Being Chickens
Monday, September 13, 2010
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Instructional Walk....Walk of the Sacred
*Walk until you find or remember what is sacred to you.*
*Observe the details and patterns that bring you to a sacred space.*
*When you find what could be sacred to you, offer something you find as a token of gratitude.*
*Remember this walk. For as long as you stay grounded in what you consider sacred you will find that is all you will need to know. Enjoy.*
In the spirit of the walk I chose to leave behind electronic and recording devices. I went with the intention to be fully present in my walk when I came across something sacred. My sense of smell and hearing became more attuned as I drank in the visual stimulation of the streets. I slowed down and really absorbed my environment. The sidewalk still wet from the rain, the plants and flowers vibrant. I do feel the foliage to be sacred, but I thought I would stretch myself beyond the ideas of the sacredness of plants and walked farther along.
It began to rain so I ducked into a covered parking lot. The smells were overbearing of car exhaust, garbage and sewage. The pavement was littered with trash and oil stains. I began to walk to a small cluster of trees to stay connected to the tranquil feeling I had been fostering. I turned around the corner when a glint of red on the ground caught my eye. I walked closer, but without expectation, not really searching, my eyes were just wandering. The red became more in focus and the gray around it took form into a lump. As I approached closer now, still heading for the trees, my heart skipped a beat and I inhaled sharply. I just found something very sacred.
The red puddle was fresh and small, the size of a quarter. The blood was pooled around a young birds head. The gray wings were extended up as if in flight, but the body was lying on the ground, dead. The eyes were closed. It must have been minutes ago that this bird took its last breath. Lying in the middle of the parking garage I knew that soon the bird would be run over. I wanted to honor the short life of the bird and scooped it up with a dried maple leaf in both my hands. I carried it over to the few trees and dug a shallow grave with my fingers. I buried the bird and covered him with ceder needles. I looked around for something to offer him in gratitude for showing me the sacredness of death and for the honor of laying him to rest. I found some lavender and feathers and adorned his burial mound. I said a prayer and walked on. Now pondering the cycle of life and death and how quick one turns into the other.
The idea of staying grounded in the sacredness of death for me is to live fully and without fear of death. Maybe that is really all I do need to know. The rest is just a wandering and discovery of the senses.
Blessings,
Narayani
*Observe the details and patterns that bring you to a sacred space.*
*When you find what could be sacred to you, offer something you find as a token of gratitude.*
*Remember this walk. For as long as you stay grounded in what you consider sacred you will find that is all you will need to know. Enjoy.*
In the spirit of the walk I chose to leave behind electronic and recording devices. I went with the intention to be fully present in my walk when I came across something sacred. My sense of smell and hearing became more attuned as I drank in the visual stimulation of the streets. I slowed down and really absorbed my environment. The sidewalk still wet from the rain, the plants and flowers vibrant. I do feel the foliage to be sacred, but I thought I would stretch myself beyond the ideas of the sacredness of plants and walked farther along.
It began to rain so I ducked into a covered parking lot. The smells were overbearing of car exhaust, garbage and sewage. The pavement was littered with trash and oil stains. I began to walk to a small cluster of trees to stay connected to the tranquil feeling I had been fostering. I turned around the corner when a glint of red on the ground caught my eye. I walked closer, but without expectation, not really searching, my eyes were just wandering. The red became more in focus and the gray around it took form into a lump. As I approached closer now, still heading for the trees, my heart skipped a beat and I inhaled sharply. I just found something very sacred.
The red puddle was fresh and small, the size of a quarter. The blood was pooled around a young birds head. The gray wings were extended up as if in flight, but the body was lying on the ground, dead. The eyes were closed. It must have been minutes ago that this bird took its last breath. Lying in the middle of the parking garage I knew that soon the bird would be run over. I wanted to honor the short life of the bird and scooped it up with a dried maple leaf in both my hands. I carried it over to the few trees and dug a shallow grave with my fingers. I buried the bird and covered him with ceder needles. I looked around for something to offer him in gratitude for showing me the sacredness of death and for the honor of laying him to rest. I found some lavender and feathers and adorned his burial mound. I said a prayer and walked on. Now pondering the cycle of life and death and how quick one turns into the other.
