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ZeFrank has a show again.

via knitmeapony:

ZeFrank has a show again.  Here’s the first episode, An Invocation for Beginnings.

TRANSCRIPT (bolding mine on things that I particularly liked):

I’m scared.

I’m scared that my abilities are gone

I’m scared that I’m going to fuck this up

And I’m scared of you

I don’t want to start, but I will.

This is an invocation for anyone who hasn’t begun

Who’s stuck in a terrible place between zero and one

Let me realize that my past failures at follow-through are no indication of performance

They’re just healthy little fires that’ll warm up my ass

If my FILDI (fuck it let’s do it) is strong let me keep him in a velvet box until I really really need him

If my FILDI is weak let me feed him oranges and not let him gorge himself in ego and arrogance

I may not hit up my facebook like it’s a crack pipe

Keep the browser closed

If I catch myself wearing a to-to (too fat too late too old) let me shake it off like a donkey would shake off something it doesn’t like

And when I get that feeling in my stomach — you know the feeling when all of the sudden you get a ball of energy and it shoots down into your legs and up into your arms and tells you to get up and stand up and go to the refrigerator and get a cheese sandwich — that’s my cheese monster talking.  And my cheese monster will never be satisfied by cheddar only the cheese of accomplishment.

Let me think about the people who I care about the most, and how when they fail or disappoint me I still love them, I still give them chances, and I still see the best of them.  Let me extend that generosity to myself.

Let me find and use metaphors to help me understand the world around me and give me the strength to get rid of them when its apparent they no longer work.

Let me thank the parts of me that I don’t understand or are outside of my rational control like my creativity and my courage.

Let me remember that my courage is a wild dog and it won’t just come when I call it, I have to chase it down and hold on as tight as I can.

Let me not be so vain to think that I am the sole author of my victories and a victim of my defeats.

Let me remember that the unintended meaning that people project on to what I do is neither my fault or something I can take credit for.

Perfection might look good in his shiny shoes but he’s a little bit of an asshole and noone invites him to their pool parties.

Let me remember that the impact of criticism is often not the intent of the critic, but when the intent is evil, that’s what the block button’s for.

And when I eat my critique, let me be able to separate the good advice from the bitter herbs.

[unintelligible]

Let me not think of my work only as a stepping stone to something else, and if it is, let me become fascinated by the shape of the stone.

Let me take the idea that has gotten me this far and put it to bed.  What I am about to do will not be that.  But it will be something.

There is no need to sharpen my pencils anymore.  My pencils are sharp enough.  Even the dull ones will make a mark.

Warts and all.

Let’s start this shit up.

And god, let me enjoy this.  Life isn’t just a sequence of waiting for things to be done.

Meditation on the Path of the Guardian

In 2010, I was sitting in the El Dorado canyon of the Temple of Flux on Friday night. I wasn\’t there as a guardian, but as a participant visitor. All week long, I had felt a strong  resonance with the energy in that particular part of the temple, and that evening I felt comfortable enough to open my mind and heart to let out whatever needed to be released.
That was the night that Megatropolis burned. As I leaned my back against the temple walls, it felt as though the structure itself were breathing with each passing pressure wave created by the fuel-air explosions. That was strangely comforting to me to think that the temple was literally breathing with me – in and out.
I sat in meditation for a while. Eventually I felt a wave of emotion rise up out of my core, and I began to weep. I wept for the passing of my grandparents. I wept for the sorrow expressed by countless others on the walls of the temple. I wept for the beauty inscribed by the blessed souls who brought light to the temple.
The most beautiful part of that night for me was when an anonymous gentleman sat a few feet from me on the bench and began to play a comforting melody on a double ocarina. He played for the longest time. Was it for me? Was it for him? It didn\’t matter. It was pure love. When he was done, I opened my eyes and gave him a heartfelt “thank you”. He simply said, “you\’re welcome”. That\’s all that needed to be said.
That experience cemented for me the sacredness of the temple ground. That absolutely blank patch of desert that is the locus spiritus for so many. Not simply because an artist built us a physical structure, and not only because so many people exposed their pain and desires there, but because the sum of the two is exponentially greater than the sum of its parts. Space, time, and spirit collide at the temple like no other place on earth (as far as I\’ve experienced), and that\’s what keeps drawing me back home.