Globalboho.Life: #revisionistpurist.

Making some changes.
To the #gypsethaul.
Which is big.

The last baseline revision went down in June of 2013 while in Eleuthera, holed up in a one room shack over Surfer’s Beach on the Atlantic Ocean side of the long-assed outer isle. I’d been down there a few years earlier as the “Artist in Residence” at a guesthouse down the road from it.

My AIR gig was to take kids to go do art so parents could romp, and to put on coffee at 8am so no one else had to get up.  Plus design & paint two vivid road signs so people could find the place. That was it. One of my Best #artgigs ever to this DAY lol.  And no…I don’t mean I was a barista. I mean… I had to get up by 745am… to put on coffee in an Autodrip machine…to brew for 8am…and crawl back into bed because that particular enclave in the Bahamas was a multigenerational hood of partying elder statesmen pirates and pachamama hippie gringo gaia goddesses.  But I made the FUCK outta that coffee lol. I felt so loved by God( and by Tom & Liz, the cool-assed proprietors OF Surfer’s Haven ) that THIS was my life that everybody tasted it in every cup and was blown away. I just told them it was due to putting cardamom pods in the grounds, but nope! Alchemical God-Love lol.

I Loved that lil shack I stayed in the second time around, too. Rainwater showers that I had to haul myself, warm, just harvested pineapple handed gratis to me out the  rusty trunks of pretty-eyed old Gregorytown men just to see me blushgrin, lazy-assed Bahamian bees all up in the eaves & flying in and out my flung open doors like “no worries, gahl, it’s too hot to be stingin’ gya~nice what ya’ve done to tha space~” Maaan~ there were outlaws and tech-hippies living in geodesic domes and Peter Pan treehouses peppering the bush ambling across jagged, car-devouring limestone roads down to the beach- If the zoning laws would have allowed container cars to be lugged onto the island and built out the rest of AOLAB would have never happened. Why? Because there was a small plot of land I could gotten for 26 grand that gave just enough of a sliver of lush green junglebush and ultramarine sea I desired… up the hill from Surfer’s Beach, where I still am going to one day catch a wave. Plus I could already stay for six months as it was, but as a working artist with an actual low-key quasi-permanent local exhibit the time allowed sky-rocketed to 18 months, with the okay to work on my art and sell it.  Most of my enclave neighbors were nudists of some degree, the expats there were like my original gaijin crew of yore in Tokyo[energetically speaking],  and everybody drove drunk like in Nola so they didn’t care I couldn’t drive lol.  There was even a local matriarch married to a cool-assed expat who I used to go watch Survivor with and shyly felt looked after by.  It was her who hired me out for more signage work and installed my collaged surfboards in her institution of a jam spot in town.

It ALMOST had Everything-  almost. The deep Blue, the verdant Green…even the earth was a vivid red due to the Iron- but it just wasn’t IT yet. It was for working. I saw who I’d have been there if I’d stayed…and she was full of Grace…but it just wasn’t my  permanent place. And you can’t act like you don’t see that when you do without losing your fucking mind and every aspect of all you have becoming a cavernous tomb. I’m too young of spirit to be building out my mausoleum on earth. And it’s but grace of god that I realize that about Me. #everybodyisdiff. That was the one thing we had in common lol, my neighbors there and I. The #aolab #globalboho trek I was on, they’d all done their versions of.  And tried the places on their lists too. All of them. They gave me pointers on some spots, confirmed others I told  them I was feeling pulled to. It was like finding a weird pod of expats from a planet that at least knew of your own lol.

During the 2013 Baseline revision time I was working so rabidly on letting the first few chapters of #Exile come through that some certain mofos on the punk-assed (yet finefine, duly noted technically more traditionally beautiful (but I’ve always been more Oceanic than Sea-ish so #debatable) Caribbean  side of the island who’d been told in writing (*cough) I was coming there to #werk were insulted because they thought the #bookkids geist was going to be overridden by batshit Amazonian pheromones & I was really going to be triggered into Tiger hunting their ass mode  by smell lol. But Nope lol. I never felt forgiven for that lol.

 

Fastforward to today.

My baseline used to be bigger due to #researchmode (yep, books&art 3yrs) &then traveling with components of an art install at the ready at all times mode(2yrs). I’ve beaten the hell out of the last standing Rocky (my case), though he still is fine. I got him in a style to amp the scratches. But now there’s a case that is #eyefuckingthefuckoutofme. Which hasn’t happened before. & it’s helping me rethink Everything. Because who I was when I began this AOLAB trek wouldn’t have gravitated to this one at all…which is making me recognize what else  needs to be whittled away. It’s like Venice, post finishing the rewrites on the full ten books.

 

To not have that {truly Loved} weight on me, for it to not be lost as much as it was just Utilized, transformed to  what I was carrying it all around in hopes it’d one day be …reveals my having gotten to being the woman I’d pinpointed & pinned my hopes on being while shaking my ass with 5000 folks at that  Unlimited Power Within event in 2014 on paths that looked nothing like what I was imagining the journey would, even with many of the imagined variables still actually having ended up in play. The paths being diff changes my interpretations of where I’ve arrived and its components, as is often the case with metaphysical journeys-

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which is why I’m always yelling at you guys to

enjoy the fn ride.

