week seventy nine >> "Kranky"

Z page "Kranky" came up this week as did the krankiest of winds whipping through los angeles in the late week, wiping out any loose aspect, any outmoded pieces, any last thing hanging on as if not later fall going into winter, perhaps now for years not just this particular season.  countless trees and power lines and phone lines and transformers were taken down, cleared out. if the tree didn't fall, all the leaves did, at once.  the disruptions that ensued, for thousands of people for miles around  -power outages, internet down, closed off streets, stores closed, schools closed, traffic lights out, yards destroyed, homes and cars crushed, and moooore- are truly a collective experience that reflects the current retrograde that Mercury is currently playing up.... eliciting much confusion and delays and miscommunications that beckon frustration and further confusion and plain ol' krankiness!  the winds and the wake are no exception!
last wednesday night, as the winds began to whip into a noticeable fury, Jennifer and I began to txt msg what would immediately become the inevitable verse:

"kranky"      click to view

> Wind

> Blowing fierce

> ViscousCITY

> Swirling streets

> Clearing skies, burning eyes

> Crescent moon, dustborn swoon 

> The song of Sirens aloft on plume

> Veils of light through dark's black gloom

> Awake and now shake and Bloom.

> Morning Cracks with branches Cries,

> Evening falls as giants sigh.

the last two lines coming forth out of the next day as the winds continued and the 'wake'ing began.  they ended up subsiding before reports had predicted, the aftermath is still being calculated and REsolved.  more on the "RE"s next week...

∞ ceci

6

week seventy eight >> "Arch"

"Arch"         click to view

I'm looking at zbook spread of the month... A profetic and perfect ARCH portrait.  It speaks the essence of a bridge... And so, a bit of verse is called  for:

Streaming out with a quiet 'yes' to nurture layers of mitochondrial colors.  The pregnant belly expanding beastily beyond skin's fresh flattery.  SO many circles, as many curves.  

"WITH ALL THESE SWELLINGS," one must expect to have questions when looking at one's hands.

Under history's lineages of Angels, 

Along watchful I and Wind, 

Bleats Vestibule's great enchanting, 

Encroaching Stamen's enraptured explosion. -the end

On another note; I'm reminded by 'Joint painting in Action' of how delicious it is to paint with you Ceci... Let's make a date to paint!

November was a good month to organize my studio space it turned out.   The clarified space enabled me to do some painting in service to the Elves' Faire.  I acrylic'd  eight little 

water pots for the Angel Room, adorning them as gifts of creativity with a little brush, two blank cards and two pads of watercolor  taped into each.  And I watercolored two shields for the King Arthur's Market;  a very cathartic project to complete.

Happy Thanksgiving Season, thank you for the gratitude message, I loved it

-J.

week seventy four >> "Arch"

"arch"         click

For the Michael Age

We must eradicate from the soul all feat and terror

of what comes toward us out of the future.

We must acquire serenity in all feelings and sensations about the future.

We must look forward with absolute equanimity

to everything that may come.

And we must think only that whatever comes

is given to us by a world directive full of wisdom.

It is part of what we must learn in this age, namely,

to live out of pure trust,

without any security in existence;

trust In the ever-present help of the spiritual world.

Truly, nothing else will do if our courage is not to fail us.

Let us discipline our will

and let us seek the awakening from within ourselves,

every morning and every evening.

   

                    -RUdolf S.

Holding you in my heart.

Hugs to you,

Be well,

-J.

week forty one >> "out of body"

My current bathroom book, Synchronicity - Through the Eyes of Science, Myth, and The Trickster, gave me insight into my own experiences this week, particularly in light of posting my musings of this weeks spread, “out of body."  One thing after another seemed to halt and alter my path.

