Last One Today, I promise!

I just wanted to share a really short poem I wrote recently: Still Life I wanted to live in a neighborhood of creativity an artistic commune of chaotic activity. But by the time I cold finally afford exorbitant rent prices, they'd already moved somewhere else.

Color Healing

I know, I know, I said I'd do more posts about colors and I haven't gotten around to it, yet. That's because I've been sidetracked by reading all 704 pages of Hippie Dictionary by John Bassett McCleary. Also, there's so much to say about color that I wasn't really sure where to start. But I think I'll start with an example. Last May, 9 months ago, I got a spur-of-the-moment industrial piercing in my left ear. And all of the horror stories I'd heard about healing all came true. Daily, it leaked pus and blood, and at the slightest touch I felt like punching someone in the face. And I'm normally a really peaceful person, so you can imagine the pain. About 8 months later, it was still really inflamed, and I'd developed this swelled-out bumps at the back and front of the bottom hole. So I decided to apply some color-healing. Every day, I focused on my inflamed ear and closed my eyes and imagined my ear being surrounded by a pulsing flood of blue-purple energy. Purple and violet colors have the most healing properties, especially since it is a purifying color. Blue-purple (or Ice Blue, but I always feel better when some purple is involved) is the preferred color for getting rid of inflammation and swelling, as well as other skin and skeletal problems. And now, the bumps on my ear has disappeared, and it looks better than it has yet. Of course, it could have just been the natural course of healing, but I believe that colored energy was beneficial, because it healed relatively quickly once I started color therapy. Yesterday I got a cut on my foot, and I immediately went to my medicine cabinet, grabbed the box of band-aids, and put a purple band-aid over the cut. How To Heal With Color by Ted Andrews (which I've recommended before) has a really useful list of ailments and colors that work best when trying to heal them. When in doubt, I'd suggest a purple or white light. Green is also a good healing color, but I'm always a little paranoid about it because green is also the color of growth, and so shouldn't be used on any infection or ailment that could spread. So be careful if you're going to use green! In fact, I'd recommend buying the book for a more in-depth look. Here's a few key items from Andrews' list: Abdominal Cramps - Yellow (corresponding with the yellow color of Manipura, the Solar Plexus chakra) Growths - Violet, Blue-Purple (NOT GREEN!) Infection - Violet Inflammation - Blue, Blue-Purple Skin Problems - Lemon, Blue-Violet

It's the Age of Aquarius (All Over Again)

I admit it. It's probably a clinical obsession at this point. But if you've seen it, then you're probably at least a little bit obsessed too -- so I'm not too worried about myself!! It is HAIR: An American Tribal Love Rock Musical, begun in 1964 by partners James Rado and Gerome Ragni and later appearing off-Broadway, on Broadway, and in various other threatres all around the world. And now, with previews beginning on March 6 and an opening day set for March 31, directed by Dianne Paulus (who also directed the musical when it premiered in Central Park last summer), HAIR is coming back to Broadway. And, although I was disappointed when I heard that Jonathan Groff wold not be reprising his role as Claude, I am excited at the prospective cast thus far, including Gavin Creel as Claude, Bryce Ryness resuming his role as Woof, Darius Nichols resuming his role as Hud, and Kacie Shiek resuming her role as Jeanie. Let me tell you, I've listened to at least 4 different cast recordings of HAIR, and these four people are still some of the best I've heard yet! (And on a slightly differnt note, Bryce Ryness has a great band called RYNESS, which I recently saw in concert at Sullivan Hall. Check out the band's myspace here.) The musical presents a strong anti-war statement, at a time when I think we need one almost more than ever. And, based on the success over the summer, I dare say that HAIR on Broadway will be a huge success, more so than ever before. Although HAIR always garnered positive reviews, it was also violently targeted and oftentimes attacked for its (at the time) taboo subject matter. For a good insider's look at some of these stories,check out Good HAIR Days by Jonathan Johnson, who performed in numerous productions of HAIR, primarily as the in-love-with-Mick-Jagger-but-not-homosexual Woof. Although the play lacks a linear storyline, all of the chaotic bits seem tied together by Galt MacDermot's beautiful feel-good soundtrack.

