Stolen Poetry and the issue of Creativity. Some preliminary thoughts….

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Crabapple/Peach Tree in back yard, Spring

( I posted this a year ago, but since the issue still exists for many of us on line, I am posting it again. I add a few thoughts on this issue of creativity, but these aren’t complete thoughts. I am preparing a paper on this, based on some reading I have done over the past year. When it is finished (hah)…I’ll post it on this blog.)

 

A while ago I received news a poem of mine had been ‘stolen’. Actually, a poet on an unknown poetry website had taken my poem, changed the title and a few lines in two stanzas, and published my poem on this website under her name. What was especially galling was she was no poet, and her revisions were horrible, awkward…an attempt to make something ‘more’ erotic by adding cheap and tawdry phrasing.  Confronted, she said that ‘she was inspired’ by other poet’s work. The webmistress contacted me and asked if this was my poem. I was surprised, because I didn’t know without the proper title how one would go about tracking the original poet. Apparently, she had her suspicions, and googled the first couple of lines and my name and website came up. She was deleted from this website.  No apologies at all, and she is still a thief.

I was rather dismayed. Poetry generally comes from some of the deepest places in our beings: it’s an outward form of some very personal experience, or something like that. This poem was written in 2009, at a difficult time in my life. I was going through some physical and emotional changes and a year later, it received an award, (up until now, the only one….) as “Poem of the Year” on a particular website. I had left that website, but was grateful for the award. Still am.

This had happened a few years before, when I first started writing in earnest. A major poem and a short story was lifted from a website and published without permission on a website in England.  At that time I was rather flattered.  The lawyers and advisors at this home website where the pieces were lifted were rolling their eyes:  don’t be flattered, this isn’t good.  Well, the owner of the English website pleaded that he just so admired the writing (he lifted a number of us poets and writers work from the original website) that he just couldn’t help himself.  hah!  The lawyers got everything back but I did feel sorry then for the guy.  I’ve learned better.

This ‘news’ about the plagiarized poetry came at a point when I was reading a chapter about creativity. In Fox’s “Original Blessing”, this third path, Via Creativa, speaks of the hard labor necessary to produce artistic works, regardless of the medium. It is not an activity of ‘letting it all hang out’ as we have been told by certain cultural ‘standards’ but one of a deep discipline. To attempt to bypass this hard labor is not only stupid, but robs the person of a deep meditation with oneself and an internal growth from this activity. It is also hard to trust those images that come to us at the beginning of our creativity. We are very judgmental towards our attitudes of our own self-expression. We have to develop an attitude of trust, a trust that that out of our silence, our waiting, our openness, our emptiness…that these images can come. I do know that after 30 years of painting, each blank canvas, each clean piece of watercolor paper sends me into anxiety. I don’t ‘trust’ that I can again, produce something that comes from that relay from the brain, through the eyes to the hand. I forget that I have 30 years of technique behind my painting, and feel like I have nothing to build upon for the next piece of work. But I do, I just don’t trust myself. It takes my ‘letting go’ of my judgmental attitude towards myself, towards my expectations, and settling down into the work and knowing that ‘something’ will come of it. But it still is always a struggle to trust myself to be able to do something in this creative vein.

And as a counter thought, I know a couple of good poets who have been writing for decades. They never publish or post their poems online because they are ‘afraid’ that they will be stolen.  Good God!  Like misers, they clutch their poems (volumes actually) to their chests and few ever see them.  Well, Hell’s bells.  I would rather them stolen (and this is actually pretty rare) than nobody ever having the joy of reading them. What are they amassing their poems for?  You can’t take them with you.  A central joy in my life is that everyday, across the world, somebody is reading the poetry on the blog.  And sometimes strangers contact me (besides the friends who graciously read the poems…) and we are able to engage in discussion about poems…both sides.

One of the problems for most creative people is to pick the image that sings loudest to us. Perhaps because we fail to choose the strongest image, we give up creating anything. The (dead) Zen artist Kenji Miyazawa said this:

“You experience something deeply. Later, you picture it in your own mind; you idealize it; you coolly and sharply analyze it; you throw all your passion and power into it. Then you fuse all these things together into one. If you do this without self-consciousness, the depth and the power of creation will be much greater.”

In tanka, especially the classical medieval Japanese tanka of the 8^th and 9^th century I see this. I also see this in Basho, Issa and before them, Saigyo. This lack of self-consciousness, where the poem is infused with the power of creation and the poet is not presenting a focus of ego. This is something you will recognize with enough reading of this period.

In music, I have come across this ‘without self-consciousness’ terms as ‘getting out of the way’.

Somewhere Meister Eckhart talked about the ‘bridle of love’ that we need to steer our passions. Not to control or abuse them, but to make them work for us. This is discipline, done respectfully towards ourselves, for our developing and revealing creativity. We suffer enough abuse, by ourselves and society, so adopting an environment of hard work, of sweat, of exhaustion, of joy and of discipline will only push our creativity further along. This wannabe poet who didn’t trust herself enough to settle, look deeply within and create, is more to be pitied than scorned, but perhaps put in stocks??? She stole other poet’s poetry because she did not love or honor herself. Hopefully she will learn to love herself enough to become truly creative. Hopefully, she will not rob herself of this wonderful process.

