No Soft Landings In Hiroshima This Week.

I awoke at 11:30 AM in the Reino Inn just south of here. I had slept without much disturbance except a series of intense dreams after sunrise in the dormitory on the 3^rd floor for 12 hours. This great sleep was the aftermath of a 24 hour travel period for Miss Guerilla and I which started in Hanoi, Vietnam and proceeded to the Intl Airport by car -> Jet Plane -> Busan, South Korea -> Fukuoka, Japan -> Bus -> Train -> Bus -> Hiroshima Terminal -> rain hike with 60 lbs of gak.

I feel a lot of good things in me and bubbling up. Fukuoka entry was easy and friendly which already puts me in glowing mood. International borders can bring a great variety of experiences and this entry so far from home and with such deep personal import was an auspicious omen. Few questions, little inspection, no suspicious eyes, so happy not to explain the very strong, questionable looking Vietnamese tobacco or the 8” chef knife. Breathe.

Vietnam was a bottomless bag of experience and education in many of life’s mysteries. It was true to the tarot forecast which was represented in The Moon. It was also a great incubator for the health of my fledgling relationship with Miss Guerilla (MG). Coming back to Japan together and seeing such a difference in my own associations and comfort as well as my reception by Japanese people whether they know me or not is strong medicine. I had a feeling of coming home, which, however it derives is a good feeling. And after a month together almost every moment, there was no rush on either side to get time alone. We dropped gear, repacked things for me and went for something balancing to eat at a vegan, whole foods café.

I’m sitting in Starbucks at the NHK Radio building at the street I can’t read from here, listening to the Hip-Musak Christmas Catalog which is not to my taste whatever. It’s 5:30 PM-ish and I’ve been here swilling Coffee since 1:30-ish. I’ve had to carry all of my gear around the city with me today in the rain, have no place to sleep due to a street festival of some kind drawing people into the city. Odds are looking like I’ll have to sleep in a video game booth, Manga Café on Hondori.

I am reminded of a yogic position which involves holding one’s arms out at a “T”. The time is recommended at 10 minutes. If you think you can do this by might alone, please try. The thing that makes the arms stay up there is not the muscles, they can’t do it. I am very happy and it is not by might alone. I see stars, thank you Mr. Wilde.

Miss Guerilla is working out some understandings with her family regarding what we are doing as we both realize that this leap off a cliff we’ve taken with our hearts has landed us in a deep, warm lagoon with a lot of fresh fruit, birds and clear skies.

Today might seem like an inconvenient day, but my spirit is exalted.

As The Guerilla Love Artist, how else should my devotion be captured and directed?

Maybe there are some soft landings.

Assertion and Agression | Growth and Decay

Hanoi Vietnam, 5:25 a.m., air conditioner of upstairs unit just kicked on as I sit here on the 3rd floor balcony looking out into the hazy, pale, neon green light of hotel something 4 doors down in this tiny Old French Quarter Street. The cathedral bells just rang from, I believe, 2 different locations just slightly juxtaposed in time to create a layered sound that gave me impression of events happening just out of synchronization with each other, but in some collusion nonetheless. I'm in the glow of my terminal to the infosphere drinking the remainder of the Vang Dalat which I opened night before last and do not wish to let expire into vinegar world as I do not have a kitchen here to convert wines gone-off into sauces or marinades. (Vang Dalat is Vietnam's red wine)

My mind is awash with topics of all sorts. There are Dali-esque mindscape with Hanoi-haze-clang-rumble sunrise, Motorbike beeps and putters, the prying sound I've come to associate with much of the Vietnamese which I do not understand and is spoken in the streets, My guerilla lover asleep in the room behind the french door to my right, what the hell am I doing? What is most provocative and piquant though is the huge tarot spread Ysiita (guerilla lover) and I put down yesterday morning. Of central focus and pressure to my mind is the Fortune trump card and the placement it occupied in the reading. I'm reading from a Thoth Deck that I've had for 15+ years. If you haven't worked personally with divination or don't believe in it, I can offer that from my experience, this deck knows me and it is no longer just a pile of paper rectangles with glossy images on them.

Fortune is simple, powerful and direct and gave it's "no bullshit" klaxon as the fist card pulled. The reading dealt with a lot of long reaching questions about our business interests and personal lives which we are joyfully and intentionally intertwining. Fortune, like a reaper and an angel was there at the door, or in this case, at the bifurcation point of every fractalized decision that one can make reminding us, "reap what ye sow". Yip, thanks dude.

