Sun close-ups, suicide stuff, and diary entries
Anyone who goes digging into their subconscious is a witch.
I didn’t consume much media this week, because I was finishing a three-month psyche project I call A New Temple — a collection of dreams, visions, poetry, and animal spirit messages. The book is dedicated to my ancestral mothers who appeared to me in a psychedelic journey last August. It’s whimsical and weird, and I’m happy it’s out of me.
Someone combined 150K images of the sun and created a massive solar mosaic, and I’m currently invoking this active energy into my spirit. I wish I had plasma tangles swirling off of me.
SHORT MUSINGS ON SUICIDE
The Suicide Booth is almost here. I’m pro-suicide in the same way I am pro-choice. Being a woman who is childfree by choice is a kind of suicide. I have sovereignty over my own body, mind, heart and spirit.
I was 8 years old when I first learned what suicide was. My mother and I were stopped at a train crossing. She told me if I wasn’t in the car she would have parked on the tracks. Late in life, she was diagnosed as Bipolar, with PTSD. There have been many late-night phone calls from her desperate for death — and that pain was as real as any physical or terminal disease.
I don’t know who, if any one, should regulate who this pod is for. I think of all the reasons that led to my own failed suicide attempts: depression, disillusion, poverty, and a prevalent feeling of having no control or influence over my own circumstances. Thankfully, I transcended all those situations and emotions and came out on the other side.
Depression is a state of consciousness and I hope to never be that low again, but I do believe — from direct and personal experience — that death is a fundamental human right.
[Side note: I follow Philip Nitschke on Twitter and subscribe to the Exit International newsletter, because I do find the evolution of the Right to Die movement fascinating.]
A YEAR IN REVIEW
I culled my diary entries from the past year for perspective. It’s been a long year of inner work. I set off in the beginning of the year to get to know my new narrator — the woman that I am now — and I did exactly that. I am ending this year closer to myself than I’ve ever been.
Below are a few of the excerpts. Here is a link to the full post: https://claudiadawson.blog/posts/diary-excerpts-from-2021
A dream I had in February:
Last night I dreamed that they kept showing me an ultrasound of my womb and why I could never get pregnant. The energy that was supposed to latch on just kept “floating away,” like the smoke that comes out of my oil diffuser. The souls just kept diffusing. But I was OK with it. I don’t want to birth children. I can be a mother in other ways.
On my dead brother’s birthday:
My brother Steven would have been 36 years old today. He only lived one month. Why do they come and go and where is his life force today? What happens to these short spirits?
A light cuts through briefly
flowers limbs and bones
sprouts from nothing
gathers dust, disappears
again, leaving my mother
holding the bag,
a palmful of ash is enough
to spread grief for lightyears
Spiritual Border Control or How to Share Space with a Stranger:
I build a wall around my aura. This is my space. This is allowed. This is not discriminatory. We are all part of the source, but your energy is yours, don’t siphon mine. I am allowed to say mine, because this is my journey. This is my consciousness.
When I was younger I would go out to bars and bump up against others, and kiss strangers, and bond drunkenly in bathrooms, and then wake up feeling empty. It was so exciting until it wasn’t. Then you learn to conserve, that there is a balance in connecting and sharing space. You are allowed to be selective.
A note about my grandfather’s ghost:
Somewhere embedded in the fabric of my reality is my dead grandfather. He comes as white butterflies, and in dreams. The weight of his consciousness I could not tell you, it is heavy, maybe tons. Like a whale, but he is just one dead person.
Fragments from a psychedelic journey:
It began with doors opening to the sacred chapel of mirrors. Climbing the stairs of my grandmother’s apartment building in Morelia, it transformed into a temple. … They kept telling me the imagery does not matter. The universe expanded into a bismuth stone. So many dimensions, so much work that is unseen. They kept repeating “The imagery doesn’t matter.” They kept telling me I was focusing too much on form, and my form kept shapeshifting into something else. I became gooey and shapeless and I called out, “I don’t want to be gooey and shapeless, I want form!” I want this body, and yes I will honor it. They were showing me: this is what clairvoyance is. You see the lineage and archetypes and the chakras people get stuck in. Astrology, tarot cards, breath work, these are just tools, they say. They showed me the dimension where play takes place and said all art comes from this place. Play here. Pull from here.
How to get closer to heaven:
My hope is that by the time I leave this life I am closer to heaven, by the way that I love, by the way that I walk the earth, and by the grace that I gift myself.