Magicians hands

Looking upon this spread, “out of body,” in this swirl of images, there is a reflection of the ancient art of divination. In older civilizations, the magi, the magicians were looked to with great respect to “provide access to the world of spirits for their communities."  The symphonic gloved hands at right, the magicians hands, pinch the white flaming smoke of the ether to decipher stories from this mist.  (On a technical note, these hands are stickers which we drew in arms for.)  I'm remembering a scene from Harry Potter when Dumbledore pulls a golden memory strand from his head and releases it into the Pensieve.  These hands, in 'out of body' are like pluckers of threads from the vast sea of zbook.

"out of body"

This spread, reminds me very much of a tarot card, where symbols float in space, allowing the viewer to reflect their own meaning from the powerful story of the images.  In my reading of "Synchronicity", I was lightened in my original frustration with all the 'interferences' of my work, to think of the playful nature of forces around us, always guiding us toward self knowledge.

“The Trickster delights in frolicking with symbols. Synchronicity in such instances seems to mirror processes that are afoot deep in the psyche. Jumping across boundaries between the conscious and the unconscious, between the psychological and the physical, the Trickster tosses out images in play that express sheer vitality of the imagination.”


Flame the Pheasant Headed Mask

The story of this page, is story. All of these elements have the incredible potential of story in relation to personal meaning. The story of Flame the pheasant headed mask comes to mind.  At top left, the face whose cheek flashes 'DYNAMIC', in my current place of thought could certainly be a manifestation of Jung, who is known for his studies and expressions of ideas about synchronicity.  I particularly love the image of the waterfall pool at bottom left, where 'story' rises from the mist just above.  It reminds me of the way I introduced Council to the fourth grade class I worked with this week... as a bowl which we carve with our deep listening so that we may pour our stories into and see them swirling, uniting us and helping us to understand one another.

story pool

In other spreads, we have seen representatives of the strong and formed faces which Ceci often draws.  Here, these faces are manifestations from my hand.  My technique is often to free form draw, allowing shape or color to guide my form and then finding the being or face, the personality within that has come through and defining it with features.
Ceci has been charged with documenting and uploading details of zspreads the last few weeks, as she is currently in posession of zbook.  She wanted me to know that one encircling sentence of the right page side was captured in different shots...thus, I feel it is important to decipher said recording and show it's path on the page up close : " I just love bringing Zee book to diff. places & seeing it's beauty glow w/ the settings."

 - to close, a short verse in homage of "out of body"

ENCIRCLEMENTS so delicate and intricate.

Sweet gratitude and Testitude, in love of you.

Out of Body, Out of Mind, soul flight cross waves of time.

Inward unseen, a feeling gleaned.,

A throat, a note, a subtle scene.

Be well and Blessings,

-J.G.

week forty >> "in me"

"in me"       click to view

Week 40 of ZBOOK4ever.com! 

We have you the story (here) of our first official collaboration back in 1996 at UCSB, a show called Indulge, for which we put the first words, ideas, and instincts in ZBOOK.  It was the first co-creative experiment where we put our co-visions into co-actions, rising all challenges and opportunities to trust.  The show was about the senses and included multiple experience involving food and invitations to indulge.  The show was sparked by an indulgent, colorful, decadent, delicious dessert we had shared some months before that our senses all riled up.  We seemed to feel that the food itself was enjoying the experience, and wrote some words as if from the food's perspective... of course enjoying how such a dialogue mirrored the traditional sense of sensuality.

 

Most of this in in Jennifer's handwriting and so this marks most probably the first of countless verses that she gifted ZBOOK with.  Clearly, ZBOOK was a place where we felt completely free to creatively explore and express, from the very beginning.  This simple thing is really the most healing, freeing, and vital gift... along with profound trust we forged in blending our expressions, and I am so grateful to have this experience of life.  So grateful for Jennifer and our ZBOOK.