The magic of tarot is that it always teaches, whether we believe it or not, like it or not, understand it or not. It exerts a pressure, which is very difficult to escape without reckoning. Even if one doesn't believe, still they are proving it right or wrong in their thoughts and so there! Still the dance of stars and archetypes parading in the twilight. I love it.

For me, now, this is a commentary on assertion in many forms. I am saturate these past days with this and with the balance of growth and decay as precipitates of our choices. In my meditations I am seeing the relationship of assertion and growth as the life expanding qualities which become aggression and decay in their destructive forms. The Fortune trump and many ensuing cards gave a great personal narrative to this dynamic within both our lives and prospective goals.

The shades of consequence between these words and the values they indicate are of great import in the world we have created together as a species and in the world we wish to create. If it is not apparent to you, consider the idea that the world we have been inhabiting is over with and a new one is being birthed right now, right on top of it and within it. This process is a seamless manifestation of collective dreams, thoughts and intentions and is determined just a bit more with every act, every thought, every word each day, each moment, each breath.

Of great import within collective dreaming if we would like it to go nicely is the framework of the creative dialogue and how we each understand and employ the tools. Assertion is a tool by which we make plain our intentions to ourselves and others around us. Aggression is when we export our assertions onto the actions of other people. One is necessary to create intentions, one triggers a cycle of decay. Choices.

Lack of assertion of one's desires or needs leads to decay. Simply enough, if one looks at the past, there is at least one thing that we can all agree on, that is, that in the next moment, something will happen. Seems stupid perhaps, but, what do you think is going on? Something always happens. Where does that Something come from? Who decides? uh huh. If we are just floating around waiting, wondering, ignorant as to our purpose and power in this everflowing river of creation then we get a series of happy or unhappy accidents. We're still creating our experience, but we're letting it be determined by our unconscious, often unexamined habits, motivations, frustrations or inspirations.

Know thyself, know what you want and say so. As long as we hide in ignorance of our own authorship of what we encounter we are deceiving our self, though not very well or for very long. For me this morning, with my gut in shambles I am reflecting on this as a simple constant choice as to how experience can unfold. On the morning after that rigorous encounter with divinatory art everything has fresh meaning. I see from this spot that there is a world which I have begun to assert as my chosen path. I see that the real results that occur in each moment as a derivation of the ones just past are always a precise reflection of the seeds that were planted.

My gut hurts because I ate too much and drank stuff that pissed off my pink membranes and other parts. I knew what would happen and I did it anyway. This was not assertion, this was decay. A little decay is educational and can lead to wisdom. Continued decay, in this case, is the refusal to become wise, which is in a sense, aggressive ignorance. In the light of the tarot's reminder of these facts and my own charting of new course, I see an important breakwater about me. It is time to unseal the vaults, use all that I've been given and be not blinded to what I know.

What we know is deep and I invite anyone to consider. Do I know? How to breathe? How to sit? How to chew my food? How to exercise my body? What food to eat? Which drink is good? What is too much? How to drive my passion? What extinguishes it? Who is a friend? Who is a trickster dissolved in their own confusions? What has value? But how often do we do something that disregards what we are certain of? Why might we do such a thing? Is there a cure?

Before I came to Vietnam about 4 weeks ago I asked the tarot what was of greatest consequence in this leg of my journey. It answered THE MOON. This was a forecast of a journey into the abyss of our own dark and hidden nature. AH, how I love the adventure. If a thing doesn't undo us first, how can there be a place for the gifts which it gives?

With Salt, MSG and Polysorbate,
J.W. Starr, Guerilla Love Artist

Moon Blessing - Soul Journey

Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? I mean this in the “how much Johnny Walker did we drink last night” as well as a “Sri Ramana Maharshi cutting through the illusion” way. I have answered this question in a variety of ways in my lives. Some of the answers have been silence, the name my mother gave me, I can’t remember and I don’t care. Today I am going to say that I am J.W. Starr, Guerilla Love Artist, Intergalactic Plumber, Tansdimensional Henshin Agent and Rock Star. It’s not glamorous all of the time, but I love my job. God buys me wine.

I love my job, I love my Job, I love my Job. I don’t have a phone or fax and it doesn’t matter because the boss never calls me. Somehow though, I am always supposed to be on time, in uniform and properly briefed on whatever it is I’m given assignment to do. I’ve argued about this and even fired myself, but it doesn’t change anything. I wake up somewhere with a solid preternatural sense of what the next steps are and I do them or else... or else? Or else all the fun goes away! Everything just gets grey and the sunsets aren’t as stunning and no wine.

