You are scraping meatloaf
off the plates
when it hits you
‘This could all be an illusion’
~ from Muse at the Back Door Series.
I am sharing a new story and audio with you today!
May Your Day Be Blessed!
Would you like to get a cup of tea and join me for a story?
MUSE Storytime Audio Only: Bad Ass in a Ball Gown YOUTUBE
MUSE Storytime Audio and Text: Bad Ass in a Ball Gown on Facebook
Are you interested in studying Intentional Creativity with me this Spring/Summer Semester? This is THE COURSE.
Creativity Course: Dance of the Critic and the Muse
Red Thread Letter #804 from Shiloh Sophia : Badass in A Ball Gown + This One Thing Could Change Every Thing
Dear One,
I started this series, Muse at the Back Door, in January. It wakes me up at night with phrases demanding to be written down. It can take me several days to edit and get it ready enough to send you. A labour of love for sure. I did an audio this time. I hope you enjoy it.
The idea in the series that seems to be emerging is how we can have ecstatic experiences with creativity and then bring it into our lives and families. So often we seek both spirit and the wild side outside of our homes. This series invites you to visit the wild in your imagination and then bring it back into the mundane. Going within to find the wild.
I am also writing to share with you about our MUSEA Course – Dance of the Critic and the Muse – a very powerful offering and distillation of my work focused in healing the fragmentation in your inner and outer world, or the critic and the muse. This is my only major course right now and you can do it from home – every dollar goes to the Musea staff of artists. I hope you will consider coming along for my first course with pen and paper and let’s have a good time!
Blessings to each of you and your family,
Badass in a Ball Gown + This One Thing Could Change Every Thing
Muse at the Back Door Storytime with Shiloh Sophia
You are scraping meatloaf
off the plates
when it hits you
‘This could all be an illusion’
The gravity of the idea
is a punch in the gut
A plate falls from your hand
breaking in two
You stare at it
as if it is an omen
The world you knew
and the world unfolding
before your eyes
Is it possible?
That reality,
isn’t what is real?
You knew
the world had changed
that there will be no new normal
after this cycle of global warning
You told yourself
the changes were for the good
That your best interest
and that of all beings
is in the hands of those
calling the shots
You tried to tell your children this
This is your home
So why do you feel caged?
You have been feeling trapped
HERE
Where is here anyway?
‘Here’ is home, right?
This is where
the people you love live
the dog that licks your feet is
where your clothes hang
and the mailbox bears your name
Here,
this is where you wanted to live
gave every dollar you both ever had
to live somewhere safe, here
Where is here? Where is here?
You have been drinking too much
you know it,
oh well for now
You pour a dram of your
husband’s whiskey
and sit at the kitchen table
You wish for a cigarette
even though
you don’t smoke anymore
You turn the radio on low
the woman’s voice says harshly
“human beings are undergoing
a mass experiment with technology
We are the subjects,
but we don’t even know it!”
Her voice is annoying
You turn it off
You already knew that
but something is different
this time
This is when your heart leaps
at the sound of boots
stomping on the back steps
The Muse is at the backdoor
Huge sunglasses in the plate glass
Clicking with a fingertip
Tap, tap, tap!
You jump up to greet her!
In the past you resisted
but not now,
Now you know you need
her strange medicine
You throw open the door
Where is she?
You hear a car running,
You can see headlights
You wave
She waves back
Hot damn!
A date with the Muse!
You put on your husband’s flannel shirt
from the back of his chair
you pull on red cowgirl boots
You grab the whiskey,
and you are gone, gone, gone
Gone from here
The door is open
The top is down
The Muse is wearing sunglasses at night
and red roses in her hair
Her black dress
has white polka dots and red ribbons
her dress is so big
it takes up half the car
she smells like jasmine
Your flannel shirt feels pedestrian
but it smells like him
and feels good on your skin
He will wonder where you are
You were just eating meatloaf
with all of them
talking about the weather
and flattening the curve
and homework at home
and he was looking off
somewhere in the distance,
but where?
And you wonder
maybe he is feeling caged too
The Muse is driving fast
You put your seat back
and exhale
everything feels like shards
flying forth
broken plates
broken dreams
broken ideals
broken deals
fake news
sorry stories
statistics you can’t trust
You think
you can see the illusion
as a giant projector
telling stories
for consumers of stuff
not citizens of earth
Who can you trust?
The wind is in your eyes
and the tears squeeze out of your eyes
blowing back on your face
and you start to sob
The Muse turns up the radio
to drown you out
Chris Isaak moans
“What a wicked game
you played to make me feel this way
What a wicked thing to do
make me dream of you
And I don’t want to fall in love”
But you are
The stars are so bright
in a sky with no other lights
In what seems like minutes
You are crossing the Golden Gate Bridge
The Muse is racing down empty streets
San Francisco, the Great Lady is sleeping
She is an orange Cheshire cat grinning
She is black lace stockings on the laundry line
She is twinkling lights and red doors
She is the smell of sourdough bread baking
Her backroom bars are shuttered
San Francisco is drinking alone tonight
But not you! You have the Muse!
