Attempts to communicate with the Universe. Lettres à l’Univers et autres destinataires.

You posted this video on FB and I couldn’t help responding to your comment. But since my response turned into a letter of sorts, I felt it might be a little weird to post as a comment… Let’s just say I got carried away. So here goes the video, and my loving answer to you.

I hear you, Ashley. Can’t say I hear her quite as clearly. Yes Barbara Ehrenreich is smart, she’s a scientist, she makes sense. My first thought is, that, well, what Barbara Ehrenreich might be really trying to talk about, indirectly, is the way the corporate world has been consistently turning innovative and mind-altering thinking into brainwashing tools.

I find it interesting that she talks about how we KNOW certain facts, and how she dismisses certain elements of truth. Realism is the key? Sure. But doesn’t being realistic include looking at the world with several sets of eyes, and from different angles. Isn’t science all about looking at everything with a fresh perspective? What of the great benefits of philosophy to the human soul? What of other scientific facts?

We KNOW there are many ways of looking at the world, and that a combination of several is probably the best option if we’re to try to understand the world. We SEE that some of us have a unnatural tendency to darkness born from education, experience, which replaces our basic ability to live life as a miracle. And it just so happens we also KNOW that the hardwired vigilance Ms Ehrenreich is mentioning is embedded with fear and is triggered when we are facing unidentified situations or environments.

That little ‘danger alarm’ set-up, which all human brains share to a certain extent, and which, yes, has allowed us to survive over the last millions (billions?) of years, ALSO makes us spontaneously resistant to change, novelty, and the unknown. JUST BECAUSE IT FREAKS US OUT, BECAUSE WE DON’T KNOW WHAT WILL HAPPEN. FOR THE SAME REASON DEATH FREAKS US OUT.

Fear of the unknown. It gives birth to anger. Because when we’re scared, we get angry, because that’s the primitive response needed to go kick ass in the jungle.

So let’s live, because we’re not dead yet. And because thinkers of all kinds, forever, have been giving us tools to think differently. Fear is primitive. We can do better than that.

Chaos in your heart is a good thing.

Now, I also happen to know that your heart is fueled with a million contradictory thoughts right now. And a lot of your inner meanderings have to do with basic brain chemistry. Just remember that.

Wishing you love and peace and so many great times to come. I can’t wait.
MN

So a few people lately have asked me about some of the lyrics I’ve written in the last couple of years, and whether they could find them on my blog. For some reason I never thought of it. I tend to forget them as soon as I give them to the musicians I work with. And then when I hear them again, on record or on stage, I always have this sort of weird moment where I can’t figure out for the life of me where they came from. So here goes, I’ll post them randomly now and then. This first one is for Marcus and the Music and you listen to the song on their facebook page .

Mad Love, always,
MND

LIFE AND LOVE
Paroles MN DANA/Musique Marcus Linon

TIME TO PLAY, IT’S TIME TO PLAY
YOU’D CLOSE THE DOOR, I’D HEAR YOU SAY
GOODNIGHT, YOU SING, TONIGHT I’LL STAY
MY VOICE IS YOURS, I’M HERE TODAY COS

SONGS OF OUR PAST CARRY OUR FUTURE HOPES FOR TOMORROW
SOUNDS IN OUR HEARTS SHELTER DREAMS AND OUR WISHES FOR TOMORROW

TIME TO LIVE, IT’S TIME TO LIVE
OPEN THE DOOR, I HEAR YOU SAY
TODAY WE DANCE, TODAY WE PRAISE
YOUR FRIENDS AND MINE ARE HERE TO STAY COS

SONGS OF OUR PAST CARRY OUR FUTURE HOPES FOR TOMORROW
SOUNDS IN OUR HEARTS SHELTER DREAMS AND OUR WISHES FOR TOMORROW
SONGS OF OUR PAST CARRY OUR FUTURE HOPES FOR TOMORROW
SOUNDS IN OUR HEARTS SHELTER DREAMS AND OUR WISHES FOR TOMORROW

