Navel Gazing with the Stars


I am so incredibly uninterested in subscribing to non-inclusive dogmatic bio-domeing communities/events/organizations. Even if they do in fact happen to be changing the world for the better.

Regardless of positive chance, should we go forward in a narrow-minded way with, I would bet my life that the change will be temporary and transient. Many of the methods I see getting to this change are still running by the same consumptive dominant paradigm narrative and often are passively patriarchal/heteronormative. Thus not embracing the emerging diversity in the world that is begging to be seen.
Despite all the hard work and good intentions I fear this route will eventually land us in a place very similar to where we currently are. We the generation of people knowing something is needing to be shifted.

Yet still sitting on our thumbs waiting for the next Guru, Messiah, Mommy/Daddy, Profit, Teacher, whatever. When it’s so clearly not one man or woman that is going to, or even would be able to catalyze a lasting change. It is the great collective of us, working through our woundings, and going forward to share a broader vision for peace, healing, and a sustainable world. Not just for us well off, north americans, and not just for 3rd world kids in UNISEF commercials – but for everyone.

Yeah it’s a tall order, and yeah I will likely only see the seedlings of this new world in my lifetime. If I am lucky. But it’s not about what we see in our lifetime, it’s about the wake we leave to make sure the work doesn’t dissipate after we’re gone.

I think it’s naive to believe in absolute inclusivity in all situations. I do believe that knowledge is knowing a tomato is a fruit, and wisdom is knowing that it doesn’t belong in a fruit salad. That said, I see far too many people and groups often unconsciously hiding behind the veil of how “woke” they are, and really not doing much to help anyone, or change anything, save the causes they have put themselves in the centre of.
No Human/s should be in the centre of anything, we should all collectively be holding space for that centre, for that change, for the better world far beyond our time in these bodies.

This will be uncomfortable at first. and many people tend to confuse discomfort with intuition. At first often the two feel the same, save one is driven by fear, and the other is driven by primal wisdom. We may never fully “get” each other, and if the fullness of that understanding never arrives it should enough to know that we each have our unique medicines to offer the world. If we are all offering the same medicine to the same people over and over again, it becomes nothing but a self indulgent spiral. Like any abused medicine, it becomes a drug. We become addicted to a twisted waking dream, fiending for our next manic fix of epiphany. Navel Gazing Junkies.

Being woke is hard, the best of us are only half way there. But encapsulating ourselves in the spiral of spiritual bypass, the “I don’t see colour” mentality, the “equalism” sans reconciliation mentality, bio-doming intentional communities, the all talk but no action activism, the untethered free spirit – yeah, that shit is easy. These narratives are all signs of a destructive circle of hollow progression.

Most of the people suffering these afflictions come from a good intentioned place, hell I’ve been there time and time again. Many people attempting, and desiring so hard to be living right now in the better future; the one of which the work has not been yet done to create. Desire is utterly intoxicating.
The work calls for all peoples to come together: all races, classes, ages, sexualities, genders, and so on to band together. It requires us to do the work of mending our differences, and agree on a shared vision of a world we want to build together. As many of us can concur, the vast majority of integral change happens outside of the comfort zone.

Perhaps though, we start in the comfort zone. We start in our connected communities, with the people and causes we feel safe with. That is healthy, and ideal for planting a safe firm foundation together. But do so with the intention of branching out once that foundation of trust is strong enough, once your morphogenic field is potent enough to withstand the pressure of your shared discomfort.

Once that is in-fact the case, branch out, offer your medicine, your gifts, and your experiences to new peoples, and ask in return for theirs.

Fucking unify. Unity, is damn important. Acceptance begets understanding, and even if that never comes the understanding that diversity is key to change should be enough.

I said that living in the dream is easy, what I meant is right now living in that dream is easy. But if we are lucky, and the lot of us reach a ripe old age, one day our great grandchilden are going to ask us

“when you were my age, did you know what was happening?

To which if we are honest, most of us will reply “yes”

” So what did you do?” they will ask.

And the answer to that question is not in the future, you are living that answer right now.
The future as we know it doesn’t really exist, it is always “now”, influenced by “then”.

And when our “now” is when these children approach us speaking of “then”, I hope to the gods that we have lived with integrity, and that we are able to provide a damn good answer for them.

– ac


Art by Tara McPherson​


The Accidental Addict


I have a story to tell, and I will prefix it by saying the very idea of this vulnerability terrifies me. That said I am inspired by my recent admiration of the recovering alcoholics and addicts in my life.