Celebrating the New Year IN the New Year

I was asked to go to Times Square on New Year's Eve. I can picture it now -- a little cartoon version of myself with spiking blonde hair shoved under a hat that looks like Hello Kitty's face, unable to move because I've stuffed myself in ten sweaters, bouncing up and down because I'm freezing and I need to pee but if I move I won't ever get back to the spot I'm at now, and really, utterly miserable. Of course, there is the romantic flip-side of celebrating New Year's with the person I care about, who would have also been there with me. I could have gotten a New Year's Eve kiss under an exploding, ball-dropping, wind-surging, star-spangled sky. But I didn't. I just stayed home with my family, watched a movie, and played some Rockband. And maybe it wasn't mind-blowing and exciting, but I was content. And tomorrow, on January 5th, I'm throwing a New Year party at my house with my friend, and we've invited a decent number of guests. It's time to celebrate the New Year in the New Year! After all, shouldn't we spend every day of the year celebrating new beginnings and possibilities? I think so. And anyway, I've had bad luck with New Year's Eve kisses in the past. Time to start a new trend for a new year -- no kiss on New Year's Eve, but plenty of kisses throughout the rest of the year. And not only kisses, but also plenty of celebrations, new revelations, and chance-taking. Time to start really living again, instead of just managing to survive.

World Resolution

After a period of absence (I know, I know, you could barely stand it while I was away), I have returned to my customary white screen, white box, verdana small font typeface mouth. And I have returned as somewhat changed, somewhat the same. 2008, like everything in life, was a process - no start, no finish, just an endless muddle through the middle, from the shallows to the deep. A process begun at birth, to continue until after even death. The process is external - the situations we face each day, the circumstances we live through, the friends we make and the ones we lose. The choices we make. The morals we follow. The lies we tell. But the process is internal, also. It is a path stemming out from the tiniest of cells, slip-sliding through the bloodstream, manifesting in the squishy folds of the brain pan. The internal process is your consciousness, and its constant expansion. Today I finished reading Turn On, Tune In, Drop Out by Timothy Leary. Surprisingly, as anti-chemical as I am, I agreed with a lot of the things he said in there. I expanded my consciousness enough to understand his point of view, and even acknowledge some truth to his words. Although Leary preached a mass movement towards LSD, it wasn't about a pleasure-trip, so much as a religious, sensory, exploratory experience. Through LSD, Leary believed people could touch God, the God within themselves, the God that we all are. Each person is God, a manifestation of God, an infinitesimally small piece of the perfection pie. LSD was about breaking reality. LSD was a sacrament. But the key point, the reason I could agree with all of that despite my disapproval of drugs, was that the sacrament did not have to be LSD. The sacrament could be the Catholic host, the dervish dance, your own "breathing, fasting, flagellation, dancing, solitude, diet," according to Leary. "There are hundreds of ways of turning on. But at the present time, man is so sick that there are very few people who can use these ancient methods, so that today is it safe to say that drugs are the specific, and almost the only, way that the American is ever going to have a religious experience." We've past the Hippies. Past the counterculture. Sure, pockets of it still exist. There are still people like me who just want peace and freedom and happiness and love. But I think we're past the point where drug = sacrament, because I think that drugs, like laughing and dancing, became too trendy, too commercialized, in a sense. Religious power diluted. But we have to do something. So let's go out, and find our own sacraments. Anything that can change your conscious, expand your mind's capacity. Meditation, mental, mathematic, marvelous processes. Pay attention to the molecules. Pay attention to the motions of everything. Pay attention to the movements you can feel, the tones that resonate within your organs even if you can't see them. Pay attention to the colors. Become aware. Here's the New Year's resolution for the whole world: Find your sacrament. Turn yourself on. And through this process, we continually grow, and we continually help others to grow. Through this process, we strengthen the shimmering strands of connection between us. Through this process, we unite our tiny fragments of God into a greater whole. Dig it.

MIA

I know I've been absent. The end of the semester left me world-weary and worn. I've been spending most of my free time working on Christmas presents for people that I care about. After the holiday, I will be back with as much vigor as ever. Wait for me until then! "I don't want what I cannot carry on me or inside." -Tree Union Small note: Tree Union is one of my favorite bands this month. Check them out here or here!