The American psychotherapist, Rollo May wrote a book “The Courage to Create”. On page 41 he says something I find interesting in general.

“Escapist creativity is that which lacks encounter”. Dr. May had a patient that reminds me somewhat of this poet/thief above. He would come to an idea, an excellent creative idea, flesh it out in his mind, and then he would stop there: he would write nothing down. It was as if the experiences of seeing himself as one ho was able to write, as being just about to write, had within it what he was really seeking and it brought its own reward. Hence he never really created.

These distinctions between talent and creativity are especially important. I believe that talent is given to many people; what they do with it evokes whether it is a passive gift or an active ‘act’ of creating. One is passive, and one is active. I also believe our creativity is directly linked to our encounter with opposition. I know this to be true of myself, though I never saw the pattern until later in life. My mother said 25 years ago that ‘no one would ever publish me.” That was an opposition to get over. Yes, I was published by numerous literary magazines, ecological magazines, etc. I also decided to self-publish with Lulu.com and now with Createspace, from Amazon.com. I had so many things to publish that it made up more than 5 books…and I wanted them out of the way and into the world fast. Nothing wrong with this issue, though people do look down their long noses at those of us (and we are legion~!) who do. Now? I have 4 or so novels to rewrite and publish and probably will go the same route. I don’t care about the ‘status’ at all, whether I am published by the ‘big’ (and overblown) publishing houses or not.

To add to this above, Rollo May also said this: “Creativity,” to rephrase our definition, “is the encounter of the intensively conscious human being with his or her world.” In my experience, there are a lot of writers, poets out there who are not ‘conscious’ or encountering enough. Perhaps sleep walking.

To plagiarize or steal outright a poem or a piece of work robs the poet of the greatest gift they can give to themselves: the deep research, the formation, the joy that comes from an original thought that manifests into art. They rob themselves most. They are just….lazy.

The small poem below was inspired by these words of Daichi-zenji (1290-1366) “and bring back a pitcher containing the moon’. Just those words set my brain on fire. There is nothing wrong with ‘being inspired’ by the work and words of another poet: just be sure that inspiration is true to your own vision and abilities and you are not putting your chop on the work of another.

Lady Nyo

 

Pitcher of Moon

 

 

I dip into the pond

And gather a pitcher of moon.

Above, it glimmers

Smiles at my efforts,

This late- winter moon.

 

It is just a bowl of cool water

I am holding

But the magic of the cosmos settles

In this plain clay vessel.

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2013 

This poem was published in “Pitcher of Moon”, February, 2014

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Via Negativa, from “Pitcher of Moon”

I have been thinking of this issue of creativity, where it comes from and where it goes. Some have this concept that artists, poets, etc. construct their work in isolation, but I think that is only part of the picture of creation. We breathe in the environment, we grab color from the cosmos. But also, those periods of Silence, Stillness, embracing the Dark of our souls, are important to our creativity, those fallow places…as much as when we are in full drive. Perhaps more important. Perhaps our work is born from a nothingness, a void, where we struggle to make it ‘real’…to bring it to some life, to expose it to air and light, to present it to the cosmos, to grab color and air by doing so. I don’t know. Perhaps we don’t really think of this process of creativity, and perhaps we don’t need to. There are too many words that get in the way of it.

“Via Negativa” is a poem from the soon-to-be-published Pitcher Of Moon.

Lady Nyo

VIA NEGATIVA

Winter is the perfect channel
To carry Via Negativa,
No static
Just Silence, Stillness
And the embracing Dark.

On this path,
We sit in contemplation,
relish the early dusks,
No answers,
No struggle,
We are as empty as eggshells.

This time is filled by little outside;
A flash of darting cardinal
Like a stream of blood
racing past our eyes,
The sound of a falling limb
makes us search the skies,
The moaning of the wind
bustling around eaves,
soothes us,
The rattle of skeleton- bones
Of attic haunts
does not disturb us.

And yes, Death,
As Winter brings
To those who succumb to frigid winds,
And those lost from shelter.

These things are part of this path,
This dark quietude of a particular season.

We spiral into the Darkness,
Where we barely need breathe,
Cocoon,
Conserve our energy,
And stare outside at such
A severe palette.

Stilling ourselves,
Stilling our hearts and thoughts,
We draw closer to low fires,
Scratch our dried skin
Like a monk in a hair shirt,
And, with time and patience–
Spiral back into the light of Spring.