SING IT TO ME IN TUNE YOU SING IT
SING IT TO ME IN TIME AGAIN
SING IT TO ME UNTIL THE END OF TIME
SING IT TO ME IN TUNE YOU SING IT
SING IT TO ME IN TIME AGAIN
SING IT TO ME UNTIL THE END OF TIME
SING IT TO ME IN TUNE YOU SING IT
SING IT TO ME IN TIME AGAIN
SING IT TO ME UNTIL THE END OF TIME
SING IT TO ME IN TUNE YOU SING IT
SING IT TO ME IN TIME AGAIN
SING IT TO ME UNTIL THE END OF TIME

ONE DAY YOU TOLD ME THAT ONE DAY THE CHILDREN WOULD SING TOGETHER
I’M STILL WAITING FOR THE DAY WANNA SEE THE KIDS SING TOGETHER
WON’T YOU HELP ME SING THE DREAM OF PEOPLE PLAYING TOGETHER
DO YOU BELIEVE YOU AND ME CAN MAKE PEOPLE DANCE FOREVER?

WE ARE LIFE AND LOVE.

TIME TO CHANGE, IT’S TIME TO CHANGE
TO SMASH THE DOORS, TO HEAR AND SAY
GOOD DAY, WE SING, GOOD DAY TO CHANGE
YOU’RE MINE, I’M YOURS, WE’RE HERE TODAY COS

SONGS OF OUR PAST CARRY OUR FUTURE HOPES FOR TOMORROW
SOUNDS IN OUR HEARTS SHELTER DREAMS AND OUR WISHES FOR TOMORROW

SING IT TO ME IN TUNE YOU SING IT
SING IT TO ME IN TIME AGAIN
SING IT TO ME UNTIL THE END OF TIME
SING IT TO ME IN TUNE YOU SING IT
SING IT TO ME IN TIME AGAIN
SING IT TO ME UNTIL THE END OF TIME

It’s been a long and winding road, but I hear the bells ringing, and they don’t make my head hurt anymore.

So it appears I have mellowed, miraculously, over the last few months. Psychonalysis can be given some major credit, of course, and my relentless desire for inner peace is bearing fruits. I’d also like to thank the academy, my family and friends, for puttign up with me these last few years. And I’ll never speak highly enough of my intensive non acid esther-c vitamin regimen, which has made it possible for me to wake up every morning before 8 am and not want to shoot someone.

I’m also communicating better (though my lack of regularity writing on this blog might say otherwise, but I’m pretty good at posting inspired and cryptic triple haikus as my facebook statuses). Paranoia is easing up tremendously. Now, if a guy attempts to approach me, I’m able to conceive that he’s probably not from the CIA, and not totally out to screw with me. Just a little, on principle. It’s all pretty straight forward. I’m back to my old ways, less the crap, and less the need to stare at men like they’re pieces of candy. That’s a step in the right direction.

Work seems to be heading in the right direction too. Momentum is around the corner, and there’s definitely a sense of reconciliation with myself, my personal paradox, and the curiosity to explore every dark and light corner of my mind. Become who you are. Right. I’m all that.

Have been reading a lot of Irvin Yalom. He rocks my world. If he weren’t over 60, I’d probably have his babies. He’s genius. It’s like reconnecting to a close relative you didn’t know you had. Total encounter of the third kind.

I’m also experiencing something brand new. I’m exchanging emails and having conversations with someone who’s at the very opposite of me in the solar system. Pro-everything I’m against. But open about everything. Makes it very real to engage with someone intellectually who doesn’t think how I do, yet makes me crack up with laughter and want to stay open and flowing. Cats and dogs. There’s been crazier things in the world, I’m sure. But it sure takes a lot of mind-opening from my part. Extremely enjoyable.

So thanks, Easter Bunny, you always come at a time of reflection. Not much chocolate for me this year. A lot of duck in every shape and form, and white wine, and giggles. The works.

I get to meet my newest god-child tomorrow. Her name is Nyssa. Glowing new life in the Universe.

And now for some packing and organizing before plane back to Paris.

Mad Love, always, and missing my friends out and about the world
MN

There’s been so much to say, or somehow so little, that it’s been very hard to regroup my different thoughts and write a comprehensive letter to the universe lately. It’s been more like little notes, shooting up here and there. Sometimes like post-its (Get your hair cut short so your hair can’t rule over your life anymore), sometimes like post-scriptums (Wow, a year ago today, my heart was actually broken into small pieces, but I only just realized it. Happy break-up anniversary to me).

