simple sterling vow

You keep an amazing pace with the darkness. You hold your little silver light. I looked up and felt the heaviness of night. I am not about to cry over it. The darkness doesn't need me now. But I have found my little diamond heart perched on a tree branch, singing to the clouds above. You have found your little girl. You have found the star coming through. You have found the encrusted jewel within you. Pine needles darting through... swaying with the wind, me and the tree. I received a definite me.

In what do I believe

I believe it's gotta be like a tree. Things gotta grow. My belief system is no different. I began feeling very isolated within myself. I had to reach out to others... such a nice tree. I had to find a way to keep her happy and safe. But as I grew my needs changed and my questions increased and my experiences seemed to create within me a conflict. How can people be as they are and still be spiritual? How can they hate themselves so much as to throw themselves on terrible trains of thought? Dalai Lama said compassion would lead to other wonderful things... and thoughts and actions would grow toward the good. I may even learn forgiveness, patience.... selflessness... I may learn and grow. That would be something. I always felt alone even though I know I'm not. Perhaps it's because the world doesn't whisper a word of it's discontent. It doesn't seem to discuss the possibility that we are hurting. Why can't we let the conversations happen as they must? How many relationships would be healed? How many lives turned around? How many people would gain self love? I don't know... but surely not discussing our lack of compassion and caring has created the idea in the young that they do not exist. Look at your fellow human being sitting across from you. He or she could be entirely different from you... they could be someone you don't like. Now try to imagine their life and how it was. Perhaps not as you've had. But from how they grew into themselves... maybe we'd find we have a lot in common and maybe we wouldn't want to see them hurt. Maybe we'd learn to care. ~ k

Why do you bother?

I sometimes have a conversation with myself where I ask why do you bother? In other words, why do I bother writing these things in a blog that is basically read by myself and maybe a few others. I guess I have gotten to the point where I want some of me to be evident after spending the majority of life in a mask or cover-up. I was beyond shy, I was a misanthrope for a long time. It wasn't that I absolutely hated others or couldn't tolerate them. I truly never believed I should be liked or loved or seen or heard. That belief, fueled from the time I was six, pushed me further underground and various scenes ran through my life to cement that fact. I hated myself with a passion that perhaps was unknown to most people. Well being an adult at this point I have learned self-acceptance to some level, although the voices slip in now and again. I see the children in my family grow and I want them to know me on a different level than just Aunt Kara. I am a human being who was prone to wrecklessness, self-deprication and self-harm. I am not a perfect human being and although the aunt in me is a responsible adult who wishes the kids could remain protected forever, the human being in me knows that is an impossible feat. It's okay kids to realize the harshness of life and be unafraid of it. Being aware is a good defense against a lot of crap you will see in your lifetime. Find the voice within you to be strong individuals, accept the bad in you and work to improve, work to the good. Remember that not everything an adult or mentor says will be true or good for you. Mull it over and use that big brain. Don't be afraid to ask difficult questions or state your opinions. Be brave for yourself and for the families you will one day have. Money problems will only improve if you work to improve them. Same with your personal life. Grades or academic endeavors are fixable. Don't let this stuff fry you or make you bitter. Accept the difficulties, chalk it up to experience and move on! Work early on to take care of yourself. Be independent. Don't do things because others want you to, do them because you want to. Investigate all of your options in life before jumping into some big commitment. Question surgeries, medicines and practices and look at alternatives. Treat money with respect as debt can bury a person faster than the grave. I have loads of advice for my neice and nephews and those other kids who adopted me as Aunt Kara. And one big one... respect your body throughout your life. Don't abuse it! You'll be thankful when you are suddenly older and don't have health problems! I say these things because I wish to pass on advice. Heck I didn't have an Aunt Kara to tell me things and with the physical, emotional and mental energy a parent gives out sometimes they need a little support from their siblings, those aunts and uncles of the world sans kids. Why on earth would this be a part of my personal mythology? I guess because no matter what, I want to be able to be there for the kids. I look at the world in general and worry... for all these kids will have on their plate as they grow up and be parents. The next generation and beyond needs wisdom to come from those before. They need the respect we can give them of being upfront and honest. No, things won't ever be easy and the older you get, the more difficult life can become however when you learn to rely on you the hard times don't seem so hard. Problems are fixable. I pray for those kids... for their protection and their wisdom. Self-love is a priceless gift. When you learn to truly love yourself (and I don't mean be in love with yourself) then you learn how to care for others. Things become more clear. And one should never fear love.

