What should I write about? What comes to my mind right now is that I feel very honored that our martial arts instructor asked me to do secretarial work for his Sun Hang Do school. He will show me how to work the computer there and I will learn to organize and update the files. He sends birthday cards to every member so I�ll be designing those when need be, and I�ll help put together events, too, just like Durga said I would. In 1994, She said it would take ten years to achieve the desired potential; it�s been four years now and I�ve started the martial arts that she stressed was very important to learn. According to her �coordinates� I should be part of a great re-awakening by the year 2004. I plan on being a black belt by 2003.
I feel very good about our osmosis-like move into a healthy environment, where intelligence and cleverness are encouraged and not jealously guarded. Maybe Durga knows I�m diligently following the (Real Thing) (Truth) (God�dess) (Path). The Rainbow warrior family, we are a part of. Our job is to help remind people of their own coolness. Being trained the Do Jang way will help me and my small family to achieve the task of revitalizing our north american culture; it seems enormous to most and improbable to some, but the transformation of human potential is simplicity itself. Of course, it�s only simple if you want it to be. And that�s where a lot of people get stuck, because ...I sat there wondering what people do get stuck on, if they even know they�re stuck, and if they think they know they might not even think they�re stuck at all. They�re the toughies, the ones that believe their harmful ways are correct. Then my thoughts go to the place where I feel a need to not try to figure out why some people are stuck and whether some of them even know. . . so that�s part of that riddle that no-one seems to know or care about. A riddle that no-one knows about. . . that no-one knows about.
Maybe that�s part of its answer, the part that no one knows about. Maybe people have to be reminded of the eternal riddle of the self...they do not find that which they do not seek.
Duh.

How does one encourage within another the desire to seek. . . what? what should they seek? It�s not up to me to pick what other people should look for, it�s up to them. The job then, is to foster as much creativity as possible in anyone that asks for it; that takes care of those who know how to ask, what about those who often get overlooked as a result of their shyness or brash rebellion? I guess that�s part of my job because I was one of those kids who were not noticed in the intelligence and talent department. I have a hard time with the violent type of rebel who destroys other people�s things or hurts innocent people simply because he�s (why is it male?..) pissed off. Those kinds of people can be helped by those that can handle it, like our girlfriend who has worked with harsh kids. I would like to work with shy and delicate people, those that wish no harm but have gotten harmed anyway. Those that know there is a riddle but need guidance or simply encouragement. I will achieve all that (God-dess) has set out for me to do. I receive the tools needed to do the work of (God-dess). The perfect balance of mind and body for life, the ultimate art for humanity, I can see it, I can feel it, I can do it!

I want to write about alchemy, because of a contest I saw about casting a spell to bring Merlin�s wand back. I feel like I have an answer but it escapes my tongue. It has to do with remembering our ancestors and the honor of those yet to be. It has to do with a lot of what I�ve been writing about, the paradox of changing perceptions of those around us. It has to do with having the good of all in one�s mind. The respect that the natural world deserves . . .
I just got overwhelmed and now feel rather tired.

Spirit: �I�m talented and healthy, I have the power to be rich!�

Soul: �resonate the Original Intention to trigger the Memory within other ego-trapped souls.�

Silver - moon - woman
gold - sun - man
lead - saturn - old age
blue stone - venus - woman
mercury - mercury - youth
iron - mars - man

ok. I�ve got to start writing to get the flow going. My impulse to write was triggered by my thoughts, which were about where/who I am and where I am going. My grandpa died and my mom inherited a few thousand dollars, she gave me her old computer along with a thousand dollars during her short 15 min visit.
I�m buying a high quality printer for $650 and there�s a station wagon for $300 right next door . . . I�ll have a reason to get a driver�s license. We could take our dog with us, go to craft fairs, camping.
A car.
And the power to self-publish and promote. The vehicular ability to attend meetings that occur in the evening when buses don�t run as often.
Will I actually find myself a place?
Always remember, chronically poor people need help in the form of free grants . . . like a carless mom or dad should receive a grant of a used car, or a family doomed to forever pay rent because the jobs they get go nowhere should receive a grant of renting to own after a number of years. There�s gotta be a way for landlords to get their share in the transaction between them and the prospective owners . . . the banks need to realize this need and must be able to carry mortgages for low income families. Of course there would be a screening process with a contract, bla bla bla.

