The Magic Bullshit Shield


I imagine something and make it viewable. I write something and make it imaginable. I + mage = Image. We are all mages, tricksters and creators. ALL of us. How this expresses itself is the only variable.

I respond, with my tactile senses, to something and it moves me to a non-tactile ‘place.’ It moves me to the ‘mage magic’ place. This is expressed in so many ways. When I was young there was a girl who was on the cheerleading squad. I only have seen this once in my life and I have seen many cheerleading squads but she was exceptional.


I tried to figure it out for a long time. She had short, dirty dishwater blond hair. She had terrible acne. She could not do the splits of any of the fancy stuff the rest of the squad did. Her parents were poor and not ‘town team sponsors’ (which will often get an ‘average’ girl an ‘exceptional’ placement.) She was NOTHING at all like a cheerleader and she was not even a SNOB!

She was like no one I ever met and I liked her and so did everyone else. I asked her, while riding that ugly yellow signature school-bus, what her secret was. See, at that time, everyone was calling me a ‘witch’ and so I was studying that. In those days, way out in the tall grass boonies of Oklahoma, in those ranch town libraries, about the only thing you could find was about the Salem Witch Trials. She looked at me in a strange way and then she said, “I am happy and I don’t care what anyone thinks of me. I am happy anyway.”

She really WAS happy but there was more to it than that. Her personality ‘stuck out’ farther than her skin. Her soul was larger than her body. After that I started to LOOK AT people and LOOK INTO them. I learned this:

The two do not always match.

There are those walking around in this world who are very powerful people and yet do not fit any descriptors of what a powerful person should look like or be. In doing this I met many such people over the course of my life. There was the young man who was the shortest, most snaggle toothed kid in the school and yet, when he played music, the girls who hung out with the homecoming queen would ask him out on dates. Once his band mates asked him what his secret was and why weren’t they getting any action as they were tall and ripped in comparison to him. He just smiled and shook his head.

There was the hippie English teacher who was weird and stoned and yet we learned more in her class, than we ever would learn anywhere else, about language and how it works. She was tall and strange with wild black hair and everyone made fun of her. She didn’t care what they thought.

It wasn’t the ‘I don’t care’ that is a REACTION to bullies and their bull shit but an ACTION that told the bullshit people, before they reached that stage, that their bullshit was not going to work.

That was the secret. Understanding what bullshit is and making yourself impervious to it.

Bullshit proof.

So for the New Year hits that is my wish for all my friends: that you keep, or learn to wield, your magic ‘bullshit shield.’

One Step at a Time

“A journey of a 1000 miles begins with a single step.” (Lao Tzu)

I was thinking about this today as I have looked back on my life. In late-middle age we all do this and some call it a crisis and some a revelation and maybe it is a little bit of both but I feel accomplished today.

I took a step.

OK it was not a big step but it was one I have been putting off that deals with the organization of personal environment. No matter how we organize that, from deliberate clutter to razor-straight military edges it amounts to the same thing and humans function best in the order they understand and comprehend.

My mother is a VERY orderly person in what appears to be disorder. If you ‘clean up’ her place she can’t find anything but if you leave what YOU see as ‘a mess’ ALONE she can find you tax records from ten years ago with astonishing speed and accuracy and knows exactly which ‘pile’ of ‘stuff’ it is located in!

We all have our ‘ways of being’ and some might call mine OCD but it suits me. Today I labeled the drawers that had each category of ‘stuff’ in them and put the ‘good stuff’ I didn’t want on the ‘giving table.’

Where I live is a ‘giving table’ and everyone knows that any ‘good stuff’ from a personal inventory goes there so that anyone who lacks that kind of stuff can have that stuff. It has taken me three months to get to the point I wanted to organize my stuff and the last two bits I have to organize are written stuff (hard copy) and old French lesson books, (Do I want to keep them?), and ‘sewing stuff’ (so the thread and bobbins and needles and what-not are all neatly compartmentalized.)

Slowly but surely, since I moved in, I have been getting everything but into it’s OCD order.

I feel accomplished…

…that is a “Good thing.” (Martha Stewart)