To Argentina, With Love

Or something like that.

Listen, friends, I am having a creative awakening.

I’m not sure how it happened exactly, but I’m glad it did. Or is. Or… I don’t know how to talk about or explain these things I guess.

It might have been something planetary—putting that into words feels funny, but, hey, we don’t get to choose the modes of universal organization our hearts feel resonance with, exactly (and I have even less capacity to explain what I mean by that. Maybe later folks.)

Today I’m sitting in a bookstore in Beunos Aires, called Libros Del Pasaje and it is such a sublime space to sit and think and read and write. The name is perfect—pasaje means “passage” which course could refer short extracts from texts, but it also means a ticket or fare for travel—so a place that houses books that are tickets to another world (which books, of course, are). And then it also means a corridor or passageway between spaces or even from one state of being to another—the space itself looks sort of like a passageway strewn with books. Here’s a pic or two, actually:

The walls covered in books are amazing, of course, but my favorite part is the ladders throughout, and the whimsy my heart feels knowing there are rows and rows of books—so many books!—absolutely out of reach without them.

If it’s any indication of my affection for this lil’ place, today is our last day in Argentina (and believe me when I tell you that it has bee incredible) and of all the amazing places we’ve been—huge towers and amazing restaurants and jazz bars and botanical gardens and creepy cemeteris and nature reserves and 43,000 adorable cafe’s), this is where I have chosen to spend the final hours our flight. Also, the cafe is exquisite. (Full disclosure: the original word my word chose was “bussin’” but I’m trying to consciously reduce my use of AAVE so today we get exquisite. (Yawn.))

But seriously—yum.

One more note on Argentina before I talk about other stuff: the food here is absolutely incredible. Most clichè thing to say about travel, I know, but when I tell you that every bite of food I have put in my mouth in this country has stunned me with its richness, flavor, and quality… it’s shocking every single time. I’m not sure what we are doing to our food up in the States—like what kind of preservative-filled, formaldehyde-drenched, genetically modified monstrosities are we making our food with up there anyway?—but what I do now know is that we are living far, far, below our potential in terms of flavor, freshness, quality, etc. For sure.

Okay, the astrology story? Wanna hear it?

Long story short: I’m becoming that basic bitch, slowly but surely.

Long story long and winding and AdhD-elicous (Ha! I like that one. Gonna use that forever more, unless I forget it exists in four seconds which is equally possible!):

I’ve had a very hesitant relationship with astrology my entire life which might not sound too surprising given my upbringing, but you have to understand that as I have come to know myself in recent years I have discovered that, unlike the very unconvincing straight-man avatar I was attempting to evince for most my life, it turns out I am that exact woo woo frou frou la la basic bitch gay who would use astrology as a prognosticating guidepost on decisions ranging from where to live to which pair of argyle socks to wear in the morning for emitting the “right vibe”— (see: me guzzling pumpkin spice lattes in Autumn like an SUV guzzles petrol; see: me listening, enraptured, to any tarot reading offered and even hoping, someday, to be gifted a bomb set of tarot cards because I actually believe there is something to the idea that you should never buy them; see: me occasionally catching myself referring to the Universe in a way that sounds less like the cosmic entity that comprises all material and non-material elements in its mysterious, wide-ranging expansion from the Big Bang onward, and more like it’s my personal sugar daddy intent on showering gifts on moi, its favorite sweet young thang *bats eyes*; see: the fact that I literally enjoy feeling the energy of certain crystals and stones and am looking at a chunk of obsidian right next to me as I type—need I continue???

But not only that, unlike other folks raised in strict religions, my family has always had a spirituality that far exceeded the parameters of the religion in which I was raised/traumatized/oppressed (Mormonism) and has for generations. My people have a strange connection to the dead—to hearing from those who have passed, very clearly and very immediately, often in actual words; to dreams and visions; to revelations and psychic knowings; to all the “clairs” to varying degrees (clairvoyance, clairsentience, clairaudience, etc… basically the five senses, but on a feelings, spiritual, or energetic level). These were things I grew up with alongside the more cult-like aspects of fundamentalism, and were such clear, obvious part of my essence that when all the institutional garbage fell away after I finally embraced my gayness fully at the tender age of 37 years old—I was left with all the really good stuff— the very pulp, the very core of a spiritual self that I had, without realizing it, been developing all along, except now without all the institutional, patriarchy-protective, Masculinity Worshipping, oppressive rules, regulations, and fears, that served to oppress and cast doubt upon the more feminine epistemologies and forms of knowing (ya know, like feelings and ghosts and spirits and planets and things that can’t be pinned down by a microscope or sword.)