I’ll start by being blunt. July 14th, 2014 was the last day I ever took an opiate into my body. Codeine was the vice that took me by surprise. It was the one I hid from the world, the one I normalized because it was legal – it WAS normal. Codeine is a hell of a drug, one that wears the face of a medicine, and for some really is medicine. For a time at least. Profound empathy and emotions have always been both my gift and my burden, imagine my shock when I found a way to turn them both off nearly completely. This was the most dangerous form of seduction I have ever endured.

TW: talk of depression/suicide/opiates

I have never celebrated this anniversary, I guess it’s because a part of me still doesn’t want to admit that I was/am an addict. But that doesn’t stop it from being true, in 6 months I will be celebrating 3 years sober from codeine and other pain killers. I will admit that not a week goes by that I don’t feel the tug of oblivion, that said thats a hell of a lot better than when i felt the tug every day, or every hour even.

In the spring of 2009 I had my first tooth abscess, the mixture of several bulimic relapses over the course of my teens and then becoming pregnant wreaked havoc on my teeth. Over the course of 2009 and 2015 I suffered 7 abscessed teeth. Now let me tell you something, I have the pain tolerance of a masochistic horse; but infected tooth-nerve pain is a special kind of hell I would wish on very few. Electric, hot, blaring and absolutely unignorable this was the type of pain you would do anything to stop. And betwixt raising the thousands of dollars for dental work I tried pretty much everything to sooth the anguish. The doctors in their piteous gaze were more than happy to provide me with a plethora of pain killers. These I learned worked a lot quicker when you mixed them with hard liquor – and actually wait! Not only was my physical pain gone, but so was my emotional pain, and mentally I felt better that ever. Really fucking great, oh hot damn I could take on the world. What I didn’t understand then was that much like my physical pain, the emotional hurt wasn’t going away, it was just building up. Waiting to crest in the moments where I wasn’t cavorting in euphoric numbness. Those moments were the worst.

So I guess I became an addict, but I had no idea. Throughout my years of being around substances and as a “bad kid” using various party drugs I never found myself particularly pulled to continue on taking any of them. It got the job done sure, but it was merely experiences. Even with smoking I was very much aware that I did it for the social lubricant, the connection. In my hubris I had thought myself immune to such an affliction, how could I be an addict? I know better than that.

I once was given the reflection

“You are a very real person, in a very fake world. That is why you hurt so much”.

While the expression was well meaning it only plummeted me deeper into a space of emotional exile. Why did the whole damn world get to be fake and I had to deal with realness. I wanted to be fake too, I wanted to stop hurting.

So around 2010 life got hard, really fucking hard. I, awash in stereotypes tried to balance life as wounded knight, a single mother, a private dancer, a vengeful lover and a starving artist. Even after my teeth were fixed I still continued to pop these pills, openly I would state I had migraines, or that I took them to stay awake at parties. When you’re so nonchalant about something so frequent people start to believe you’re just fine, I certainly believed as such. In late 2010 I went to the doctor, at the end of my rope with my depression. He gave me a test and after spending 15 minutes talking AT me concluded I was indeed dangerously suicidal and needed to be medicated right away. He prescribed, Effexor, Ativan and Quetiapine. I expressed my trepidation in being given the possession of drugs that could result in overdose, he scoffed and told me they would balance me out enough so that wouldn’t be an issue on my mind. For the record it did very much continue as an issue on my mind.

“Don’t worry” he said “I am on effexor, and it works fantastically. I feel great”

Desperate and bamboozled I agreed. What he neglected to tell me is that Ativan should never be mixed with alcohol, and effexor’s withdrawal has been described as more intense than trying to quit a heroin habit. But thats a whole other story. So the next year was a whirl of fog and self medication, and as it was utterly endorsed by my doctor I still had no idea I had a substance problem. I knew my life was a mess, but for a variant of other reasons.
I couldn’t have a substance problem. Not me, I was wild, sensual, silly and fun – unless of course I was behind closed doors being a total venomous bitch or feeling inconsolably hollow.

2011, I go to burning man, the Temple breaks me open in every way I need to be broken open, I soon after leave Effexor, Ativan and Quetiapine behind me and never touch them again.
“I’m cured! I no longer have a dependance for anything. But, you know. I get these headaches still…..”
Post Burning Man I start to get my life in order yet I am still fluctuating between elation with life and crippling depression, but at least I can feel again. And when I don’t feel like feeling, I have the pain killers.