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2012-2013

‘”Moon Child’,from “The Nightingale’s Song”, Part II

This summer has been an obstacle to creativity and to normal life in general. Breaking my dominant wrist, I couldn’t type, write or paint. I wanted to learn sumi-e painting and do a few pieces for this new book, “The Nightingale’s Song”. I didn’t achieve any zen-like state of mind through the pain, and the pain was constant. I did learn that I don’t handle it well, and that I have the patience of a two year old. I have felt I have been stripped bare of any fortitude and dignity as I also find I am a whiner. My husband has been tolerant…more than that, all through this phase.
After another visit to the ortho doctor, who expressed about as much ‘hope’ for a total recovery as he would examining a doorknob, and only said to stop wearing the brace…I decided to push it and start using the pain meds liberally. So, I have grabbed some brushes, those little weird notched brushes used in sumi-e painting and have depressed myself even further. I know what the technique is supposed to obtain, and my attempts are far from it. Perhaps time will help.
The above illustration is about how I feel on pain meds….out of body and out of mind.

The below poem, “Moon Child”, a later piece of this series, is one of my favorites. It came in a dream and seemed to open up the shutes. (I think that is a word.)

Lady Nyo

“Moon Child”

Lady Nyo was barren.
Once there was hope of heirs,
Babies to raise, coddle.
But fate provided nothing,
Not even a stillborn to mourn,
Buried under the snow
With the fog of incense rising
To a leaden sky.

Many times Lady Nyo
Passed the temple of Lord Jizo,
Riding in her palm-leaf carriage
Drawn by white oxen adorned with ribbons and bells.
Many times she peeked through curtains
At his simple, stone statue,
Bedecked with babies’ bids, knitted hats,
The offering of a grateful mother, or
A mournful one.

Ah! To be as much a woman
As her lowest servant with a swelling belly!
How she wanted to leave her own offering
Of her child’s garment at his feet!

Lady Nyo decided on a pilgrimage.
She would walk barefoot through the fragrant murasaki grass,
She would wear a humble cotton gown,
She would seek advice from temple priests.

Lady Nyo and her old nurse set out one morning,
And though her old nurse grumbled and groaned,
Lady Nyo was the vision of piety walking
Through the delicate morning mists –
These frail ghosts of nothingness.

The priest had a long, red nose,
Wore a robe none too clean,
And he scratched at lice
Under the folds of his gown.
He had feathers growing in his ears
And feet like a large bird.

A Tengu!
A trifler of men and women!
But they were staring at his nose,
And missed his feet.

“When the Moon grows full,
Row out in the bay,
Directly under the Moon
And climb up a long ladder.
You will be pulled by the Moon’s tides
To its surface,
And there you will find what you want.”

When the Moon blossomed into a large
Bright lantern in the sky,
They rowed out in the bay,
Two trusted ladies to steady the ladder
And one to spare.
Lady Nyo kicked off her geta,
Tucked her gown into the obi
(exposing her lady-parts),
And ignoring the remarks of her old nurse,
Climbed directly under the Moon.

So powerful
Was the pull of the Moon
That fish and crabs,
Seahorses and seaweed,
Octopi, too
Rose straight up from the waters
Into the night’s air!
Lady Nyo’s hair and sleeves
Were also pulled by the Moon
And her kimono almost came over her head!

With a summersault
She flipped onto the surface
And found her bare feet
Sinking into the yellow-tofu of the Moon.

She heard a gurgling
And gurgling meant babies,
So she searched on spongy ground
Followed by a few seahorses who were curious
And a few fish who weren’t.

Past prominent craters
One could see from the Earth,
Lady Nyo found a baby tucked in the Moon’s soil.

Ah! A fat little boy blowing bubbles,
Sucking on toes,
Bright black eyes like pebbles
Black hair as thick as brocade!

Lady Nyo bent down,
And lifting him
She heard a sucking noise.
He was attached to the Moon
By a longish tail
That thrashed around like a little snake
As she pulled him free.

She placed him at her milk-less breast
But soon he grimaced and started to howl,
So she tucked him in her robe,
Aimed for the ladder,
Somersaulted back into the night,
Where she and her ladies rowed for shore.

The baby, now named Tsuki,
Was put to a wet nurse
His tail mostly disappearing,
Shriveling up like a proper umbilical cord–
Though there remained a little vestigial tail
That wagged with anticipation when placed at the breast,
Or when the full Moon appeared
In the black bowl of night.

The Tengu had flown the coop,
Never to be seen again.
But Lady Nyo no longer envied ladies
With swelling bellies,
For her own arms were full and heavy
With this yellow Moon-child.

Through fragrant fields
Of murasaki grass,
Lady Nyo and Tsuki
Would walk alone,
Where they would lay
Offerings of knitted bibs,
Strings of money, toys
And a feather
At the feet of Lord Jizo,
When the Moon was fullest
In a promising sky.

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2012

The Power of Love, Vulture style…..and a Poem.

I have a sisterinlaw, who has a sister  I have never met.  This is not unusual, as many  families today are not in close contact or have knowledge except  for those in some immediate circles. My husband and I are not in a particular immediate circle because we don’t believe like some in our family.  We are not religious fundamentalists, hence we don’t belong.

But this  ‘unmet’ woman expresses more of what I have come to believe  what God calls us to do: attend to those who are abandoned, unfed, unclaimed, unwanted, and not socially ‘acceptable’ or with value. 