The idea of staying grounded in the sacredness of death for me is to live fully and without fear of death. Maybe that is really all I do need to know. The rest is just a wandering and discovery of the senses.
Blessings,
Narayani
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Labor Exchange
Labor Exchange Blog: http://ourlaborexchange.wordpress.com/
Final project by Vanessa Robertson-Rojas
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Wandering through the psyche via shamanic journeys
Reading the first chapter in The Spell of the Sensuous,"The Ecology of Magic" by David Abram inspired me to research more on journeying into other cultures in search of their Shamans.
David speaks of the shaman as a gatekeeper between the human world and his or her village and the non human reality, that is deeply alive and full of consciousness, or spirits.
"The shaman or sorcerer is the exemplary voyager in the intermediate realm between the human and the more-than-human worlds, the primary strategist and negotiator in any dealings with the Others. ...By his constant rituals, trances, ecstasies, and "journeys," he ensures that the relation between human society and the larger society of beings is balanced and reciprocal, and that the village never takes more from the living land than it returns to it-not just materially but with prayers, propitiations, and praise." pg 7.
A simple google search on shamanic journeys brought up a lot of people in our backyard practicing shamanic techniques as alternative therapy, wellness practices, ecopsychology and visual journeys. In the spirit of the reading I dug a bit deeper to look into a different more earth centered culture in the Amazon jungles. I found a great documentary on the Shipibo tribe of Peru and their Shaman who brews a tea, called Ayahuasca, to journey between the worlds.
A few books I found to read more about this topic:
The Cosmic Serpent, DNA and the Origins of Knowledge. by Jeremy Narby
This book is his personal adventure as an anthropologist into the worlds of Ayahauasca
The Way of the Shaman by Michael Harner
The Shaman and the Magician by Nevill Drury
Don Juan, Mescalito and Modern Magic by Nevill Drury
Medicine for the Earth, How to transform personal and environmental toxins by Sandra Ingerman
David speaks of the shaman as a gatekeeper between the human world and his or her village and the non human reality, that is deeply alive and full of consciousness, or spirits.
"The shaman or sorcerer is the exemplary voyager in the intermediate realm between the human and the more-than-human worlds, the primary strategist and negotiator in any dealings with the Others. ...By his constant rituals, trances, ecstasies, and "journeys," he ensures that the relation between human society and the larger society of beings is balanced and reciprocal, and that the village never takes more from the living land than it returns to it-not just materially but with prayers, propitiations, and praise." pg 7.
A simple google search on shamanic journeys brought up a lot of people in our backyard practicing shamanic techniques as alternative therapy, wellness practices, ecopsychology and visual journeys. In the spirit of the reading I dug a bit deeper to look into a different more earth centered culture in the Amazon jungles. I found a great documentary on the Shipibo tribe of Peru and their Shaman who brews a tea, called Ayahuasca, to journey between the worlds.
A few books I found to read more about this topic:
The Cosmic Serpent, DNA and the Origins of Knowledge. by Jeremy Narby
This book is his personal adventure as an anthropologist into the worlds of Ayahauasca
The Way of the Shaman by Michael Harner
The Shaman and the Magician by Nevill Drury
Don Juan, Mescalito and Modern Magic by Nevill Drury
Medicine for the Earth, How to transform personal and environmental toxins by Sandra Ingerman
German artist, Anselm Kiefer
Anselm Kiefer ( b. March 8, 1945)
Much of Kiefer's early work addressed historical events which directly relate to Germany, including the halocaust. An early political action titled "Besetzungen" (Occupations) stands out as a clear and powerful example of Kiefer's dedication to exploring guilt and trauma in Germany as a result of the disturbing actions of the Third Reich.