“I don’t NEED them though”

2012 I am off to Burning Man again, two days before-hand I get another abscess in my tooth, stubbornly refusing to cancel my trip I go to my doctor. He prescribes me 80 (eighty!) Tylenol 3s. I feel the joyful glee of one hell of a time in the cards. It was a hell of a time, probably one of the best times of my life. Even though I can’t really remember much of it, I’m pretty sure it was fun. Right.

The years pass and while my life has balanced out significantly I am still battling depression and frantic bouts of rage/suicidal thoughts – mostly in the privacy of my own solitude. Where was this coming from? Or was I just broken by nature?
In 2014 my Partner at the time and I were having a heated argument, he went to the bathroom and while he was gone I popped a handful of pain killers and washed them down with whiskey. He returned and I was subdued, my eyes glazed over, a perfect apathy washed over my face and I motioned him to continue. He looked at me with a bewildered pain in his eyes and asked

“Where did you go?”
“I’m right here” I smiled
“No Mya, no you are not” he said.

He was right, I was gone. That was the end of the conversation. He later told me he had never felt so abandoned by me. Abandoned? How could I ever do that? What was I running from? The next few days were a blur of emotions, me alone at home by myself, feeling irritable, heart broken, suicidal, erratic, physically worn out; the intensity of it all didn’t hold any logic to me and suddenly I had a thought.
“Is this withdrawal?”

I hopped on my laptop and consulted Dr. Internet on symptoms of codeine addiction. “loss of appetite, depression, irritability, anxiety, stomach pain, psychosis, mania”

Cue life bomb in 3….2….1….boom.
Holy shit. I was addicted to pain killers. And I had been for a very long time. Life happens fast, and sometimes you pick up some crazy demons along the way, never even noticing they have latched on to you. So I stopped, I admitted it all, I quit. It was far beyond anything I would call easy but I quit, cold turkey. Catalyzed by stigma, shame, and guilt I haven’t touched pain killers since, even though gods know I wanted to. This addiction was like biting the proverbial apple, when you are always well aware that there is a magical little pill that can make your intense emotions stop dead in their tracks. Not just the negative ones, all of them, even the amazing emotions are a lot to deal with. The seduction of that knowledge is always there, whispering its pillow talk into the back of your mind.

That was July 14th, 2014, in addition a few years later I would also quit hard alcohol because of the triggering connection I still held between the two substances. I never gave a shit about craft liquors, what year they were, what their history was. I just wanted to stop my heart from expanding so rapidly, I wanted to douse my fires with an apathetic “nothing”. It’s been nearly 3 years (if you round up) and it’s taken me this long to even begin to tell people that I had a problem. It started in my shadows, and that’s where it ended. There is something very sad about that.

It’s true, I am a very real person, and much of the world is very fake. Much of this is because of the same reasons I fell into addiction. We are lonely, we have lost our village mindedness, many of have no sense of home, family, and beyond the mask of ego we are constantly fearful of losing love, or that we at our core are ultimately worthless. This isn’t true, but it sure is easy to believe.

The world isn’t fake, the thick veil of worthlessness that most of us are smothered with, THAT is what is fake. On a micro scale I am a recovered addict, on a much larger scale I am in the process of recovering from a very shattered culture.
It’s when I am alone that my cravings are by far the strongest. There really is something to be noted about that. So I am taking the time along with others to peal back those voices of disesteem and go deeper. This can’t be done without emotions, without love, anger, grief, and without each other. It’s hard, but baby it hurts so fucking good.

So yeah, theres a little piece of my story, heres lies my little tale, still in the midst of being written. Each day I step more and more into me, although sometimes it’s hard – I wouldn’t wish to be anyone else, or to have become as such any other way.

‘I assure you, I am not put together at all. Nor am I broken. I’m recovering – finding the beautiful in the ugly and stitching it into my life’

The Dualistic Myth


Ever since I watched “The Force Awakens” (with excited clenched fists, several times) I have been curious to where the Star Wars movies are heading with this new trilogy, I note the similarities to the originals but with some blatantly obvious differences. Perhaps this is on purpose, perhaps I am idealistic. Perhaps perhaps perhaps.

That said having seen the first two in the new trilogy I still hold a hope in my heart that it’s new story being spoken to is one of inter-being, verses one of the ever constant battle between light and dark.
What would it mean to take Star Wars, the current western cultures most prominent story and use it as a catalyst for shifting the stories that we are living out globally. Instead of telling the same tales over and over again what would it mean to have them support our growth as a species.

To move from creatures of oppositional violence, to beings of evolutionary balance. A world without war, but still one with stories that enthralled us. Could that be done?

