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Lilacs Twice and Desert Sun

June 14, 2017 in Film Matters, Ruby Intuition, Travel Matters, Weather Matters

Lately I keep whispering to myself: “You saw lilacs twice this year.” And it’s true. I saw them bloom in Brooklyn in early May, and then again when I traveled up to Provincetown and Greater Boston later that month. It was a shock, really. I’d been driving up terrible old Route 6 of Cape Cod when this heady fragrance started supplanting the gas fumes. It took a hot minute to realize the smell was not me having a stroke but lilacs. Again.

These last few months have been like a magic hour that just hasn’t ended.

I had so dreaded this year. Had seen the writing on the wall about the demise of my NY1 show and labor journal job; had been waging a legal battle of the sort that few long-time New Yorkers elude (housing-related); had regarded the second half of my forties as–oh, I’ll just say it–the beginning of the end. The boobs falling, the hair greying, the eyesight fading. You get the picture. Not pretty. Continue Reading →

Dream Overkill

May 16, 2017 in Ruby Intuition, Sabboytical, Spirit Matters

I know, I know. Sharing dreams is the ultimate self-indulgence, and yet I continue to do so. I download so much information while I’m sleeping, not only about my life but about my clients and friends, Congress, the cosmos, and kairos. Try keeping a notebook by your bed for writing down your dreams upon waking. You’ll be amazed by what come through, and we need all the wisdom our guides, ancestors, best selves have to offer right now. Also, when transcribed, dreams offer such shifty little prose poems. Here’s last night download–the somnambulist’s equivalent of a literal fork in a literal road.

I’m in a national park-airport rounding the corner from Upstate New York to Japan, a connection that in this dreamworld is easily fused. As I head toward the Tokyo gate, I see Mr. Everybody walking toward me–burly, big-armed, big-bearded. So many Bs. He’s as handsome as ever but something is unfamiliar, less defined about his appearance. I can’t place what. Then he sees me and even in this incredibly random run-in suppresses his surprise. I squeeze his shoulder and slip my arm through his. “Come on,” I say. “You have to admit THIS is kismet.” I actually use the word “kismet,” which I regret even within the dream. In return he uses the same jive turkey line he tossed at me last month: “I experience multiple synchronicities with people, Lisa.” He shrugs off my arm and goes on his merry way. Watching his back disappear into the crowd, I say aloud, “Let this man go.” As I wake, I realize what has changed about his physicality. He isn’t wearing glasses.

Stick a metafork in me. I’m done.

Pics: Shara Hughes (left); René Magritte (left).

The Church of Rilke’s Door

April 30, 2017 in Book Matters, Quoth the Raving, Ruby Intuition, Spirit Matters

It’s been a while since I played literary tarot, in which you randomly plunk a finger on a page of a book randomly opened and read whatever turns up. But after a hot, clattering Saturday in the city, I had a beautifully unfettered, beautifully long sleep under freshly laundered sheets, and I’m feeling magical.

Here’s what a page from Rilke’s Stories of God has to say.

The moment they passed out of the door they were changed men. They walked in the middle of the street, a little separated from each other. Their countenances still showed traces of their recent laughter, that strange disorder of the features, but the eyes of all three were already serious and observant. They understood at once.

This I love, for as much as I hate hallways, I adore emerging from them, and open doors have been featuring prominently in my superconsciousness. I read this passage as a confirmation of my last dream and of an omen visited upon one of my favorite sirens recently. I’m tucking it my pocket as I venture into this cool, dreamy morning.

"All, everything I understand, I understand only because I love."
― Leo Tolstoy