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Musings
The Sound of One Hand Clapping
(website entry, November 15, 2008 - 1:15pm)
I grin ear to ear as I sit amongst a pile of Tarot reference books preparing for my "Taking on THE TOWER with Consciousness" class that meets tomorrow. Looking for nuances I may be newly open to, or enlightenment in my current struggles, I relish the studying when I do get over myself enough to actually crack the books. Today, as I am closing a very big door in my personal life, I find courage in the healing offered through this Portal - but also great irony in the Divine Timing of the decision to take on this Challenge card (with consciousness) over one month ago -- when I could not possibly have foreseen the door-closing circumstances in my path today. (How's that for being psychic?!)
More than that, how can I not feel Divinely Loved whilst I reach the passage in the Animals Divine Companion by Lisa Hunt that depicts this card as Thunderbirds (Native American creatures of lore associated with Thunder and Lightning) -- only to be roused in that exact moment by the very first clap of thunder on this dreary November day?
What is the sound of one hand clapping? Methinks it is much like the tree falling in the forest. The answer is, "Can you laugh out loud when it happens to you -- and you actually 'get it'?"
Studying The Tower and the thunderstorm arrives. It doesn't get any better than that.
(website entry, November 15, 2008 - 1:15pm)
I grin ear to ear as I sit amongst a pile of Tarot reference books preparing for my "Taking on THE TOWER with Consciousness" class that meets tomorrow. Looking for nuances I may be newly open to, or enlightenment in my current struggles, I relish the studying when I do get over myself enough to actually crack the books. Today, as I am closing a very big door in my personal life, I find courage in the healing offered through this Portal - but also great irony in the Divine Timing of the decision to take on this Challenge card (with consciousness) over one month ago -- when I could not possibly have foreseen the door-closing circumstances in my path today. (How's that for being psychic?!)
More than that, how can I not feel Divinely Loved whilst I reach the passage in the Animals Divine Companion by Lisa Hunt that depicts this card as Thunderbirds (Native American creatures of lore associated with Thunder and Lightning) -- only to be roused in that exact moment by the very first clap of thunder on this dreary November day?
What is the sound of one hand clapping? Methinks it is much like the tree falling in the forest. The answer is, "Can you laugh out loud when it happens to you -- and you actually 'get it'?"
Studying The Tower and the thunderstorm arrives. It doesn't get any better than that.
(website entry, November 11, 2008 8:10am)
As I rise from my slumber this sunshiney Autumn Veteran's Day, 2008 in my beloved home state of Connecticut, I commune with my muse... Waking in a State that holds my familial roots and the most special of places in my very tender heart, I connect to a land and a collective that is an idea... an idea that is a country that is a collection of ideas and boundaries, known as the United States called America. Today, I ponder...
Today I remember all who Serve and have Served America. I give thanks to each and every one of them and remind myself to play the song, "Let Them In, Peter" by John Gorka -- the lyrics actually penned by the grieving mother of a soldier during the Korean Conflict.
And I think of what we shall all do about America in these coming days. A goddess image comes to mind whenever I think of America. Did not the French depict her as a Lady?
Today I remember the many men and the growing number of women that Serve the idea of Liberty, Freedom and the Pursuit of Happiness and the expanding awareness of the Inspired words: "We hold these truths to be self-evident..." and all the words that come before, in between and after. Words a mother might use for the life she would desire for her children.
If Let There Be Love was the dictate of the Piscean Age, what then will be the credo that rises during these burgeoning early days of the Aquarian Age?
Could it be that a goddess called America is speaking through the Collective Voice of We The People of these United States to say LET THERE BE HOPE?
EVEN GOD GOT TIRED
(website entry, November 11, 2008, 1:45am)
Remembering the story in Genesis, even God got tired. Somewhere in there, He commanded, let there be a day of rest...
Every sacred tradition honors the need to come to silence, to rest, to commune. A time simply to rest.