And you feel giddy,
silly at the glee
The pleasure soaks you
feelings of reckless love
Driving through the city
You two sing at the top of your lungs
to the Rolling Stones
“I can get no
nonononnooooooo
can’t get no satisfaction
But I try, and I try, and I try”
So tired of trying
You are both laughing now
Your laugh releases trapped ghosts
frees them to go
to leave your lungs free for breathing
Her red roses petals
leave a trail behind you
on the empty streets
She drives to the beach,
crossing the do-not-enter sign
She turns the headlights off
She keeps the heater on
And you feel relaxed
for the first time in weeks
Or is it months? Years?
You can hear the seals barking
You offer her the whiskey
She toasts to the sea
Shouting SKOL!
“I don’t know what I am doing here,” You say
“Here?” She ventures
“Not here with you, but here in this life”
“Where is here?” She says
“That is what I want to know!”
Conversations with the Muse
are riddles and you know that
Part way through you can’t figure out
what you started with or why
She says
“Only you can define HERE, for you
It is a matter where you are looking at – out
out at – it is a matter of where you are looking out from.
It’s a perspective thing”
You reply “Here from?
You mean like, looking out from…
inside my head or what?”
“Have you heard of the poet Rumi?” She asks
He says this,
“Who looks out with my eyes?
What is the soul?
I cannot stop asking”
You think you are getting it
“Do you mean,
Who is doing the looking?
And if not me, then who?”
She shakes her head a little,
as if your share
weren’t quite what she was looking for
She gets out, kicks off her boots
We walk on the beach
Saying nothing, feeling everything
She takes your hand
You can see her face in moonlight
purple black in the night
with a filtering of starlight
Her eyes go on forever
And you are lost and found in her
as if she were looking into your soul
“Is the soul where here is?” You ask, hopeful
Your words feel clunky in her presence
She says
“This one thing could change every thing”
She says leveling her gaze
You shudder at the words
Could one thing change every thing?
What is the one thing?
The Muse has glitter on her cleavage
In all her brutishness,
there is a feminine grace
that inspires you
to bring your beauty forward
She is a badass in a ballgown
She stands strong
squaring her feet in the sand
as if giving a speech to the world,
using a seaweed bulb as a microphone
“Your paradigm
is being replaced with a different one
You don’t get to choose it!
You didn’t choose the other one either
You only thought you did
(false democracy)
Only this time,
you KNOW you didn’t choose this one!
They are rolling it out now
in boiled frog-ville
if you will just sign
on the dotted line
As you will see in time,
it is an advantage to know
what you did not choose
and how this is better than
thinking you chose
That kind of thinking is for sleepers”
“Am I asleep?” You venture
“You have one eye open,
otherwise you could not see me”
“Does everyone have a Muse?”
She looks at you as if you have
lost your mind,
too exasperated to answer
she is ahead of you
When you catch up
she has a tirade ready for you
“Every single being has creative capacity,
has a way to see, to know, to feel, to be,
to express
Many have forgotten me
and when I come to the door,
they don’t answer,
they are afraid of what I might do
If they don’t answer
I can’t come in
where they are”
“Where are they?” You ask
“Not here” She says
“Where is here?” You want to know
“Here is where you are looking out
from within yourself
not looking at yourself from afar
You witness from within, not from without
You see with inside eyes
This one thing could change every thing”
You feel your energy unravel something
Letting the awareness surround you
That you could be looking out
from within
You wonder how that is different
than how you have been looking
A seagull cries and walks in front of you
She says
“Hello Ralphie, you are up late”
From her dress pocket,
she pulls bread apart
Ralphie takes it greedily
and waddles off down the beach
You feel so hungry for her bread
The two of you break bread together
The Muse’s bread tastes like
San Francisco smells at midnight
when you walk by the boulangerie
The edge of the water
looks like lace in the starlight
She is walking with her feet in the water
The waves are licking the edge
of her black polka dot dress
The cold sand is joyful on your feet
With every step,
you feel you are getting happier
When the Muse comes to the back door
there may be fear or confusion at first,
She brings a dose of the unknown
She bathes you in mystery
Then suddenly it is more,
something radiant
and shining in the night
You wonder how you will ever
bring this magic home
into daylight
She takes the rose from her hair
She tosses the petals onto the foam
red roses, the petals are carried off
“For the mermaids” she says
Seeing the petals on the ocean
is one of the most beautiful things
you can imagine seeing
Until you see her….
