Hello, Hallowed 'Eve!

I adore Halloween.  I absolutely adore it.  Those of you who know me, know me well, and know my witchcraft, may find this odd.  Mostly because in the modern era Halloween is a bit of a joke and one run by candy companies nonetheless. But my enthusiasm for the holiday cannot be stopped. 

Nope, it certainly cannot.

I adore witchiness in all of it's kitschy glory.  I gobble it up and imprint in my soul and on my skin.

Because we witches must have a sense of humor about things.  And if we cannot have a sense of humor about a holiday that is oddly, sadly, and sensibly ours, than what can we have humor about??  We must, and I do, embrace the hats, brooms, warts, and capes.  I embrace my body which wears the hat; the air which floats the broom; the humor which necessarily embraces the wart; and the shoulders that bear the cape.

Traditionally this moment in the season marks the true beginning of the winter because it also marks the end of the harvest season.  Collecting is over, digging in is on.  The festivities which accompany the holiday celebrate not candy, not magic nor shenanigans but darkness- both in the form of the coming winter and shorter days and in the form of death- those who have died, those who have come before.

This day, for what it is worth, is a day of celebration of darkness- of evening, of oncoming, of passing.  It is a celebration of the good which accompanies the difficult or bad.  It is a celebration of livelihood even when times are thin.

It is the perfect night.  The witching night.  The night when I feel most at home in myself because there is no reason not to.  I believe that I can embody this transition from light to dark; autumn to winter; life to death.  I can embody and love all of these transitions.  They are natural, they are beautiful, they are Halloween.

My darlings, my friends and readers- Much love on this most auspicious of days.  And until next time…

An it harm ye none- so mote it be.

The Psychology of Inevitability

As a nod to the impending Halloween Holiday, I'd like to discuss (and open for discussion) what makes good horror films really good (of course in my ever humble opinion).  And I'm talking about the GOOD ones.  This does not mean the gore ones; the ones that rely on special effects and blood and guts and a gusto of absurd fight scenes blah blah blah.  

What makes a good horror movie into something haunting and memorable is this psychology behind-the deep distress of- the inevitable. Consider the greatness that is Night of the Living Dead: these people are stuck in a house, in the middle of nowhere, with the deeply uncomfortable knowledge that something is coming for them.  

Consider also the original Haunting.  

I have never in my life been more piss scared by absolutely nothing.  There are no special effects.  No gruesome scenery.  There is the simple terror of being haunted by the UNSEEN.  Neither the characters nor the audience sees anything.  We all know that something is there, hunting and ranging through the massive Hill House, but we never truly see it- we can only acknowledge it's presence and it's effect. 

My current favorite is World War Z.  And I don't care what anyone else has to say about it (booyah).  The reason it is such a great horror flick is because it is not actually a horror flick.  It's a socio-political statement about the inevitability of descent into madness, mayhem, and badness if humanity continues along the exceptionally self-centered and ignorant path on which it has currently set itself.  Of course we are going to overdevelop ourselves into disease and disaster.  

It's INEVITABLE.  

And that is key with all of these brilliant films.  The fear that we know what's coming and cannot stop it no matter how hard we try or what we do.  Whatever 'it' is, it is a force beyond our comprehension and willpower to understand and avoid.

Questions? Comments? Concerns?

Do tell!

Blood Moon

What I love about the cycles of nature is that they make so much sense traditionally, socially and historically.

Tonight is the Blood Moon- the full moon normally associated with the month October.  For some reason (read because they don't do their homework and won't think outside the box) most people think this full moon is called Blood Moon because it is October's moon.  (October playing host to such a delightful holiday as Halloween- it makes 'pop' sense... I guess.)

But that is not exactly how it works.  At least not for us witchy-folk... Here is where the sensical traditional-ness comes in.  Blood Moon is called such because this is the time of year when (sorry to keep using the word) traditionally villages, towns, families, etc., began to slaughter their fattened animals for the winter meats; and to preserve meat you must first end the life of the creature.  And so blood flows.  And so this full moon becomes the Blood Moon.

It has so much to do with nature, with survival, with keeping life and light abounding during dark times.

It is a beautiful understanding.

To all, a Happy Blood Moon tonight.