I cannot help but STOP... to think that all of the change and upheaval that we are experiencing are offering us the opportunity to witness something mythic in the making.
We are facing climate change. We are facing economic dread. We are having to face Ourselves.
As civilization moves at the speed of technology, how can we ever hope to keep up -- cast in these human frames that confine us to cellular experience?
Why not honor our biology? Why not experience our exhaustion? Why not just slow down?
Could this recession actually be a good thing? STOP to think about it. Why are we all in such a hurry? Just exactly where are we going and why do we have to get there so quickly?
Why not let go a little? Just step back and Witness...simply Bear Witness...
Let Life, Evolution, The Divine... whatever you want to call it, take the reins for a little while?
The big question, ultimately, is... just what is it that we think we are losing?
Security is an illusion. If September 11, 2001 taught us nothing else, let it be that. We are only as safe as we can dream ourselves into being in any given moment.
And if we can step into the vacuum of our fear, of the emptiness... maybe then, just then... we can discover something new, something bold... to borrow Peter Mulvey's words, maybe we can discover "something waiting to be found."
March 17, 2003
(a letter to a friend in Brazil)
It is St. Patrick's Day, 2003. Irish music is playing in our office atrium and Irish soda bread is being served. A co-worker has thrown back her head in laughter because I have threatened to march in singing at the top of my lungs, "Give Ireland Back to the Irish!"
"Somehow," she said, "that wouldn't be much of a surprise coming from you!"
Oh, to be the office trouble-maker...
So, here it is St. Patrick's Day -- and, as I learned on my drive to work this morning, it is also "National Act Happy Day." I smirked at the irony... "Act Happy." Not to be happy, but to act happy. What a fitting verb for today. Happiness is not on my agenda in this chilling pre-war atmosphere. If Happiness is to exude from me today, I will have to act it...
As I shuffled through my closet this morning, there were no thoughts of "the wearing o' the green." With NPR hissing the ever-quieting final pleas for peace, my hands reached for my black corduroys and a dark gray turtleneck sweater.
It is a day of withdrawal in Baghdad as U.S. troops marshal in readiness. Tonight at 8PM EST, George W. Bush addresses the nation. The United States of America. CNN reports the "White House says diplomacy has ended."
I cannot profess to know the whole, real or true story or, for that matter, what is best. But my mind keeps hearing the word "bully". Maybe this war is necessary. I do not know. Perhaps it is the way I react to the deliverer of the message - the Texan. I would say cowboy, but the cowboys that my mind conjures are nothing like this man. They are weathered and wise from hard-learned lessons - in movies like Shane, Unforgiven and in the book, Lonesome Dove.
Today, in reverie... I think of the boys on the front lines. I wonder what they are thinking as they face the undiscovered country of biological and chemical assault.
I am reminded of the movie "Legends of the Fall" and the scene with the nerve gas. If you have not seen this movie, I highly recommend it. For those with heart vision, it is deep. It is the story of 3 very different brothers and their father -- of rivalry, love, war, a woman, and all the entanglements that ensue. Hmm... I will have to see this one again myself.
And today, modern invisible weaponry... What ghosts will be haunting us now?
So, here I sit at my desk on a Monday morning. It is a day when I can feel the world shifting on its axis - and no one is noticing.
Here we continue our March into the Aquarian Age... a time when the collective conscious blossoms in our realm. Whatever the mumbo jumbo of the 60's, 70's and 80's... The Earth is living beneath a different sky - and that sky now reigns above the planet. As her children, her inhabitants, her parasites, we are governed by that which governs her.
We are also living in Millennial times. Time simply does not exist. It is a construction of man... an axis to measure our reality. But How we count it and When we count it defines us.
And we are counting... To my ears, in this moment, it is the sound of drums.
I wonder... when will the Bible, the Quran, the Bhagadvagita, and other current holy texts become the stuff of myths? What will the race of man have to say about its ancestors in that future arena?
