Why does working “behind the scenes” mean not having money?

Find a string and dedicate it to the root of all strife, fear and domination.
Find some clay and dedicate it to the wars and battles.
The object is to form beads on a string representing the succession of oppression and repression; all the wars and battles that you can think of.
Since most of us think of time as linear, the first beads would represent tribal wars and conquering invasions. Following our historical accounts, you can add as many beads of as many wars you can think of. Read history books and make a list of each war that makes you want to make a bead of. If you have an ancestral injustice, make a bead of that, or several. Once you’ve reached the present time, your lifetime, list your personal “wars” and make beads of those.
You now have a representation of humanity’s cycle of violence.
End the cycle of violence.
After rolling and stringing, release energy by voicing and moving vigorously.
Let strings dry where they were made.

Next day, you go over each bead calling each of their represented wars, up to the last personal bead.
End the cycle of violence.
Crush the beads into dust.
Wear hard shoes and crush the wars.
Use a rock to powderize the wars.
Take the string of fear and domination and dip it in melted wax to make a candle.
After the candle is made, turn to your pile of war-dust.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
Add consecrated holy water, the water of Love and Life, to the pile of dust. Mix it to a workable consistency. Mould it with love.

The string of fear is gone, having turned into Light. The beads of war are gone, having turned into something you love, something of beauty.

Let dry, bake it in kiln, paint it; keep it, give it or share it.
Either way, transformation has taken place.

Blessed be.

a man mentioned massages and how they always lead to sex . . . some had nodded in agreement but one woman disagreed, saying it’s not always that way . . . I agree with her; it shouldn’t lead to sex except for couples. It was that belief, the one the man expressed, that made my mom’s second husband diddle me the way he did . . . his massages could have been soothing and healing if he hadn’t creeped over my back to my bottom.

Later . . .
I’d like to join in the merriment but why? I can’t talk to anybody because even the “hip” ones have a theory of people being responsible for the hell they’re in. To a certain extent, yes, but if you’re so goddam enlightened, why is it so important to say, “you’re blaming” to someone who wasn’t as fortunate?
I’d like to say, “you’re blaming me for blaming my parents and school and the social system.”
Sure, it’s my “lack of self esteem” that keeps me from shining . . . I can’t just “not blame” and “pull up my socks” and forget all the crap that was done to my person . . . the shit that happened to me is repeated to other unrelated people and I’m really tired of the abuse that takes place and the “healthy” people ignoring it.
The job club workshop is over and I cried when I got home, because of an overwhelming feeling of hopelessness. The facilitators that are hired to do these things have all been a self-righteous bunch of over-enlightened baby boomer spoiled yuppies. Their wages come from the government, the same place my welfare check comes from.

They don’t see my scars, because they’ve erased theirs.
I do reach for the stars, I am hurt when they put on airs.

I want someone to say, “you have a right to be mad”, not just say it, but believe it, outraged at the injustice done to me and the likes of me. I need to heal but haven’t found the support I need. Where are the others? It seems I meet either those groovy hippy new age types that are so involved with their little cozy scene that they forget about other lives; or I meet nice people that are cool and smoke dope but are still hung up on addictive stuff and scared of being expressive or fully individual.
Why do I have this feeling of being on the outside looking in?
I can’t talk to those “enlightened” people about that because they don’t seem to understand about not belonging anywhere. I can’t talk about that to the other people I know because they’re not really into metaphysics nor do they seem to want to know about stuff like shamanism. It’s that rift that bothers me; I think it was initiated by egocentric new agers in the 80's that blew it for True people because it seems like “regular” folks think that new agers are snobby, and the “transcended ones” don’t want to hang out with “regular” folks because they’re afraid they might get, what, dirty or something?
I feel so alone and crazy.
Why do I feel so strongly about tribal kinship and ties? Because I don’t have a tribe to belong to.

