i refuse

i refuse
so many things
so many ways
but i refuse
to betray myself

I can't see out of this foggy mess right now...

My daily om says...

December 22, 2009 Fog Coming out of a Haze When we feel muddled and unfocused, unsure of which way to turn, we say we are in a fog. Similar to when we are in a fog in nature, we may feel like we can’t see where we’re going or where we’ve come from, and we’re afraid if we move too quickly we might run into something hidden in the mists that seem to surround us. Being in a fog necessarily slows us down by limiting our visibility. The best choice may be to pull over and wait for the murkiness to clear. If we move at all, we must go slowly, feeling our way and keeping our eyes open for shapes emerging from the haze, perhaps relying on the taillights of someone in front of us as we make our way along the road. By and large, most of us prefer to be able to see where we are going and move steadfastly in that direction, but there are gifts that come from being in a fog. Sometimes it takes an obstacle like fog to get us to stop and be still in the moment, doing nothing. In this moment of involuntary inactivity, we may look within and find that the source of our fogginess is inside us; it could be some emotional issue that needs tending before we can safely go full steam ahead. Being in a fog reminds us that when we cannot see outside ourselves, we can always make progress by looking within. Then again, the fog may simply be teaching us important lessons about how to continue moving forward with extreme caution, harnessing our attention, watching closely for new information, and being ready to stop on a dime. We cannot predict when a fog will come, nor can we know for certain when it will lift, but we can center ourselves in the haze and wait for guidance. We may find it inside ourselves or in a pair of barely visible taillights just ahead. Whether we follow the lights out of the fog, wait for a gentle breeze to lift it, or allow the sun to burn it away, we can rest certain that one way or another, we will move forward with clarity once again.

we will move forward with clarity once again.




indeed we will...

Buddhist Shmoodist or slavery to a pattern

This kills me...
It just keeps on getting better/worse.

Why do i even bother?
At this point, I don't even know. Perhaps it's a distraction in the light of the diagnosis of mom's scan this friday. Or perhaps it's the hopeless romantic in me who thinks that one day he will wake up and see that he has a daughter who is still willing to unconditionally welcome him into her broken heart no matter how many times he trampled and ripped it apart.

but this is getting closer to the final straw.

His post on fb:

Great debate I was in at my Tibet/Buddhism course here in Mt.Tremblant yesterday. Had a great workout this morning at the gym and now heading into St.Jovite for afternoon of Billard training from a pro in preparations on our every Monday nights league. No time for retirement!!!!!! Mimi working as usual with the Swine H1N1 vaccinations...

My reply/post

I had studied Tibetan Buddhism when i did my religion minor in University d must say that is a fascinating religion of pure, yet difficult doctrines for the lay man to follow. Practice is a long journey which requires much study and discipline. I'm very surprised that you are taking a course. Good for you! Perhaps of benefit to you (and to those that were once close to you) would be a careful examination and practice of the Six Paramitas as this is the path of the Bodhisattva—one who is dedicated to serving the highest welfare of all living beings with the awakened heart of unconditional love, skillful wisdom, and all-embracing compassion, but following this path takes patience, which is in itself is the heart of the Buddhist path which requires courage, patience, flexibility and intelligence. Good luck and namaste.

and when I went to check the next day if he had commented on it - he had deleted it.


Fucken deleted it.


I knew that it might rattle his cage and wanted this to be a litmus test of his continuing hostility towards me, all the while putting up this front that he is on the path to enlightment.

and he calls a treadmill a "threadmill".

Oh you have no clue how tempted I am to write:
"it's a TREADMILL not a Threadmill you douchebag"

but I am sitting on my hands to keep from typing it, for now...


but in the meantime, i might just post this in my status.

Just for kicks...






I stopped loving my father a long time ago. What remained was the slavery to a pattern.
Anais Nin 

5am and my letter to a friend in a gallery in New york city

September 21st, 2009

From the desk of hellophotokitty...

20

Hey Bob,

it's been a long long while.