I do not know what the future holds or what my place will be in it.
For today... I am listening.
And hoping that the souls of the many and the oversoul of September 11, 2001 are watching and waiting with open arms to catch those who will be crossing in confusion in the coming days.
Peace and heart,
Mary B
September 12, 2002
(an e-mail sent to loved ones)
On September 11, 2002, I drove to Burying Hill Beach in Westport, CT at 9pm. Past downed trees and closed roads from the lashing storm, I journeyed. I was surprised to find the beach open. My car, the only one in the lot.
I climbed out of my car and took off my shoes. I sat on the stone wall that separates the parking lot from the sand and water. I usually do not venture to the lower beach, preferring the grassy ancient Indian Burial Mound that overlooks the tiny stretch of beach. Westport's best kept secret. On this night, I put a tall pillar candle on the cornerstone of the stonewall. My offering to the souls who moved on one year ago, to the Earth, and to those left behind here.
I do not like sand. I do not go in the water of the Long Island Sound. But on this night, in my black tights and gypsy skirt, I ventured out onto the jetty. The moon hung a shining crescent in the sky. Golden orange, it glowed serenely over the sea. Behind me the sounds of the highway whooshed and crickets chirped their evening song. Two unlikely bird cheeps cut into the night. I swallowed this scene with every cell of my body. "Life goes on, " I thought as lights flashed in the distance on Long Island.
And then, without thought, I jumped into the sand. I sank my feet into the cool of it and felt it grit against my tights. It was low tide and getting lower. I was the only soul on the beach. I slowly walked down to the water. The lapping of the water becoming audible as I approached the rocks and seaweed. I trudged into the silt recently left behind by the receding tide. Felt the hermit crabs beneath my feet, crawling still deeper as I moved above them. Felt the tidewater eddy over my feet as it continued its journey back to the sea.
And, in the determination of soul intention, I walked ankle deep into the Long Island Sound. The whirr of the highway fell away, the crickets fell back into the night. Here, where the sea meets the land and the sky, I raised my eyes and heart to the heavens. I stared into the night sky. Cassaopeia, the dippers, the Moon. I remembered staring up into the night as a child with my brother with his star maps in hand. I allowed some of that innocence to return to me and I began sensing the age of the Earth and all that she has seen. The joys and the atrocities. And still she endures. She cleanses. She emotes the vibration of her own journey.
Ankle-deep in water, staring at the stars, I saw one lone bird fly across the moon. An egret, I think. In slow, graceful, sweeping gestures. All alone. Journeying in the night.
A silence overwhelmed me. And in the way that I hear, I began to hear the songs that I heard on the radio in the aftermath of last year's tragedy. In between the spaces. In between the echoes. And I started to sing. "Oh the dragons are going to fly tonight. Circling low and inside tonight..." It is a song that Emmy Lou Harris sings. "The Pearl". It is the first song I heard after the towers came down. And I lifted a prayer to Suzi April's sister, Elizabeth, to Susan Lombard's family and to my friend, Georgie. And I opened my heart and gave thanks to the sacrifice of the many. I closed my eyes, lifted my arms and felt my energy ground itself in the Earth beneath the sea. The gypsy girl, the fairy nymph. I sang out loud to the souls who crossed together as if one being to make us better human beings. I felt their light shine on me. A beacon of hope, truth, freedom and unity. In that connection, I felt that the world truly had become a better place.
Blessed be.
What If Butterflies Do Not Like To Fly?
(a poem scribed 11.8.02)
What if butterflies do not like to fly?
My, we never consider that, do we?
We are so busy admiring their beauty and delicacy
that we do not consider their struggle
What makes us think
that because they have completed the cocoon experience
that they do not still rebel against their form?
I wonder...
Do they want to be worms again?