Yesterday I stepped out in some sort of faith and called this sisterinlaw.  We had not talked in two years and I didn’t know whether she would or not. My birth family is wanky like that, full of hurts, bruises and perceived insults.  Some of them finding their marks, too.  But talk we did, over the course of the day.  It was good,  it was a ‘reclaiming’ of a particular part of family, if only limited to her.

She is a fundamentalist Christian, and I am not. She is very much involved in the arguments of church and theology.  She attempts in her own way to build paths to  human hearts.  She is what I would consider a ‘good’ theologian for a fundamentalist: she doesn’t beat you over the head with such finely wrought arguments that you are left dizzy.   I believe she proceeds from love. I found, in talking to her, that I had missed our discussions, even if they are limited to her attempts to get me to her side of religious arguments.  And then she told me about her sister in Florida, Diana.

Diana is just about my age, and lives in an area where there are many homeless and abandoned animals.  She feeds probably two dozen cats, some of them hers, most of them not.  She also feeds dogs, stray dogs, ducks that come from the nearby pond, a mother racoon and her kit, and Frank.  Frank is a vulture, and Frank has been coming around for kibble for four or five years.  Sometimes, Frank brings his friends to the porch for feeding.

I am left in a state of awe, wonder and amazement.  Right now I am also left in a weakened state of tears: whether this is because it is early, and tears are a normal part of being overwhelmed by the beauty of the morning or because of what I am writing about, Frank and Diana and all her ‘the least of us’, I don’t know, but I’m not ashamed.

I have been giving a lot of thought recently about my own state of faith.  We’ve just passed a season of outward love, and I am wondering how much of that really sticks.  Churches are embroiled in theological issues, much beyond my simple understanding, or my wanting to be involved in; it seems that we have put aside, along with the Xmas tree and tinsel, our ‘good tidings’ to our fellow men, and what are we now left with?  The  forecasters of economical  ‘good tidings’ are mostly happy with the glut of merchandise and the money spent on the Xmas season but still, where is the ongoing love and message of this season?

I have a particular problem with fundamentalism: to me it is anti-creativity, not respecting the individuality of a person, demanding compliance and conformity in a particular religious dogma.  This goes for Christian, Jewish, etc. doctrine. I believe that we, those who think otherwise, should leave the churches to these fundies: give over the buildings, the candles, the properties, the altarcloths, etc.  Give them what they are fighting for, as is shown in so much of the Episcopal brouhaha right now across our country, and outward. The rest of us should drop these battles and get on with developing our own beliefs and developing a community that is inclusive, not exclusive.  I think we have a fine precedent in creation-based spirituality.  We have Hildegarde of Bingen, Meister Eckhart, Francis of Assisi, and these are just a few of the Christian ‘mystics’.  People most fundamentalists never learned about. 

We also have our own modern mystic, Father Matthew Fox, a former Dominican priest who is now an Episcopalian. People interested in this  movement of Creation Spirituality should read him.  It is inclusive, deep and to me, a joyful spirituality that proposes ‘original blessing’ rather than ‘0riginal sin’.  Redemption comes to us, not as a power alien to own natures but as an ‘aha’ experience that transcends.

Diana is not a rich woman. She makes sacrifices to do what she does.  I called  just to introduce myself and to find out more about Frank and the rest of her flock.  We talked and I am so deeply moved.  I am  impressed that this woman has cut through  the arguments in life and just does what she does as an article of faith.  She puts her actions where many put  just their mouths, words.  Oh, there are dangers to her and to Frank and all those she feeds and loves.  The locals are not generally happy, and have threatened her and Frank and company, but Frank thankfully is protected by laws down there.  So the taunts of shooting him would get the humans in deep trouble.  As they should.

I was told by my sisterinlaw that when it gets cold down there in Florida, and it does, Diana puts a heater outside for those abandoned to huddle against and keep warm. It does take hours to feed everyone, and the miracle here is this is a real “Peaceable Kingdom”.  Frank is eating from the same bowl that cats are eating from, and ducks are coming from the pond to join the table: It must be something to see a bunch of vultures eating quietly (??) with a bunch of cats.  I would definitely call this God’s Miracle.  I would rather sit and watch this miracle than listen to a book of sermons.

Sometimes Frank will eat from a bowl held out by Diana, and then he turns sideways and watches her.  She is not afraid of these huge birds, carrion eaters, and I believe she is a special agent of God’s love.  She has to be.

As we go into this season of Silence, Stillness, Scarcity and bone-numbing cold, I see the hope of life and love that is real in Diana’s actions.  To some, foolhearty, dangerous, a ‘waste of time’, but to me, Diana expresses exactly what we are called upon to do: to set aside our own comfort and extend ourselves to others, even those who have no ‘value’ to most. Diana is a real example of God’s love, and what we are called upon this earth to do.  We can froth at the mouth about all the theological arguments we want, but this is all about the head and a too-worldy ego.  What Diana does cuts through to the real message we are called to embrace. 

She cuts through to the heart of the matter, and that is good.

Lady Nyo

–

Ode to a Coopers Hawk

Come to me.

Come to me,

Winged celestial beauty.

Come to me with your notched

Mermaid tail,

Your silken roll of feathers.

