Megan's Head

A place where Megan gets off her head.

Category: random things (Page 1 of 3)

Manifesting

I manifested something today. Not a big thing, but a niggling, back of my mind, need to get to it thing, that I may or may not have written down somewhere. Anyway, I manifested it. And I know that I do this all the time, without too much effort. It is more about recognising it when it happens.

Next week it is my 56th birthday. Last year my birthday fell on the day before our first, radical lockdown. I was a gibbering, zombie of a wreck. My entire life had been upended, I had no idea who I was, where I was or how to proceed. A year later I am a survivor. I am broken, bent, but learning my new shape. And I am mostly, miraculously, because of friends and family, and therapy, and resilience and a touch of true insanity, and animal love, ok. I am ok.

I have managed to do some stuff, and survive some stuff, and even make some stuff. One of the things I have been doing more of, and doing more powerfully, is my ‘tarot’ readings.  I use the word tarot loosely because of my original, untraditional deck – The Secret Dakini Oracle. And I am getting ready to welcome a new tarot deck into my life, and the lives of those having readings with me. Now, it is not very good to go off and buy your own decks (even though I am sure that is old magic, and not even necessarily true). I received the Secret Dakini Oracle in the most profound and special way (Peter Susman, I will never forget) and I am putting it out there that I am ready to receive another deck. I am manifesting it.

If you have a deck (not the Rider Waite traditional one) that you don’t connect to, or have outgrown, or if you have a suggestion about a deck I should be calling my attention to, just hold me in the space of receiving, and let’s see what happens. I will totally keep you posted.

Burying Bodies

This is a photo of a mass burial on Hart Island, New York. This is where they are burying unaccounted for bodies. Those that have died of the Corona Virus. It is shocking and bizarre. This war we are in.

I am struck hard at the moment by how much we do, and how much we accept as normal, needs to change. Burials and funerals are just one of these things for me. As I write this, my brother must attend a Jewish funeral in Joburg. An old family friend whose only daughter is in Cape Town. Of course she cannot go.

I have always been uncomfortable with how much it costs to deal with our dead. I hate that when I leave my body I am going to be an expense for somebody. I find this so distasteful. I hate that there are funeral policies and burial societies that bankrupt people in the life that they are trying to live. I hate the inbuilt threat of it all as well. I hate that funerals and burials are tied in with how we should remember and honour the dead. It doesn’t make sense.

And so much of the ritual, the religious rules, the how of it all, is outdated, archaic, absurd, and deeply inappropriate for the world of today. It is my wish, that while we rewrite how we do things now to move into a new world, that we relook at how we deal with the dead.

FB break

It’s been almost 3 full days of not being on Facebum and I can already feel the difference. I am a social media addict for sure. The reality is unless I have a project to promote I get too involved in the sad, the political, the vegan, the incomprehensibly racist, and I was being very contentious and grumpy. I think Facebum breaks are necessary for a bit of perspective.

The result has been that I have been writing (a teeny bit) more, and being a little bit more in the actual real world. I have been exercising more, and for longer, I have been in the kitchen more, and healthier. Oh I am sure the old bad habits will creep in, but I am enjoying the one restriction I have placed on myself; my primary distraction, procrastination, opinion making place.

Some of the other things on my mind are, what next? Should I carry on with more shows of The Deep Red Sea? Should I write a screenplay? Where can I perform improv weekly to a paying audience. How can I become a theatre producer?

A Friend in the Unlikeliest Place

Yesterday just happened to be one of those days that are so incongruous and strange they are a challenge to understand, let alone write down. But it was the kind of day that I believe will shift me and take me down an unexpected path of my journey.

Let me try. Big Friendly is out of town so my day started early, walking, feeding and watering the animals. My first appointment was in Wynberg, to meet with the CJSA (Cape Jewish Seniors Association) for an interesting chat/session. I met with a different branch in Milnerton in July and it had been a success and then I was asked to do the Wynberg one. I am not naive. I was asked because I said yes to the first one. Almost 30 ladies of a certain age (no men this time) were there to find out more about me, and resist playing improv games like I did the last time! I was as prepared as I always am. No idea about what I was going to do or say until I got there.

And then something amazing happened. In my introduction, and emboldened by the clarity Robin DiAngelo has given me about who I am and the enormous edge my White Privilege (not to mention the addition of Jewish Privilege) gives me, I said, by way of introducing myself, “My name is Megan Furniss. I used to be Megan Choritz (nods and sighs of recognition here). I am a writer, actor, director, improvisor. I am Jewish, anti religious, and very political. I want to state here, for the record and so you know, I am anti-Zionist and pro-Palestine.” Can you imagine? There was a massive communal gasp. One brave lady finally swallowed and said, “We don’t have to go there.” There was a shocked and relieved murmur of agreement.

