after I moved out of my ex-boyfriend’s place. He thought I was cute and he’s handsome as hell, so Yes! I say to life. I call him a gentleman, because he is. He’s nice to me. He’s very respectful, but also super fun to talk to, interesting, hard-working, fit fit fit, go go go, loves his kids.

Ah yes, kids. Doesn’t want more. Story of my life. But hope springs eternal in my childless world. I suspect that deep down I’ve always hoped/thought I could force whichever him I was on into my narrow definition of a happy outcome, with our baby, our family, cuddly and warm and skipping into bliss, at last. Well, he can’t give me that – snip, snip – so I was going to politely cut ties – snip, snip – when I had the thought to open my mind, for heaven’s sake. I keep thinking if only these guys who think they don’t want one more kid would open their minds, I could have everything I want. It’s not for me to tell anyone what to do! Open your own mind, darling little hypocrite!

So I shall. And I’m going to see The Gentleman again, in spite of how excited I am to finally go out with Adonis tomorrow. I’m just throwing it out to the universe that my heart is open. Jane Seymour promises me every Christmas with her jewelery collection that if I do that, love will always find its way in.

Dear Source,
Whatever love looks like, I accept.
(Oh. That scared me a little.)
Please now help me understand that final piece that keeps me running away, so I can put it safely in place and sit still, at last, in quiet and bliss.
Thank you!

Adonis and I have been on the phone every day since reconnecting and I’m genuinely excited to be his friend. I think there’s no question he’s a keeper in one way or another. We’ve both said so. We’re looking forward to our friendship, and whatever.

And he flirts as much or more than I do, so that’s fun.

Red Hedy

Since our show is divided into 2 casts (I perform Monday/ Wednesday/ Friday), my crew has taken to calling me Red Hedy. The originator rather sheepishly asked during Hell Week if that was okay with me. I couldn’t be more delighted! I learned that she’d named me before we even knew which cast was which, when she expressed to friends, “I hope we get Red Hedy!” That’s a huge compliment and a great laugh! Only a ginger can call another ginger ginger! 🙂 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KVN_0qvuhhw

And here I am. And here he is. I have a huge chin and cheesy-ass grin, but every girl deserves to have a boy look at her like that. dave n me

The Sound of Rain

“I had a discussion with a great master in Japan, and we were talking about the various people who are working to translate the Zen books into English, and he said, ‘That’s a waste of time. If you really understand Zen… you can use any book. You could use the Bible. You could use Alice in Wonderland. You could use the dictionary, because the sound of the rain needs no translation.‘” – Alan Wattsrain on grassIt reminds me of a discussion I had with Dad when I was a young teenager, only it was not quite so lofty. It was good old-fashioned one-upsmanship, and, oh, I thought I had him! Dad used to help me with Math. (Really, I just threw tantrums about how stupid Math is and refused to learn it.)

“What is life, Dad? What’s real? Life is connection, STORY, interaction, to know one another! Life is language!”

“Christie,” my analytical father chuckled, “If you speak Math, you can speak anywhere in the world.”

Bested!