I’m over it. I figure I have an astral tribe of cheerleaders and there’s nothing they love more than helping me plot my course to pleasuredom. Maybe some of them are are bangin’ funksters, or DaVinci himself. This is what I imagine the classic angelic ones sound like… These are great songs when you’re high, low, or on the outside of any door.

White Hot Truth turned one year old last week! Holy smokes! Before we light the candles, let’s savour the darkness, where beautiful, messy things happen.

Last January I was tending the funeral pyre of my last business and it’s ensuing very messy divorce.

Illusion-nuking-initiation-heat. Phoenix fire licking my soul. Cleansed to naked. Clothed by loved ones.

While an old dream turned ashen, I began to hatch. I’d write posts and map out the new year/me, while listening to Details in The Fabric over and over. (Kisses to Jason Mraz for writing that just for me.) I brought my ipod to my Mr. Buddhist Shrink and played that song for him because I could barely speak the truth of what was going down. I was going down. In flames.

… If it’s a broken part, replace it
If it’s a broken arm then brace it
If it’s a broken heart then face it

And hold your own
Know your name
And go your own way
And everything will be fine…

“So everything’s finally falling apart.” Mr. Buddhist Shrink said to me, very, very softly. I nodded, just one nod.

That was then. Post hatch. Pre-flight.

This is now. The view is so different from this altitude. It’s macro and micro. I can see farther and closer up. My in-box is full of opportunity. We sing in the kitchen more, where every morning there is granola, and Spiderman slippers, and a Fireman who says, “Big day today, babe?”

“Big one, babe. Big.” I say. I say that on glam-packed strategy days, and on the mascara-free days when I wear my floppy knit hat, and commune with my Mac to do one thing and one thing only: MAKE STUFF.

Freedom is always big. Wingspan, big, fanning flames. Birthing the day.

So today I’m getting out one virtual birthday candle for every lie I told myself about who I was and what I wasn’t; for every time I let crazy pass for “sane”; for every time I kept my mouth shut, for all the birth days I missed, when I could have been making stuff that made me smile. So many candles to be impeccably grateful for.

Oh how very far we humans come, after breakups and break-throughs and broken wings. Just look at us! Banged up and so beautiful. Wiser for the wear and tear. Capacities expanded.

Trace your steps and celebrate.

“Sometimes,” David Whyte writes, “everything / has to be / enscribed across / the heavens / so you can find / the one line / already written / inside you.”

My one line: White Hot Truth.

And that’s the best birthday song I ever done sung. Thank you for coming to the party.

. . . . . . . .

Tune in for my next post which will be devoid of abstract poetic nuances and packed with a highly practical tips from my year’s lessons in the blogging business.

Please join the Haiti Blog Challenge.

Heads up: My Fire Starter Sessions are increasing to $500 as of March 1. Supply, demand, and writing desires. It’s time. I still have one or two spots left for February.

xo
Danielle

MY BEST LIST EVER. 100% adored. In no particular order.

1. The Missing Piece Meets The Big O, by Shel Silverstien. The most elegant and charming description of human relationships. Heartbreaking, really. It’s my favourite wedding gift to give.
2. Wim Wenders’, Wings of Desire and Far Away So Close. Made me want to fall in love, fly, move to Berlin, french-kiss Lou Reed, and talk to my angels.
3. Leonard Cohen at the Palo Solari in Santa Fe. Circa ’95. Under the stars. A hot night. Angelic backup singers. Oozing the most Zen-Let’s-All-Make-Love-Right-Now vibe humanly possible. Religious.
4. Dip big strawberries in sour-cream, and then dip it into brown sugar. Divine. Great picnic treat.
5. Pangea Organics Japanese Matcha Tea with Acai & Goji Berry Facial Mask. Incredible product from one of the most eco-progressive beauty companies, ever.
6. WordPress. There’s a reason why Google bought it.
7. The Arlington Institute’s FutureEdition. Best aggregation of news in global trends and outliers.
8. Pecha Kucha Night speaking events. 20 slides. 20 seconds each to talk about whatever inspires you (or me). Brilliant format.
9. Honey Beeswax Candles. I’m fanatical about them. They clean the air, are thus merciful on your lungs, and last forever. I order mine from an equally fanatical craftsman in a small town in Ontario.
10. Tweezermans.
11. Krishnamurti. Total Freedom.
12. Allan Watts. Beyond Theology.
13. Sir Ken Robinson’s TED Talk. How schools kill creativity. Hilarious and profound.
14. Soul centering sessions with Navjit Kandola.
15. Project jamming with Dyana Valentine.
16. The lavender milk chocolate sauce on Belgian waffles at Medina Cafe, Vancouver.
17. Jim Morrison’s An American Prayer.
18. Maya Angelou speaking on stage in San Francisco. Proud poetic power personified.
19. Cheryl Sorg‘s text art. Got me one this year.
20. Patricia Larsen‘s abstract paintings. Got me one last year.
21. That time with S. in the cabin, doing that thing S. does so well.
22. Silk Concept duvets. Lux sleepies, no more cold feet, eco-kind.
23. Little Miss Sunshine.
24. Eminence Organics Yam & Pumpkin Enzyme Peel. Indispensable for ye ol’ skin glow. Use it twice a week.
25. Paper Mate Medium Point blue pens. I’ve tried fancy fountain pens, mechanical pencils that made me look designy-cool. But it’s the good n’ cheapies that do the trick.
26. Your Sex is on Fire, Kings of Leon
27. Red Hot Chili Pepper’s Stadium Arcadium. If you don’t love this double CD, I’m not sure that we can be friends.
28. Rilke! “I want to unfold, for where I am folded, there I am a lie.”
29. Rumi…Rumi…my love. “You were born with wings. Why prefer to crawl through life?”
30. Mary Oliver, sistah. “What will you do with your one wild and precious life?”
31. This advice from a mentor when it all fell apart: Know your rights.
32. Anthropolgie
33. Bella Cucina’s Artichoke Lemon Pesto. It even made Oprah’s list. (Tho’ my list is so much juicer, don’t you agree?)
34. Beauty, by John O’ Donohue. Anything by John O’Donohue, really.
35. Hallelujah, as sung by kd lang, whom I think is one of the most masterful song interpreters ever. This performance makes me want to pull out all the stops in my life. And then be incredibly modest about it.
36. Pet insurance. Just get it.
37. Ten Thousand Waves. Santa Fe, NM. Heaven, hot tubs, and Indian oil in the hills. Heav-en.
38. The best moment with my kid, ever. We’re eating chocolate cones outside an ice cream parlor at dusk. Me: “So, pookie, what’s it like being alive?” The Kid (without missing a beat): “Oh mama! It’s AAA-MAZ-ing! If I were a telephone, I’d be ringin’ all the time!”

