The Invitation

The Invitation
by Oriah Mountain Dreamer (A Native American Elder)

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for,
and if you dare dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking the fool for love,
for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon.
I want to know if you have touched the center of your sorrow,
if you have been opened up by life’s betrayals or
have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own,
if you can dance with wildness and let ecstacy fill you
to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, or to remember the
limitations of being human.

It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true.
I want to know if you can betray another to be true to yourself;
if you can bear the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.

I want to know if you can be faithful
and therefore be trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see beauty
even when it’s not a pretty day,
and if you can source your life from God’s presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine,
and stand on the edge of a lake
and shout to the silver light of a full moon, “Yes!”

It doesn’t interest me to know where you live
or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up after a night of grief and despair,
weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done
for the children.

It doesn’t matter who you are, or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you from the inside
when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself,
and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.


And I want to thank her for it.



To Whom it may Concern,

As requested, here is the letter from my Doctor requesting expediency in finding and getting my non-identifying information to me.

There have been two occasions over the past year and a half that I literally surprised the doctors by not only living, but walking out of the hospital by my own strength, and I know that a large part of my will to live comes from the need to meet the person who was so incredibly selfless as to put me up for adoption, hoping that I could have a life that she wasn’t ready or able to offer me.

I hope, with your help, that soon I might be able to find her, and if she chooses to let me into her life again, let her know that my life has been absolutely incredible, wonderful – and beautiful.

And – I want to thank her for it.

Thank you so much for your help,

~ Casey Porter (Kent Cavanaugh Porter, Jr.)

Gifts of Home & Living

It’s been a long time since I’ve been here. As always, if it’s been long, it’s been too long. Too many things felt, thought, and unsaid to start from where it ended.

I never know why I stop writing – or for that matter, what lets me start again.

Perhaps it’s knowing what I wrote in the past, and judging myself by that, always the fear, the shame, of the possibility of it not coming like it once did.

Perhaps the need grows so strong to write that I simply can’t; there is too much to say, there is too much I need to let pass through my mind, to my fingers, to this page and release – like the pressure holding a plug against a drain so that everything is kept inside.

Perhaps I want it to be too perfect

or perhaps all I really need to do is slide the plug just a bit away from the drain, so the pressure slowly relaxes, so I don’t need to worry, to care anymore – just write…

So anyway, now that about 98% of you have stopped reading, I continue. To hell with how it comes out.

I will never stop being thoroughly amazed at how The Universe, Source, The Great Shoobeedoobee, or whatever it’s called always hears, and always answers. There *must* be some magick in this boy somewhere. There must be… something. Belief, knowing, trust – but inevitably everything always works out, and for the better. Lately I’ve been feeling a need to get back to work, to perform again, and as my strength grows, so does it.

Then along comes Ruby, a new puppy into my life after the many years it took to get over Bean, and months searching rescues for a new companion to love, to offer a home to. I wasn’t looking for a puppy, but a puppy I found – exactly one month ago today. I couldn’t be happier wither, but as puppies do, she explores the world with her mouth – and living in this neighborhood, with the crackheads and drunks, with the syringes, human feces, and everything else on the sidewalks, I live in fear every time we go for a walk. She picks up almost everything save for the feces, so the stress involved is ridiculous when taking her for what should be a relaxing walk around the place I live, always fearful that if I take my eyes off of her for a fraction of a second she’ll end up with something else horrible in her mouth. She seems magnetic in a way – doesn’t slow down, hardly lowers her head, and before I know it she’s chewing on something. I needed to get out of this neighborhood, for her and me both. Hell, just a couple weeks ago as I was walking quickly by some stupid crack whore, the CW came after her and actually picked Ruby up – then dropped her.

We *needed* to get out of here… but I didn’t see any way. All I could do was ask the worker for the organization who got me this apartment and pays most of the rent if there was another neighborhood I could live in – but then I would have to somehow come up with a new deposit on the place as well, and money is already incredibly tight…

Enter The Universe.

This past Tuesday – two days ago – I decided to go to CellSpace with Ruby and say hi to Mike & everyone else as they rehearsed. After a short while there, an incredibly warm welcome from Mike and a few hugs to the scant Vau de Vire crew that was practicing, I was on my way out the door just as Victoria was walking in – or hobbling in, as she’s on crutches. Vic & I have been trying to get a performance together for months, but due to our schedules it wasn’t really working out – that, and it’s not really a good idea to practice throwing knives in the apartment…

Anyway, Victoria tells me that she has a room opening up in her house – her house, with a huge back yard for Ruby and tons of space to rehearse together, for only about $150-$175 more than I’m paying here, and amazing people who live there.

I had to think about it – $150 is a hell of a lot of money for me these days, and if it wasn’t for a very kind and generous person that has been making certain that both Ruby & I are taken care of, not only would I be starving, but – having Ruby in my life simply wouldn’t have been possible.

I gave my 30 day notice here yesterday, and move in on the 1st of September to a beautiful house, with a huge yard, a wonderfully creative atmosphere, and a neighborhood that isn’t saturated with crackheads and drunks.

Money will be tight as hell for a while, but it would be truly foolish not to accept this gift, so needed and so wanted, simply because of a little money.

Hells, yes.

Life is good.


7.16.2012   4:45am

Waking up after a restless sleep, wondering in which direction my life was heading and not coming up with any good answers but knowing the direction I want to go. I’ve become something of a hermit, a recluse.

A commitment to myself to start hanging around old S.F. friends again, just simply to be around them for the life they give me; the smile that I feel on my face and heart when I go to the Vau de Vire rehearsals, the sheer, beautiful madness of it all – them all. It’s a sense that can never be replaced, never duplicated – and perhaps, in the near future, even being invited to work with them again. To *perform*.

The conversations with Bobzilla hanging out with him in his back yard… and so very many others that I haven’t seen for months – not in person, not the way it truly counts. Just following their posts on fucking Facebook when all I need to do is drive a few miles, make a call, send a message asking to meet for coffee… and feel that I am alive again.


Then, like a bad habit, I go to Facebook and see, from a very good old friend at the top of the page, this:

“Bad news guys, just got back from the Doctor. Looks like my liver is shutting down. I am packing a bag and headed to Hospital for testing but I know in my heart it’s my time. I need a good home for Joe Bull. That’s about all I can think of to say right now. E.D.”

It makes me sick to my stomach – not as much that he may be dying as you may think – but that it sounds like he has given up. This is not the person that I knew, who never gave up on anything that I know of. This is not the person who a few days ago requested that I create an herbal regimen for him to follow so he could get better… and I can’t believe that it is. I REFUSE to believe that it is.

When I was dying, there were *many* times that I just wanted it all to be over with – but it was the love and support of friends, acquaintances, and people whom I didn’t even know that brought back my will, that gave me the strength when I needed it most.

Now, I ask you – if you could, please offer a few words for him, so he might pull his head out of his ass and keep fighting – and so that I can follow up on the commitment I made to myself thanks to your love – to help as much as I possibly could with the knowledge that I learned, and the wisdom that you reminded me of and taught me.

He’s English Don – that’s his name on and off Facebook – and I would truly appreciate it if you reminded him, like you reminded me, how incredibly worth living life is.

With Love,

~ kSea flux