How have you been?

well, so much has happened here, i wouldn't know where to begin, so I'll give you the condensed reader's Digest version (or at least i will try...)

mom's cancer has come and gone, and come back again. Her ordeal has been nothing short of unbelievable. When I tell people about this story, they often shake their heads and say: "ooh, she must have had some bad karma". Fuck Karma, blame it on genetics. Bad genetics.

As i think i may have told you, it started off with her skin cancer, followed by a year of interferon. Then it came back - spreading to her lungs. A serious operation which left the experience of being in one of the city's apparently foremost cancer care research center/care facility equal or greater than having your fingernails slowly pulled out one by one, while having them dipped in a vat of iodine for hours on end. An anthropologist friend of ours visited her during her stay. "I've been to Ethiopia and and some of the other poorest parts of Africa. This hospital is about as close to a third world country on this continent as you can get". So much for our shining healthcare system...

So we had hoped she was in the clear, and for a while she was, until a few months later, the cancer came back onto another spot in her lung. Her options? Let the disease run it's course or try the new immunotherapy treatment called IL2 - Interlucan 2. Simply put, the last ditch effort at cancer, and as brutal as they come. Many patients have to be put into intensive care during the rounds and some even die. Mom made two complete rounds (1 week on, one week off, x 2 - and then times another two a few months later). And a miracle of miracles - the tumors had not only shrunk, but disappeared. A medical miracle. But it took its toll.

She was well for the Wedding (yea, E and i finally tied the knot after 10 years. I had to wait a decade. He's a little slow sometimes, but has a good heart...;-) which was the most important thing. She got to walk me down the isle and do the whole mother daughter thing every mother wants to experience. It was simply the most wonderful and delicate moments of my life. And everything was perfect - the day, the weather, the food, my dress, my hair, except my shoes. E trampled all over those during our first dance - a Foxtrot, which we had spent months practicing. Well, at least they weren't more than the dress and we did manage to look good on the floor.

So honeymoon to Cuba which was another dream come true. God bless Castro - he managed to keep this pristine gem of an island unspoiled and overrun by tourists and MacDonalds corporations, but now it's anybody's guess how long before you can smoke a "Cubano" cigar with your Big Mac...

We get back and two weeks later, find out mom's cancer has come back. Again. In her small bowel and intestine. Invasive surgery pronto. She is healing well now, but once again, through the jungle belly of The General Hospital which we have come to know and love (and the food, paper pulp and glass shards have more taste than the shit over there...) she managed to overcome great obstacles, but at what cost?

All of this cancer battling has done a number on all of us. It's true that cancer touches everyone, not only the people who suffer from it. Personally, i have literally gone underground. Hiding in dark subway stations, people's basements and if i go any lower, I'll be sitting in 5 feet of dirt. But there is a strange thing going on. I have shut off my "art valve". My creative spark which once propelled me to fearlessly bare everything (literally), and march into New York City with an attitude and some hot pix into your gallery, has now all but died out.

I play your wise words over and over again in my head: "you gotta pick one thing and stick with it, be it photography, writing or cinema." Well, i have tried all three separately to varying degrees, but it has been tantamount to shitting out the North tower of the world trade center. I have never felt so constipated creatively in my life. I have put down the camera, taken up the pen, put that down to fiddle with a video camera, but nothing. And it's freaking me the fuck out.

Hmmph. This what is now looking like to be a long letter, but i will try to refrain from babbling...

How do you do it Bob? How do you keep fresh in the midst of life's setbacks and crap that gets thrown to us on a daily basis? How do you weather the creative barren dusty death valleys when you are lead into them by blind faith or perhaps a sadistic form of deliberate bad judgment in map reading of rugged territory? Do you think that we "need this" to define us or our art or both at the same time?

I have spoken to my other "artist friends" and they say something along the lines of: "oh it will pass" or the sappy: "you'll find your muse/spark/purpose soon". But what happens when you don't? Bob, I have seen your art. It's intense, vibrant, chaotic, fearless and fearful at the same time. I have a funny feeling that you must have gone through some serious shit in your time. Some serious shit that must have also brought you to the brink of a creative meltdown. What made you turn around? Or have you even turned around at all?

