To read when one wishes to sing the body electric.
[No. 97]
DOES THE STARSEED INSIDE YOU BEHAVE DIFFERENTLY IN THE DAYTIME? IN YOUR BELLY OR YOUR ARM?
“Finally Expelled” by Lila de Magalhaes
A story by author and MBA editor Verônika Shulman [with a little help from some friends]
When I was a child, I was obsessed with this bear at the toy store that had a star-shaped jewel in the center of its belly. In my mind, however, I was a little too old to care so much for such a thing, so I never asked for it. I will tell you, I dreamt of that toy for years.
In equal measure I was enamored of Polly Pockets, especially one that I did possess. It was a lavender star on the outside that I could hold in my palm and when it opened, inside lived a tiny quiet perfect plastic rainforest. I would play with it endlessly in our silver Volvo station wagon, as my mama drove to school, rehearsals, gas, burritos, etc. It was an entire world. One day, I swore to myself, my life will feel like this. Brightly-colored and somehow wading in the wetlands between wilderness and shelter. Protected and yet a part of everything, the whole earth a breathing document.
I am shy to talk of my relationship with God.
It is subtle and I am afraid if I talk about it, it may disappear. Like a dream made on a blown-out birthday candle. At the same time, we’ve been here for some time together in this space, you and I [nearly 2 years] and in the process I have learned to practice radical honesty. Well, the truth is I ask God questions, and she replies.
[Okay, to be fair I am not certain if it’s actually God or maybe some muses or fairies that work for her. At times, I feel like the story of Jacob’s Ladder, and I am the ladder. Covered in angels.] Let me tell you an anecdote. You’ll see what I mean.
Once, I was a creative director at an agency. I was asked to rebrand an organization run by people I did not like. In fact I found them to be very, very bad. I knew it was my time to quit, to do my own thing. I walked into the office of my beloved boss with a tear rolling down my cheek, and I told her I was going to start my own studio. “I won’t be unreasonable,” I pleaded to her, “it’s not like I think I can weave dandelion crowns as a return to my investors.”
It was then I heard a voice inside of my heart whisper, “Yes, you can.” It was clear as day, as if written on a piece of scratch paper. Like something out of Matilda or The Crucible. Later that night I went home and looked to the sky. “If I do this,” I asked aloud, “will you come with me?” The message I got back was, “Let’s dance.” Again, handwritten. [I recently listened to the neuroscientist Andrew Huberman interviewed by Rick Rubin, and he spoke of this same sensation.]
So, Alien………..……..
Does the starseed inside me behave differently in the daytime? In my belly, or in my arm? Hm.
I confess that since this prompt is abstract, I didn’t know just how to respond at first. I grew curious what other artists from the project might write. I asked for help.
* Carol [our Buddhist priest] said, “Early morning light often awakens the Starseed in my heart to joyful gratitude in boundless measure.”
* Monique [our poet] said, “In the daytime, the starseed lives in my head, radioactive & kinetic, like Kerouac’s Roman candle. In the evening, it is rooted in the deep, warm Earth of my belly. Alive & stable—and still, a star.”
* Chase [our filmmaker] said, “Sometimes in the brightness of day, so focused on the brilliance of the stars above and around, I forget it exists at all, unlike at night when it illuminates my mind and reminds me I have my own light to share.”
* Caro [our sculptor] said, “As above, so below—the galaxa goes through the belly.”
* And Sam [our captain] said, “Forever pulsating – – – – my stellar cells expand with the manna of the cosmos.”
Well………..those who know me well know that the early mornings are the time when my muses really come to play. I wake for them and then take naps in the afternoon and gather with real people in the evening. Around the dawn, the starseed is ready to shine. She is guiding the path. She is the lantern. She is the strong female lead. Do you follow me? Okay, does she live in my belly or my arm…..? The thing is, I love my arms. They are freckly and tan. I employ them to practice yoga, to make delicious food, to hug, to clean, and even to write.
But make no mistake, Alien. There is no doubt in my mind that the starseed lives in my belly. I interpret this word organically as the inspiration, the calling, the thread that connects me to you, and us to the heavens. To me the starseed is the everythingness that Cezanne so bravely painted [the apples that melt into the table that melt into the afternoon light]. It is opalescent and ever-glowing, ever-growing. I cannot really describe it. I cannot even completely understand it. Nevertheless I yearn to honor it; I long to foster it. I will dress nicely for it, work my entire life overtime for it. It is so authentic. Yes.
Like the gem-encrusted teddy I am mad for it! The beautiful breakthrough is that as a grownup, I am not afraid to tell you.
“Houses and rooms are full of perfumes, the shelves are crowded with perfumes,
I breathe the
fragrance myself and know it and like it,
The distillation would
intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it.
The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has
no taste of the distillation, it is odorless,
It is for my mouth
forever, I am in love with it,
I will go to the bank by
the wood and become undisguised and naked,
I am mad for it to be
in contact with me…
Have you reckon’d a thousand acres much? have you reckon’d the earth much?
Have you practis’d so long to learn to read?
Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?
Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems,
You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions of suns left,)
You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look through the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in books,
You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me,
You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self.”
from Song of Myself by Walt Whitman
When I read gorgeous words like these from gorgeous people like these.