She takes off her dress
Her ribbons fall to the sand
Then you see it,
her Virgin de Guadalupe tattoo
covering her entire back
crescent moon, ray of sunshine,
red roses, hands of prayer
belt of fertility, crown of stars
You are watching
the naked robust silhouette
of the Muse
at the edge of the world
with Madonna at her back
She turns to you
raising her voice over the waves
“You have to go in
to find out
You have to go in
to get out
You have been looking
from the outside in
To wake up
you have to look
from the inside out
When you can look out
from the seat of your own soul
this is everything you want
Then it won’t matter
what regime or paradigm
You will know who you are
and from here,
how to navigate
This is where HERE is found
The here you have been looking for
is found”
You feel afraid,
She dives in
Ralphie squaks,
seals bark
waves crash
You don’t want to go into the dark water
You want to follow her but you hesitate
Rushing sounds fill your head
The ocean is inside of you now
And now you are finally
HERE
~
Your husband wakes
you up the next morning
You have a mean headache
and you are on the couch
You are startled
still wearing the giant sunglasses
of the Muse
“Looks like you had an all-nighter?”
He laughs a little
You just nod smiling sheepishly
The dog is thumping his tail loudly
he is the one that knows where you go
“I’ll make coffee today”
He walks into the kitchen barefoot
He feels the sand on the floor
Long ago, long
Before you married him
Before your names were on the mailbox
Before the kids,
and the bills and outdated paradigms
You made one big request
You remember now,
what you asked him
That nights belong to you
You used to paint late,
write late, stay up and
fall asleep in the studio
that was then
Your mother had warned you
“Men fall in love with women
who dance on the table
Then they make love to you,
on the table
and then want to marry you
Then they want you to
set the table with food
Then there is no more
dancing on the table
Watch for this pattern
Never agree”
To your surprise,
he had agreed
He had kept his word
He liked it that you were your own woman
But truth be told, you rarely stay up
late at night anymore
Unless the Muse comes to the backdoor
Last night’s memories flooding back
You giggle, letting the beauty
rush into your house with you
The beauty rushes into your house with you
He is making the coffee
he too is remembering your request
he has never forgotten
He wishes he could come with you
but he sees the wild in your eyes
and knows you need your time for you
This also gives him time for him
He too has a wild streak seeking
expression, but where?
He chooses not to ask
He hopes you will tell him
But you don’t
The coffee tastes so good
And he is holding your hand
“I like it here, with you” he offers
“Where is here” you ask
“Wherever you are” he says
“Where am I?” You say
You realize you speak with him
the way the Muse is with you
in riddles
“Wherever it is,
I hope I am with you”
You say “I am with you, I am with you “
You lean on his shoulder
His clean wet hair smells so good
And to him you smell like the night
~
It is Saturday
you have nowhere to be
You shower and put on a purple dress
an ancient bridesmaids dress
for a friend’s wedding
that isn’t even your friend anymore
You put his shirt back on with it,
it smells like the sea
and breaking bread at midnight
a rose petal falls out of the pocket
You make tea
You go to the studio
You sit at a blank canvas
Remembering
Trying to see if you can SEE OUT
From where you are
Can you be a witness of your own experience?
Can you see out from our own soul?
Will your soul speak to you
in image, language, sound and scent?
You paint the colors of the sea at midnight
Cobalt blue, indigo, pale blue, crisp white
As you move the brush you get lost
Time goes by quickly and you are healing
mending the forgetting of many years
Remembering the Madonna on her back
and understanding
She is always with you
You make a vow to yourself
To see yourself and your life from inside here
No more viewing yourself
from afar or from the eyes of others
You title the painting
“Here is where I am
Where I am is right here”
~
Your children bring you
a tuna fish sandwich for lunch
on sourdough and you smile
“Mama why are you wearing a fancy dress?”
Your daughter asks
“Mama can we paint with you?”
Your son asks
“Yes, you can paint with me today
This is my painting dress”
And they cheer!
Your daughter wants a painting dress too
If your son wants one, he isn’t saying
Your husband smiles from the doorway
You wonder if he is seeing you
Being right here
For the first time in a long time
There is enough of you here,
To be where they are
Here, at home
You choose home again
You choose them again
You choose you again
You choose, the Muse again
~
Later that day
Your love,
he comes to find all of you
because you are too quiet
He sees you laying on the studio floor
with the sunglasses on
in your purple ball gown
with your children painting the dress
you are covered in painted
leaves and flowers and fish and birds
and bloopers and butterflies flying
everywhere in every color
He asks laughing
“Uh….kids…what are you doing?”
“Painting mommy”
They say it as
if it is the most natural thing
in the whole world
You wink at him
He winks at you
He chooses all of you, again
And the children,
they choose you every day…
This one thing
could change every thing
Amen
MUSIC LINKS:
Chris Isaak – Wicked Game https://youtu.be/PE8GDODC_1Q
Rolling Stones – I Can’t Get No Satisfaction https://youtu.be/TgfBPFk1ZB0
Invite Your United Archetype To Access the Voice and Vision of your Soul
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An initiatory journey between creativity and the brain designed to establish heart and body coherence. Discover liberation through recovering the voice of your soul from the voice of criticism. When the critic and the muse dance, your genius is catalyzed through love and you can heal the separations. Invite a UNITED ARCHETYPE to synthesize the fragmentation that happens to the self over a lifetime.
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Praying for the End of Suffering #803
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