It’s 11/11/11 a full moon and the changing of the age from Pisces to Aquarius. I’m without a home-base, I don’t like what I look like, my clothes are mostly wrecked, I don’t know where my income will flow from, I’m separated from my previous partner... I must need a new identity meat-wise (That is, here in the meat.. this place where the meat dances endless in the light of spirit). It’s also about time I reckon for new mission orders to become apparent and assemble. This requires some cooperation from my multiple self at various levels of being. Most of the knowable part of the process I will perform from here sitting at a terminal, writing my way clear and then waiting for the new directions to flow in as they will. This big moon should be a great help in that.

Clearing. Danshari! Before I do a new install there needs to be someplace to put the new stuff: ideas, activities, energies, feelings, resources, knowledge. Before I can receive there must be a place to put the gifts and I must ask for what I require.

What has been, is in process or should be cleared?

I’ve let go: my wife, home, much ease, many illusions, many habits, many distractions, many fears, many structures of conception which did not serve.

I’ve noticed that there are still hold-out bits mentally/emotionally regarding the marriage, the house and some concern over my stuff. These thoughts are poisonous, contain anger, fear, vengefulness and nonabundant energy. I am ready to let go of all of this and invite spirit to enter and guide me. I choose the high road. I ask for grace and guidance in letting go of what is done and creating a blessed place for the life I have chosen and which I am being guided to.

I send blessings to SG (this term will represent the partner who I am separated from and stands for Sleeping Guru. This designation has meaning for me and will gain substance for those who read Guerilla Love Artist) and all of the healing she requires. I release my anger and other toxic feelings and invite the light to cleanse me. I forgive her and I forgive myself. I release the house and make a promise to myself that I will not squabble over whatever articles remain in question, I ask spirit to assist in dispensing all as is necessary, to each that which they require to be whole. I have what I need. When the time comes for our final agreements let us arrive and leave each other with simple peace.

Energy Clear? I release my poor posture, uncomfortable body placements and internal pressurization that leads to loss of calm. Danshari!

I release my unconsciousness that appears in any guise.. ego-talk, “aggressive” conversation, disrespect, disdain, anger, fear, guilt, destructive habits, struggle and nonabundance, eating fast.

I release any anger I have left for anyone. Let all of me be filled with compassion for all beings, including myself. I forgive and ask to be forgiven by those who need this peace to heal. Let that compassion be expressed in my words, actions, thoughts, emotions and what pervades and surrounds my path.

I hereby lay down all of these objects/subjects of old and my spent relationships to them and to those people who they touch. Let all of these be burnt in offering in the fires of spiritual purification. And let what comes forth from the ashes be the most pure life, essence and purpose.

With this empty vessel (this new crucible):

I set my intentions anew. If there are intentions from previous that are still worthy or in need of upholding, then I trust they will come forth and assert themselves. What has been cleared is cleared by my will, my intention and by the grace of spirit. This Empty vessel is awaiting fulfilment by love, grace and devotion. I invite spirit to enter me through my breath, my mind, my body, my will and vision to help me fill this holy vessel.

Selfless Service to all mankind. I am a hand of God.

Practice, the bits I have together: I feel in the midst of metamorphosis. Here I will lay down the ingredients as I see them and how I intend to proceed.

Ysiita is with me and I feel that I have found truly a soul partner. If grace will grant then I will (and am) take Ysiita, Miss Guerilla to me and create a life of grace, dignity, art, passion, generosity and Joy. If it is the will of spirit we will create a family to help steward the next phase of earth development.

****** I'll skip the logistical details here.

Path to freedom is led by risking what we think we have in the quest to open our heart become what we are. Don't get to comfortable Jack!

Love and Light

Guerilla Love | Genesis

Art imitates life, Life imitates art. After I saw this rotation occur a few thousand-million times from the eyes of a gaggle of lifetimes on miriad planets in different galaxies inhabiting sundry bodies equiped with all kinds of bizarre mouths, appendages and genitalia, while taking pleasure from things I have no definitions for... I've realized that the imitation part can be reflected upon, fermented and evolved into something more authentic. Life can become an art form in itself. I am my own greatest work. Only the carcass-strewn road behind and the untouched canvas ahead.