the Eagles have landed

In learning about life and beauty I am naturally draw to the kingdom of nature and all it's inhabitants. Eagles, for me, are very magical. I draw a strength from eagles as I do the sun. They are protective of their homes and eaglets. They are breathtaking. I almost touched one in a magic moment of hysteria. Wanting to chase an eagle doesn't seem like an intelligent thing to do unless you know you'd never catch one anyway, you just want to try to touch the tip of a wing and connect for an instant. The eagles glide through a canyon and perch on a thin branch, swaying in the wind. The eagles live free. http://www.wvec.com/marketplace/microsite-content/eagle-cam.html Check out the eagle cam!

the earliest inspirations

My creative life stemmed directly from the love of the written word. Although I appreciate the fact that some cultures never had to write a word to tell a story, I was smitten with books from the beginning. Within these books were recipes for various pieces of my personality. You can think and believe. You can write with your pen and you can divine from these the truths you seek. You perhaps could even find God staring back at you. You could find a new path through the forests of human life. Like the path, the small path you used to walk on afternoons to meet a friend through your childhood forests. You could learn about a person you never met or a person who was long since dead. You could find your friends in voices. You could find moral lessons from those who know better on your own, defeating a lack of parental guidance. You could find an ocean of time to live and dwell within a book. Just ask Tolkien, Rice or any other writer of immortals. They live vicariously for centuries with their characters. Bilbo or Lestat... whichever. So this is the magic and deserved beauty of writing and books. To those who don't understand, don't. It's not within everyone's power to appreicate a story or a lesson or seek friends when they have none. Some would rather wallow in self-pity or remain ungrown, constantly asking and constantly questioning... where is the light? Crack open a book! I know this "mystical" experience I describe seems rather mundane and actually too simple. But practice makes perfect at adventuring through books. I challenge everyone to give it a try. Books can heal. And now the evidence of music hits me. For an instrument could be the same vessel for change and understanding. For growth. In this time I am finding my feet more solidly in my world and in my voice. I am unafraid now, although I was fearful before. The myths feed me. The magick is happening and the mayhem is the unspoiled voice of those writers and players and free thinkers. It is the calamity of life and love. I revel in these things and turn once more to my reading schedule, writing schedule and notetaking. The life of a striving, consummate learner.

who is penhooligan?

"Penhooligan" is a name I created for myself in my late teen years. I was trying to achieve a certain connection or image with these things, these others that were a part of Kara but weren't the same. Indeed it is based on several things. I am a Pennsylvanian. I felt that Pen was a good way to show that. Indeed I use a pen a lot in my artwork and it was actually the pen and paper that originally got me exploring these sides of myself. I was also an avid reader and had read Le Morte D'Artur... and liked the play on the last name of Arthur, pendragon. So I felt a connection with penhooligan from the first. "Hooligan" of course makes me laugh. I had always considered myself a bit of trouble so it fit me at least in my mind. This persona I created, my alternate "me", my creative alter ego, she was a friend and continues to be the well from which I search and reach for all the images and stories and experiences coming through. She is my creative lightning rod. Without pen, I would certainly be out of juice. Perhaps I created this for myself because I was alone a lot as a youngster and only had a few close friends through the teen years. I was lonely back then. I was in danger of self-destruction and had felt this way (as far as I can recall) from the age of six. So I was in need of a friend. This brave person was pen. This one could escape the small town, the small mind and the decaying background. This one could open up windows, even doors. So I began to rely on this entity for my strength. She was a voice in me that told me I could when I told myself I couldn't or shouldn't. When I convinced myself I shouldn't exist, she took out a pen. The rest for me personally is history.

the journey

And so I follow along the pages of these books, well aware of the perspectives I'm ingesting. I am now fond of ingesting the stories, the words, the legends and working them into life, creating a space for remembrance and honor. Benedicte, Handsome Lake, Mercer... the list continues to grow and I continue to accumulate stories to investigate. I've become my own librarian for my life and I am happy for it. One must learn to read books but also to build a relationship with them, to understand the stories and characters and how they affect you. How real is the character to you? Are you sympathizing with them? Are they becoming voices for you? It is important to understand within magick, myths and the mayhem of life that these things can be guiding... guiding to investigate more... perhaps a quick reference takes you on a different path or helps you uncover more about yourself and your personality.... you become an archeologist for you. Simply brush away some dirt and perhaps you find "more beyond". Don't be afraid to find those deep parts of personality that once seemed off limits.. you are the only one who can limit yourself.