When faced with a choice, what would you choose the good side, or the bad side? Despite the seduction, despite the inkling that each choice by it’s very nature is RELATIVE to one’s perspective. By choosing, in this culture at least – you immediately identify yourself – stamped right on the forehead:

“am I a good guy, or am I a bad guy?”

I noted they touch on this a few times in the film, that by choosing the path of the light that an equal in the darkness would inevitably rise.

“All it takes is one bad day to reduce the sanest man alive to lunacy. That’s how far the world is from where I am. Just one bad day.”
―Joker ” The Killing Joke ”

You see this over and over in western literature and pop culture, the knight slays the dragon, the Hero thwarts the Villain, the champion saves the day. It is rare that someone asks, does the “bad guy” believe themselves to be the “bad guy” or are they in their minds fighting for the righteous cause. What befell a peoples that we must identify an opposing other to feel that we have value as individuals?

The film it’s self is called Star WARS, although as a child I didn’t connect it to war. I connected it to the noble and just battle between Good and Evil. Between the forces that would chose to support life, and the forces that would choose to destroy it. Not understanding at the time that for life to thrive sustainably it needs both to be nourished and to endure much death. Destruction clearing at path for new life to begin. Not at the hand of man, but at the hand of nature it’s self.

NOTE: From here on there are Star Wars Spoilers. You’ve been warned. Put down your vengeful plastic lightsabers.

I felt myself siding with Kylo Ren a few times in the film, despite his overt (Grand)daddy issues and emo haircut his attempts at logic resonated with me.

He pleaded with Rey mid-film to join him in letting old stories die. Releasing the ideology of Jedi, Sith, the Resistance, the republic, the empire, all of it. He pleaded that a new age be allowed to come forth. YES! I thought. Hell yeah Kylo Ren! Neutral space, finally.

He continued on: all they had to do was allow the people that still believed in that outdated dogma to die out at the hands of the First Order. Wait. No, no Kylo Ren, no! Bad Kylo, thats a antithetic Kylo Ren, no.
Despite his desire to move forward into a new paradigm of grey area, he still was working towards it with “darkside” methods. Kill everything that is oppositional. Which clearly our doe eyed Rey wasn’t having any of. From my perspective the idea seemed quite appealing to her until it suddenly involved letting everyone she loved die a horrible fiery space death. After stating this she wouldn’t allow herself to hear anymore of what he had to to say. Thus he once again become all “SMASHY, KILL, “You’re not even my real Dad! WAH WAHH!” adolescent, and she became the stoic sassy girl next-door hero. Perpetuating the now toxic stories that have throttled their lives and families.

In spite of feeling the call to move into a new way of being they both continue to occupy a space a of polarity. Rey and Kylo Ren are self identified still too far on either end of the spectrum to meet in the middle. Balance remains unmet.

Rey is a wrench in the workings, I really hope this is a purposeful maneuverer by the writers. It was exposed that her family is in-fact not part of the holy/profane skywalker bloodline. She comes from “no one” and from “no where”. The Force is it’s self trying to rid it’s self from the galacticly enforced constraints of ” the good side”, and “the bad side”.

We’ve been hearing the plea from Jedi Masters from the beginning “Bring Balance to the Force” and to do that it seems that the darkness needs to be embraced, just as the lightness would be. No Jedi, no Sith, just pure Grey energetic force. Luke Skywalker says himself, the force is in all of us, and Rey’s sudden appearance as a strong power pulled to both the light and the darkness supports that theory.

What is to happen to the Human being once the Hero walks off into the sunset?

Some say that the new star wars betrayed Luke’s character by turning him away from his people after releasing evil into the world. But this was not the first time that a Jedi master had gone into hiding – Obi Wan Kenobi vanished on a desert planet into anonymity, Yoda reclused deep into a huge swamp. It only makes sense that baring the golden hero’s weight that Luke (like those before him) would collapse into bitter self loathing and exile.
Seriously, fuck the prolonged Hero Archetype. And while the Heroes Journey is integral to our initiatory journeys, it means nothing but fodder for the ego if we don’t have a dedicated support network to return to. A devoted family, a mirroring community, a village to hold the human once the Hero’s weight causes him or her to collapse.
A Hero untethered may very well be the worlds most dangerous weapon.

In our world, in our history how often have those we proclaimed as heroes, teachers, and visionaries fallen from grace solely because it was too tiresome to carry the burden of being a champion alone? That breaking is almost inevitable.

I would put forth that the next saviour wont be a person but instead a collective consciousness.

