Thinking about becoming an Agony Angel.
It's like “advice, with a side of spice”, or “news, you can use” says my Mum, Charlotte Hoggard.
Ahoy! It’s Monday again. 12:49pm. 4 hours and 11 (angel number) minutes before my self imposed deadline of 5pm slaps me in the face. I’ve written nothing. Some days I say it’s ADHD, other times I say I’ve been procrastinating. Serge told me on the phone this morning that I sound like a proper writer, because writer’s are often good at that. Thank you Serge, I’ll take that as a compliment. I’m a writer, my brother even says so!
Do you know what, it’s like every second I put off the writing, the more fun I end up having and the more I say yes to connecting with my people. The more connection I have the more I accept how I’m truly feeling, and the more present I can be in my reality, when I finally sit down at the table and get to writing. So let’s get to it.
The heatwave is over and the Santa Ana winds are here. They’ve started. I can feel them. The back of my throat tickles. It’s definitely not the camel blues, that’s for sure. It’s the wind. I feel allergic. I’m worn out by it. I’m tired. The devils winds they’re called. Rumoured to cause mood swings, homicides, earthquakes and my favourite, “infect dissatisfied wives and argumentative husbands with thoughts of mayhem”.
The first time I learned of the Santa Ana winds was in the opening pages of White Oleander by Janet Fitch. I read that book in Auckland, NZ, during 2015, aka my deeply depressed and tortured poetry era. My friend Georgia recommended it to me. She had so much sage wisdom to share.
“The Santa Anas blew in hot from the desert, shrivelling the last of the spring grass into whiskers of pale straw. Only the oleanders thrived, their delicate poisonous blooms, their dagger green leaves. We could not sleep in the hot dry nights, my mother and I. Lovers who kill each other now will blame it on the wind.” She held up her large hand and spread the fingers, let the desert dryness lick through. My mother was not herself in the time of the Santa Anas.”
So has anyone else experienced mood swings in the last day or so? Personally I have. I would like to blame them on the wind, why not. My Mum laughed when I pointed out the wind today because she lives in Wellington, which as I’ve previously mentioned, is the windiest city in the world. I feel so curious about that. I wonder what the recorded statistics are for mood swings and whether they can be tracked on a graph, in comparison to the wind patterns of the world. It would be so great to simply tell everyone who has been made to feel crazy that they’re not. It reminds me of Andy Goldsworthy’s saying “we are nature”. Anyway, a thesis for another day. Let’s press on.
The real truth of the matter is that I’ve actually been having an awful lot of fun over the last week. Too much fun to sit down. Might be hard to believe I know. I’ve been living life. Collecting anecdotes. Being. I’ve changed personalities since we last met here one week ago. I’ve had a rebirth. Another one. This time in the depths of the dusty desert at The Integratron. Please bear with me as it gets a bit whacky doo dah this bit.
Wikipedia tells me “The Integratron is a 38 feet (12 m) tall cupola structure with a diameter of 55 feet (17 m) designed by ufologist and contactee George Van Tassel. Van Tassel claimed the Integratron was capable of rejuvenation, anti-gravity and time travel. He built the structure in Landers, California (near Joshua Tree), following instructions that Van Tassel vehemently claimed were provided directly to him by visitors from the planet Venus…
Wikipedia also tells me “After Van Tassel died, there was a proposal to turn the Integratron into a disco, but that plan was never realized.” Sounds like an opportunity to me. A dance party with aliens descending from the planet of love to meet humans ascending their vibrations in the most “acoustically perfect sound chamber”. Seriously couldn’t imagine anything better right now. Who is with me? Bella for sure. We’ve always said we’d make great alien diplomats. We come in peace, baby! Peace and fun.
So, basically, our gateway experience into this cult was called a sound bath. 45 minutes of a lovely middle aged man gently caressing 22 crystal bowls, after he animatedly described the magnetic forces of energy that exist as a portal on the property, while presenting plenty of joie de vivre for his job, and saying something about copper, plus all these other types of positive juju contributing to the voibez. 35 of us woo woo, planet earthling, cult curious people lay down on mattresses and closed our eyes. Giving ourselves over to the “harmonic sound frequencies”. My Mum lay beside me. The fact I managed to check her into a place like this is beyond me. I am so happy. She asked me to poke her in the ribs if she started snoring. Thankfully she didn’t. Our peace was kept. We meditated together. We transcended. We healed.
My favourite part of the experience was standing in the centre of the wooden yurt, dome, cupola structure, whatever it was, right on the magic square they called it, and sharing what we were grateful for. Apparently if you stand there and speak out loud, the vibrations travel up and down the structure in such a way that your voice is amplified very boldly, but only the person who is standing on the square can hear it. I was dubious, so I watched other people do it first, and it was true, I couldn’t hear a word they said. Mum & I did it next. We stood face to face, only a few inches apart, within the magic square. I told her something Marino tells me which always makes me feel special. “I can see that you are next to me and that makes me very happy”.
Cut to, we’re in Palm Springs at the Ace Hotel, Mum’s doing a canon ball into the pool, after I started egging her on to “doooooo it” and the whole pool joined in too. Vibes are high, I’m drinking a beer from the prime real estate of a lilo under the beating sun. We’re present. We’re having fun. Laughing. These are the moments I’ll never forget. Checking my Mum into a cult then seeing her canon bomb the hotel pool in her fire engine red halter neck swim suit. What a siren. You just can’t make this stuff up. Core memories made.
Becoming friends with your parents is a joy I never knew existed until recent years. I wish it for all of us. All of us who have that privilege. The privilege of parents who are still alive. The parents who are present in their children’s lives. The privilege of having time and resources to come together against all odds.
The real key is creating space where neither of you have to be in charge and everyone has the chance to really let loose, now that’s when the chorus comes in. Now, that’s what I call music. Now that’s what I call show bizz, baby. Let’s take it to the bridge.
Speaking of which. I want to build one with you. A platform if you will. I’m cutting to the chase now, my perfect cherubic angels. I want to create a space here for all of us to have fun. So far I think I’ve made it pretty transparent that I can talk about basically anything at all with little to zero prompts whatsoever, other than passing comments by my friends and family, as I go about my insane life, from one event to the next.
Which I adore by the way. I’m sure that’s clear. I live for obsessing over passing comments made by my friends and family. Spiralling, just gotta love it. But whether or not you like that about yourself either, even if it feels like you’re just going around and around on a loop, remember we’re always rising upwards. Even if we’re facing the same challenges, we’re bringing new ideas that we’ve collected along the way.
So yeah. Spiralling is normal. We all do it, and the more we share our thoughts with one another, the more relief we feel. It’s simple. That’s why I want to build a call and response relationship with you all. I want to riff more. I want to hear what you have to say and respond to it. I want you to ask me anything. Consider me your agony angel.
What’s the worst that could happen? That my Mum is the only person who asks me questions? And it evolves into a format of conversation between a mother and daughter living on different continents? Honestly sounds kind of amazing to me. Bridging the gaps between generations. The most important thing is that we start.
So, what’s going on? Anyone else been feeling the winds and wanting to kill their husbands? Bored? Sad? Creatively blocked? Need recommendations? Email me.
Love you, Elise xoxo
PS. Your questions will be posted anonymously :) Get creative with your email subject as I will use that to name you. “Sincerely, Horny & Single, Seattle” etc etc <3333333
PPS. 545pm publish - 45 minutes past deadline - not bad.
PPPS. 45 subscribers!!!!!!! Definitely not bad.