Sometimes I get sentimental about New York and look at the post card from your gallery, the show I was (and still amazed at having being) a part of. There is a side of me who mourns for the loss of this ballsy in-your face "i am woman hear me roar" person. And part of me wonders where the hell she has taken off to cause i know she's around somewhere. Or is she?

I guess I'm writing all this to you because i know you understand me, and the complexity of my artistic process as you have been witness to the genesis of many of my pieces. I don't want you to think I'm asking you for a psych evaluation here, (if i were doing this in person, then i would at least take you out for dinner first), but i just wanted to touch base in my own quirky outrageous vulnerable way.

Perhaps it's a rusty pipe dream, but i hope that one day, after all is said and done, and i manage to shit out an earth shattering piece of work that will give everybody who sees it a boner that will last them a lifetime, that it will hang in your gallery (not the boner, but the piece of art, although a hanging boner framed and put under glass is an interesting conceptual piece that i might just run with...). Well, stranger things have happened.

It was not too long ago that i came to New York city for the first time and was almost literally laughed out of the Art gallery, and then I blinked again and there i was, naked and under glass in your gallery, hung in a primo spot (and with a couch no less. Did I ever thank you for that prime real estate spot you bestowed on me? Well if not, so many belated thank yous.)

I find it odd how I have held off sending you this letter for a long while. Perhaps I felt strange not sending you something "new" from the hpk photographic factory of debauchery and insanity, but keep hope that somehow, somewhere i will pick up my pretty picture machine again. And when I do, you can be sure that you will be the first fucken person in the whole wide world to know about it.

so on that note, I will close this letter.

I have chosen to turn this into a letter letter rather than email. Guess getting back to my creative roots, back in the days when a pen, typewriter and a piece of paper was a civilized way of communicating to the outside world , makes me feel a little more connected in an often disconnected world.

And oh yea, I'm giving you a copy of the "gift cd" I made for our wedding guests. From a to z - did everything on it. But as much as I would like to take credit for composing "fly me to the moon" for Old Blue Eyes and other great swinging tunes as well, I'm happy to say that I'm still a retro queen at heart and pretty creative with the graphic design ideas.

Take good care of yourself Bob. Give my love to Seb and Mari and then save a little for yourself :-)

And thank you for everything, including looking at/listening/reading my stuff, but most of all, believing in me and my art.

Hpk

guardian angels exist in cyberspace.

I was getting very distraught that my postcards had not made it to the gallery in time for the opening last night. After an hour with customer service, they agreed to reprint 500 more postcards rush order and ship them off last night.

Well, I just received confirmation that they arrived safely.

a day late - well, i guess I'll make an impression ;-)

but this is what moved me.

An old friend of mine from flickr who is now on facebook posted this onto my profile.

and then, what i wrote back to him.

an end of the week blessing of sorts.

Me:

Releived that the Postcards FINALLY made it to NYC. A little late, but I guess I'm sure to leave a lasting impression ;-)

Derrick: HPK, believe it or not! -- I prayed that those postcards got to you in good hands eventually (several times). In fact, I sent my guardian angel out to make to guide those cards to you in fashionable time. And, of course, none of this ever fails!

What is interesting is that yesterday I had started to write you a wall post that was going to ask if perhaps you had gotten them yet (because I sensed in my heart that you were going to get them; my guardian angel never fails me). If you had of said "no," I was going to say, "...have a little faith, because they are going to be there soon, watch and see." All of this is true.

Then I see now that you received them. Perfect!

and what i wrote to him right after...

Derrick, you have no idea how completely floored i am that you took a few moments to pray and ask your guardian angel to help get those cards to nyc! I was gonna get all mushy gushy on my post, but thought that i would rather tell you personally. Thank you so very very much.

It's been such a long time since I have been moved by the kindness of strangers (well, you're not a stranger, but we have never "Met" per say, but you know what i mean...) that when i read this a few minutes ago, i shed tears of joy and thankfulness. I have always felt that you were a special person from the moment i saw your photos, and then as the years passed, and i got to know you a bit more, that opinion became solidified. You have such a way with words, the sentences you compose, the images you create - the kind only a caring and sensitive soul would imagine. I'm almost speechless! Thank you thank you thank you!!