Fly down into my hollowed-out soul,

Fill me with your sun-warmed glory

Nestle in my arms

And bring the curve of the horizon

Embraced in your outstretched wings.

–

I need no white bearded prophet,

No mumbled prayer, no gospel song

No hard church bench, no fast or

Festival to feel close to the Divine.

–

The glory of the universe,

Is embodied in your flight

As you tumble through heavens,

Ride the invisible thermals

Screech with joy at freedom

Fill your lungs with thin air

And play bumper car with an Eagle.

–

I, earthbound,

No hollowed bones to launch me,

Just tired soul to weigh down,

No soft plumage to feel the course

Of wind through glossy feathers

No hunting call to herald my presence.

Still my soul takes flight

The breeze lifts my spirit,

My eyes follow you,

And we will find that glory

Transcend a sullen earth,

Transcend a mean humanity

And soar together into the blue eye of God.

–

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2011

Empowerment, Trance Dance and the “Belly” in Belly Dance.

something was making me laugh....

I came across this older blog entry last night and upon reading it, I realized there were some good things in this entry that bore saying again, but with an update for Spring, 2011.

Lady Nyo

Empowerment and Transformation?

This has been a part of an ongoing discussion I have had with other belly dancers and with women outside this particular dance form.

One woman replied to an blog posting recently:

I think of my own practice, and I know that dancing transforms my thinking, my moods and in some very fundamental way, grounds me. It also transforms me, my body over a period of time, but my head. too. I think my head even more fundamentally.

this is the heart of it for you. You are lucky you can feel this way about something.

Sometimes I have led myself astray. I have tested the waters of different things, disciplines I was not prepared for. I should have stayed on the porch. There are different ways to sum up these experiences.

It is always good to take stock of where you are and where you are going.

When in “trouble” sometimes it’s best to fall back on the very things you love best.

Those things have been writing, painting and belly dance. Gardening has potential, but I let the sun and rain do the major work. I just add compost.

Sometimes I am primarily one thing, and then….I am the other. The trick is not to discard one for the other, because all are now integrated into me. I pull from these things for life and creativity. This, I believe, is the usual path for creative women. Sometimes it’s a problem of the Quaker saying: “Hiding your Light under a bushel.” We are embarrassed with our hard earned riches. We shouldn’t be.

I posed some questions to friends who have taken up this “dance of life” , also called belly dance.

What are our aims in coming to this particular dance?

I know I have struggled with many issues over the past 7 years; it varies for every woman, but there are some commonalities. Is it ego identity as to who and what we are? Is it to ‘heal’ deep wounds brought about by a lifetime of abuse/ self-abuse? Do we just see it as a ‘creative’ outlet? (It probably is all the above.)

Is it from a place of self-loathing? Do we feel non-sensual or lacking in beauty? Do we give so much to others that we have nothing, or little for ourselves? Have we become disembodied where we live in our heads and our bodies are just….there? (This can be a problem for writers…we can develop lard asses and dull complexions from sitting so long and writing.)

We bring EVERYTHING into the dance. We work those issues out within the movement.

We can work these things out piece by piece by being ‘present and mindful’ in the movement. And the movement will transform us, slowly at first, and then, one day, we look back and we shake our heads in wonder. How much we’ve grown, how far we have traveled.

On second thought, this issue of Hyperarousal Trance (Dance) isn’t ‘being present and mindful’ in the movement. It’s quite the opposite. It’s exactly what it is named: trance….in this case through dance. But 4 or 5 years ago, I discovered it in belly dance, and a few of those older dancers out there understand what I am talking about. I got the best reinforcement and explanations from some very handsome Flamenco male musicians one night: they deeply understood what the zar trance dance was, and were glad to talk about it. It made me investigate this phenomenon for two years and out of this research came “The Zar Tales”, published in 2010. )

And this issue of self-loathing? Over and over I hear from women who ‘hate their bellies’. I can totally relate! I went through a long stretch of hating my belly, too. Then I suddenly made ‘peace’ with it. I will never be flat bellied again, but then .…

Belly dance isn’t ‘long hair’ dance, or ‘arm dance’ or ‘hidden feet’ dance….it’s BELLY dance…and for a reason.

The belly is the seat of our femininity. It’s not the hidden vagina, it’s the outward expression of our bellies, as they grow with children, shrink back with stretch marks, and we seem to define ‘it’ and ourselves by trying to make it disappear. We hold our stomachs in tightly until we can’t move….

….or breathe!

Well, along comes Tribal Fusion and here is presented the BELLY in all it’s glory! Those stomach movements that Rachel Brice, Zoe Jakes, all of them, are very liberating…Snakes in the belly, indeed!

(Undulations that express the very essence of our femininity, our being women. As generators and cradles of life.)

I attended a master class in Montreal a few years ago and I was glad to see that the teacher, Audra Simmons from Toronto, had a belly on her. She has 4 children and this is the natural way of things. Our bodies expand and contract with life.

We are not flat assed/bellied/titted men…We are full blown women with dangerous curves and belly dance gives us a dangerous attitude, too.

Given enough time, it’s called Empowerment. A realization of our Femininity, a fulfillment of our innate Sexuality.

