WakeUp2Life: Love Letter to BurningMan

via WakeUp2Life: Love Letter to BurningMan

Swallowed by the crevasses of the dusty whiteness, a purity of particles to digest into the belly of her portal of creative forces, that gather together to create societies weaved through the energy of all who choose to open their hearts, to greet with smiles, to create a dream we commonly share. To be expressed as we are. To create worlds that represent our souls burning fires. The passions and seeds of the fruits that feed and nourish our souls. The ground, the wind, the dust glues our sweaty bodies together to create a melding of a world where landscapes appear to be a distant planet we have imagined while gazing at the stars. Where everything makes sense, where intentions are rules that rule a kingdom of the heart. Hats are our shade and luminescent colors are the pallets of our paintings. The strokes and brushes create us and when the dust storms arrive you are welcome. Always you are welcome. Time has no place and the space is your creation. Breath in the scorching air, exhale your dreams. Dance on your vibration and as you step up a step powered by the heart hold my hand as I gently hold hers, and shift like the dusty winds. Tornados of energetic integrity spitting gifts of love across the breeze. Please as you move through this cosmic sea, dance with grace. Take this place, this part of your heart and fertilize the world, leaving trails of light glittering like the open night sky. I am the shooting star I wish upon. Exploding vibrant forces and rhythms heard in the beat of the earth, the beat of the heart, the beat of our dream.

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.


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.