Color Me... Orange?!

I am a firm believer in color therapy - the idea that you can heal (or influence) yourself with the colors you wear, the color candles you burn, the colors you have around your house... And colors, of course, are directly related to chakras, as each chakra belongs with a specific color family. In case you don't remember which chakra goes with which color, there's a very basic run-down here, which is a site I've linked to before. Knowing which chakra is out of balance - too much, too little - takes a lot of practice for most people. And knowing how to balance chakras takes even more work. But sometimes, you just know which chakra is dominating your body/spirit/mind... you can just feel it. Can't you? Ever woken up and knew exactly what color you wanted to wear? I know I have. Or, sometimes, I'll use color to influence my mood, like if I want to be energetic and creative, I'll purposely wear an orange or yellow shade. And actually, today I feel orange - hopeful, curious, creative... and a little bit antsy, which is why I'm trying to balance that extreme orange by wearing shades of blue for a more mellow, easy communication feeling. If anyone wants the low-down on colors and their complements, I'd be happy to do a separate post on it. Either way, there are plenty of good books out there on the relationships between colors, and about color healing, but this one is one of my favorites. So what color are you today? And what color would you like to be?

Trust Me (And Not Those "Critics")

Before I continue, if you haven't watched Australia, at least watch the trailer: Or, watch the trailer in Hungarian: Now, take a step back, try to be objective, and read what the critics are saying: It just barely scraped into good territory on Rotten Tomatoes with 52 percent. It got a B+ by Yahoo users, and a C+ by Yahoo critics. It got a C- by Entertainment Weekly. It was called a "boring trip through the Outback" by RopeofSilicon.com Bogus, I say. Bogus! Trust me, these people must have been watching with their eyes blindfolded and their ears stuffed with cotton balls. Either that, or they were so concerned with living up to their title of "critic," that they were too afraid to praise this sweeping, dizzying adventure story. And out of all the reviews I read, the most frequent complaint was the movie's daunting 156 minutes. Which was one of the things - besides the sweeping landscape, dazzling cinematography, and hint of magic - I liked a lot about the film. It took it's time. There was no scrambling around at the end to tie everything together because the film's multiple subplots (the second largest critic complaint) all fell nicely into place. I don't really understand why critics like the LATimes are complaining about the fact that it seems like "two or three historical sagas squeezed into one big package." In my opinion, more movie-time means you're getting more for your money. And multiple story-lines kept the film interesting for everyone. Honestly, who really wants to sit through a long, sappy love story with nothing else going on? Not me. But Australia wasn't just a love story -- it was also a story about a different world (and it took the time to show you that world), a story about an imminent war, a story about discrimination and hatred, and a story about over-the-top characters. And maybe sometimes the movie itself went over-the-top, with massive explosions and unreal circumstances. But that was just part of the otherworldliness of it, of the film's in-your-face character, just like that of the Drover. And I don't think that's a negative thing. But Michael Jones of the Huffington Post puts it much better than I ever can in his persusasive review: "Let those without a heart beating in their breasts give Australia less than four stars. Those who boo kids at Easter Egg hunts, yell at referees at junior hockey games, sneer at sunrises, cut in line in front of little old ladies, give out healthy snacks at Halloween, talk during the Star Spangled Banner... they will laugh and slang at Australia. A pox on them. They prove that they are not really members of the human race." Beautiful. You should read the entire review if you want to get a real sense of Australia. Forget all of the bad grades and nonsensical complaints. I mean, can we really trust in the opinions of critics (like the New York Times) who say: "Mr. Jackman gives the movie oomph; Ms. Kidman gives it performance," thus implying that Hugh Jackman cannot act? Yeah, I didn't think so either.

Hello? Hello! Hello?! Hello.