∞ ceci
6

swoon

There is a heady drunkenness bubbling all around in this spread of “Aguatulnico”. As if we, the viewers, are the senor, just emerged, from the martini glass. I personally prefer to take the stance of the winged bubble rider, floating up and out of the blue hue. The words at top “Traveling with style” apply directly to that sprite of fancy, decked out with her sweet umbrella. This tiny apparition, reminds me of myself I must admit. For a span of time, I styled around with the hippest umbrella; a purchase from an original cirque du soleil sighting – sections of red, blue, yellow and black. I tried to open it for a piece de resistance photo opportunity screaming down the drop of Splash Mountain – unfortunately, it did not survive, and to my dismay, the photo was awash as well.



Aguatulnico

Cec and I were invested in a triple threat theme park extravaganza at that time – episodes full of story. For now, I leave this page, a favorite of mine, for its sparkle and lunacy, with these deciphered words:

Luna, every woman’s friend,

To me, thy goodness, condescend

Let me, this night in visions see,

Emblems of my destiny.

How do I get there?

Sensing the road

Where can I get this?

In my dreams.

Be well and Blessings –J.G.

sharing silence

-J. Lennon

Tonight, I witnessed shared silence like no other beauty yet to ufold.

Tonight, I sat in shared silence beholding to others warmed glow.

Tonight, I drank in shared silence deep down to the bottom of my big toe. -J. Gould

This night, Saturday before the second Sunday of Advent, the fourth night of Hannukah, the season of lights on the roof... This night, my family drove quietly to school in Altadena, dressed in Sunday finery, to take in our daughter's last class Advent Spiral. Hallie, a third grader, twinkling in her sparkly black, and our son, donning elfin hat and new green vest, walked the laid out spiral adding light to the dark.

The Advent Spiral at our Waldorf school is most often set up by the Kindergarten teachers and parents after school on the Friday before the second Sunday of Advent. Starting Thursday, community members bring in fresh boughs of spruce and fir, evergreens of all kinds, and pinecones. A couple of parents from each class planning to participate in the spiral, core apples and prepare them with beeswaz candles. In our schools Eurythmy room, the festival enliveners cut and entwine and lay out a double spiral of greenery, creating a path to the center for the children to walk. Along the weave, a few stumps with low candled lanterns, give lighted markers for the darkened room. Knee-high at center, a taller stump - with upright candle, crystals, cones, and greens, - stands as a beacon burning bright.

Tonight, upon arrival to school, we walked Hallie to her class, settled her in with dressed-up classmates, and then settled into the darkened Eurythmy room with all parents and siblings. The recorder teacher played light and lovely piano in the quiet room, helping us all to be absorbed in the meditative atmosphere. Jack too was able to melt into the flame-watching and deep inhaling in the room while we waited for the third graders to enter. Footsteps on the porch at a perfect piano pause, and then a hushed singing from the outside approaching childrens’ voices; the tone hit home for me as my breath caught in my throat a few beats.

“A gentle candle flicker, becomes a flame of gold...’’

Tonight, the line of angel singers stepped through, from out of the cold, into a silent room, and with their song, they carved the silence deeper still. Teacher told a silvery, blue-maned story and then cued the piano once more to play into the silent form. One by one, each child approached the spiral opening on turn, received their apple stuck candle, and made their way along the curves.

Each gait, each stride, each swish, each glide, each step a witnessed touch.

Each face, in the glow of the warm center flame, a marvel to be seen.

Each dip, each catch, each wick, each fetch, each sip of flame taken by each child to light their fire from the source, a miracle in plain sight.

Once each individuals flame was lit up, a return, out of the spiral, took place in slower pace. Careful and reverent, each child carried their flame to be placed upon a star along the spiral. And so, with each child, the brightness of the light beamed fuller into the space. Hallie was beautiful, so tall and confident in her choice of rhythm; she told me she was the ninth candle star. Following the twenty-two in the class, the siblings were invited to walk the spiral with their brothers and sisters. Hallie took Jack by the hand, and at the end of a long line of sibling pairs, he carried his apple, guided by his sister into the spiral flame. She lit the candle, with his hand placed upon hers, and in their glow, I was struck by pure beauty and joy. He led her out, while she carried his flame, and together they placed the last flaming star in the spiral. The third graders were led to their dark classroom while the parents gathered the apples. Each child was returned to their parent, and most then ate their apples. We relit our candles for our bedtime stories at home.