So yeah, given this, I do find it a bit odd that I’ve always struggled to connect with the linearities and vagaries of this expansive Universe and how those alignments, on a macro level in space and a micro level in time (like the state of planetary orbits on a birthday or even a birth minute), might combine in significant, consciousness-altering ways, even though I totally believe that in a similar way, a person born into a particular Earth-based environment, or even family system, might, by sometimes very similarly unmeasurable factors, be influenced from birth until death.

It’s just that I’ve never ever resonated with my sun sign (Taurus)—at least in the ways talked about in horoscopes. Example: I’m supposed to be wildly materialistic. But… I’m not. I kinda don’t give a shit about materialism. I don’t much care what fucking car I drive or how my clothes look most of the time. And while, like anybody, I can appreciate high quality (to which my previous discussion of Argentinian food attests) I I am also a lover of all things low brow, all things Dorito, all things Olive Garden, all things Kraft box macaroni and cheese. Not like “Oh, I don’t mind eating that stuff…” No, I actually love that shit. I will eat a Denny’s breakfast and I will luxuriate in that breakfast and its buttery syrupy cheap-ass goodness. AND I will give zero shits about what people think that means about me on an image level either. “Yes. McDonald’s has delicious fries and the fettuccini Alfredo at Olive Garden is like a mother’s tender hug in food-form, and I’m not ashamed to admit that fact. AND?

Anyway, the bunny trails here have finally wound their way to the actual story, which I can’t really fully remember and am going to talk about perhaps a bit inaccurately (oopsie) because, like I said, this whole astrology-meaning-something-to-me situation is new, but essentially, a few weeks ago there was this thing-a-ma-bob where Pluto moved castles or houses or some shit, and people were kinda freaking out about it like they often do about this kind of thing on my particular side of Tickle Tockle. Now, understand, usually I kinda halfway listen to those things when they pop up—more because I’m too lazy to swipe than anything else. (I’ve found they almost invariably follow the following script: If you are seeing this tiktok, it means the Universe has a message JUST FOR YOU… *continues to wax prophetic with lots of talk of energies and vibrations and alignments that sometimes feels a bit forced but other times seems to resonate a bit—I dunno I’m the new kid here okay????—and then at the end says “and when you notice these things happen come back to this video and leave a comment” as if anybody has ever one time remembered to RETURN to a tiktok and leave a comment while living their day-to-day life.*

But yeah, the sheer number of people talking about this Pluto thingie made it clear: this was a big fucking deal. Especially for people who had certain signs in their natal chart, or whatever, one of which being Libra, which I happen, with my scant but growing body of research, to know is my blah blah sign (the one that’s not sun or moon, both of which, for me, are Taurus—feel free to tell me what the fuck that means about me if you happen to know. And please don’t mention love of lucre or fancy things, and definitely don’t talk about me beings stubborn, because no I’m fucking not and I will not hear otherwise! *folds arms and taps foot stubbornly*)

RISING. Libra is my rising sign. And they mentioned this shifty-mcdoodle was relevant to me because of that fact. And so, I kind of paid attention, or tried to. But also, my Boggle-ish game is really fun and I’m almost in the top ten players IN THE WORLD on it and also there is this thing called Reels which also has talking heads saying interesting things and also, what was I talking about again? Oh yes! My story! My story about how I was getting distracted during the many eager and intense Tiktok newscasts about Pluto’s suddenly-shifting environs!

So the message, as you can imagine, only got partway into my brain. Something about 16 years, and something about being unblocked now, and something about if you have felt stuck for a really fucking long time this planetary shift is such a big huge deal, like the biggest and hugest huge deal, and then twenty variations of “if you enjoyed this communique from the Universe please follow my TickleTalk cuz Daddy God Algorithm brought you here which means it is DESTINY with a Capital D quick don’t miss out here’s a link to my Shadow Work guide!”

By this point, I was fully Boggling (only not Boggle—the game I love is called something really cheesy like PlayPals Word Search (all right FINE, I’ll look the real one up so you can come play it too, please hold… It is called Play Pals Word Bobble (and see that? It’s bobble, with b’s not g’s—see how NOT infringing on any copyrights that name is???).