A lot happened in that session. A lot.We jumped through my family and ancestry, flew through my career highlights, touched on Cape Town history, and family, and District Six and Woodstock. We joined dots, dived deep, and even ‘went there’ politically. There were many details, and many moments, and hard questions, and hilarious interludes. There were feelings hurt, and hearts won over. In the group was a shiny, funny, clever, vocal powerhouse of a woman with a lot to say. I haven’t asked her permission to use her name publicly so I won’t, but we got each other. She was excited by me and my points of view, and I was thrilled by her tenacity, and cleverness, and out-there-ness. She was my tribe. I left that time there shifted. As much as I had come to share my stuff with them I felt differently seen by a community that I have constant struggles with. I had to dash, with promises to return.

Then I flew over to the Golden Acre to take part in an hour long interactive improvisation performance called Film Me In as part of Infecting the City. Honestly, from the ridiculous to the incomprehensible. It’s been a while since I performed in the Golden Acre and I had forgotten what an awesome space it is. I was standing there, in the big open space we were performing in, trying to encourage people to participate, when I felt a tap on my head. My new friend from the CJSA meeting had taken a trip to town to see what I was up to! This woman had brought herself to the Golden Acre, a place I can guarantee her fellow community members hadn’t visited in years, to come an check us out. I love her.

My day ended with me falling asleep in front of the insane, hideous and demented impeachment hearings where Americans tore into each other and behaved like lunatics in support of chief batshit crazy, psycho, abuser Donald J. Trump.

A Completely Weird Obsession

This is a confession. I am obsessed with the American impeachment hearings. I watch them like other people rubberneck at car crashes. I watch the live stream like people who obsess about watching people fall down, or listening to hair brushes on skin or watching pimples being squeezed. I watch with a morbid and ignorant fascination because I have no real idea about how US politics actually work, other than the policy and the people seem to be entirely at odds with anything else in the real world.

I am amazed at how conservative all these people are, including the Democrats and especially those with positions in any foreign office. Everybody genuflects at anyone in uniform, and especially those with medals on. The Democrats, obviously, the impeachment proceedings are their’s, are a strange combination of self righteous and polite, with a smattering of disbelief and a peppering of snivelling. The Republicans are raving lunatics, rabid and champing at the bit, full of bluster and noise and defensiveness. It seems to me they are playing to an audience who don’t really care about the truth and who will support their lying, cheating, narcissistic buffoon of a president at any cost.

What does seem particularly creepy is how the Republicans lay into their own people if they think they aren’t playing ball. Ambassadors, government employees, non partisan civil servants have been lambasted, made fun of, bullied and threatened. It is vile.

I follow the threads on twitter. It’s terrifying how aggressive and threatening Trump’s supporters and Republicans are. The Democrats are also their own worst enemies; they whine and moan and complain like children who are telling tattle tales.

I can’t stop watching. It’s better than Game of Thrones. And more twisty.

 

Money

One hundred percent of my anxiety is about money. Probably, if I compare myself to other people, with jobs, I handle my anxiety better, because I haven’t submitted myself to an endless job, ever.

Still. That is what I worry about. And I don’t get it. I don’t get this world that needs us to do so much stuff for money to live. And I don’t get the inequality of it; I don’t get how a human body that does backbreaking manual labour, fetching things out of the ground, is less valuable money wise than the actions of the man who sends them down there. I don’t understand.

I drove past roadworks the day before yesterday and looked at the ragged team standing in a gash in the earth, splitting open the platinum real estate of Cape Town’s V&A Waterfront. These men, sweating in the sun, knew what they were doing in that gash. It involved a huge pipe and other cables and big machinery. There was a (lighter skinned) foreman watching them over his giant belly. He was the one who had a hardhat on. For his more valuable head. My radio was playing an advert for ‘affordable’ retirement homes that would never accommodate me, or these people.

I get hysterical when I hear about how really rich people do not want to pay more tax, and I cannot understand it, and then I get a traffic fine that is exactly how much I have earned while my car was parked illegally and nothing makes sense at all. Money, and how we perceive it, and how we use it, and how we are attached to it and how we bring it to our lives; sometimes in mythological and spiritual ways, doesn’t feel right. And truthfully, I don’t love that this is what it takes to be in the world, to measure our success, to rate our progress.

 

Page 1 of 3

Powered by WordPress & Theme by Anders Norén