oh-nine: an illustrated recap...episode 1

it started off as a ritual, in which i honored the events and the energies of oh-nine and all it shared with me. three days later, it was a book - my first full-length graphic memoir, tentatively titled: "pluto cycle."

in the meantime, amalgamated pieces are moonlighting as blog entries - we can all play super awesome bestseller together.

constructive criticism (and hyperbolic praise) is (are) welcomed with arms wide open and tendon-sore from obsessively photoshopping my way into this decade.

happy new now.

love, dani

a little social program called "always"

something dazzling this way percolates

dear dedicated words(r)matter followers (all illion of you),

surprise! i've been on creative hiatus while moonlighting as an accidental chorus girl. that's right, in addition to weaving word wizardry and sketching photorealistic portraiture, i've been shaking my proverbial tail feather onstage with the Sweaty Sundays folks. between rehearsals, performances and mad dash drawing fits as i prepare for my impending art show (17 december at kara wily pilates on larchmont), i've been giving the blog a little breathing room.

it's good to take breaks, to step away from the natural inclination towards compulsive brilliance.

so, i'll just toss out some thoughts i've been playing with of late, and you can let me know how you feel about it all and we'll riff from there - conversation-like, minus inflection and eye contact.

social programs: which ones are you most jazzed to dismantle? send me your list - the lengthier, the better.

courage is sexy. i enCOURAGE its cultivation.

shamans aren't necessarily enlightened.

xx - this moment's awesomest band ever.

gender alchemy, authenticity, dreamtime downloads.

underwold allure and underwear aversion.

what's the difference between discernment and judgment?

doors open and doors close. there is only this moment now. tomorrow is a promise that never comes.

did i mention that xx is aural orgasmic awesomeness?

my computer acknowledges that awesomeness is a word, and yet denies the literary value in awesomest. curious.

the dreamtime already has me in its grips. stay tuned for cohesion and genius - coming soon to a words(r)matter blog post near you.

sweetest dreams to me and you and all of us.

love, dani

what if...

The Mystery of the Ryans

Ryans, Ryans, everywhere Ryans. They all came flooding in at once: heart-chakra Ryan of the infinite sparkle and the bubbling boogie-down dance happy her energy; fifth-chakra Ryan of the every which way expressive "all art, all the time" oomph, and of the awesome-est ever choreography that rocks my world twice weekly; second chakra Ryan of unforseen chemistry, those killer, killer hugs and the royal jelly hook-up; unchakra Ryan of Justin's meteor shower adventures and vague conversational mentions; and shamanic, mystical every chakra Ryan of sacred tingly stuff and heart and magic and now and yes.

Drenched in this onslaught of raining Ryan energy, I wracked the cavernous corners of my monkey mind: What's with the Ryans? What does it all mean?

I pored over the specifics with my favorite mystic, Justin, to no avail. I had a handful of Ryans, and no idea why.

I (sort of) surrendered to the mystery, (kind of) ditched the impetus to over-analyze, and headed up to Ojai with the Queen of the Tantric Sex Fairies, Jara, for some full moon hot springs action.

And it was there, immersed boobie-deep in sacred, sulphur-y water, beneath a blanket of moonlit star-stuff that Jara solved the mystery of the Ryans.

Of course! It's not only my favorite, synchronicity-laden, everything in it's right place constellation, but (AND) I'm reading The Keys of Enoch on Peter the sex shaman's orders AND the magical, mystical, secret mojo of Orion is all over that freakin' book, like Black Holes on the Alchemy Conference.

Mystery solved. Jara rules. Ryans rock.

"tenderness"

While my neighbors reveled in various states of masked and inebriated Halloween folly, I sat in mediation for four straight hours, three of which I endured without shifting my position, straddling alternating bouts of excruciating agony and ecstatic bliss. When I emerged, knees throbbing, heart soaring, head tingling, all I craved was a loving hug. I limped my way into the bathtub, allowing the hot, salty, lavender-laced water to envelope me it's own warm, wet version of the embrace I craved.

And so, I found it fitting to be learning a routine to General Public's "Tenderness" in Ryan Heffington's Sweaty Sundays dance class the next day, receiving just the sort of energies I'd been craving by way of the boogie, and the tune we were jazz-squaring to.

While my right leg and foot were still numb from the evening's four-hour purification sit, my body was thrilled to be moving. We split into groups and spread out to rock the moves. Midway through the routine, I felt a sudden burst of sensation on the bottom of my foot. And suddenly, "tenderness" took on another meaning, entirely.

raw foot flesh against the backdrop of the day's Osho spread

oh, the graceful, delicate beauty of dancer's feet.