… to be continued …

“Porsidan” means “to question” in Persian. I know that because Jay Schryer is a questioner par excellence. He writes about in search for meaning and rock ‘n roll on his blog, Porsidan.com. Jay is one of the reasons I adore the global brain we call the internet. You get to climb inside of stories. You argue in the spirit of seeking – like when Jay took me to task on my No Pity For A Strong Soul article. You learn that the most excellent people can fall on very hard times and that love finds a way. You learn about life and near death.

You make friends and you find new questions inside their story.

What question(s) in your life have been the most empowering (either mind-blowing or gently pervasive) for you?

When I was 19 years old, I was in a nearly-fatal car accident. In fact, I was dead for about a minute or so. In that time, I had a near-death experience where I met the Goddess and talked with her. At the end of our time together, she gave me a choice. I could either stay with Her, or go back to Earth. I chose to come back. Since that time, I have often asked myself why. Why was I given a second choice? Why was I allowed to come back, when so many other people never get that chance? Why did the Goddess handpick me to come back to the physical world? Why am I here? Why are any of us here? And last but not least, what can I do to make sure that I’m not wasting this opportunity, wasting my life? What can I do to make the world a better place simply by being here?

My entire life revolves around those questions, and finding new answers all the time.

If you had an altar, what symbols of devotion would you put on it?

Actually, I do have an altar. On it, I have: A statue of the Goddess, to remind me of Divinity, spirituality, and to always do the right thing. A deck of tarot cards to remind me of the power of symbols, hidden imagery, and mystical, magical powers. I don’t believe in divination; I believe that the future is constantly in motion, and that every choice we make changes it and affects it. It’s like Schrodinger’s cat, which is both alive and dead inside it’s closed box until somebody observes it. Even the act of observing the future by reading the cards changes it in some small way, thereby making the reading useless.

But I love the symbology and the esoteric nature of the cards. I keep them to remind myself that although the future can’t be known, we can still tune into our own divinity and spiritual nature, and perhaps the cards can show us what our heart already knows. You’ll also find a living plant to symbolize the Circle of Life (a la The Lion King), and the interconnectedness between all living things. There’s a photo of my daughter and another photo of some of my ancestors. A turkey feather to represent the elemental spirit of Air, a crystal for Earth, A candle for Fire, and a bowl of water for Water. I honor the four elements as representative of all the spirits, the Kami of Shintoism, that live in all sacred spaces.

Finally, I also have a voodoo gris-gris bag that I made while on a spiritual trip to Mississippi long ago and far away on my altar. I went to go visit the crossroads. THE Crossroads, where legend has it Robert Johnson sold his soul to the devil. I scooped up some of that sacred soil, cut myself, mixed it with a lock of my hair and a fingernail clipping, and wrapped it in a bag with some sacred stones from a Native American shaman friend of mine, and a guitar pick. Then I sat under that tree and played the blues. The devil never showed up, but something definitely awakened within me that day. I don’t believe in the Devil, but I do believe that if you want something so bad that you’re willing to sell your soul for it, then you’ll get it eventually, no selling required.