Maybe it was easier crawling on the ground
Camouflaged
Concealed
Unremarkable
Maybe it was satisfying
All that food to chew through
But transform they have to
It is their lot
So, mature and hide
Mature and fly
Mature and alight
Is flight foreign to their newfound form
Or is it instantaneously innate?
I have heard that if a butterfly tries to fly
before its wings are formed
that it will fail and die
So Time is a weaver for these creatures as well
Fortitude and Patience through the Process
Pain?
Consciousness?
Who knows?
But what if?
What if butterflies do not like to fly?
Is that why they seek mates and procreate?
To return to their earthbound form?
To reconnect with the soil?
And what of the butterflies who do not enjoy flight
and who do not want to return to the Earth?
Hmm...
Perhaps this is the beginning of Transmigration
Of Mutation
Of Darwin's Evolutionary Principle
The desire...
To Emerge
CONFESSIONS FROM A PAST LIFE:
Two Dachshunds
by Mary Beth Canty, 11.04.04
I don't care what anybody says, miracles do happen. No, the skies don't open and the sea doesn't part. Well, not usually anyway...
But once in awhile something can happen so perfectly that you just have to believe. For me, it was two dachshunds. Not one, but two dachshunds.
It happened on a mild, achingly beautiful day in Provincetown, Massachusetts. Labor Day to be exact. Gay men flaunted their perfect physiques in the postcard-like serenity of the day. Shops bustled as the sounds of the sea played melodically in the background.
It was my traveling companion's first trip to the cosmopolitan tip of Cape Cod. But, unfortunately for her, she was seeing it for the first time with me --as I wrestled my way through a downward spiral of depression. My ever-patient friend had no answers as I plied her with existential queries while I grasped at straws to bring my consciousness back to the living.
Understandably, she grew as tired of my torment as I was of myself. She suggested we part ways for half an hour and meet back at a designated spot. Relieved to be able to release her from the vortex of my darkness, I nodded my assent and trotted wordlessly down the main drag. (No pun intended.)
Mute with despair, I began the search motivated by the hollow calling within me. In the grip of my illness, I plodded forward -- ironically hopeful of discovering a hidden answer to ease me into healing. A few blocks down the street, an oasis appeared.
A little shop down a flight of stairs, below street level, touted magick and readings. Palmistry, numerology, and cards. An intuitive reader of the Tarot myself, I am a tough audience, but this place, (on this day), had a certain draw.
Ripe with the scent of incense, herbs and not enough fresh air, I drifted into the small dark room and was awestruck with amazement. A fairy card deck purported to be out-of-print sat in clear display before me. Indeed, this was the beacon that had pulled me forward into this most recent daymare of depression. Having lived in the half-lit world of bottomless wells, I have come to learn that every low is a precursor to a magnificent lesson. I was meant to find this place.
A diminutive man dressed in black, like the store that surrounded him, was gently plucking notes on an acoustic guitar. He asked if he could help me and I smiled with an "I'm just enjoying the music." Surprisingly, he answered with an unconscious "oh" and slipped into a jerky, upbeat tune that, if I am not mistaken, was "My Sharona". How perfectly absurd, this sweet and glee-making shift from minstrel to punk. I was charmed and delighted, but did not offer that I recognized the tune for fear that I would embarrass him and myself if I were not correct. Or give away that he had guessed my age as a generation younger than I was.
With that, I floated to the counter, bargained for some gems and crystals and asked for a reading. When he said it would be half an hour, I retorted, "My friend will kill me," then looked over my shoulder at the door, shrugged my shoulders and said, "oh well."
This oracle had been too difficult in the finding and the time was ripe.
After a transformative reading and a spontaneous connection of energies, I said my goodbyes, gathered my goodies, and floated up the stairs to street level. I had received insight into my current dilemma and found life in my own aura. But, the moment of truth had arrived... It was time to find my friend.
With a flutter of anxiety, but still elated from an encounter with bliss, I scanned the sidewalk and spotted my friend in the distance. Agitated with worry for me, she stood with jaw clenched and foot tapping. As I neared, unease gathered within me as I saw the beads of sweat on her upper lip.