My household has yet to manifest an advent wreath; soon, soon, I hope. And when we do, we’ll light two flames along with the center source, and gather around the greens, emblems from our Advent poem. Then, each night, for three weeks still to come, we’ll speak, and sing and light our candles. It’s a silent worthy tradition – Bon Iver!!!

The First Light of Advent, It is the Light of Stones.

Stones that live in crystals and seashells, and bones.

The Second Light of Advent, it is the Light of Plants.

Plants that reach up to the sun, and in the breezes dance.

The Third Light of Advent, it is the Light of Beasts.

The light of Hope that we may see, In greatest and in least.

The Fourth Light of Advent, it is the Light of Man.

The light of Love, the light of Thought, to give and to understand.

'sharing silence'

I am so grateful for this season of light. May we feel the refuel and warmth which turning in offers profuse! I am grateful to zbook for continuing to show exponentially how our tune in frequencies keep up the charge!

Blessings and Be well One and All, -Jennifer

week thirty two >> "still"

Where did we meet? In stillness, at one another's feet? Or was it in sleep?
Wherever , Whenever , our tendrils whirl in beat to strings in golden sheath, from time wherein.
-J.G.
11/24/10 Bbk, CA

There are so many stories to share in ones lifetime, yours, mine, ours and others... let's hear and speak them, honor the existence of each voices tales. I am so thankful for the many moments in colorful places shared and alone; times when holy spirit has flown through pulsing veins, interweaving life and friendship and understanding.
The title of this weeks, spread, 'still' comes from center page at right... - underlined, a piece of sentence from Cec's sharing of a Thanksgiving trip to Sedona, AZ :,
" its power swallows me still"


Happy Thanksgiving near and far - Peace and Goodwill to all,
-Jennifer

week twenty nine >> "external"

Feliz Dia del Los Muertos... we expereinced Hallos-eve, and now we enjoy the celebration of LIFE through recognizing the dead... for that is life, the hologramic cycle of the birthing and the dying of everything which in itself has no begin or end because it's fundamentally energy.... ever present and alive... energy that mutates, transforms, changes form... each change appears as an end of that particular form... and then the new form emerges and "begins." From the chapters in our lives to our relationships to our sense of self to our very lives, we experience many deaths and rebirths along the way until we finally do die... yet we go on... our bodies change form and decay back into dust of the earth and our spirit, our energy, transmutes and lives on beyond this particular life. We often look on death and endings and change as frightening; we often resist change and fear death. But change and endings are the stuff of LIFE. And end is not about an ending at all it is about RENEWAL, marks a beginning, births new LIFE. It is hanging on to the same unchanged state of stasis that is a true death or end because with out change and circulation and transformation there is no living, movement, breathing, rhythm, LIFE.

In this season of harvest, autumn, scorpio, and day of the dead, the time is ripe to recognize what is outmoded in ourselves, in our lives, in our world...what needs to die out is is rotting away already done for... so we can consciously let it go.... so that we can discover all that is seeking to emerge through us. Not just the "bad" stuff, there is "good" stuff too in us and our lives -ways of being and thinking, identities, habits- that truly isn't us any more and holding onto it stagnates us, blocks us from unearthed possibilities, hinders our potential. In the spirit of the Day of the Dead, we recognize the dead in order to celebrate what is alive and wants to live. This day is also known All Souls Day. Once we slough away our excesses we attune to how our internal (soul, energy, light, awareness) gives life to the external (body/world/ideas/forms). Important to begin this weeding and harvesting in own selves and then together collectively. Interesting that our country's major election is set around this time every year. It's a prime time to recognize and choose changes.

"external" click to view

get down to the bones

in touch with your guts

in tune with your tones

releasing the muck

weeds from the internal

steam out now external

new breath fills new senses

new eyes see past fences

step into fortune & out of luck

revere what's done for it begun

the life that now thrives without it

& rejoice!

now that you've allowed it

∞ ceci

6

week twenty six >> "listen"

Listen up Rumourville, Hear me, Hear me...