I am tired of these dyadic stories of black and white, I am tired of watching entire planets (RIP Alderaan) explode, and in real life entire countries becoming desolate wargrounds. All this for the sake of some group of peoples opposing ideas of what is wrong, and what is right. There is a new story that wants desperately to be born, and it is up to us to midwife it into consciousness.

What if this whole Star Wars chronicle of Darkness and Light has been a 40 year build up to the most epic mind bomb mic drop that we have ever witnessed?

Perhaps I am being a radical romantic, but I know who I am routing for – not the good guys, or the bad guys – but instead the Human beings working towards an interdependant world where wars (both internal and external) are a thing left in the old stories.

No good, no bad, just evolving humans. (and whatever other alien species joins us along the way……. I’m looking at you Chewbacca)

the heavy hearted ache


Today I write with a heavy heart, as the internet has reminded me (right on schedule) that the world is really fucked up – and in a plethora of ways.

Our world, our us, our humanity. What does that word even mean? Humanity.

I have grounded myself into a place where I will not let the narcissistic self loathing of our times consume me, I will not let it convince me I am so tiny that I cannot make a difference; that I should just simmer in apathetic and easy complacency.
More and more I am coming to realize that what is “easy” is not simple, and what is simple is far from easy.

But it hurts so much, and somedays I yearn to feel that apathy, I crave to understand the languish places of which so many of us have landed. The state of being that allows people to live each day in a place where heartache has been abandoned.
Because damn this pang is raw, like a thousand indignant marchers grabbing my at throat, despite the lack of recollection of why they had began marching to begin with. Like the tainted oxygen surrounding us leaving my breath short, my own womb mirrors that of our Earth’s – rumbling, twisting and lurching with sediment.
The pang is raw with consumption; a woman trespassed and sold, a pig tagged and bled, water bottled and resold. As if the culprit could see any difference between the three.
Eat. eat. eat.

We live in a time where eye contact is shunned, connection to our adversaries, our lovers, our food. Shunned. The intimate courtship of love, sex and death – a fading art. A sin even.
For years we arrive and depart from inside each other, thrusting in and out. Flesh against flesh, in a desperate reach towards feeling anything at all. Uncontemplative copulation, contact without contact. Climax without Orgasm.

I see anguish, hatred, war, and poison. I see suffering, in a world that advocates killing but refuses to acknowledge that death exists as anything but an affliction. I see all that is natural, all that is us, being crucified and resurrected, wrapped in plastic and artificially manufactured by emaciated milky eyed children younger than my own.
And then sold back to us; lacquered, sterilized. For our safety.

That blasted blanket statement of a word, Safety. I do not feel safe in this world, and I would be brazen in assuming that neither do you. Yet I harbour such a huge fucking adoration for this little blue marble, despite that ever-present same ache threatens to consume me. When I saturated in it’s darkness I cannot help but imagine and skirt on understanding the actions of political self immolation – because this fire under my skin threatens to ignite. The fire of passion, what a fearsome tool to behold.
I am angry, and I am scared, I am in pain but more so than anything I still am so damn in that love. With you, with all of this, or rather what all of this could be; and if I could I would turn it off, but that didn’t work before and it certainly wouldn’t work now. A tidal rush of intensity breaking down the makeshift dam of indifference. Wild hearts do not take well to being confined.

So I cannot go on, yet I continue on because anything else would be a lie – tiresome and meager. I am broke but not broken, I am female bodied but not weak, I am invisible in the eyes of the government but prominent in the eyes of my peers, and this pushes me to go on, even though by all means of logic I cannot.
Logic, safety, ache. These are all subjective. And every day for the past week the eagles have been circling my house, a bat sputtered around my home in graceful disarray, and a finch died quietly in my hands. I watched my daughter sing joyfully on stage, my house later this evening will be filled with the laughter of like-minded loved ones – loved ones that also ache, that also cannot go on – but will anyhow.
As long as I can live in a world with eagles, bats, singing and like-minded hearts I will have love.
This is not the nonchalant white picket fence do nothing as the world burns type of love, nor is it the violent extremist rubber bullets and homemade bombs type of love. It’s a love that doesn’t exist in-between them, but in-fact beyond them, not despite them but because of them.

In response to the times we are in, something beautiful and furious has arisen. Something in you and I that may stand to redefine revolution as a whole.
So I have love, and it tends to the colossal loneliness, the crippling doubt, and the fear of that lingering encompassing ache.
This love whispers to me

“You ache? Good, you are fortunate for the reminder of the state of things. That that ache and make it your power, take that power and make it your gift”
-but damn, some days; somedays are harder than others.