The Switch- or- Self Control vs. Life

There is a switch in my brain- one that is equally as important as it is devastating.  And there is literally no way of predicting when it will happen- when the switch in my brain will flip and I will suddenly (while listening to my newly rescued shelter dog yip and sigh in his dreamy sleep) and with such relief think-

Wait.  I deserve to be here. I deserve to be loved- and to love myself.  

Last night was that moment, that heartbeat.  The bottom of my weird brain fell out and reality hit hard.  Self control, I thought at one o'clock in the morning, is a great thing.  Until you use it to kill yourself tortuously and slowly by starving yourself merrily.

And that is when the screaming in my head began...

WAKE UP KIDDO! DO YOU ACTUALLY WANT TO STARVE TO DEATH? DO YOU ACTUALLY WANT YOUR INTERNAL ORGANS TO DIE A LITTLE MORE EACH DAY WHILE YOUR SKIN GROWS FUZZ TO WARM ITSELF EVEN WHILE YOUR HAIR FALLS OUT?

Not really.... nope, can't say that I do anymore.

And so the still torturously slow march to reclaim myself as a person, one with wit and vim and vigor, one with humor and love, begins.

Until next time...

Deflowered

Before this evening... I was a motorcycle virgin.

And now...

Well now I am something entirely different.  Because this evening I had my first motorcycle ride.  And it was perfect.  It was exactly what I dared hope it would be- All fluidity and ease in motion.  All grace and presence.   And holy bananas- I was present beyond all experience of presence.  I watched the sun go down from a motorcycle.

I saw the world fly by in a rush of air and goodness and throttle.

But it was not flying at all.  It held still for each heartbeat- each breath I took infused with my surroundings.

Perfect.

Perfect.

Perfect.

Dear Alaska,

There will, in fact, be things that I miss about you.

But YOU will not be one of them.

Because, in fact, I did not experience Alaska this season.  I experienced Anchorage.  And, naturally, there were and are things here that I genuinely enjoyed.  My cohort.  My roommates. The stories that I now have to tell about my crazy landlady, our psychotic and hermit-like neighbors, and the misadventures of one wildly moody housecat.

I enjoyed the mountains in the distance and the strange sense of community in this strange northern town.  Dogs everywhere, street people making it a point to yell at me.

The Bear Tooth Theatrepub and Chilkoot Charlie's Trivia night.

I cannot, however, say that I will miss the town as a whole.

Again, nor can I say that I will miss Alaska.  Alaska- the big wilderness, the big sense of wanderlust and glamour and loss- did not exist for me.  Not this season, anyway.  Plans foiled; mischief never quite properly managed; fashioning of nonsense and no-good constantly foiled...

I gave up on the BIG Alaska.  I cannot regret it or regret will eat me alive... but I will be saddened by the world outside that I never quite got my act together enough to engage.

Alas- I blame myself, Alaska, not you. It is my ache, my pain, my mistake.

Love,
Kate

September... Oh September...

I am indeed obsessed with my birthday month.  It has to be said.  September is the start of the fall- my favorite season.  It is the delicious month when the summer is finally letting go and the sweetness of golden autumn light begins to creep into the days.  I am a Libra- so I am especially partial to the late part of the month- but I will take any bit of it.

Holy Bananas.  Official obsession (which may become a problem later down the line when I decide that motorcycles are in fact a great mode of transportation) and serious streaming video problem with Ewan McGregor and Charley Boorman's travel 'Long Way' documentaries.  Brilliantly funny, brilliantly British, and brilliantly executed, these journeys and these men are going to cost me an arm and a leg in Internet overages!

Completely absurd ailments.  Yep.  Storytime.   Yesterday I woke to shards of glass ripping into my throat, an epic ear ache and general health shit-tast-ic-ness.  So I roll out to find a walk in clinic (in the middle of the always pouring Anchorage rain) which, naturally, takes far more time than it should.  But eventually, after much chagrin and cursing of the weather gods, I am ushered into the back room where they take temperature, blood pressure, etc.  After two different thermometers and two rounds of double checking- confirmed.  My body temp is only 94 degrees.  Consult your survival dictionaries- I have officially dropped low enough to be hypothermic.  Crikey.

