Melisinka

Ahhh, and we enter into the much-anticipated year of 2012. Happy New Year everybody. How are we all feeling? Strange days indeed… but kind of fun for those of us who secretly (or not so secretly, as it turns out..) want to be the next Tank Girl. There are so many urgent causes now, such a plethora of ways to Save the World that the real problem is just choosing which one to do!  The hype about the end of the Mayan calendar on 21/12/2012 has manifested itself in the collective unconscious in the form of New Age cliches, misinterpretation and good old-fashion ignorance-  and  most of us are just busy keeping busy and not letting too much independent thought interfere with the program by inebriating ourselves into oblivion when we are not working.   Not that I mean to sound cynical. I gave that up as one of  my 2011 New Years Revolutions and have been doing swimmingly well keeping things light and literal  ever since. Yes I know I wrote ‘Revolution’. Isn’t that way more impressive than the lame ‘Resolution’, which just reeks of failure before it’s even begun? Personal revolution. It all begins at home, kids. I dare you!

I’ve been spending a lot of time out the front under my green canopy of vines, watching the spiders slowly spin  their webs and capture their prey. I like sitting out there at night smoking in the dark, listening to the trees. I do this instead of writing. Which is why I haven’t posted anything for three months. Profound apologies. I am just another victim of  the Tricks of  Time. Aren’t we all? Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.

It’s weird when you start digging a bit deeper, by-passing the What to get to the Why. Why are the ice-caps melting? Is this what is meant to happen, or are we supposed to try and prevent it (add to Tank Girl list of Things To Do to Save the World). I started to think that perhaps I was meant to write profound things to trigger revolutionary inspiration in capable and literate persons Out There Somewhere. The pressure began to build. Suddenly my writing seemed to be rather lacking in something…like  The Force. To try and formulate sentences which mean something and string them together so that someone else might derive something of value from them… it all becomes very abstract very quickly. I used to just write. The words would pour forth and I didn’t stop to think or to over-analyze. Blissful stream-of-consciousness.  But something changed. I felt that somehow it needed to be bigger, better, more important. That my writing should somehow make a difference in the world, that I should be doing some amazing, revolutionary work rather than fluffing about in my own little microcosm of words. The same with painting- it felt like an indulgence I couldn’t afford. Rubbish, of course. All it means is that I ended up not painting. Or writing. Be careful when you start getting Serious about Stuff. I can pretty much guarantee it will shut you down, the pay-offs are negligible, the world stays the same, and you lose all your friends.

Not that I lost all my friends. Thank god they see something of value in my dark side and call it “intensity” in a way which could possibly inspire awe, given the right circumstances. However, I figure it all has to mean something, this urge to DO something good. I think it means I  should be doing something to help make things better. It is just a matter of how. I am inherently lazy (refer to above  lying around on couch watching spiders and smoking…) and  have a rather deep-rooted fear of commitment ( I associate commitment  with sacrifice of personal freedom and tend to avoid it avidly. I used to have nightmares about marriage and still much prefer the runaway bride with the wild wind in her hair.  I also change my mind a lot. I’m a Gemini moon with a Sagittarius rising  so Don’t tie me down, man!(Ref. “Shit New Age Girls Say”)).  Basically, what I’m getting at here is that whilst I seem to be burdened with this conscience thing, I can’t rest. Tank Girl can wait til the revolution has fully kicked in. In the meantime  I have to find the Homer Simpson way to save the world without leaving my couch.

Enter Avaaz. Hello, my heroes!  Any organization that can help expose the underbelly of Rupert Murdoch and have the world gaping in horror at the rotten flesh we find there (eww- sorry, too visual. I just totally grossed myself out)- and save the Bolivian Amazon from a freeway cutting through its heart in the same year, has my respect. And in true Homer fashion, all I had to do to feel part of it was sit here and click a button or two every day. Yes, I believe in the end to world poverty: click! No, I don’t want to be tortured nor do I think other people should have their fingernails ripped out for having a different opinion to that of the present dictatorship: click! Online global petitions against atrocities that hook you up with other conscience-stricken wannabe world savers- – - and it actually works! Genius. Let it be known, I am a fan.

I am also a fan of the Sea Shepherd (and have the bumper-sticker to prove it). Pirates who save whales and are willing to risk their lives and get captured by the angry whalers- oooh, it is nothing short of romance on the high-seas! Every woman I speak to swoons when it comes to men fighting to save good stuff – whales, forests, coral reefs, because it’s like fighting to save US. We are part of the natural world, this is our home, and it’s that primal protective drive which is so goddamn sexy.You protect what you love, and if you don’t, then you have to ask what, at the end of the day, actually matters?  These are our heroes! I guess it’s that old thing about the good looking rebel who plays by his own rules… the bad boy who bucks the system (coz the system sucks) and follows his heart. Joseph Campbell’s mythic Hero – the odds stacked against him, but he has the power, the magic is in his passion, in his heart. Courage. I love that the French for “Good Luck” is “Bon Courage” – which translates as Good Heart. Braveheart. Sigh…

Okay, okay, I’ll shift gears. Cruise a bit. It’s a Sunday night, for god’s sake.( I think it’s Julian’s fault for playing Moby.) The thing is, considering the state of affairs in the world currently, I actually am not feeling bad at all. At times, it is true, I may sound like a neurotic, pessimistic manic depressive (and sure, i have my moments, but what kind of Goth would I be if I didn’t? It’s not just the black dress, baby) but at heart all I want is for the world to be beautiful. Nature is beautiful, in all it’s wild glory. To me, nature is the manifestation of the Divine, and I have the deepest respect for everything from the stars to the soil beneath my feet. I don’t classify myself as any particular kind of witch, nor do I subscribe to any religion, but if I did it would be wild and deep green with purple hearts and deep red roses. My fragrance unfurls under the moon. The wild things find each other in the forest. I sharpen my senses, see the signs in the night sky.

I felt a deep love for 2011 – it was like parting with a dear friend, saying goodbye and thanks for the memories. A year full of ivy and tattoos and tarot and teenagers. Of so much music! Of fan dancing and feathers, of ritual and hilarity and the planting of new seeds and dying of old trees.  In a secret cave by the wild ocean I remember it all, but acknowledge the necessity of letting it go. I have learned  to try and not hold onto anything or anyone. To do so is to invite agony. So  I let the waves come and wash it all away. I bathe in the rockpools and purify myself for ritual. I let the water wash away the pain of the past. I prepare myself for the journey forward, though I have no map. I realize that this is not the end – there is no end – it is all cyclical, circular, and spiral as the shells. I trust my instinct now, and honour my ancestors, the blood which flows in my veins, the strong, resilient heart and the Star  that is my guiding light. I am in the centre now, where all is quiet and still. I am not alone. I look up and see the ravens in the day. Under the full moon huge black bat wings fly close. I dream of snakes, so many dreams of snakes. Ivy grows up my arm, little star-leaves. It is the beginning and the end, the best of times and worst of times. History unfurls itself and we enter the New Age of Aquarius. The Fool travels light, just that little swag on the end of a stick and a white rose held high.