day in the dark

Throughout most of my adult life I have been constantly drawn to the darkness. Reading more about my different muses I've realized I've invoked more in myself than just a dark personality. I have tried to take on these roles from deeper place and that has proved destructive. One because I never knew I was really doing it and two because I allowed it to take over. There is nothing wrong with feeling the dark, with seeing the dark or finding the beauty of the dark. There is however a responsibility because the dark has real consequences. It's like not respecting there are sharks in the oceans and just getting in their way on purpose. You can see where I am going with this. I, for one, will never get in the ocean. I always had a respect and fear of this great force on earth. Why I never respected the underworld or the darkness in a similar fashion is beyond me. It is okay to visit but to swim in it daily without using sense is entirely irresponsible. So i look back to my dark days with a sense of relief. I can now properly respect that space. I now have a sense of self and it is important to make that distinction.

sitting still

For another minute I'll remember why I'm here, in the usual place. Then I'll forget. These are lapses of time I'll never get back... no matter how hard I try. But there is always the place I return to in the in-between moments of time. I somehow escape there without anyone knowing. I drive to a place inside that doesn't have paved roads. I've seen the wreckage of youth. It is scary. Who grows up with a perfect life? Who is wanted and who is saved? I've always wanted to know. Then again... there is the place again. It sits high up... as a steep window ledge. I sit and wait for the right time to tell her that she has to go now. Sometimes I don't like being aware of things. I don't like the world to know what's going on. Sometimes I'd like to fold over ... neatly, squarely... like a box taken down to the right foldable shape. Then again there are other shapes to inhabit. Other places to be. But this one place... will always be my escape into who I wish I could be.

a natural sister

I never felt obliged to discuss my earliest connections to the madness of creative spark. I only know that from an early age I was dreaming nonstop of things that didn't exist in my everyday world. I remember rain drops and puddles and long gutter streams becoming oceans of fun with makeshift vessels in hand. We romped every part of the street looking for new bodies of water to be our sea. In these springs, I remember very vividly the feeling of newness. The smell of spring, water and dirt and the warmth sneaking into the old winter air. I remembered the first opening of a window or clap of thunder. All of these things enhanced my wishes to dream more. Books provided windows as well. I remembered illustrations of lush front gardens guarded by iron gates. Mysterious old houses and strange statues. I lived in these wild worlds in my mind as a kid and so the outside world and the inside world became one. I loved the images of the mundane streets as I suddenly would turn them into boardwalks or at night, in the fog, they would become streets in London. I've never been to London but I've been to my version of it. I would come up with scares that didn't exist. Here it is. My magick was my spark and one person who put early imagination in motion was my sister. Being older, she introduced me to strange stories and writings and so as a youngster these dreams and images became real to me. She brought to life Halloween. She would tell me delightfully strange stories as a twist on ones she had read. All of this got my mind seeking and stretching reality, kinda like playing with clay.

fevered empath

From a different time I would dream about adventure. I would hope that life would have more in store than just the everyday. Within the mundane life I was able to find a rip, a tear in the fabric of the everyday. I could explore worlds without ever having the money to fly. I found that art was it early on but didn't know what it was or how to access the materials. As time went on I was able to work with others however still needed to find my own groove. Beyond art, at a young age I also developed an interest in writing. These things kept me sane when we were too poor for the basics. When things got rough, I had access and that counted the most. On the wings of birds... in the darkened windows of churches... I could imagine. And imagine myself in something very special.

to meet my parents

You'd have to understand that I am totally split down the middle. I truly am inbetween. I feel that life led me to understand certain truths about myself. All alone in a dark room I could conjure feelings and then I light the wick and it's the same old crumbling room I lived in before. My bedroom was in shambles. I was alone with candles. These things came to me when I was very young and I think before I was able to speak I had a connection to them. For a long time the sun would burn a hole into my soul as I spoke to it. I remembered thinking I had a diamond heart. When I was older, I thought I could feel the sun ticking the time and shining a little brighter to burn into my mind the remembrance of it. It was spectacular and dying all the same. I spoke to it then, too, in the early morning air. Keep moving through your zodiac because you still have time. You still feel young. You will rise. Your rays will reach. You will die. Back then I also remember chasing the ever-elusive moon around my yard and later caught it in a necklace my mom bought for me. These two images somehow made sense when I thought of mom and dad. You see my mom would have been that sun to me, following my shadow. And that rare moon. That was my dad.