I'm writing this from a restaurant and hotel called Ngoc Hoa owned by a Mr. Tuan. I'm sitting in a blue plastic lawn chair beside a laminate table with blue/red plaid cloth. A tourist joint, it is my Starbucks of the northern Vietnamese, Cat Ba island beach. There is a flat screen TV over where Tuan, his staff and presumably his daughter or young lover are have lunch. The TV is airing some fashion catwalk bathing suit models to a repetitive loop of the jazzy "Hey Mambo" song from I think... 50's.

Tuan is a native of the island and speaks very functional if narrow english. Tuan also seems to have some perspective which many I've met in my travels seem to be missing. I wouldn't describe him as an artist, but he has a quality of authenticity that he delivers consistently. His daughter sings what I would consider crappy pop song (singular) over and over again in the restaurant. I find this distracting, but it does not agrivate me nor prompt me to leave. She sings a song I don't appreciate, but she sings it very well and the repetition, which I find maddening, bespeaks passion of an artist. I've met artists whose lives seem devoid of art. I've met people who don't paint but who live their lives with vision.

If I were feeling dialectic I might say that the one who lives the vision has some artifact of achievement in hand which the struggling artist, whose life is a seeming series of misdirections, is indeed searching for through his painting process which is really an aspect of his soul which has been severed from the rest of his life. I might say that, but it's just a convolution to swim through and consider. I don't believe it. Both are experiences I feel I've had at different times and both are highly instructive.

Instructive of what? What do we want as individuals? To me the gold is taking the visionary process of painting or designing a thing out of the isolate box of creating just that one thing and seeing how everything in our experience is a seamless canvas upon which we can create. Keep expanding the vision and include ourselves within it. As our painting blends with those around us we give birth to a thrilling collaborative vision. Poof Eden!

Guerilla Love Artist

Love with Impunity.

Go Ape!

J.W. Starr
Guerilla Love Artist

Funerals, Phone Numbers and Cousins

It was a hot day. Sun was unobstructed and it felt like a steam bath. It was over ninety and it had rained for just a few minutes, "thick" would describe it well. The funeral had been that morning and we were all gathered at my aunt’s house for a reception. Little sandwiches and potato salad, some coffee, fruit and tiny cakes.

I'm hungry but I can't eat much of anything, I'm gluten intolerant and the wheat conspiracy goads me like a comicbook nemesis, sneering and assailing me everywhere I go. My cousin has the same problem, but decided he would ignore it. He had a few feet of intestine removed. I’ll refrain and allow people to consider me troublesome.

I go out to the pool. My uncle Mike is there. He's a jarring, right-wing, sarcastic jerk. I really like him. He sees things his way, he's straight and he'll never leave you with a veil of mystery about his feelings. He's also very loving which doesn't seem to me like it should fit, but he makes it work. He's also my Godfather. His wife Aunt Nancy is there too. They are very similar in views though she isn't as driving a sarcastic element. We get along very well. We get into a conversation where she starts talking about my cousin Uni who I haven't seen in 16ish years. Uni is very close with them.

My cousin Uni was in town from San Francisco to visit with them in Connecticut. She related all the crazy things my cousin was into and then her husband chimed in with his extraordinary sarcasm. It was really funny and intriguing. I hadn't seen Uni in a long time and there aren't too many people in the family whom I am like or feel that I can talk to, but here was my aunt describing someone who had done a lot of things that sound very familiar and right to me.

I told Aunt Nancy I wanted Uni's number and she told me that she was planning to come down to NJ in a few days. I hadn't thought about her in years. I felt like I was going to have a chance to find my lost sister, all sorts of cheesy, funny and even longing sensations ran through my mind. It could be like Luke finding out his sister was alive and could become a Jedi as well!

I'm an only child. In the summer when I was quite young I would go to Atlantic City with my grandmother. Uni lived there, we are very close in age, and we would go to the beach together with her sister Elizabeth. Uni and I always got on very well. Once every summer we would get to go to Connecticut to see uncle Mike together. Then it stopped. I didn't see her and we never talked and I don't know why.

My grandmother was in the pool. She heard what we were talking about and said, "You know, she had a real case for you when you were little". This of course was funny. I especially liked the 40's slang usage of the word "Case". My aunt chimed in with some supportive bit like, "Oh yea, you two loved each other".

I started remembering her more as we were all talking, I also remembered my Uncle Tom being uncomfortable leaving us alone because we were so likely to wrestle. He became really uncomfortable when that happened. His face would turn red as he leaned over the car seat, driving on the highway, to discipline us by volume and mean-face.

