Awakening The Phoenix

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The New Crown

What about the part of me that is fucking pissed off?

The apathetic overwhelmed american princess needs to die

So . . .

She rips her little crown off

And her dress

Slings mud all over the place

Claws at the ground

Smothering herself

In brown oozey messes

Until she collapses into and

Becoming earthy

Matter

Eradicating any sense of separation

. . .

Eventually

She opens her eyes again

From surrendered state

Crawling her way to the roaring river

Slip in

Down under

Fully submerge

In it now

Until

She is illuminated by the potential of it all

. . . 

She finds her legs again

Her connection to the soil

Lifts herself above the waters

And into the blessed air

She emerges onto dry land

Asking the sun to

Still and solidify her

Into her renewed self

. . .

She gathers materials from the forest

Makes herself a new crown

Filled with the potency of her

Wildings

Alive

She Walks

 

- Cristina Cabeza Kinney

revised version of "The New Crown"

La Llorona

No wonder all our rivers are polluted

Except maybe that one

The one that we sang our tears

Into the other day

The one that we heard whispering to us

To our insides

The one that gave us that cool looking stick

That we are going to make that

Really cool looking sculpture out of

The one river that carried our funeral boat

The one we made for Jaime

Rest in peace, sweet sister Jaime Lynn

The one that we made offerings to

The one that we shared that hug at

The one that made me feel alive again

The one we ate those dandelion leaves at

The one we found those bones at

The one that sparked us into healing

Into rewiring those programs

Healing those inner sabatour dialogues

Telling a truer story

A more telling story

Of finding the bones of our inner life

Our inner passions

Our inner creativity

Collecting these bones

With our boney worn out long fingers

And assembling them into our selves again

Reclaiming the bones of our Ancestors

Of our past creations

And creating anew again

And again

And again

Until the other rivers run clean

Until the oceans roll clear

Until La Llorona runs dry

 

-Cristina Cabeza Kinney

a Day of the Dead tribute and excerpt from "La Llorona" 2014

Book Musings

The stories we tell ourselves make the Universe exactly the one we live in . . . 

And then one day, you get the impulse to capture one. You get the brilliant idea to put the story to words, to synthesize the illusory. And so it begins. The creative fire is sparked and the journey sets sail.

You head out to find your primal voice. To tell yourself a story that resonates as deeply as the sea. As truly as the stars. As passionately as the first fire lit.

~Cristina Cabeza Kinney
musings on the creation of Tell Stories That Heal

Group "Us"

There’s something special that happens in groups.  The synergy, the collapse, the way the tide moves as we participate and witness.  The acceptance.

The lines blur.  Where do I end and she begin? It’s hard to separate out, black and white, wrong and right.  When a group comes together there is an intelligence that trumps all the hierarchical thought forms.

In a circle, everyone is at ground zero.  Equal parts of a whole. When one takes more than their fair share, it becomes the crux of the process.  What to do?  To be with others in a group, not just randomly but with heartfelt intent and circular motion, a new form of relating is created or shall we say recreated anew.  

Group process is as ancient as our ancestors.  Most notably around a fire telling stories.  I like that; viewing the human ancestors back through time immemorial gathering in a circle around a warm fire being human.  Sharing thoughts, jokes, philosophies, ideas, traumas, feelings, stories of what it is to be alive.  I miss that.

What happens when the faces you see are your equal?  When the stories you hear are your own like a spiraling ouroboros weaving threads of connection, where you end and I begin.  Of remembrance. Of ache. Of shared joy. Of possibility. Of healing. Of raw potential.  Connection.

Amazing things can happen in a group setting.  Also draining things.

I can remember many times sitting in a circular fashion through failed attempts, trying to gain the morsels of gold.  It can really deplete the soul.  Ripples of sadness and longing for those times long ago when we weren’t so clumsy or lost or confused.  But we keep hacking away at it.  Because that longing, that thread tugs at us, hinting to a connection buried inside us.  In some of us, it keeps us attempting to find synergy when others look at us as if we were fools, in love with something lost.

That buried perfect circle, that sacred hoop, reminds us to tend the fire and remember we are indeed keepers of the flame, moving it forward ever so slightly, inch by inch towards reconnection.  Because in those times when the group process does come together, when the synergy and providence is present, we are simply blown away.

The sheer perfection fills us so deeply and so fully that we give ourselves to the quest.  Becoming space holders, asking to be shown, laying  our creative fire at the feet of the indescribable thing that it is.  We give ourselves to the spiral, trusting where it leads.

Show us where you lead . . . encircle us.

~Cristina Cabeza Kinney   

musings on group dynamics