"This could get ugly," I thought to myself, but still I could not contain my exuberance. As I approached with a lilt in my step, the miracle unfolded. To my left, a man tarried conversationally with friends -- with a dachshund on a leash by his side. My buddy, a lover of all things dachshund would have to appreciate this!
I nodded my head toward the dog and smiled with my eyebrows at my friend. She smiled but was only distracted from her discomfort for a nanosecond. As I stepped closer, waiting for her rebuke, the crowd parted and there in the man's arms was yet another dachshund.
With my eyes, I turned my friend's gaze to the man's best friends and she could not help herself. In her little girl voice, she gushed, "two dachshunds!" and stepped forward to greet the man and his dogs.
I was off the hook. Saved by two dachshunds. The perfection in that moment was tangible. Purely divine.
Enthusiastically, my friend piped, "Not one, but two dachshunds!" as we turned away to make our way home.
Yes, indeed. Not one, but two dachshunds.
(a poem scribed 11.8.02)
What if butterflies do not like to fly?
My, we never consider that, do we?
We are so busy admiring their beauty and delicacy
that we do not consider their struggle
What makes us think
that because they have completed the cocoon experience
that they do not still rebel against their form?
I wonder...
Do they want to be worms again?
Maybe it was easier crawling on the ground
Camouflaged
Concealed
Unremarkable
Maybe it was satisfying
All that food to chew through
But transform they have to
It is their lot
So, mature and hide
Mature and fly
Mature and alight
Is flight foreign to their newfound form
Or is it instantaneously innate?
I have heard that if a butterfly tries to fly
before its wings are formed
that it will fail and die
So Time is a weaver for these creatures as well
Fortitude and Patience through the Process
Pain?
Consciousness?
Who knows?
But what if?
What if butterflies do not like to fly?
Is that why they seek mates and procreate?
To return to their earthbound form?
To reconnect with the soil?
And what of the butterflies who do not enjoy flight
and who do not want to return to the Earth?
Hmm...
Perhaps this is the beginning of Transmigration
Of Mutation
Of Darwin's Evolutionary Principle
The desire...
To Emerge
CONFESSIONS FROM A PAST LIFE:
Two Dachshunds
by Mary Beth Canty, 11.04.04
I don't care what anybody says, miracles do happen. No, the skies don't open and the sea doesn't part. Well, not usually anyway...
But once in awhile something can happen so perfectly that you just have to believe. For me, it was two dachshunds. Not one, but two dachshunds.
It happened on a mild, achingly beautiful day in Provincetown, Massachusetts. Labor Day to be exact. Gay men flaunted their perfect physiques in the postcard-like serenity of the day. Shops bustled as the sounds of the sea played melodically in the background.
It was my traveling companion's first trip to the cosmopolitan tip of Cape Cod. But, unfortunately for her, she was seeing it for the first time with me --as I wrestled my way through a downward spiral of depression. My ever-patient friend had no answers as I plied her with existential queries while I grasped at straws to bring my consciousness back to the living.
Understandably, she grew as tired of my torment as I was of myself. She suggested we part ways for half an hour and meet back at a designated spot. Relieved to be able to release her from the vortex of my darkness, I nodded my assent and trotted wordlessly down the main drag. (No pun intended.)
Mute with despair, I began the search motivated by the hollow calling within me. In the grip of my illness, I plodded forward -- ironically hopeful of discovering a hidden answer to ease me into healing. A few blocks down the street, an oasis appeared.
A little shop down a flight of stairs, below street level, touted magick and readings. Palmistry, numerology, and cards. An intuitive reader of the Tarot myself, I am a tough audience, but this place, (on this day), had a certain draw.