The truth is, cutting my hair and admitting to the heartbreak are just two of the little things I’ve been doing to make up with myself. I tried making out with others, but disliked it immensely, to my astonishment. (NB : I used to love making out. Well, I don’t anymore. There’s a before and an after. Just like in movies. In biographies. Interesting. I’m seeing the curves slowly shaping out on my imaginary book. She was loved but couldn’t love. She thought she loved and it turned her to a crappy pile of mush. But in between those two dramatic high points, she became a mom, skitted on chaos and turned into a shining star). I landed a few writing jobs, spent most of my time alone, watched a lot of tv shows, a lot of movies, getting inspired by other people’s work, achievements, fictitious lives. The great thing about fiction is that you can turn it off, or tune out, or remember it’s not life, at any given time.

Reconciliation is hard. First, it’s about figuring out you’re angry. Or sad. Or both. Then, it’s about figuring out what happened, and how it happened, and how you let it happen, and how it’s changed you. And once you’ve been through all that, it’s about being ok with it. Letting it slide. Accepting it. Finding the humor in it. Relativity. I’m lucky I have this incredible child to be a parent to. It makes a huge difference. It gives me perspective. And makes me laugh. And brings me a sense of time and achievement on a daily basis. It also helps keep my spine vibrant and tall. I mean, my kid adds huge suns and pretty flowers on ALL her drawings. I must be doing SOMETHING right.

So reconciliation is hard, but once you figure out that there was an inner conflict to begin with, it’s just about rolling with it until the knots are all untangled and there’s all these little threads floating in the air, ready to be weaved into something that makes sense, again.

I’ve got a lot of little threads floating. I think I’m ready to pull out the superglu and get to work. Gracefully. Or not. It’s ok, whatever I do with them, they’ll make a pretty picture, even if I don’t see it clearly in my mind just yet.

Over and out, and back in, and on top of things.

Mad Love out to the Universe,
MN

The mere fact you’re a twenty-ten, rather than a two thousand something, makes you way cooler than your predecessors. There’s hope. I’m looking forward to you as the year where everything planted grows and rejoices under the sun. I’ve worked hard, this past year, to assess and improve. Come on, 20/10, you’re space, you’re time, so I ask you this: will you support my endeavors by being solid as gold whatever I’m doing, whether I’m writing, parenting, meditating, exercising, laughing, thinking, dancing, loving? There’s a little bit of David Bowie in me… I love time as much as it scares me. You’re my year to conquer all fears.

Mad Love,
MN

Wow. Where I should even start… I first thought, spontaneously, “good riddance”. But the second after, I thought, “Wow, holy craperoni, no way, 2009 was actually great, intense, filled with lessons and experiences…” So here is how I’ll start: Thank You, 2009, you’ve taught me a lot.

Lessons learned this year sometimes came wrapped up in sandpaper. Like the one about choosing to stay true to myself, even if that meant explaining to Clarisse, time and time again over the course of a few months, that, no, breakfast in bed with mommy and daddy wasn’t an option anymore, because sometimes people just aren’t in love anymore, and to each his own bed, and that’s ok, it’s a grown-up thing and we still love you forever and forever and that will not change. Or the one about accepting that people’s issues are not your own, that you can’t change people if they don’t want to, and even if they’ve changed you.

Lessons also come in a shimmery coat of joy, like the realization that you can do whatever you want to do, that you can let go of the angst and the pain and the past, and embrace the cracks and the quirks that make you special and unique and wonderful. Or that in a few weeks, you’re able to conquer all five positions of the Tibetan Yoga cycle. Or that writing is what your life is about and you’ve already co-written one book, three screenplays, 25 songs. Or that you have faithful loyal brilliant caring talented inspiring friends across the universe and beyond. And, above it all, that your four-year-old child can one day verbally express her fear of death and a few weeks later, how much she loves her life. And isn’t it what it’s all about…

2009, you’ve been good to me. Good because filled with changes, friendship, personal revolutions, and love, in unusual unromantic ways.

I’m grateful. And looking forward to 2010. But more on that later.