So what is Humanity? Some would say adolescent, destructive, tantrum prone, regressive by force. Call me radical, foolish or idealistic but instead I -in the spirit of my “Post-Jadedness”- choose to ask “what it could be?’ and to see what it IS in smaller circles – That is what utterly enchants me and keeps me going on and on and on.
It is the beauty. That of which we are collectively and individually capable of – And to be in service to beauty’s progress is a damn fine place to be; ache and all.


art credit:

Ponderings from the essential shadow


I’ve been exploring through my thoughts on the experiences and pain that many of us share – yet seem to continue thinking are completely individual to each other.
I’ve been sifting through on my own ordeals of doing that exact same thing – my previous refusal to release the sovereignty of trauma. As if it was the only that actually made me special.
So if not the individual, where does it come from?

The disregard and nonchalance that our society bequeaths upon those openly experiencing loneliness, depression and acts of self-harm is abhorrent.
It’s so much more than a cry for help or attention – it’s a deep festering cultural wound that touches us all. Perhaps thats why we are so reluctant to talk about it without smothering it with medicinal bandaids and pillow talk of “Shhh it’ll all be okay”. It’s a shameful trigger that something has befallen upon us so vehemently that it has come to this level of extremity.

After copious years of it’s prominence this has become learned behaviour. Passed down through generations. It’s very much developed in to genetic and environmental trauma.
This is far too big to be swept under the rug of demanded and addictive positive thought.
It’s not a coincidence that in a world devoid of elders, initiation and community guidance 1 in 12 of youth teeter towards suicidal thoughts and acts of self harm…. of which generally starts around puberty.

Myself included. For over 10+ years, starting at age 12 – and still only the brave and some (not me) would call crass ask me where all my scars came from. And thats just the ones on the outside.
Yet when the people who suffer speak up they are instantly met with dehumanization, condescending coddling and made to feel like an infectious pariah. The majority at large do not want to be reminded of their shadow, their perceived failures and even more so want nothing to do with that which reminds them of their mortality; especially death.
I made it out of the deepest depths, mostly. Many others did not and will not. Something has to change – like now. You know it, I know it – and it’s doable; but not in conjunction with the continuous ignorant acts of peremptory blind-sightedness.

We are all here together floating in space, hurting, loving, feeling, longing and creating – If we want to heal ourselves individually it’s time we start to comprehend what it means to truly heal as a collective first. To support each other, regardless of the fearfulness that surrounds us, regardless of the mirrors that it provides. We need to heal this together.

(and as a life long advocate of extreme independence that’s a damn hard thing for me to say – IE “I was wrong, this can not be done alone”)

Ponderings from the essential shadows of Humanity

To be continued….

The Ache


Why have we strayed so far away from our roots to find some appropriated facsimile of so called “home”?
I have inklings of memory: memory of lost love, of dust; memory of battles, blood, and wine. Of words I don’t understand but I still feel. I remember, I guess I’ve always remembered.

Modern blood lines and blurred borders. Unsavoury connections, and disheartening observations. All connected to recent descendants – my own disdain for my living lineages; an eschew of comfortably strayed spiritually stunted children. Rejecting the idea of tribal law, generations of memory traded for what?
Stucco siding and a manicured flower garden. Handicapped by choice, because a life of feigned ignorance is an easy life.

“Bah” I said “Not me!”

I abhor not the people but the aspects of society that twisted the warrior within myself towards such disapprobation. How could I be a guardian to anyone, or any place with such contempt for the present? And I do so see myself as a guardian in training to this gracious Turtle Island. Whether or not I live up to that, is not for me to say.
Those who have pained she who moulded me, she who gave me life, she of whom I want always to protect. I -within the constrains of my audacious hero syndrome- hold such an fierce anger towards them.

These broken ones have unpurposefully bruised and tarnished my bond to what once was (old lang syne). Hands in the air, Nose up, and lip curled I refused their fear of living. Often to a fault.

Although – sometimes, I do this with far too much an of adolescent attitude. This upheaval has to end. I am tired of being an earthquake all of the time. I want to be a calm sea, a night sky, I want to be a forest fire.
We are all connected, and I enjoy educating myself in worldly theology, fable and history. I enjoy understanding its correlation and curious connection to lands far from each-other’s conscious reach. Finding comfort in our shared stories. Stories and stardust, its what we’re all god damn made of.
But why stray so far? Why embrace and consume so much culture, but only taste the scent of where my parentage was birthed? The foundation of my ambiguous DNA.
My loyalty lays not within my given family, but with the one I found; my alliance is with the lushness of the world; and my pride now lays deep in my blood. I’m finding it’s wild flames again, as the dragon of my heritage is awakens. Unslayable, waiting to be claimed.
So far back in to where I see in my dreams; the myth and narrative that the ancestors hum in to my ear, trickling down my fingers, tickling and intoxicating my tongue.