Ripe with the scent of incense, herbs and not enough fresh air, I drifted into the small dark room and was awestruck with amazement. A fairy card deck purported to be out-of-print sat in clear display before me. Indeed, this was the beacon that had pulled me forward into this most recent daymare of depression. Having lived in the half-lit world of bottomless wells, I have come to learn that every low is a precursor to a magnificent lesson. I was meant to find this place.
A diminutive man dressed in black, like the store that surrounded him, was gently plucking notes on an acoustic guitar. He asked if he could help me and I smiled with an "I'm just enjoying the music." Surprisingly, he answered with an unconscious "oh" and slipped into a jerky, upbeat tune that, if I am not mistaken, was "My Sharona". How perfectly absurd, this sweet and glee-making shift from minstrel to punk. I was charmed and delighted, but did not offer that I recognized the tune for fear that I would embarrass him and myself if I were not correct. Or give away that he had guessed my age as a generation younger than I was.
With that, I floated to the counter, bargained for some gems and crystals and asked for a reading. When he said it would be half an hour, I retorted, "My friend will kill me," then looked over my shoulder at the door, shrugged my shoulders and said, "oh well."
This oracle had been too difficult in the finding and the time was ripe.
After a transformative reading and a spontaneous connection of energies, I said my goodbyes, gathered my goodies, and floated up the stairs to street level. I had received insight into my current dilemma and found life in my own aura. But, the moment of truth had arrived... It was time to find my friend.
With a flutter of anxiety, but still elated from an encounter with bliss, I scanned the sidewalk and spotted my friend in the distance. Agitated with worry for me, she stood with jaw clenched and foot tapping. As I neared, unease gathered within me as I saw the beads of sweat on her upper lip.
"This could get ugly," I thought to myself, but still I could not contain my exuberance. As I approached with a lilt in my step, the miracle unfolded. To my left, a man tarried conversationally with friends -- with a dachshund on a leash by his side. My buddy, a lover of all things dachshund would have to appreciate this!
I nodded my head toward the dog and smiled with my eyebrows at my friend. She smiled but was only distracted from her discomfort for a nanosecond. As I stepped closer, waiting for her rebuke, the crowd parted and there in the man's arms was yet another dachshund.
With my eyes, I turned my friend's gaze to the man's best friends and she could not help herself. In her little girl voice, she gushed, "two dachshunds!" and stepped forward to greet the man and his dogs.
I was off the hook. Saved by two dachshunds. The perfection in that moment was tangible. Purely divine.
Enthusiastically, my friend piped, "Not one, but two dachshunds!" as we turned away to make our way home.
Yes, indeed. Not one, but two dachshunds.
January 5, 2010
(an excerpt from an e-mail to my mailing list)
Is it just me or is there a remarkable palpability in the air this January that makes one want to simply curl up and dream?
For many, this time of year marks a time to be resolute. With the New Year - and in this year, the New Decade, there is much hype about forward motion. I don't know if it's my contrarian nature or if, instead, I'm riding a cosmic wave, but in the face of all this fervor, I feel unusually dreamy, snoozy and well... downright dozy.
I find myself in the start of this year acutely aware of the inundation of commercials (read "making money schemes") from all arenas targeted at weight loss, exercise regimes and new beginnings that beset this time of year. I've never been one to subscribe to New Year's resolutions so, I ponder...
What is it in us that drives this marketing machine? Marketing machines are only successful when they fulfill a need within us. Yes, sometimes the needs are falsely manufactured... like that TV ad that came out in 2004 for a pill that was advertised for people who felt like they needed a vacation. Those ads didn't last long so you might have missed them. It is no wonder they disappeared like the wind. If you need a vacation, no pill in the world is going to fix that. Spiritual exhaustion is spiritual exhaustion. But, there are the other ads in all forms of media that pop up at this time of year. These ads recur year to year for weight loss, gyms and body awareness.
There has to be something in these advertising campaigns that addresses a need housed within us - or they wouldn't be back to haunt us each year.