And we should have fun dancing….it’s not all sweat, sore muscles (but it is in the beginning…) and serious attitude.

This is a very funny video….I screamed with laughter, because that is good for life. We should have more laughter.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AwK2NTt-MBc&NR=1

More later….

Lady Nyo …who has moved beyond the name….”Teela”.

Getting Unstuck….

I might have used that title before, so this could be Part II.

I don’t know if it’s the regenerative process of Spring, or it’s a last-legs-stand like my dying Husky, Charlie, but I feel an ‘unsticking’.

I feel a freedom, a thumbing of my nose at a lot of things and people lately.  This might be rude, but I think over all….it’s a good thing.

How do we find the space and time to work unencumbered?  We shed influences  we have been burdened with:  influences we have burdened ourselves.  This could be habits, but it usually is activities or especially people.

A year ago I was embroiled in a fight with a man…not a ghost at the other end of email, because I had actually met him, but embroiled in a knock down, dragged out battle to answer and ‘be right’.  I can laugh at my behavior now because it was time wasting, energy wasting and pointless.  It just was a big pain in the ass and a detour to  what I really wanted to do. Write and write hard.  It took so much out of me that some things dried up, like poetry for about six months.  When you want to be a poet, this is a dangerous position to be in.  It wasn’t until this fall that I became ‘unstuck’ in the category.  The climb back on the poetry wagon was slow and arduous and I never thought I would make it.  I had to turn my thoughts to something that would regenerate me.  Nature does that, but there were other things I suppose.

Recently I have been thinking about some people in my life.  There are people who don’t necessarily ‘like’ what you write, but they are supportive because they understand this compulsion to create.  Then there are people who  could be soft, baked potato behind the eyes because not much registers.  Or perhaps they are so niggardly in their enthusiasm  they think it will impoverish them to give an opinion.   This is rare, but are these the people we want and need around us?  Editors take their pound of flesh but at least there  might be something given back…like a book contract.  Friends are not editors, and even if they think you are going to Hell….well, perhaps their first task is to light the way.

I have come to the conclusion  life is  short. Perhaps because I am growing older and don’t have the patience or time to squander on people who are marginal in my life.  People, and there are only a  few, who give nothing but do take up your time.  Negative people who would drag you down in their sad and meandering lives.  People who can’t make up their fucking minds about their own lives but would sit in the road and  demand you placate them in some  way.  I think they are massively bored with life.

I feel a sense of freedom because I have ‘used my words.’   I have, over the course of a few weeks, worked hard to free myself of guilt and continued concern for lives  outside mine and have few common points of interest except we breath the same air.

This is not to say I am consciously rude.  I just don’t spend time anymore and realize that in doing so…I have much more energy and time for the important things in life:  those I love and want to be around.  Critical influences, to be sure, you can’t get away from  in life, but supportive  positive, critical influences.

My creativity goes up.  My production goes up.  And I can turn my mind to the necessary refinement of that which is necessary.

I am nobodies Guardian Angel.  They are on their own in this life…and besides…it’s their life.  Each of us must make the most of it before they put the coins on our cold eyes.  Some are just coasting to Hell.

Lady Nyo

—–

ROOMS

In passing from room to room,

I close the door

And hear the lock click.

The abandoning of one space-

Hopeful promise of another.

—

In a middle passage between lovers

Transposing between them,

Haltingly, like a car

With a bad clutch,

I think how much easier it would be

If I could do like the rooms:

Enter, leave, close the door, and step out anew.

—-

But love is messy,

Memories, arguments, tears

Follow under the threshold and through the keyhole,

Become little green snakes that curl around my ankles

Tripping me up,

Tiny sharp fangs make me mindful

Of vague misgivings.

—-

Too, embers of a burnt out lust

Beyond ability to evoke the necessary fires

In body parts once shared with delight.

This pallid thing knows the route to my heart

Still uneasy, done in,

By guilt and remorse.

—-

Memory….

Raw materials of regret

Unfinished business,

Unspoken words,

A dream of a dance without music,

Fading touch, attention.

—

Yet still,

With nagging thoughts we were too hasty,

Too caught up in the rigor mortis of righteousness,

Too bound to the self, unbending–

Now makes  me turn back to that door

and fumble the lock.

—

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2009

“Hyperarousal Trance, Belly Dance and Creativity”

I have been asked by some people, and some of them belly dancers to repost this blog entry from a while ago.

They have their reasons for asking, and I am only pleased to oblige.

Lady Nyo/ Teela

Hyperarousal Trance, Belly Dance and General Creativity

I have been asked to explain what my experiences have been with Hyperarousal Trance and how it has effected my creativity as a dancer and a writer.

I can only ‘tease’ here because I am just becoming more aware of the issue of ‘how it works’.  I never really thought about it because it just seemed to appear when it was needed, whether I was conscious or not of its ‘need’.

Perhaps it would be better for me to start with an attempt to explain H.T. and why I started using it.