Kiefer studied with Joseph Bueys in the 70's. Under Bueys' creative influence Kiefer began to employ natural and found materials into his paintings and sculptures which contrasted the gravity of heavy subject matter with the natural fragility of organic material.
Death Fugue
Black milk of daybreak we drink it at evening
we drink it at midday and morning we drink it at night
we drink and we drink
we shovel a grave in the air there you won't lie too cramped
A man lives in the house he plays with his vipers he writes
he writes when it grows dark to Deutschland your golden hair Margueritehe writes it and steps out of doors and the stars are all sparkling
he whistles his hounds to come close
he whistles his Jews into rows has them shovel a grave in the ground
he orders us strike up and play for the dance
we drink it at midday and morning we drink it at night
we drink and we drink
we shovel a grave in the air there you won't lie too cramped
A man lives in the house he plays with his vipers he writes
he writes when it grows dark to Deutschland your golden hair Margueritehe writes it and steps out of doors and the stars are all sparkling
he whistles his hounds to come close
he whistles his Jews into rows has them shovel a grave in the ground
he orders us strike up and play for the dance
Black milk of daybreak we drink you at nightwe drink you at morning and midday we drink you at evening
we drink and we drink
A man lives in the house he plays with his vipers he writes
he writes when it grows dark to Deutschland your golden hair Margeurite
your ashen hair Shulamith we shovel a grave in the air there you won't lie too cramped
He shouts jab this earth deeper you lot there you others sing up and play
he grabs for the rod in his belt he swings it his eyes are blue
jab your spades deeper you lot there you others play on for the dancing
we drink and we drink
A man lives in the house he plays with his vipers he writes
he writes when it grows dark to Deutschland your golden hair Margeurite
your ashen hair Shulamith we shovel a grave in the air there you won't lie too cramped
He shouts jab this earth deeper you lot there you others sing up and play
he grabs for the rod in his belt he swings it his eyes are blue
jab your spades deeper you lot there you others play on for the dancing
Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night
we drink you at midday and morning we drink you at evening
we drink and we drink
a man lives in the house your goldenes Haar Margeurite
your aschenes Haar Shulamith he plays with his vipers
He shouts play death more sweetly Death is a master from Deutschland
he shouts scrape your strings darker you'll rise then in smoke to the sky
you'll have a grave then in the clouds there you won't lie too cramped
we drink you at midday and morning we drink you at evening
we drink and we drink
a man lives in the house your goldenes Haar Margeurite
your aschenes Haar Shulamith he plays with his vipers
He shouts play death more sweetly Death is a master from Deutschland
he shouts scrape your strings darker you'll rise then in smoke to the sky
you'll have a grave then in the clouds there you won't lie too cramped
Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night
we drink you at midday Death is a master aus Deutschland
we drink you at evening and morning we drink and we drink
this Death is ein Meister aus Deutschland his eye it is blue
he shoots you with shot made of lead shoots you level and true
a man lives in the house your goldenes Haar Margarete
he looses his hounds on us grants us a grave in the air
he plays with his vipers and daydreams
der Tod is ein Meister aus Deutschland
dein goldenes Haar Margarete
dein aschenes Haar Shulamith
we drink you at midday Death is a master aus Deutschland
we drink you at evening and morning we drink and we drink
this Death is ein Meister aus Deutschland his eye it is blue
he shoots you with shot made of lead shoots you level and true
a man lives in the house your goldenes Haar Margarete
he looses his hounds on us grants us a grave in the air
he plays with his vipers and daydreams
der Tod is ein Meister aus Deutschland
dein goldenes Haar Margarete
dein aschenes Haar Shulamith
Paul Celan
(Translated by John Felstiner)
Margarete(1981)
Studio in Barjac,France
Operation Sea Lion
Research Project
I just wanted to post an image for my research project: Here are some psychogeographical groups active in the San Francisco SFZERO Collective.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Friday, September 3, 2010
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