Do we set New Year's resolutions to come to grips with ourselves after letting go of the reins of self-discipline after staring in the face of temptation during holiday parties, dinners and traditions? Or do we set these resolutions to recover from the trampling that our emotions take during the holidays when the triggers of family, relationship and society demands have had their way with us? Or are we just feeling the stirrings of vanity and responding by getting our bodies back in shape for swimwear season?
Perhaps we are responding to a little bit of each of these things. Or perhaps it has nothing to do with any of these things at all. Maybe it's just a good time to make a fresh start as we turn the page on the calendar - and need to write a different year on all our documents. Yes, indeed. How long will it take to break the habit of writing '09? I don't know about you, but getting myself to write or type '10 instead of '09 at the beginning of the year will take some actual force for me.
Maybe it's that raw energy that we are harnessing and tapping into with our New Year's resolutions - the energy of lassoing Time as we create a human understanding of it - that sets us to this annual ritual of making promises to ourselves.
But... alas. Even within all this intellectual exercise, I find myself just wanting to go with the Winter season. The colder temperatures drive me deeper indoors. The longer nights make me crave sleep and the richness of my dream realm. I want to nap, nap, nap.
Dreams are really important to me. Through them, I learn. With them, I process. In them, I live beyond time and space. Because of them, I love.
* reflective sigh * Yes. I just want to hibernate while the getting is good.
Right now, Mercury and Mars are both Retrograde and this could be contributing to my overwhelming desire to slumber. Mercury, the ruler of communication and travel, is Retrograde until January 15th. This influence asks us to be still with ourselves and commune with our inner knowingness. Mars, the planet of action and aggression, is Retrograde until March. With Mars in retreat, we can disengage from our battles and tempers. There is a certain safety in knowing that Mars is taking a holiday. That doesn't mean our inner frustrations aren't flaring. It just means that our outer battles have less weight at this time. So, why not drop our armor, our shields and our weapons for awhile just to see what happens when we aren't so busy defending ourselves - so we can really get a glimpse of our true selves?
As I face my own dreamy haze in this inward reflection, I say, carpe diem. For those of you too young to know Latin or to remember "Dead Poet's Society", that means seize the day. And who says seizing can't be napping? We are as alive in our dreams as we are in our waking.
All behavior is purposeful - and dreams have purpose - as long as we remember to wake from our dreaming and make the most of what we carry back into our waking.
And with this statement, I prepare for grand napping between teaching, meditations and readings during this Winter season.
I suspect I have a lot more to say, but can't think of it right now, so I'll get back to my dreaming about dreaming and prepare to fall into my next, rich dream-filled sleep. Who knows? Maybe I'll see you "out there"...
Night night.
September 1, 2009
(excerpts from an e-mail to my mailing list)
aaahhh... September... back-to-school, Summer's over and Fall Equinox. * sigh * The turn of the seasons...
To me, September has always been about new beginnings. January 1 never really did it for me. January 1 always felt, so, well... arbitrary. But, September... It was always September in my book. New friends, fresh faces, time to get down to business. I suppose it is just conditioning from childhood, but I suspect I will never outgrow that September feeling that change is afoot.
Every September, a brand new start...
It is hustle-bustle time. Yes, indeed. You can see it in the way the cars are driving down the street.
But this year, I invite you to join me in a change of pace. In focusing on the subtle changes that September brings. Not the big back-to-school, end-of-the-tourist season, football playing, falling temperature changes, but the gentler ones that ask us to look more deeply at our world and into ourselves. The lengthening shadows, the mellow golden quality of afternoon sunlight, the amber glow of windows just after sunset, migratory birds preparing for or in departure, dew on the grass, the changing night sky.
The things that ask us to taste and touch and see and feel our world. The things we might otherwise forget in our haste to pay the bills, get the laundry done, keep our bosses happy or beat that red light.