Mad Love to you, and to myself, and to everyone,
MND

Will you slow down already! I keep meaning to write new blog letters, to old friends and current witnesses of the various states of MN, and time goes by and I don’t write. It’s not even that I’m soooo very busy right now, it’s just that I’m diving into end of the year nothingness. Or allness. Or both.

The end of the year is traditionally my über-phase of reflection. What have I done and what will I do? What on earth and for crying out loud have and shall I apply myself to? I also have a letter to Lisa the awesome Aussie in the works on motherhood versus womanhood. Maybe I’ll try wrapping that one today, help add perspective to my end of the year debrief. Of course, that’s if I can extract myself from the movie marathon I’m engrossed in.

Clarisse left two mornings ago for a week of country time at her grandparents’ house, which means I’m free to do whatever the hell I want after weeks of Santa Clausing fury. You’d think I’d be off running the streets, getting myself into trouble and connecting to my deeper senses (read promiscuous sex, of course). But times have changed, they have, and men bore me. More on that later. So instead, I’m relishing the silence of my apartment, and am already well into my 8th or 9th movie, I think. Including a trip outside to check out 3D Avatar and 3D popcorn with my brother to chaperone me. He’s not a man, he’s my little brother.

The thing is, aside from Avatar because, while visually stunning, it really is just entertainment (though many lessons are to be learned for such a collection of cliché-based characters and dialogues), the thing is… where was I..? Oh yeah, so the thing is, after watching 8 or 9 movies which have all been pretty good, or sometimes really good, and even deep in their resonance within my own current questions, well, it struck me. Fictional characters depicted in movies are more engaged in who they are and what they’re facing than actual real human beings in real life, who seem to be floating between their lines and their scenes like bad actors. I find that, for the most part, people are not engaged in themselve, they’re just pretending, and they suck at it. In conversations. In reunions. And as a result, they’re mostly boring. Like bad actors. And the people who are engaged, well, they live far away, travel a lot, scatter their attention somewhat. So it’s no wonder really that I have been spending so much time as a recluse hermit of sorts.

That said, one of the things I’m looking forward to in 2010 is traveling. I’m definitely going to India, or New Zealand, or Japan. Somewhere different with different people who think differently from me. Challenge my perception of human beings.

That’s a good start to my 2010 list.

Mad Love,
MND

Ca va être compliqué de t’écrire cette lettre en français alors que j’ai promis d’être ta marraine qui te rendra bilingue, mais le fait est que tes petits et grands camarades ici présents ne vont rien comprendre sinon. Quand tu seras parfaitement bilingue, tu prendras conscience des limites crasses de ton environnement, et tu t’adapteras avec grâce. Euh, pour la grâce, tu vois avec ta mère, s’il-te-plaît…

Quand Fred -ta mère- toujours elle, m’a annoncé qu’elle et Marc (oui, ton père, le grand qui s’énerve tout le temps mais qui est drôle, donc ça passe), quand ta mère disais-je, m’a proposé d’être marraine, j’ai fait des petits bonds, j’ai applaudi, j’ai esquissé quelques pas de danse, bref, j’ai manifesté ma joie. Oui, en pleine rue. A ce propos, n’aie honte de rien, Charlie. Jamais. Ca fait partie des milliers de trucs que je vais t’apprendre. Parce que marraine, c’est un concept. C’est la classe. C’est l’interaction adulte/enfant sans risquer d’en coller pour dix ans de psychanalyse à qui que ce soit.

Marraine, c’est comme dans La Belle au Bois Dormant, ou Cendrillon, mais en symbolique, hein, parce que les citrouilles et les princes charmants, et les folles furieuses qui crachent du feu, ça n’existe pas. Encore que, dans une réalité toute relative, les folles furieuses… mais on en parlera plus tard. Donc une marraine, c’est symbolique. D’après mon expérience, c’est une femme excentrique, drôle, fantasque, qui peut te présenter la vie sous un autre angle. Ma marraine, elle est comme ça.

