Because I am approaching the little stream and it's time to jump, it's growing fast, and more and more it looks like the Grand Canyon of Doubt. So I have turned last night to my personal Book-I'd-Take-To-A-Desert-Island-With-Me. "Supplies", by Julia Cameron, because with that one, I just definetely cannot go without.
Within the last fourty minutes before going to bed of intense, familiar mining work, I digged lots of shit, realised and digged, among many disturbing things, my God Can. The original concept is "God Jar", but because a glass container looks too revealing, too frail and too unsettling, increasing anxiety and a feeling of vulnerability, I decided to have a metal version, opaque and flexible enough to bend, a conduit for heat, electricity and magic. This time, I picked one of the tea cans Jose has around the house. A blue one, with cranes, reeds, a full moon and stuff printed in Kanji, reminding me of most of The Guru's book covers.
A God Can (or Jar, or Bag, or Bin, or Folder, or Chest, or Drawer) is a sanctuary of incubation. It is basically a vessel for everything you can't (and therefore shouldn't) work out on your own, your larger-than-life aspirations, your anxieties and needs. It's the link between Fetch and Godself, conveying the intention and the prayer you send up with Manna when you align your Triple Soul. The God Can is like an altar in many ways, but it's way less ostensive or distracting, and brings in less work, opening up space for play.
The best thing about last night's night in is that I realised that over the past year I've recoiled and shrouded myself with an armour, closed and unavailable to many forms of help and blessing, and unable to let go of control. Probably due to wanting too bad to succeed here in Spain. And the real reason to own a God Can is to ditch all that craziness, reconnect ("religare") and live free.
Now, I'm it. No. "The miracle is one artist living with the other". So, tag. You're it.
Image: Captain Davy Jones having retrieved the chest with his heart.
Within the last fourty minutes before going to bed of intense, familiar mining work, I digged lots of shit, realised and digged, among many disturbing things, my God Can. The original concept is "God Jar", but because a glass container looks too revealing, too frail and too unsettling, increasing anxiety and a feeling of vulnerability, I decided to have a metal version, opaque and flexible enough to bend, a conduit for heat, electricity and magic. This time, I picked one of the tea cans Jose has around the house. A blue one, with cranes, reeds, a full moon and stuff printed in Kanji, reminding me of most of The Guru's book covers.
A God Can (or Jar, or Bag, or Bin, or Folder, or Chest, or Drawer) is a sanctuary of incubation. It is basically a vessel for everything you can't (and therefore shouldn't) work out on your own, your larger-than-life aspirations, your anxieties and needs. It's the link between Fetch and Godself, conveying the intention and the prayer you send up with Manna when you align your Triple Soul. The God Can is like an altar in many ways, but it's way less ostensive or distracting, and brings in less work, opening up space for play.
The best thing about last night's night in is that I realised that over the past year I've recoiled and shrouded myself with an armour, closed and unavailable to many forms of help and blessing, and unable to let go of control. Probably due to wanting too bad to succeed here in Spain. And the real reason to own a God Can is to ditch all that craziness, reconnect ("religare") and live free.
Now, I'm it. No. "The miracle is one artist living with the other". So, tag. You're it.
Image: Captain Davy Jones having retrieved the chest with his heart.
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