What music has been the most healing for you?

Oh man, I love music! Freakin love it. All of it. I grew up in a very musical family. My dad introduced me to old blues and early rock n roll, up to and including Motown. That’s where my mom took over, and gave me the joys of the disco era. I have an older brother who introduced me to classic rock and early heavy metal, and I took it from there. That being said, my favorite artists are Prince, U2, the Eagles, Pink Floyd, AC/DC, Fleetwood Mac, Santana, and the Cure.

Now to actually answer the question. Healing music = sappy, sappy (As in Air Supply) love songs always do the trick when I’m feelin’ the blues, and I’ll tell you why. It’s because I like to imagine the Goddess holding me safe and warm, and singing those songs to me. The best way to heal is to throw yourself into Divine Love. Take the lyrics from any love song, and just imagine God (However you imagine Him/Her/It to be) holding you tightly, and whispering those words to you. That’s the way to heal, from any heartache.

In one of your recent posts, you talked about honoring the muse. I believe there’s only one muse, and she speaks for Divinity through all the musicians, painters, and other artists of the world. So in a way, whenever anyone writes a love song for anybody at any time, it’s just like Divinity is speaking those words to us.

What book(s) are you always telling people to read?

• The Time Traveler’s Wife, by Audrey Niffenegger. Awesome, awesome love story.
• Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff, and it’s all Small Stuff, by Richard Carlson. Lots of good philosophies on life in that one.
• For men specifically, The Way of the Superior Man by David Deida is a must-read.
• Watership Down by Richard Adams is another great story, as is
• American Gods by Neil Gaiman.

Finally, I believe that everyone should read at least one book every year that challenges them or upsets their status quo. The last such book I read was The Evolution of God by Robert Wright. Changed my view on organized religion for all time.

Who or what has rendered you awe-struck?

Seeing Prince play the guitar solo to Purple Rain live in concert. Absolutely blew me away. I have never, and I mean never felt closer to Divinity. Not even when I had a near death experience, and visited with the Goddess Herself for a while. It was absolute perfection: perfectly accurate, technically speaking in that he never hit a wrong note, emotionally powerful beyond words, and charged with magic and power. Who can doubt the power of the Muse and divinity Herself when faced with such awesome evidence?

I’m going to give you a word. Tell me the first thing that comes to mind when you read it… Ready? The word is: IDENTITY.

Crisis! Identity crisis. About a year ago, I completely lost my way, to the point of not knowing who I was anymore. That led to a lot of questions, and caused me to start my blog as a way to search for the answers. It also caused me to reconnect and re-evaluate the questions I outlined above, about life and my place in it. I’m finally finding my way back to myself, and it feels fine.

{insert a great blues guitar lick here…and hails from the crowd.}

. . . . . .

FIND JAY
Porsidan.com
Twitter: @jayschryer

The Book Of My Life
- Sting

Let me watch by the fire and remember my days
And it may be a trick of the firelight
But the flickering pages that trouble my sight
Is a book I’m afraid to write

It’s the book of my days, it’s the book of my life
And it’s cut like a fruit on the blade of a knife
And it’s all there to see as the section reveals
There’s some sorrow in every life

If it reads like a puzzle, a wandering maze
Then I won’t understand ’til the end of my days
I’m still forced to remember,
Remember the words of my life

There are promises broken and promises kept
Angry words that were spoken, when I should have wept
There’s a chapter of secrets, and words to confess
If I lose everything that I possess
There’s a chapter on loss and a ghost who won’t die
There’s a chapter on love where the ink’s never dry
There are sentences served in a prison I built out of lies.

Though the pages are numbered
I can’t see where they lead
For the end is a mystery no-one can read
In the book of my life

There’s a chapter on fathers a chapter on sons
There are pages of conflicts that nobody won
And the battles you lost and your bitter defeat,
There’s a page where we fail to meet

There are tales of good fortune that couldn’t be planned
There’s a chapter on god that I don’t understand
There’s a promise of Heaven and Hell but I’m damned if I see

Though the pages are numbered
I can’t see where they lead
For the end is a mystery no-one can read
In the book of my life

Now the daylight’s returning
And if one sentence is true
All these pages are burning
And all that’s left is you

Though the pages are numbered
I can’t see where they lead
For the end is a mystery no-one can read
In the book of my life

“We’re just miracles wrapped up in chemicals.”

Thanks to Uncle Beefy for pointing out this stylin’ love song to humanity.

The video for this song is also wonderful.

View it here.

If you don’t want throw open the curtains, air drum and whirl like a hot loving dervish when this song hits its peaks…well…then you need to open the door to your heart, baby.

speak to me baby, like the wind outside…
the sky is breaking, it’s deeper than love.
I know the way you feel, like the rain outside,
so speak to me.

Dee-lovelee Ben Lee (who married Ione Skye this year.)