In addition this the game, I was also starting to fall asleep because it was a Saturday and I had just made my bed, and my space heater was making my bedroom nice and warm and comf comf, and my head accidentally was on my pillow, and off I went to sleepy-town, and then, in that strange twilight between awake and asleep where the layer between us and ghosties seems to somehow become thinner (I think, actually, it’s likely some kind of brain-wave shift, but let’s not get bobbed down by the details, see what I did there???) someone from the other side caught my attention in a semi-dream-situation and was like, except not in words cuz my brain doesn’t think in words it thinks in thought bubble things that I can’t really explain, but if I had to translate the bubbles they said something like, “Uh, yes, hello. Joshua? I know you’re falling asleep rn, but could I, perhaps, interest you in a tiny reality check? What phrase have you used to describe your writing situation for approximately, oh, I dunno, 16 years? (ANSWER: BLOCKED) And what, conversely, happened exactly 16 years ago, at this time? (ANSWER: I WROTE A NOVEL, SENT ONE QUERY TO ONE AGENT, HAD THAT AGENT ASK FOR A PARTIAL AND THEN NEVER WAS ABLE TO WORK ON THE BOOK AGAIN BECAUSE I WAS INEXPLICABLY, WEIRDLY, AWKWARDLY, HORRIFYINGLY BLOOOOOOOOCKED AND HAVE BEEN LARGELY CREATIVELY BLOCKED EVER SINCE!!!) *by this point I am awake and sitting up in bed and really paying attention to these thought bubbles* Yes, that is correct—you got blocked 16 years ago. So maybe, just maybe, you should take note of the fact that we are trying to tell you that this event is the end to that block. You’re done being blocked by Pluto! Clogged creativity?? OVER. The toilet has been plunged, the movement is back! It is written in the stars! You are freeeeeee. It will all flooooooow now!!!!”

I know it maybe sounds a bit silly, but that’s actually not far off from what happened inside my brain at that moment, and then, suddenly, I just knew. I could just feel it. The blockages to my creative output? Gone. They just suddenly didn’t exist anymore in the same way they used. Even in my brain. Even as I thought about creative output of any kind. Something was just… different.

And it’s odd because I don’t mean to say that there still aren’t times where circumstances prevent me from being as creative and expressive as I’d like. Because of course there are, and likely always will be—not in a bad way—in a life-is-a-delicious concantenation-of-wild-and-unanticipated-moments-and-sometimes-you-get-the-perfect-line-of-a-poem-but-you’re-in-the-dentist’s-chair kind of way.

But on a differently level, something has happened. Some port between mind and soul, some filament has bridged the cavern between concept and execution in my persona on a soul-level.

Even this long, fun letter is an example of it, I think?

What was once inaccessible is now totally accessible. What was once hard (writing/editing/submitting/getting things done and out there) is suddenly very easy. What was once block is now flow. And I could feel it that very first day. I could feel my access point to “doing” in a different place in my spirit. I could feel the ease of access and the ease of creating and the ease of transmission of those creations. Not block. No interruption. Just easy coming together, an easy flowing of elements into the perfect state of isness (instead of could-be-ness which is where things seemed stuck for so long.)

A year or so ago I had a clearing session with my friend Megan Burnside and I was, still, 15 years later obsessed with finishing that novel I wrote. I was so committed! I was going to do it! Nothing was going to stop me, stand in my way, prevent me from feeling capable of action! I wanted to, and so I would, goddamit!!!

And she had the most beautiful imagery for me at that time, that, in context with this thing that happened, makes so much sense. She used to work as a doula/midwife, and she helped me see at that point that that I have been in a period of gestation. That it wasn’t my job to push, it was my job to wait, and the signals to push would come in their own time and way. And that gestation can take a really, really long time. But that the time for things to be housed within us, as part of us, expanding and growing and getting ready to be born, is very important—is crucial, in fact, to the process of expanding into a material existence. And she talked about how common it is to, when nearing the time of labor, want to do anything to speed the process along, to get the thing that has lived in us for so long out of us and to get our body back, and just let the new thing, the new life, exist. And she pointed out, correctly, that that’s what I was doing with my book. I was trying to rush the labor and delivery. I was trying to point to my belly, pregnant with a well-formed potential living thing, and saying to God/Source/Universe: I’m very determined to get this thing into the world, and nothing will stop me! I will do this!! I’ve wanted to do this for so long! All it takes is a little willpower, right??” and then started pushing. Pushing and pushing and pushing. Pushing before contractions. Pushing so hard I shit myself. Pushing so hard, perhaps, that I prolapsed then had to recover several times over the years. And then I looked at God, hot with anger, and said “you’re the one that put this IN me. What, are you NEVER gonna let me get it out?” And she, wise mother that she is, clucked and soothed and said just wait. The time will come.

Well, plot twist, Pluto switched department stores last month, and I’m a fucking Libra rising, bitches.

The time to push is finally here!!!!!!

Also, fun note: on the day this all happened, right after this realization as I was falling asleep, I started feeling very sick. And I did get sick. For two weeks I was sick.

It is not lost on me that She has a sense of humor, that Universe of ours.

Anyway, this entry has been fun, and half of it was written in a book store in Argentina, and half of it on the plane-ride home, and the third half at my desk in my house looking out at the fence that is being rebuilt in my back yard after a windstorm.

And now it is done. And it’s time to birth it out of me and into the world.

With love,

Joshua