“LISTEN” they say, “LOOK” they demand.

I am neither here, nor there. Too far ahead and too far back; blessed now with tangible anchors, to the world I adore. My rebellion suddenly with a cause. My feet suddenly more grounded than ever. How terrifying.

We are all indigenous to somewhere, they whisper to me. But where? and why doesn’t it seem matter like it should on the surface to most people I meet – could they truly believe themselves to be a cause so lost that it isn’t worth an excavation? Children born of nothing, and tethered to nowhere.

Don’t you feel the pang from those and that of which has been left behind, the ache of hunger in you craving something more? That depressed cavern in your body that eats away at your voice and leaves behind self loathing and oblivion. What if it wasn’t as empty as it seemed but instead filled with the emaciated peoples we only remember in dreams. Not dead, not alive, less they be fed. The longing lingers for something real, something that tells us we belong. That somewhere there is a place that longs for us. Do you feel it?

I do.


The whorl of actuality

the_mind__s_child_by_jbsc-d31jzu1Penetrating concepts
permeating words
“maladjustment” they said
But – I know better; these compulsions
are the most fabulous of accessory
voracious evening musings

This is what you do to me.

These basal fleshcrafts soar too slow
for us radical dreamers
we ride hard and swift on the back of thought
into the nethermost depths
of story: our interwreathen universes

An abstract hypothesis? Indeed. Well worth a few lifetimes to fully perceive
All for the Adventure, it wouldn’t be worth a damn without it.

The Fear Laden Woman

You think I am a Courageous person?

A strong Woman in the spotlight, spearheading change with the help of my community. A Love Revolution that invites, music, art, innovative expression, political movement, acceptance, authentic honesty and potent sensual freedom

– yes that is true – but that does not mean I don’t feel fear.

Every day I am swimming in anxiety, some of it my own; some of it goes much deeper.

Things that scare me as Mya:

The sound of Vacuums and blenders, YellowStone Park (or the idea of any super volcano), Seeming Egotistical when I am just Curious/Expressive, being Selfish or Burdensome, Cancer, failing/letting people down, My daughter being hurt in any fashion, Deep sea creatures/sharks, Big loud trucks, Air pollution, Alien adduction, Not being able to save the world, Lack of Community, being exiled/abandoned, my Mom being sad, Losing my ear for Music, Ticks, not having enough of me to give to everyone I love, apathy, burning out, Eels, hurting the people I love, Being discredited for my work now because I once worked in the sex trade (dancer/muse), getting attached, not nurturing my passions, Writers block, staying in one place for too long, Mama earth dying, Raw Chicken,


(Purposefully separating here) Things that scare me as a Woman:

Being Crazy After all, Hedges at night time, Playgrounds at Night time, People who may or may not be following me, Cars at nighttime, Smiling or making eye contact with/at the wrong person, Not smiling at the wrong person, Being too big, being too small, HVP, leaving a drink unattended/or accepting a drink, “asking for it”, The front seat of a Cab, Talking back to Cat Callers (although I do anyway), pregnancy, stretch marks, aging, answering the door, Being too weak to protect myself from abuse, the voices in my head that tell me “it’s your fault”, being labeled a bitch because I am quiet, in charge, getting shit done, powerful (or just in a bad mood), being labeled a slut/whore/maneater because I am an outwardly sensual being and non monogamous (and I’ll be honest way less promiscuous then when I attempted -and failed- monogamy), boundaries, or saying “no”, overstepping other peoples boundaries of consent, expressing anger, emotions, Not being taken seriously (“what a radical feminist”), Not being heard because I talk in poetry, Being thought to hate men or women, being a lesser human being

Doing ANYTHING alone.

‘Imagine a World where Women feel safe” – Marco Cochrane


This is my vulnerability, my gift to you – to those that may think I do not fear for my own life in some way or another each day. I do – but I choose to walk in to the fire regardless; not with hatred in my heart, but with love. This isn’t even an option for me anymore; it’s what I am made of.

“Wild moon woman

you were not

made to be tame.

You are an earthquake

shaking loose

everything that

is not soul.”