Why is the term “showing their true colors” associated with someone doing something wrong? Is that my own paranoia also, or is it actually a societal norm?
Suppose there’s a guy who does good work and is an all around nice guy. One day, he freaks out, the dam breaks, his pressure point blows; there’s all sorts of reasons why people freak out, but I believe the most common reason is not being heard or taken seriously in the first place. So this guy has a freak fest and someone says, “well, there ya go, he’s showing his true colors.” why does that get said when someone does something bad?
And why do I believe that?
Core beliefs.
That’s why I want to surround myself with people that know about conscious intent and re-inventing core beliefs; I’ve noticed a vibe of not being anxious to help someone into their healing . . . they say they’re open to everyone, but none of them ever offered to pick us up to go to their drum circles. They say, “you just gotta get there . . .”, that’s a lame excuse from people with reliable transportation; am I supposed to ask, “could you ask your friends that don’t know us to pick us up on the way to the gig?”. not having a car seems to be a big impediment to what I want to do . . . I feel impeded by poverty and lack of ambition.

A woman hung herself in her father’s workshop. She was described by a friend as manic depressive and born in the wrong place at the wrong time; sounds a lot like me, but what makes me not kill myself? I think having dependants makes me not do that, maybe that woman didn’t have anyone to remind her of love.
How come no one sees the hurting until someone does something drastic?

Why is it important for me to be part of that “enlightened scene”? . . . The “big change” is coming so I don’t want to be alone when it happens. I want to be with a community of people that aren’t paranoid or afraid of telling the truth or addicted to anything . . . but I keep feeling a kind of smugness, like they have an attitude of “every man for himself”, like they don’t have to help with your healing unless you have money . . .
Is that why I’ve been “delayed”? Because if I were all healed and fearless, I’d share it for free? That theory supports the “evil vs good” belief of the “dark side” invading my childhood and teen years thus delaying faster spread of Light because I’ve been too fckd up to be very effective.

The day before, I saw a guy wearing a Blasphemy (satanic skinhead rock band) hoodie walking in Sechelt and wondered who he was. The resulting dream was this: I was talking with him, face to face, and he told me his name. I didn’t catch it so I ask him and he told it again. I still didn’t remember the name. Duh. I didn’t even remember what he looked like.

Same night I dreamt of looking at two animals; one was a wolf or a cougar, not sure which, and it was sinking its head slowly in slumber. Next to it was a bird, I remember it being a parrot, and it was also sinking its head in slumber.

I rode a dolphin or whale (I could only see its back) and it was talking through the blowhole. I don’t remember what it said. The general feeling was slight disbelief, then intent listening over the water noise. I remember watching it, how it formed the sounds. I don’t remember what language it spoke.

I plan on going to a drum workshop, I pin the poster on the bulletin board, I write it on the calendar, then the day comes and I don’t remember it until it’s time to go. Of course I’m not dressed, haven’t eaten and my husband’s not into going. He’d rather watch tv. He’s teaching our kid how to not have ambition and how to be a fckn couch potato.

No wonder my totem animals are falling asleep.

Why is it important that my husband get into stuff with me? Why can’t I just leave them to watch their stupid tv at home? Why don’t I just leave and do my thing?
Because I don’t want to live with people that don’t know the same stuff I’m learning, and not having anyone at home to discuss it with.
I don’t want a scene separate from my family. I don’t want my family to be lazy white trash tv junkies. I’m tired of the apathy. He just doesn’t seem to care. And I just keep missing out on what I feel the whole family would benefit from: fun cultural stuff.
I just don’t have the energy to change his mind. He doesn’t seem to get inspired. He doesn’t seem to care that we’re poor all the time, we don’t have a social life, our house is a mess. I feel like I’m dying and no one would believe me.

I feel like I might be slipping. I’ve been so conditioned to “blend in”, on top of my shy nature, that any amount of crazy, the kind of crazy that is diagnosable by professionals, is suppressed so all everybody sees is a moody artist.
I feel dragged down. I’ve felt that way ever since my teens. It’s like moving through molasses.
I find myself behaving like my mom (impatient) towards my kid, and it feeds my self-hatred. I hated myself when I was four and nobody noticed because I was shy and introverted. I’ve been wanting a daughter, probably to fill the mother-daughter void. My mom has a void and shaped it so I couldn’t fit through.
I feel like I’m drowning.
Yet all these feelings go away when someone walks into the room.
As a teen, all my passionate feelings went away when I walked into the therapist’s room. They never helped because I was too shy to expose my true thoughts.
I feel like I’m trapped. I want to sit in my bed because I’m cold.
Creatively speaking, I am like a plant that seeks light but is in the dark most of the time. Ok. Maybe I’m more like a firebug, shut from other firebugs, and it needs the flickering lights of its kin to feel impelled to shine also. It doesn’t want to shine all alone.