Tiens, récemment, elle m’a offert le drapeau des Etats-Unis entièrement brodé en perles et en paillettes, mais redécoupé version culotte et soutien-gorge. C’est ça mon exemple de marraine, et j’ai l’intention d’être à la hauteur. Et je crois que tes parents comptent sur moi pour ce genre de choses, parce que les paillettes United States of Disco glam, c’est pas leur truc… Je sais, c’est bizarre…

D’ailleurs, en tant que ma filleule, tu pourras aussi me dire des horreurs sur tes parents, quand tu seras en crise d’adolescence aiguë, et je te comprendrai, mais j’aimerai quand même tes parents. Et même quand tu me demanderas des questions hyper inappropriées sur les limites du bondage, je resterai ta marraine cool, ouverte d’esprit, et renseignée sur les choses de la vie. Et tes parents m’aimeront quand même.

En anglais, Charlie chérie, tu es ma goddaughter, mon enfant de Dieu, et moi ta mère de Dieu, ta godmother. La tradition veut que je sois là pour superviser ton éducation religieuse. Que je te guide sur le chemin de Dieu. Il y a 20 ans, je t’aurais fait écouter du Sex Pistols, lu des extraits de Zarathoustra pour t’expliquer que Dieu était mort, et que c’était bien fait, et te raconter comment la religion a de tout temps semé la terreur dans les coeurs et instillé la peur dans nos sociétés. Heureusement, c’est un baptême républicain, Charlie chérie, et tu n’es donc pas ma filleule dans un contexte religieux, mais démocratique.

En tant que citoyenne, tu dois cohabiter avec pleins de gens qui savent à peine qu’ils ont une âme mais qui veulent te donner des ordres. On en reparlera quand ce sera le moment, de ça aussi, des problématiques de l’autorité dans notre système, des atomes de l’Univers qui vibrent en chacun de nous, de l’hyperconscience cosmique qui nous relie à l’Amour avec un grand A, de la chance que tu as d’avoir des parents conscients, évolués, drôles, fous de toi, et plutôt pas mal de leurs personnes.

On en reparlera, parce qu’on a toute la vie pour ça, et que pour l’instant, tu es une petite fille à bisous, qu’on a envie de manger (symboliquement) et d’aimer très fort.

Merci, Charlie, Fred, Marc, de m’accepter dans vos vies de cette manière. Ca me met en joie. Et vive la République.
MND

So it’s been a few weeks since I’ve written to anyone. Actually, it feels like it’s been a few weeks since I’ve even spoken to anyone. Now of course, that’s not true. I have been communicating. Sorta. Over the phone. Via Skype. It occurrred to me the other day that my social interaction/voluntary isolation ratio has totally shifted in just a few years. The good news is, when I actually do interact with people, I’m charming and open-minded and interested.

Truth be told, even though I actually feel way more at peace that I used to, I sometimes wonder if I’m flirting with peace inside or with plain old depression. The answer is, I think, that I’m actually getting to know myself, and still beating around the bush a bit. I think. I’m on the second or third date with myself. Should I suggest we go upstairs for a drink, or play hard to get?

And by beating around the bush, I refer, among other things, to beating myself up for not doing enough, not being enough, not creating enough. The paradox, in these phases I go through, is that suddenly I enter what I might call my “Nothing” mode. Remember this song by Radiohead, the one in which Thom Yorke sings “I’m not there” and you’re not sure whether he wants to dig a hole and hide, or melt into a billion stars before merging with the Universe? That’s what my “Nothing” modes feel like (yes, I know, I’m in love with Radiohead). The problem with the Nothing is that I just stop doing, well, pretty much anything. That’s of course, uh, when I’m not entertaining and feeding and nurturing my four-year-old punk rocker, but since she now goes to school, my parenting duties begin at 7:25am, stop at 8:40am, resume at 4:25pm, and end with the grand story-telling finale at 8:15pm. In between, I feel like I’m doing nothing. Or trying to. Or trying not to not.

During those hours, I’ll fall in love with Hugh Laurie, Tim Roth, wonder how many writers work on TV shows, and if they have time to even watch TV shows, I’ll read, I’ll make food, I’ll write for 5 minutes, I’ll read, I’ll forget to answer mail, I’ll wonder about whether I should be writing, scheduling my life, meeting people, or not, and if not, why, and if so, why. I’ll also nap, smoke cigarettes, drink coffee, find excuses not to see anyone except my shrink, and I’ll just, again, wonder why, how, if, when, who, but and all that. Oh, and occasionally I’ll feel really good about everything being about nothing and nobody (which reminds me, I’m also in love with this recurring character in Neil Gaiman’s books, called Nobody).