I need the power to prevent so much tv watching. They come home and immediately sit in front of the idiot box. I wish I wasn�t the only creative one here. Maybe that�s why I�m sad all the time. They don�t share my interests . . . sometimes I wish I were unattached, so I�d still be lonely but no one would come in and suck all my optimism with apathy. They reinforce my notion of boys being (Grey, black, brown, square, thick, ugly) what really bugs me is how a part of me wants them to split. He wouldn�t understand. I�m tired of the financial drain. If I didn�t love him it would be easy.
The more tv he watches, the more my love diminishes and I�m never horny when it�s like this. And, again, there�s really no one I can talk to about this. I want a creative partner. This is the unambitious situation I wanted to avoid when I broke up with previous boyfriends.
I felt lucky with my partner, maybe it�s only because he�s not addicted to anything, maybe because he simply stayed when I got pregnant . . . I was lucky simply because he didn�t leave me.
I�m not happy. My husband has no ambition and our son is becoming a dud; someone who always has to be entertained because his imagination got burned by tv. How can I effect a creative change if my own family is tv addicts?

One day I meditated on my ink buffalo drawing, looking at the hoof pounding and reverberating, shaking the ground and power radiating from it. The White Buffalo heralding the Great Change.
The power of women (womb-men).
Later that day we had a mild Earthquake.

We have a station wagon, a computer and a printer. I�ve made a couple of advertising posters for a couple of friends who need promotion but can�t afford it. I�m advertising my artistic skills.

When I was twelve (1+2=3), I lived at townhouse #999 in 1979. That�s the year I unwillingly lost my virginity to my brother (at my dad's house in Vancouver) and got diddled by my mom�s second husband while we lived with him in California.
Those were days out of balance.
Now it�s 1999 and my life is much more balanced; I am reclaiming what had been stolen from me.

Many people are results of a world out of balance; are the unbalanced results supposed to even the world out? That which caused imbalances affected the ones that will change the world�s balance of power?

It�s easy to envision the causes of imbalance
as being a devil who wishes destruction
on those who love creation
who create even more love
as a result of its attempts to destroy those who love.

The "Destroyer" enables its own destruction by trying to destroy beauty.

Perhaps I�m just putting some sense and reason to what happened to me and many others. Would I have felt this way if I wasn�t abused? I think it�s yes, because I remember my early child-self feeling offended at litter and wanton destruction, like melting toy soldiers or magnifying the sun on a hapless ant.

Being raped is not on the Great Spirit�s agenda; staying on the Path no matter what happens is.

I feel so alone, but I know they�re out there, because I know it inside.
(The grammatical construction of that sentence is unique)
I feel so alone, but I know inside my heart that they�re out there.
(That very sentence has already been said or written somewhere)

orientation topic: what I liked about the last five years.

Being busy at the art gallery collective (1995).
Being a medecine person�s helper (1994 - 1995).
Being part of a collective, being part of a common dream.
Getting paid for a craft fair poster.
I need to be part of the Dream.
Dream: the help others achieve their potential.
Raising creative energy.

Writing:	self-expression	explanatory	clarity of vision
Being busy:	reason to be	makes money
medecine helper:	felt needed	she reminded me	gave me direction	she was for real
Poster work:	creative, artistic, etc	makes money	supports local culture

I have to get employed designing advertisements for people with Earth vision. I�m supposed to write about what I did for the last five years and what I liked most. The art gallery was about the only thing that was going for me. I did the poster work, the hand outs, the logo.
Belonging to a group with vision. What�s the vision? It�s the wholistic approach, the shamanistic perspective, the knowledge that Earth is our ultimate �boss�, is our Mother.
I want to write about nature / Goddess & God spirituality.
I�d like to be part of a publication that�s part of world enlightenment.