Do not touch my heart of gold with your scratching glasses.

I Will stand, in gratitude and humblehood and speak my truthful love.

Let me stand in strong embrace with freshful face toward unions plenty.

Let me see with eyes clear and blinding what pictures wait beside my bedside table.

And let me know that Loves great gift will lift my bountiful sharing toward lights uplifting.

Here, on this page, prophetic soundings wail forth from fortified groundings.

Here, on this page, airs sweet breath lasts in top clearings camp of divided colors.

Love to this page for earths lined structure and form.

Love to this page for faces forlorn and reborn.

Shelter this page, in messages sung from begun.

Shelter this page, in ancients stone soul taking form.

Guide me, this page from fear, repercussion, sleepless dawns.

Guide me, this page with shimmer and color and squirm.

Fly me strengths flights towards sharing, embracing, deepening sights.

With prayers soaring mind, peace and calm may you descend in ascent of thirty-three in Chile. Our troubles are but minor woes - Love and light blast through! blessings to all -J.G.

Ginsberg's HOWL

"howl"        click to view

Gotta love it.  In this very week of ZBOOK's "howl" came my way in divine randomness the renowned 1955 poem  HOWL by Allen Ginsberg.  It was written as a performance piece of course, Ginsberg being one of the founding fathers of the Beat Movement our of San Francisco in the 1950's.  HOWL found me this week via videos online unearthed as I was exploring poets on youtube.  Listening to Mr. Ginsberg's menagerie of words and phrases carving out a kaleidoscope of colors and images and stories within stories evoking visions in me of worlds I am getting a peephole to while simultaneously triggering mine own world... I started to feel ZBOOK in a big way... the visual poetry and holographic story it is... the infinite visual howl, that continues to reveal to Jennifer and myself the very ether of our beings.

Please enjoy listening to Allen Ginsberg's HOWL....

"howl" while holding ZBOOK        click to view

∞ ceci 

6

swindling into the night air



ceci holding zbook, open to 'howl'

 Dear Loves, Jennifer here,

I am so excited to be here with you tonight!!(or morning, or evening, etc.etc.etc.)! Let me tell you...

A) for One, I’ve had an upheaval of familial and personal schedules in the past weeks, all pieces, settling and jockeying and establishing into position, with major and minor adjustments still to come – auuuuuuuuahhh~!

B), second, I wanted to share my funny entrance into this September, 2010, ‘howl’ post...I prepped the computer space to write, then turned with thrill to envelope and open zbook actual to my right, and who should be rested with paw and ear upon lelibro, but Midnight, the cat. – this is a good story, but not one for this hour.
C), onward....

Here in house, I lay my loved ones down to sleep,

With Hearts on fire, I pray and wish all souls to keep,

If I should die before you wake, at Guard sits wind,

Thy soul to take.
                                                                         -J.G.

This spread be labeled “howl” in tribute to the once again fantabulous quotating of Chris in the morn’, from our favorite, NE. found vertical at the bind... “like Brother Nietche says: ‘Being human is a complicated gig, so give that ol’ dark night of the soul a hug, and howl the eternal yes.”

Often, I have howled, particularly into the night, releasing and inhaling great Breaths of Deep air. If I think on it, I may remember that the Fall and the Wind have often been recipient inspirers of these Calls to the Wild. One particular image of howl intoxication which jumps into mind was a post-highschool deepening of friendship, inside my car, down the street from JBHS; my sense is that there was crying just before the Conjuring of great howling Shout Beats, including bobbing heads and incredible building intensity... and the intention of it was howling, for sure!