Bear Tooth Theatrepub.  I just love it here... a second-chance movie theatre that serves food and drink and keeps the kids away from the rest of us in an 'alcohol free' balcony zone.  It's brilliant. In fact, I may treat my hypothermic and bronchitis-ridden self to World War Z this weekend.  Since, you know, sickos can't make it to Denali even though that was the original plan.  Nah.. I'm not Bitter at All.  (Hack, stupid Alaska).

I remembered how lovely his voice is... and his.  And now I can't stop listening to either.

Reconnecting.  I've done a lot of that lately for some reason.  I realized that I had forgotten how lovely it is to reconnect with someone loved.

Okay...
Till Next Time...

F*ing Hypothermia?!?

The Woods are Lovely,

Dark and Deep- 
But I have promises to keep, 
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep. 

Sometimes, the way people get songs stuck in their heads, I get poetry.  Lately 'Stopping By Woods on a Snow Evening' has been background noise in my mind.  And even then, just that final stanza.

I believe it is the grace of this section- the remembered mileage, the promises unfulfilled, the darkness and deepness of it all- that gets to me.  The inevitably of continuing on...

Especially now as I gear up for yet another move.  The suitcases will come out, soon, and I will stare at them for a while, putting off the inevitable.  Then they will become the woods- dark and deep- and empty- until I remind myself of the promises that I have made and I have to keep.

Only then will the packing happen.  It will and in the frantic flurry of folded clothing and measured shoves, I will think about all of this mileage.  All of the roads I have driven, flights I have flown, seas I have sailed.  And I will think about the thousand sleepless hours of travel- the ones on the train station floors or airport baggage claims, with neon clocks mocking me.  Or the nights shoving too many people into one hotel room.  Or the heartbeats counted on a plane, staring blindly at the flight map, wishing to hell that my legs were shorter.

What promises have I made to go through all of that?

Promises of a welcome home hug- and those I keep.

Much love, all.

Some Days You Bite the Bear...

And some days the bear bites the hell out of you.  And some days that bear starts gnawing at about 8:15 am Alaskan time (by the way, AK does indeed have it's own time zone).

The Bear in question is distance.  It has prowled around me all morning long as I attempt to nurse the wounds it inflicted earlier when it enthusiastically shredded my heart into tiny little heart-pieces.

Please don't get me wrong- I know that this Bear is just part of the price of the life I have very willfully and stubbornly chosen to lead.  And I usually willingly pay it.  Because I love the thrill of motion, moving, movement; I love the deep breath I have to take every time I board a plane or the zing of excitement when I cannot see out the rear view mirror because the Jeep is packed with my most precious belongings and I am setting out on yet another adventure.  I even love the frustration of having to deal with passport issues (currently I need to renew the hell out of mine), Customs, delayed planes, gas prices, packing-repacking-unpacking, 'goodbyes,' 'hellos,' 'goodbyes' again, the UNKNOWN element that will inevitably blow up in my face.  I love my Vagabond World and I can deal with that Bear.

That is, until days like today when the Bear reminds me that some connections should not be broken by distance because the break is simply too much to bear (sorry).  Distance hardly ever wins in my life and considerations, but sometimes it does.  Sometimes it forces my hand and makes me think about the settled, connected, KNOWN element.

Sometimes I don't want to be so far away.

Until next time,
Don't let the bear bring you down.

A Confessional in August

I am hanging out on a particularly rainy Alaskan morning, eating a piece of toast, drinking a cup of coffee and listening to this album.  Yes, I know that I am a wee bit late in falling in love with it- but you are all used to my pop-culture deficiencies by now.  Anywho, in listening, I realized that the time had come for an August version of obsessions confessions!

Mahjong- thank you Sami Bruce- has taken over my life.  Seriously.  It's a little ridiculous. I could spend hours looking at those little tiles.  I may go blind staring at my computer screen.  I need to get a real kit and play in the soft, natural light of the real world.

I have become utterly obsessed with counting down the days until I fly away. In case curiosity has gotten to you- September 22.  After that I know that I will have another countdown going- fly to Costa Rica? Get a dog? Get a real job? Who knows.

Also, speaking of cultural deficiencies, how could I possibly NOT have known about Buena Vista Social Club before now?  And why did it take Alaska for them to really hit home??

The Glades.  Has anyone seen this?  Because I am officially obsessed with it- especially on rainy mornings like today... :).

Okay. That's all for now.  It's time to be marginally productive.  AKA... Mahjong.

Much love to all.