Why do I feel like I�m in a big paradox?
I can�t do this because of that and I can�t do that because of this.
My potential is to help others reach their potential, but I haven�t been able to reach my own potential.
How can I help others if I can�t even help myself?

another day

My internal turmoil is reflected by the wind and rain outside. I thought of our friends around the corner, and the images I got were a hot bowl of soup and a comforter on a cold wet day.
People that I met through a friend from the fast food job. They are all people that helped us when they could. The Leo�s brother-in-law and his friend, they gave us rides.
Now that we have a car, I hope to be able to help someone.
It�s funny how those who helped us are not in any �pretentious� scene. The other batch of people that have helped us were the Jehovah�s Witnesses . . . giving us a lift when they drive by, helping us move. A damn good batch of folks. You know why they�re good? Because they�re not trying to be anything but themselves and are content to work and be able to reward themselves.

I don�t know what to write except this. I feel like I destroyed myself. This welfare shit is killing me. There is something wrong with me and no one seems to notice or care. Oh, but they do care, they just don�t want to actually hear how bad one feels. �How ya doin�?� is just an expression and it doesn�t mean to actually say what is wrong. When people say, �how are you�, you just say fine. My left hand kinda hurts. It�s because I tried to destroy myself like a sniveling wimp. I felt sorry for myself and begged the spirits to take me back. I cried and screamed and our dog sat in the kitchen probably chewing on himself the whole time. I need help and I don�t know where to find it. I need to be hugged and reassured that I�m doing a good job. I need to be told that I really am on the right path...I know all that so why do I still feel depressed? It�s because the cloud never really went away, welfare still want me to pay them what is entitled to me. My partner still doesn�t have any papers and he doesn�t care. This situation is making me feel suicidal. It makes me not want to live. Moving to this house I thought I would be happy but he�s right, it�s not where you live, really, it�s his lack of identification that�s driving me nuts because if he had what was necessary to get a union type job which he can because he�s a man and he does good construction work I wouldn�t have to be on welfare. If he was bringing home the money (which there would be way more than now because I wouldn�t be afraid to make any money because I wouldn�t have to give it back).
It would be nice to be normal in the sense that we would be self sufficient. My parents think I chose this life. They think I wanted to be on welfare. They think I just want a free ride. Welfare is not a free ride; they make you pay with your emotions, your self esteem goes away when they tell you that you�re no good. They don�t say it in those words but the way they talk to you is just the same. It�s worse in fact because they voice the words that should sound like encouragement but the feeling is �you�re a bum and you should just work at any ol� job, who do you think you are.� Who do I think I am? I feel like a phony, all the spiritual things I think of or want to do feels fake because of my self hatred, my attempt to kill myself. I didn�t even sacrifice my blood properly, I treated it like any other body fluid and dumped the bloody toilet paper in the toilet. I watched the blood seep to bottom of the bowl and I felt bad about it. I guess it�s a symbol of how I feel about myself, I don�t feel like I deserve special treatment. But I do need special treatment because if I am like everybody else, why can�t I cope? How many other people are out there who are like me? I think a lot of them are junkies. A lot of them succeed in killing themselves. Is there anyone out there who feels this way without being on hard drugs? I�ve been mistaken for a junky before, like in the hospital when my appendix burst. How come none of the social workers ever saw that? How come they think I�m normal? How come they think I can work in regular jobs like waitress or receptionist? I am fckd up and need special treatment. And why do I believe that they would believe me more if someone else vouches for me? If someone else was there describing my behavior at home. If someone would only read my journal. That�s probably why I wrote all that because I�ve always known that I wouldn�t be understood completely. I don�t really want to die, I just want this poverty bullshit to be gone. I want my earlier self to die because she is too full of hate and bad memories. I thought maybe that aspect of myself had some value but I ran out of words to continue and I want to stop writing.
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