-Elyse Morgan

Imagine how potent and balanced a world could be where Men and Women and all that falls in-between those lines could love, nurture, support themselves and each other? In whatever way the natural flow allowed. Imagine a world were safe spaces were created and expanded until there was no segregation anymore between unsafe and safe.

Imagine standing back and watching the Divine in each of us each shine without feeling envy – but instead feeling pride, a universal compersion. Imagine that we each had a place of meaning and worth in the world – that we could stop questioning our being and halt the struggle of rising to the top.  Because we all could hold a sacred purpose. Imagine a world without fear of insignificance.

In a world free from shame, guilt and fear: imagine what we could all create collectively?

This is my purpose in life, if even it’s just one tiny seed – if even I never get to fully see the fruits of our labour. This is my promise, this keeps me going no matter how fearful things become.

Yours, applecat 

The Queen of Fire impeached

Digging deep and with inquisitive humility.

Anger in the Feminine, in Women, in me; fist up, voice loud, at par with the boys; no need to be saved, fire burning – far too hot to ever get close, too hot to hurt – smouldering we incinerate ourselves. Why? This Fire was once our ally.

Because we are tapped in directly at the heart in to our worlds wonder, it’s love and it’s anguish – and we are sorrowful for this.
-But we have been betrayed by our culture, taught that sadness or expression of grief – which is in part our gift to the world; tears for those who cannot, or do not know how- this we are taught is weakness; that our tears are equal to defect – a burden on those closest to us; a truth unwelcomed.
Asudden we become what we fear – told we are hysteric and labeled with the bane of every Woman

“She is Crazy”

So we denounce our gift. The Divine Queen of Fire impeached.

We become angry; it inhabits the place of our empathy. We become angry because being angry is the only way we can feel strong and sad at the same time. We cope by abandoning part of what makes us Human.

and we burn – so hot; we ignite ourselves, our love, our world; this anger becomes a great destroyer – Assassinating kinship, eradicating balance.
There very well may be nothing more destructive out there; as the cautionary tale goes Hell Hath no fury like a Woman scorned.

With respect – I for one, am exhausted. This fire takes blood I am tired of being The Nuclear Woman. I am tired of living in self exile, tired of validating my own crimes of desertion.

Being a Woman in service to life needs no Authorization; and so I walk on again – perhaps for the very first time.

Art Credit:

Contemplating New Years Resolutions;

Screen Shot 2015-09-21 at 12.28.26 PM

First one that comes to mind; during the aftermath of global strife and mass spread fear and shame – I let this utterly encompass me, it surrounds my every thought.
My resolution becomes clear as day; the exact thing that holds me back – stop beating yourself up for not being the change quick enough, stop beating yourself up for not being able to help everyone; stop looking at your achievements as “Good, but not good enough”

Tough self love is a necessary skill, but over time and with excessive use at some point it becomes an abusive relationship. I note with humility over this contemplation that I often boarder-line that type of contumelious connection with myself.

Why should anyone accept behaviour from one’s self towards themselves that they wouldn’t accept from other people?
When Catastrophe inflicts it’s detonation on the world I am far too quick to take it in to my body – nauseous and aching to feel in full it’s harrowing grief – and I am often foolish enough to try and feel it out alone; almost as if I was paying penance. Along with callously pushing away whatever person is altruistic enough to offer me solace. Why? Because I have convinced myself I am not worth it.

In these instances I am filled with a disheartened “What’s the point” mentality, one of which eats away at my inspiration and I am not accustomed to digesting with skillfulness. I see little lives change at some of the work that I do; they express with humbling adoration the effect I have had, but the work never gets easier – in fact it gets further strenuous: a dream that so much relies on – still homeless, still surrounded with such uncertainty.
And what of the rest of the world?

How do the little lives go on to prevent bombings, shootings, hatred – how do the little lives -now less laden with shame and guilt- these little dancers how do they stop the killing? How is it that I can put my full everything in to the world – and still have the cries of anguish echo in my ears from miles away, years away – I still feel them, and it hurts. God damn it hurts.

and then I become angry, and sorrowful, and I take it out on myself because it
“Wasn’t Enough”

But I need to stop that, if even for the sake of those who care for me, they should not have to watch me squirm when I perform emotional self flagellation. It’s not fair to them, or to me.
I need to remember that yes on the inside I am a fierce kind DragonKitty, but on the outside no matter how big or small I feel internally- I am a wee Human Girl, and I am doing everything I can; which is (I can say now because I am not at this moment swimming in narcissistic self loathing) a-fucking-lot.

The hell with Gregorian New Years; my resolution can start today.
Mya, take it easy on yourself.