Guardian angels - not many people talk about them anymore. I once had an experience when i was very young - perhaps 7 or 8. I always had a statue of a guardian angel on my bureau. She was beautiful - tall, stoic, cascading long golden hair, a shimmery white robe and delicate sparkled wings. It was an old ceramic figurine that was passed down from my mom to me. Well, one night, i awoke from a horrible nightmare and sat up in bed. Before me was the fading apparition of the same guardian angel, now larger than life - extending her arm out to me as if to say: go back to sleep. It's okay, i'm here to take care of you..." And as i try to focus on her, she slowly faded away. That night, i had the best sleep of my life. I tried to explain it to my mom but she shrugged it off as part of a dream, but i knew otherwise.

it was not until a few days after my grandfather's funeral did my mom start to believe in what i was saying. Her father had a long suffering bout with lung cancer and when he died, was skin and bones. A few days after the funeral, my mom was awake, tossing and turning, in and out of a light drift of unconsciousness when she noticed something glowing on in the curtains in front of her. She looked up and it was her father - radiant, glowing, and looking healthy and happy. He reached out to touch her shoulder, as if to say: "I'm here, i'm happy and i love you". She was filled with grace and love and as she fell asleep, felt protected and at peace. She still considers that the best sleep of her life.

I often have dreams of dead relatives. They never actually "Speak", just telepathically communicate. I had told my grandmother (my mom's mom) when i was about 15 that i had these dreams. Her face lit up: "back in the old country (czechoslovakia) we would consider people who were able to see the dead as special and very gifted. You have a special connection with the beyond." well, it was many months before i dreamt of her, but a few weeks ago, both my mom and myself dreamt of her ON THE SAME NIGHT!! and to both of us, revealed that she was happy and at peace (although she did make my mom work - "I'm coming to visit and I'm bringing 5 friends - I hope you don't mind!". (My mom always seems to be working in her dreams. Guess it's a capricorn thing cause e does the same... lol) And then, two weeks later, we both dreamt of my aunt and my grandmother - AGAIN -THE SAME NIGHT!! So as i get older, i realize that there are perhaps things as the afterlife - planes of energy that vibrate long after the body is gone, and that sometimes, if you are sensitive enough, or perhaps, ask loudly enough, you will get a reply.

Atoms communicate to each other. On what level still is the great unknown, and perhaps will forever remain the greatest mysteries of the universe. All of that to say, I guess you have a really great relationship with your guardian angel Derrick. And because you shared that relationship with me in an indirect way, I am so very blessed to have you as a friend in my life. :-))

I have one little favor to ask though - if you can please say some special prayers for my mother? She is still on her arthritis medication which happens to be an immune system suppressant. The battle rages between her oncologist who says to go off it (because he thinks that it suppressed her immune system so much that despite the IL2 treatments which were immune system boosters, so that the cancer was able to come back) and her g.p who says to stay on it. She is battle weary and i fear that if the cancer does come back, she will refuse treatment, or that the cancer will come back with a vengeance - brain or pancreatic cancer, which there is usually no hope for survival. I'd like to believe in miracles - that she will beat this thing, but after reading your post, I now believe in little ones, and they are the building block for the big ones. God Bless you Derrick. Than you for being so very special. oxoxoxoxooxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxooxxooxoxoox hpk

Deep woods off

Came back from camping the other day.

God. It did us so much good to get away - into the woods, with nature, waking up and hearing the birds sing, the smell of fresh moist earth and wet leaves.

We are all meated out. Hamburgers, steak, and more steak. The best things on the bbq and so easy to make. BBQ season ends soon, thankfully. I've put on 10 pounds since the wedding. But i've enjoyed every mouthful of food that i've shoveled into my pie hole.

Putting up and taking down twice was a chore. We should have stayed at one site, but it was nice to see the rest of the park. First site - right off the water. It was my little fresh water ocean. Waves lapping against the weather-beaten rocks. The wind was refreshing. Kept the mosquitos away too. Nature's insect repellant.