Ya don’t get it back, so embrace it.

And it’s taken every stop on the journey Until now to sharpen the saw for the whittling that is afoot now. Which is fascinatingly cool to me.

But beyond the metaphysical- which any full-blooded Virgo loves due to the analytical breadth and depths possible exploring that off in the cut, whether they get to have an actual conversation about that sort of stuff all the time or not, there are the simple, pragmatic things.

Like recognizing that because I now donate costumes from shows to  local performing arts outfits or schools, get all #BurningMan at the end of installs with the remaining work- scattering the ashes in gratitude upon the grid that honored my presence in its zone by sending in its constituents & their fiscal patronage (#itdefinitelyhelps), and  most spots now outfit me upon arrival with supplies because the word has spiritually spread that imma handle my arthead bidness in a way that’s going to be a boon to them[ #thanksartheadgigs], I  NOW need a thick yet foldable travel yoga mat and a meditation pillow in my case these days more than a stash of paints and sketchbooks just in case[ that I tend to dole out to fellow youngin’ trekkers on the road anyway like it’s a #GypsyChristmas because of said outfitting & because I’m so about that document this life you’re having the balls to lead no matter how loud ya mama is yelling “what about  society’s expectations?!” lifestyle and truly believe We mid-rangers who got to toke with the old-school gypsetters and vagabond gypsies MUST encourage these  new trekker mofos we meet on the road so they go back & encourage their youngers …& maybe even those same fearfully yelling mamas and papas to get out there for more than instagram likes.

The call to hit the road \ awakening is not age specific… and if we DON’T  #showourselves #ontheroad the #gypsygenome’s going to bland the fuck out into some National Lampoons Wallyworld, American Vacation bullshit lol. And NOT in a great, Chevy Chase kind of way, either! Lest you get any…Nooo~ I mean the nightmarish excursions that Inspired that comedic masterpiece lol (#ChevyChaseforLife lol(#theAngel tosses up both #SNL & #Community gang signs, even tho he ruined her fave show off camera).

 

Why? Because my extroverted Introvert ass being centered in some sembance of a Bodhi practice makes me more available to God to even  kibbutz with those same youngins.

I call’em his #GoHelps lol & it’s gotten so bad that sometimes even he’s like “Nah~  you don’t Hafta help that one. Don’t tell’em Shii- They’re a jerk” & I’m the one getting all Noah-ish defending the whathaveyous with don’t drown everybodyisms, all “umm~Ya told me to be giving since ya gave meeee~isn’t there Something remotely decent about’em? I only even See they need X because of you” “Finefine, they’re still lil shits, but go on, go help. Imma say I told you though down the road~lol.” He’s been right every time… but I love the muscle memory to not be such a hermit and be more kind took so that I’m now itching to do it lol.

I realize now… they can go buy a damn notebook but they can’t buy confirmation that the seemingly crazy shit they’re feeling drawn to IS a norm for some of us that comes from talking to weirdos a lil further down the #artheadselflovepath  than they are who want or need nothing from them & get nothing out of it but paying it forward.

In hindsight, I know I touched and calmed down more kindergypsies on the road over food, impartation of havens, and corroborating spirit of city ley line energy readings than sketchbooks. And For real? The sketchbooks Helped.  To start. Because I was NOT that chatty chick. Still aint.  Yeah, I’ve always been an “We all are artists, you just have to find your medium…go see if these acrylics are it sans judgment” proselytizer.

But I’ve re- met the wild ones who took my actual words to heart down the road and went and actually Opened hostels on their home turfs. Which Ripped my chest open because it was stumbled upon.  And I have ALWAYS been that arthead who  encourages other artheads who Think I’ve pulled some magic trick to land a show that it’s all pragmatics and they can pull off the shit too, their way, what with honesty & the cajones to try.  And I’ve started seeing some of the shy punkasses finally wake up and realize I’m not blowing smoke up their ass, Participation trophy-wise and just fucking GO for it, only to knock it out the box.

 

The service call changes.

What we are called to do HAS to morph as we Do the things…because as they are done…ya can’t keep doing them. Because they’re done. You know what I mean?

There has to be a new what now?

Because there  is always a new now until we get the fuck off this rock lol.

And my old baseline is cool- I could sell it lol. I will. It’s scientific as fuck, created by a chick who hated all science but Physics because she saw them as poets who know it too. It’s just my assignment has changed.

Every next level of your life will demand a different you.
Photo by icon0.com

But as for you?

Start where you are.

…and

enjoy the fn ride.

Dammit.

I’m going to keep saying it until you are fully doing it.

#THATpart?

…hasn’t changed yet.

Lol- & the change will be in my finally not Having to because yall are reminding yourselves to allatime instead of my ass having to. 🙂 .

-A.B.

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