Two years ago I came across an article somewhere on the web about the ‘ayoub’ rhythm and the Zar trance dance in Egypt and parts of Africa.  Being a belly dancer, I was interested and read as much about the Zar trance dance as I could. Actually there was not that much information at that time. Later there was more written.

I found there was a common element in this Zar dance, wherever it was utilized.  It was this consistent  2/4 rhythm of the ‘ayoub’ or ayyoub (or zaar) rhythm.

It is hard for me to explain, but the dumbeks  (the drums) used beat out this rhythm like this: Dum…tek!, Dum tek/Dum..tek!, Dum tek.

Sort of like a dotted quarter note on the first Dum…followed by an eighth note tek, but the next Dum tek is evenly beat.

Repeat until trance ensues.

And it does.  Now, everything I write here will be contradicted, because it seems that each country where the Zar trance ritual is practiced has their own rhythms used. Some are particular to the demons entrenched within.

Oh, yes, the Zar ritual.  I can’t make any assumptions here.

The Zar ritual is a healing exorcism used to shake up a demon residing in a woman.  You don’t exactly evict a Zar (demon)….you give them new marching orders.

There are many issues about this, and I won’t go into them except to say that this is a highly controversial cultural issue and I for one, am remaining open to it all.

However, I will speak on my own experiences here with the Zaar rhythm (or ayoub).  And I will try to link how this experience of listening closely to the ayoub rhythm changed points of creativity in my own life.

As much as I can understand this.  I haven’t really closely examined it before, just took its presence in my life as natural.  It is tied with my belly dancing, or perhaps it is more correct to say that I first became aware of the transforming and trance making behaviors of the ayoub rhythm in my belly dancing.  I would find that I was going into a trance, and this was when I wasn’t attempting any set choreography.

Choreography  seemed to interfere WITH the ability to fall into trance.

My belly dancing brings me into an altered state. This is very common to many dancers but I believe is disrupted when we are doing choreography.  Set patterns, which we practice to take into ‘muscle memory’ still makes us conscious of our movements and somehow takes us out of the free-fall of trance.

The constant beat of the ayoub transforms consciousness.  Some where I read it’s like a ‘horse’ that is carrying you inward and upward somehow.  Perhaps the connection is a universal heartbeat, I don’t know really, but I do know ‘something’ happens to me.  If it’s an altered state of consciousness, it has it’s reoccurring points: time disappears and something definitely shifts.

We do know through brain studies that there are many physical functions that are effected by Hyperarousal Trance.  Blood pressure lowers, the heart beat slows, the body temperature changes.  Now, I am not sure that this exactly applies to belly dancing, which can be quite vigorous.  But rhythmic stimulation does change brain waves.

We also know that there are definite issues with Hyperarousal Trance in heightened endorphins, boosted immune system (even temporary) and accentuated energy…and an overall feeling of ‘high’ or ‘good’.  These probably are no different than exercise highs. Another issue is that pain seems to be lessened with the trance state.

However, there is already a lot of evidence piling up that shows the brain issues (waves, etc) are different in H.T. than in hypnosis, or self-hypnosis.  It’s a deeper effect on the brain in some way than these above.

I do find that listening to the ayoub rhythm beat out on drums or picked up in the background of music, effects me fast.  I also drum on dumbeks, and this practice has allowed me to access the trance as much as listening or dancing does.

Somewhere I read that “Theta” brainwaves is the ‘set’ of Hyperarousal Trance, but I am still investigating this.

This entry is a work in progress.  I have other things to say about Hyperarousal Trance, specifically to it’s relationship to subspace (another altered space) hypnosis, etc.

Generally the issue for me is creativity.  I have realized over the past two years that H.T. is somehow very much bound up in my ability to ‘tap into’ different cultural issues, and to write about them. It seems that research is much smoother, easier and the writing, when I consciously strive to place myself in H.T. flows to where things reveal themselves and blossom.
At times, and these are not as rare as they would seem, I can access this trance almost without effort.  That is a good day of activities, and especially writing.

I am researching DNA and mysticism and have come across writings were it is proposed that everyone is capable of psychic powers, heightened intuition, clairvoyance, etc.  Perhaps with a relaxed and then again…directed mind, you can tap into the prime DNA alphabet soup for transport into a heightened  highway of the mind and the cosmos.

Anything is possible out there…and in here.

Lady Nyo

Hyperarousal Trance, Belly Dance and Creativity…

PART 1

I have been asked to explain my experiences with Hyperarousal Trance and how it has effected my creativity as a dancer and a writer.

I can only attempt an answer because I am just becoming aware of ‘how it works’. I never really thought about it. It just seemed to appear when it was needed, whether I was conscious or not of it’s ‘need’.

Perhaps it would be better for me to start with an attempt to explain H.T. and why I started using it.

Two years ago I came across an article somewhere on the web about the ‘ayoub’ rhythm and the Zar trance dance in Egypt and parts of Africa. Being a belly dancer, I was interested and read as much about the Zar trance dance as I could. Actually there was not that much information at that time. Later there was more written.

I found there was a common element in this Zar dance, wherever it was utilized. It was this consistent 2/4 rhythm of the ‘ayoub’ or ayyoub (or zaar) rhythm.