"and through my breath I will impregnate you"

Tony, my husband, somehow or other offered me the space to howl in this morning, with fowl language and a vanishing act involved. I was telling Cec earlier today, I felt very peaceful, an eerie peaceful perhaps, a peacefulness nonetheless, afterwards and into the morning, and possibly into the afternoon (though by that time, I certainly couldn’t say if the morning howl,
which was not sex by the way,

 in case you all were thinking that...

anyhow, I could not say all subsequent peace was directly linked to the morning howl for sure).

I can’t put my finger on it, but today really rocked as far as the state I was holding with each group of adolescents I was involved with in various games and movement classes all day – I felt strong... perhaps the 8 hours of sleep the night before helped too, vs. the 4, 5 or 6 I’d been keeping. And, I had done quite a bit of reflection, and did I mention sleeping?, and speaking to others about struggles I engaged in days previous.

A final question and thought...
When you look at the moon, don’t you want to Howl?

Be well loves, Captain Gould

p.s.l. ahh yes, the story of ‘The Blizzard we Knew” continues it chaptering on this page as well...Ceci you devil, how dare you try to swindle me in public sight into revealing this story... uahhh, the shame of it! Hee hee!!!

enter here

"5:40 am"        click to view

Who knows where it all began, this page of word flurry.  It's fun to compare our passing of ZBOOK back and forth with each other over the years with the playful fun of girls passing notes between each other in class... and here is a page that is literally packed with actual notes to each other and other verses to the cosmos.  Jennifer and I, as this page reveals itself this week, enjoy how these morsels of expression bring us directly inside of a moment, dipping inside of our own stories, of which we may not know the date, but can recognize the FEEL, triggering our memories, like remembering bits of dreams... 

I don't know what day this journal entry turned verse is from (below), but I can picture the scenario perfectly ...a day in the life of Hemphill and cec roaming the streets of Isla Vista (IV), our potent lil' student town extending from our UCSB campus.
Hucking disc at dawn, 5:40am to be exact.  :)  Synergizing visions, getting into each other's heads like dancing synapes.  Discovering great little gems of spots all over IV and campus to commune in through drawing, tarot card reading, and other spontaneous rituals in honor of the magic of the moment.  The disc I speak of is of the frisbee variety, and huck it we O so love to do.  Back then we would aimFully stroll down the beachy streets of IV, Jennifer on one side, I on the other and we'd huck as we walked, back and forth, with one foot after the other in a full forward current, hardly missing a beat.  Of course there were cars parked at the street sides and so it became clear we were not only hucking disc, but also "saving cars" ...from their imminent risk of disc attack. For the joy of disc in not only in the huck but also in the thrill of the catch.  We became known as "car savers" as did our IV disc walking expeditions.  The only way to travel.
 

These (at right) are lyrics I wrote for a song I made with my band when I lived in
New York in 2001.  

 


These words (at left) I wrote the year after my accident during my last and best year at USCB (97-98). Ironically this was the year that all my PSLers, including Hemphill, were gone and graduated, but after my recoup time away, this last year was indeed my best personal year at SB.

"noticias"       click to view

This word flurry page reminds me of Z page "Noticias," however that one is more report and "5:40 am" is more rapport.  Baring no dates, the words of "5:40 am" are partial glimpses into stories, offering morsels of experiences.  (Just as I was last week with the word web in "Mapa," I am again reminded of Johnathan Harris' work)  It is fun to identify these lil' clues of our moments in time, each one holding a place from which we can enter the narrative of our lives.


∞ ceci
6

week fifteen >> "lush" - JULY: HOT pages!

LUSH

Awash in color,

I step through scwaler.

Splitting hairs over splitting Atoms,

I search for hidden knowledge.

Take this piece,

 - Make it walk.

 LUSHious souls Volupt,

Speak words to Talk.

The Sun it rises,
The Sun it sets,

These flames in freezing,

through Summers Lick.

In prayer, this compass,

sets Arrows flashing.

warped, casted shadows,

Great lights, shades sealing.

Under purple Mountains majesty,

windowpanes, statue-lanes, and round ro-tains,

Stand whight, gray, silver,

blue-lined Rivers shining.


-J. Gould