Some news: Roman Polanski and Viagra. I recently noticed that when I pick up the phone, I always say "hello?". And I guess that's a standard phone opener, very traditional. "Hello?" With that slight voice raise at the end, marking it as a question. Not a greeting, but rather a subtle query of "Who is this?". Although, in this cell phone age, I already know who is calling, because the name already showed up on my phone before I picked up. In fact, the name probably had something to do with whether or not I picked up at all! Then, why still the "hello?", why keep on with that age-old questioning tradition? Perhaps I'm masking other questions, like "What the hell do you want?" or "Are you going to cancel plans again?" or "Where have you been?". Or perhaps I just don't really put enough effort into answering the phone (considering everyone says I sound depressed every time I say "Hello?" "Hey, what's up?"). Or maybe I'm just stuck in a rut of tradition and routine. So next time I answer the phone, I will try to be sincere. If 1/3 of surveyed Brits can answer with casual phrases when they know who's calling, so can I! I will say "How are you?". I will say "How was your day?" I will say "Will you buy me a Dwarf Winter White Russian hamster???". I will say "Hello". Drop the lilt at the end. Drop the silent question. They never know what you're asking anyway, unless you say it directly. Just "Hello", as a greeting, as a salutation. Or, maybe even, "Hello X," where x represents the name of the caller. A personalized greeting, like the one you can put into your cell phone, in e-mails, on Christmas cards (Speaking of, I was reading about Christmas newsletters on the Always Home and Uncool blog - which is always a really great read - and I must admit, I've never thought about sending out holiday newsletters. I mean, usually I either go with cards or letters - with the usual phrases like "Happy Holidays" and "Hope you enjoy the gift" and lots of little stickers and drawings to take up space - but I never considered sending out an newsletter to tell people what's new in my life. Then again, I'd probably only reach about four words: "Hello! Nothing new! Goodbye!" Look, even my half-assed Christmas newsletter would get a real "Hello", with an exclamation point, no less!) That's it. I have no choice now. Next phone call, you'll hear it, "Hello!". Just wait for it. Maybe I'll expand to other languages : "Hola!" "Szia!" "Yo". But part of me mourns the loss of this satisfying phone-opener. That silent question, raising up at the end despite being dragged down by the weight of every little word you can't quite bring yourself to say. Like "Why won't you stop calling me?" or "Don't you know I don't want to talk to you?" or "Is it too obsessive if I ask what you're doing this weekend?" or "Do you have any idea how many times I picked up this phone and almost called you?" or "Can I live without you?". Think of all that hidden meaning, lost. All of that subtext. Maybe I'll solve this problem by doing like the Hungarians, and saving my "Hello" for the end of the conversation, when I really mean "Goodbye."

Song of the Day

Switchfoot : On Fire Does that mean you're cold when he isn't near you, and when he doesn't speak? Does that mean you start to freeze up inside, with little icicles growing underneath your skin? You sparkle, but beneath the glamor, you're as empty as a bird's nest, from which all the children have already flown. I don't mean to get depressing, here, but there's two weeks to the end of the semester, lots of work to do, and a noticeable lack in my life right now. Give it a few weeks, maybe. I need another trip to Hungary to chase away these blues (settling in my bones) with soft kisses from a sweet, mellow breeze as I stand thigh-deep in the water of the Balaton, wondering if I should submerge myself, wondering if I can absolve myself, wondering if I will finally let go of battered dreams. I did submerge myself. I have (can) absolve myself. But I cannot give up on these dreams, not for anything. As an addendum to that, I can be happy alone. I can do more than just survive and function alone. I can feel alive. Everyone can, when they realize everything they need is inside of themselves. When they are able to keep the pain at only a certain point, and not below (oh, Ayn Rand, and her cold characters). And, that said, I'd rather be alone than give up on my dreams. I'd rather be alone than force myself to feel something I don't. I'd rather be alone than be with someone who I do not love. And in that, I will be happy, because at least I know he's out there. Because at least I know he exists. Because at least I'm not settling for anything less than being overwhelmed. [[you were the best i ever had.]] "New slang when you notice the stripes, the dirt in your fries. Hope it's right when you die, old and bony. Dawn breaks like a bull through the hall, Never should have called But my head's to the wall and i'm lonely. And if you'd 'a took to me like A gull takes to the wind. Well, i'd 'a jumped from my tree And i'd a danced like the king of the eyesores And the rest of our lives would 'a fared well."

- New Slang by The Shins