It is hard for me to explain, but the dumbeks (the drums) used beat out this rhythm like this: Dum…tek!, Dum tek/Dum..tek!, Dum tek.

Sort of like a dotted quarter note on the first Dum…followed by an eighth note tek, but the next Dum tek is evenly beat.

Repeat until trance ensues.

And it does. Now, everything I write here will be contradicted, because it seems that each country where the Zar trance ritual is practiced has their own rhythms.  Some are particular to the demons entrenched within.

Oh, yes, the Zar ritual. I can’t make any assumptions here.

The Zar ritual is a healing exorcism used to shake up a demon residing in a woman. You don’t exactly evict a Zar (demon)….you give them new marching orders.

There are many issues about this, and I won’t go into them except to say that this is a highly controversial cultural issue and I for one, am remaining open to it all.

However, I will speak on my own experiences here with the Zaar rhythm (or ayoub). And I will try to link how this experience of listening closely to the ayoub rhythm changed points of creativity in my own life.

As much as I can understand this. I haven’t really closely examined it before, just took its presence in my life as natural. It is tied with my belly dancing, or perhaps it is more correct to say that I first became aware of the transforming and trance making behaviors of the ayoub rhythm in my belly dancing. I would find that I was going into a trance, and this was when I wasn’t attempting any set choreography.

Choreography seemed to interfere WITH the ability to fall into trance.

My belly dancing brings me into an altered state. This is very common to many dancers but I believe is disrupted when we are doing choreography. Set patterns, which we practice to take into ‘muscle memory’ still makes us conscious of our movements and somehow takes us out of the free-fall of trance.

The constant beat of the ayoub transforms consciousness. Somewhere I read it’s like a ‘horse’ that is carrying you inward and upward somehow. Perhaps the connection is a universal heartbeat, I don’t know really, but I do know ‘something’ happens to me. If it’s an altered state of consciousness, it has it’s reoccurring points: time disappears and something definitely shifts.

We do know through brain studies that there are many physical functions that are effected by Hyperarousal Trance. Blood pressure lowers, the heart beat slows, the body temperature changes. Now, I am not sure that this exactly applies to belly dancing, which can be quite vigorous. But rhythmic stimulation does change brain waves.

We also know that there are definite issues with Hyperarousal Trance in heightened endorphins, boosted immune system (even temporary) and accentuated energy…and an overall feeling of ‘high’ or ‘good’. These probably are no different than exercise highs. Another issue is that pain seems to be lessened with the trance state.

However, there is already a lot of evidence piling up that shows the brain issues (waves, etc) are different in H.T. than in hypnosis, or self-hypnosis. It’s a deeper effect on the brain in some way than these above.

I do find that listening to the ayoub rhythm beat out on drums or picked up in the background of music, effects me fast. I also drum on dumbeks, and this practice has allowed me to access the trance as much as listening or dancing does.

Somewhere I read that “Theta” brainwaves is the ‘set’ of Hyperarousal Trance, but I am still investigating this.

However, recently I did come across this: Theta waves occur most often in deep sleep, but are also dominant in the deepest state of meditation (body asleep/mind awake). The best place for deep thought is in this Theta realm. In Theta, we withdraw from the external and focus on a deep internal landscape. It’s basically a twilight state. Theta is a waking dream, vivid imagery is there and we can access it because it is before us in the mind. We are receptive to information beyond what we would be in a ‘normal’ state. Theta is the gateway to learning and memory. As Dr. J.J. Harper says in “Tranceformers: Shamans of the 21^th century”, Theta meditation increases creativity, learning, reduces stress and awakens intuition.

I can concur with this because there is something that happens when I am in a trance- like state, and this is accessed by what I have come to recognize  from the ayoub rhythm.

This entry is a work in progress. I have other things to say about Hyperarousal Trance, specifically to it’s relationship to subspace (another altered space) hypnosis, etc.

Generally the issue for me is creativity. I have realized over the past two years that H.T. is somehow very much bound up in my ability to ‘tap into’ different cultural issues, and to write about them. It seems that research is much smoother, easier and the writing, when I place myself in H.T. flows to where things reveal themselves and blossom.

At times, and these are not as rare as they would seem, I can access this trance almost without effort. That is a good day of activities, and especially writing. I think this is not rare amongst writers, either. I do know that my ability to concentrate and focus has allowed me to produce 4 novels, many poems, short stories, etc in the last two years alone. I am an American woman, and write about Japanese 16^th century culture, 6^th century Berber culture, modern Turkish culture and Celtic culture in my books. I have no background in any research, but these things become easy and unfold in different forms when I write. I can only attribute this to the background music and beat of the ayoub and other rhythms.

Something is happening in the brain here, and I for one am very grateful.

I am researching DNA and mysticism and have come across writings were it is proposed that everyone is capable of psychic powers, heightened intuition, clairvoyance, etc. Perhaps with a relaxed and then again…directed mind, you can tap into the prime DNA alphabet soup for transport into a heightened highway of the mind and the cosmos.

Anything is possible out there…and in here.

Lady Nyo