So mostly, it’s a mixed feelings mode, because it usually implies I’m not working on a project that should be getting all my attention. *Or am I?* For example, right now, I mean this month, I need to be rewriting this romantic comedy I’ve been given by this great production company I really like. I worked ten days in a decent/manic mode on it. And for the last week, I’ve been in the nothing, toying with the screenplay in my head, taking notes every now and then, rewriting one scene at a time, in between Tim Roth and Hugh Laurie. Don’t ask. Needless to say, I have a lot of work ahead. Needless to say, there’s something pathological about being in the Nothing feeling like you’ve accomplished nothing, when you’ve got so many things to do.

Then, suddenly, I snap out of the Nothing. Usually, I figure this out when I get the urge to wash my hair at midnight and take my freakin’ Bach flowers and actually put on skin creme and make lists of what needs to be done. The funny thing, really, is that during my last few days of Nothing, three projects I’ve been a part of recently, have come out. Magma’s DVD I subtitled, Yodelice’s video FREE I danced in, and From Style Writing to Art, a street art anthology I worked on. So I guess my Nothing is my own way of finding directions to my Everything. And that in the shadow, lies my inner growling beast, waiting to leap out. Speaking of, here’s the really cool video for Free. I’m Mrs It. I dance, carelessly, happily, hiding under my fur. Damn, I love my life.

Mad Love, everyone and nobody, here, there, and everywhere.
MND

I’m really into your book, The Power of Now. I’ve made a point of reading it conscienciously once, and now am reading two pages a day, randomly, just to keep me on my toes, because I’m prone to distraction. A few thoughts and questions on how to further experience my sense of peace and connection with myself, those around me, and the world in general…

Really like the meditation pointers, especially the “focus on the space around you” bit. I can now actually see the space, the air, or the whatchamacallit. It’s not empty. It’s full. It’s see-through. So cool. It’s very soothing. Brings me straight back in the moment, trying to sip the greenshake despite its consistency (I’ve been experimenting with raw food). If Clarisse’s cat, Alice, wasn’t enthralled in her teenage kitty phase, storming through the apartment with the consuming purpose of destroying anything that moves, and everything that doesn’t (which includes me), I might be able to focus more than 30 seconds at a time on space and how it is made of stuff, just like the rest of the world. So, Mr Tolle, Sir, any advice on teenage kitty angst (she’s approximately four months old)? Do you think that her cat food is, possibly, laced with amphetamines?

Another question : Is it actually possible to stay in the Now between 7:33 am and 8:19 am, rather than switch to screaming and freaking out, even if loss of calm and control is due to the above mentioned owner of said cat, i.e. Clarisse (four years old and also in her teenage phase, though phase is known to have been active since her 18th month)? How does one remain in the peaceful Now when one is the mother of a human being who simply loves confrontation on pretty much any basis, but seems to have a fondness for driving above mentioned mother to the outer limits of morning madness, from breakfast to getting ready for school. Such confrontation litterally stops the second we walk though the door. By that time, though, considering the cat has found a way to turn the place upside down between 8:14 and 8:17, there’s no way we can pass the door before 8:27, which means we’re late, which means that Now is only a distant memory or a wishful projection, but certainly not a reality. And I don’t suppose reverting to violence (ie: kicking that kitty’s butt into oblivion) makes any sense for a non-violent person like me, but if I kick it with a strong sense of Now, does it count? What if I spray the cat with Water that has been blessed according to Emoto’s principles, ie water that is full of love and gratitude? If kitty gets a shower in the Now, does that make it ok? Please advise.

That said, your book is a gift for anyone looking to live better, and I’m grateful for the time you’ve put in writing it. It’s mind-opening. So thank you. Very much. It has validated my sense of expansion within, it has supported or given perspective, depending on the moment, to a lot of the actions and new habits I’ve been implementing over the last weeks, months, years, and it has brought me joy and elements for positive and productive self-reflection.

Mad Love,
MND

PS: Should the cat have been thrown in a dark closet at the beginning of this blog posting, to teach said cat a sense of Now, ie my own Now, not the kitty’s Now which seems to last forever, should the cat be freed from the closet by now?

THE POWER OF NOW, by Eckhart Tolle