Next site - deep in the belly of the forest. Waking up to a sea of green and dark bark. Nothing like it. Watching log burning tv live was simply bliss.

We got eaten alive. Especially me - welts all over my body. Some infected. Think i might be allergic to black fly stings. There must have been one that snuck into the tent. He must be a fat happy motherfucker today.

Dreamt of my father's father - he was carrying bibles and was waiting in some hallway to an office space with meeting rooms off on the side (hmm. purgatory perhaps?) and holding bibles. Funny and ironic. He was a communist in real life. Perhaps he switched his views while stepping out of his body. Too many iron clad ideas to carry along into the next dimension.

He spoke to me - as always, without words. Was very happy to see me. I didn't waste any time telling him all about my father, how much of an asshole he had been, become, the whole wedding fiasco, how he left me and mom high and dry. I let it all out - without holding back. He had to know that his "perfect son" was not without some really huge ass flaws.

I was so bowled over by his reaction. Utter and complete sadness. He kept on apologizing, over and over again, saying how he never knew and could not believe how he could have brought up such an angry man. Clutching his bibles, eyes watering, repeating like a mantra: "I'm so so very sorry. I never knew". In the distance, i saw a fading apparition of staranka, and thought to myself, "she set up this meeting for me. I had a funny feeling she would..."

A few days later, dreamt of Starenka. Had not dreamt of her since she died, which is odd for me since dead people show up in my dreams not long after they die to tell me how good they are doing, and how they are watching out for me. She looked so well, rosy cheeks, glowing smile, wearing the crazy tacky costume jewelry I gave her with so much pride.

She told me how happy she was that i came to visit her in her new home. Nurses and social workers buzzed about, all smiling and laughing with her. What a wonderful atmosphere. Always the social butterfly, she alternated talking to me with arranging her seating area, giving away candy to the nurses. Nothing much had changed, except she was finally at peace.

I felt a sense of relief, of warmth surround us. She told me not to worry, that she was looking out for me and my mom. With arms wide open, I walked into a warm grandmotherly hug and she was wheeled away down the hall.

Turns out mom dreamt of her too, the same night while mom was at a country house with me and my friends. "I've come to visit and I've brought some of my friends. I hope you don't mind, we are going to stay five days!". Mom was happy, but also knew she had a lot of work ahead with 8 people to feed and entertain, but was grateful for the visit.

"I'm always working. Even in my dreams. No wonder i wake up tired every morning" mom said after sharing her memory with me today.

And today, despite the infected bug bites, the sweltering humidity in the city, and mounds of dirty stinky clothes left from camping waiting to be washed, i feel happy and calm.

It's nice to get these kinds of visits. Even if they are only through our dreams.

Note to self, deep woods off is absolute crap.

a letter to a friend with news on mom and reflections on the "c" word

I have to make this short, it's been a long fucken day

Surgery went well - they got the shit out - including her appendix.
They are pretty sure it was the cancer coming back - she said something weird: "I might have to retire - the cancer is aggressive, and it will come back again and i'm okay with that..."

Every time i hear this it makes me think of resignation

"Yea, but your tumors - the others that they thought were the "end all of your life - the last batch - shrunk and disappeared..."

"yea, you're right..."

Its so hard to be fighting for her.

I know that i will have some fighting of my own to do soon too. It will only be a matter of time until I get something to do with skin cancer - my chances are now up to 85% that i will get it in my lifetime (it also runs in families) - both parents with cancer, the shit that is up with my cervix (they found abnormal cells - see the doctor in september...) if something happens to me, i won't be able to take care of her...

fucken hell. the mind is starting to spiral again.

not good.

but i don't have cancer yet, and she is on the road to recovery, but i can't help but have all this shit hang in the back of my mind all the time....

anyway sweetie - sorry to sound like a downer.

I need sleep - long day today followed by another 2mrw.

It's so hard to be positive when you are so tired.

Why is that so?

If being happy takes so much effort, how can being happy be a good thing?

Doing my silly monologue thing.

Dangerous when i find myself starting to sound like Carrie Bradshaw mind melting with Camus...