Uncle Tom became angry easily and had a temper. We used to play cards and he would try to cheat and even at 10 years old I could beat him. My grandfather, Duke, really knew how to make him mad and smiled whether he won or not. When people get mad they lose at cards. That was a big education. Duke is still alive, Tom isn’t, that is also a big education.

It wasn't the kind of wrestling where anyone was trying to win and come to think of it, I don't think I ever made her cry or even got mad at her, I guess I really did care about her, it was like we didn't want anything to get in the way of whatever we were doing. More mature than a lot of my adult relationships. Her sister couldn't stand it. She hated us both whenever we were together. We did cut her out of things though, kids can be mean.

In a conversation with my mother later I was talking about the poolside talk. She looked at me and kind of cracked a mischievous smile. "Uni huh? She really had a thing for you when you were kids!", I replied with something like, "Yea, Nan said something similar, it might be a little weird if she still feels that way.". My mom laughed, "You know you two aren't related at all.". She explained the intricacies of that part of the family. This created something I would almost describe as dilemma, but it wasn't. I did have to reevaluate my feelings in the light of this though, like what would Luke do if he found out Lea wasn't his sister?

I feel bizarre. It's all so distant and confused and seemingly from another life. I called her. We spoke for a moment, but the timing was poor, she sounded confused but excited, we had to let it go. We called back and forth for most of a week. I finally got through to her on my way up to my mother's today. We spoke for 2 hours. It was a really refreshing and warm conversation.

Her voice was so familiar but matured and saying words a thirteen year old would only say in a movie. The mix of memory, sense and emotion was disarming. The sound of her voice was doing things to me, it slid past any filtering or barrier I might have had. I felt like a kid, but then I realized we were discussing mystical religion and personal development in what seemed to be an erudite but relaxed manner.

"When are you going to be around? We've got to do something!", I declared. She agreed a lot. It turns out she was already in NJ, just not in Atlantic City, but would be there the next morning. She said she'd call me when she got in.

I'm trying not to let my self think over it all too much. It's a really complicated set of feelings and the only way I can see to approach it is just to go, no expectations, no plans. Chips fall where they may... I am glad we're not related though. :-)

All Godot All the Time

Free myself. Free myself instead of waiting for someone or some event to free me. I’m ready. It’s time. I want it to happen. I’m closing down everything, every open cycle, every door opened and aired. Multiple lines of action moving to some nearby point of culmination. Little things, they must be signs; Mark leaving town. Shari’s washer should be fixed soon. I’ve got no real place to live. Warehouse is cleaned and emptied. Things are stored. Everything is ready, everything but this paper, this document that holds my future in balance…

I feel really stupid sometimes when I realize in retrospect the sorts of things I take as meaningful or useful information, omens if you will. Like I’m constantly reading the chaotic, ever-flowing bones of every situation.

Anyway, I’ve cleared my mind as well as I can. I know what I want and I’ve done all I know in order to effect it. So now I wait. I don’t like waiting. It’s shit. It’s All Godot all the time here. If I can figure out how not to wait, then I would, but I don’t know how to… I’m drinking coffee and waiting which is one of the worst ways of trying to wait there could be. I think a lot about failure. I try to pull myself together. I succeed temporarily. I talk to a lady who says everything happens for a reason. I agree with her, but I still don’t feel very good.

My soul is tired. I don’t want to live in coffee bars anymore. I don’t want to be in Baltimore. I don’t think I want that much, mostly I don’t want. I want to go. I want to be free and it keeps evading me. Maybe it always will? I don’t want to get drunk and high all the time. I’m ready to change. I’m ready to go. I want to cry but it just doesn’t come. I know I shouldn’t let myself get so bent out by this. Things are still mostly OK. I need to adjust my thinking. I need to get back to accepting things I guess. This shit just keeps going around in circles. I’m sure I needed to take some real action, I did that. Now my desire to see things go to completion is driving me crazy.

A test? Sure, anything can go under that category. I wonder if I’m failing? I’m at the point where I’m giving up on everything I wanted to do this year. This doesn’t feel like Success. The world as I’m seeing it right now is like some receding blip in my vision. All I have is struggling against nothing. I had it right for a little while this morning and soon enough I’ll start drinking again and it’ll all be ok again. I don’t think things will ever make sense and I’m about to stop caring. This doesn’t seem like a good thing, it also doesn’t seem like the proper outcome for some lesson I’m gathering from all of this. I don’t know how to cope anymore but to stop caring.