There is so much beauty in every single day that goes unnoticed. If we are not here to witness these things, how can we possibly share them? We are the keepers of the dreams. We may be the only keepers of the dreams. And because of this, we need to dream. And dream often and dream big. And we need to hold these dreams dear. And we need to share them.
And then we need to open our eyes to what surrounds us. How else will we ever know whether our dreams have actually come true?
This morning, the first day of September 2009, I watched the sun peek over the horizon. It was hours between that moment of sunrise and the sound of the the first bird call atop our hill. And only seconds passed before the second bird answered. I sit now within the silence between bird calls waiting to hear the secret language they share. Slowly, all the other birds awaken with their own songs. Each with their own distinctive voice. I wonder... do they understand each other across species? Or are their vocabularies singular?
There is so much to consider. All in one early morning dawn from in front of a computer screen in an upstairs bedroom.
The sun now blazes a higher path through the bluing sky. It promises to be a nice morning. If not for this mailing, I would have missed this sunrise. Missed this greeting of the day.
Thank you for giving me this morning. If not for you, I would have been sleeping through it.
May September bring you happy new beginnings full of the cacophony of back to school adventures and football cheers and jeers, but also the overwhelming splendor of the wildness of nature along with the heartwarming softening wrinkles in the faces of loved ones you might otherwise take for granted.
Let us notice all the details this September so we may share them in abundance at Thanksgiving.
July 4th, 2009
(excerpts from an e-mail to my mailing list)It is late evening on July 4th as I sit to pen this newsy-letter. The sky is a beautiful nightlight blue -- almost as clear as a late afternoon sky but translucent as only a night sky can be. And here, almost midnight beneath an almost full moon -- I celebrate the end of my "Freedom to Be Myself Day" as the theme of my Independence Day, 2009.
June was an extremely interesting month in my world. Beset with laryngitis, I was introduced to Black Vulture Medicine in Danbury. These creatures (4 to 8 depending on the sighting) showed up 3 different times -- all at the same location at a crossroads along I-84. I was also shown one turkey vulture in the drive at my home, who made sure I knew he was there for me as he hopped from one split rail fence to another -- right across the path of my windshield. I had to slow to a crawl. And there he perched at eye level, with one eye staring from that red head directly into my eyes. (Eek!)
His message, "those are Black Vultures, not turkey vultures. I am brown." Undeniable. Clear.
So, who knew black vultures have no vocal chords? That was the surprising finding revealed in my internet search to determine the natural habitat for this bird, its function on the planet and its symbolic meaning. I learned quite a bit about this creature -- and now have my eyes open for the teachings. ( * deep beath * )
My state of health is still teaching me about my body. My voice has returned, but new symptoms arrived. Learning, learning, learning...
Thankfully, because of the unsettling sightings, I was able to absorb the news of the passing of a dear woman I have loved for years, the unexpected crossing-over of a dog that was very dear to me, and the more global news of the losses of Michael Jackson, Farrah Fawcett, Billy Mays and the tragic loss of the parents of Weird Al Yankovich. The last is an unusual addition to the list, but the timing and circumstance places it on this unfortunate collection.
So much loss... and so much Reflection of what we can see in ourselves... within our own behaviors and beliefs -- both past and occurring now -- as we circle through the nostalgia left in the wake of these losses.
Let us be aware of how we treat one another in every moment so that we do not wake up one day and say, "If I had only done that differently..."
As Bob Dylan once said, "the times they are a' changin."
And as we continue to roll into July, we face a series of eclipses. July 7th marks a Full Moon in Capricorn with a Lunar Eclipse. July 21st marks a New Moon in Leo with a Solar Eclipse. And August 5th marks a Full Moon in Aquarius with a Lunar Eclipse.
Eclipses... Endings...
Buckle your seat belts and hold on to your hats.
Get ready to let go of what holds you back from your Realized Self to open to completely new avenues. Be ready to be open to your heart to feel your true emotions as the losses mount so that you can be rich to your Loving Self. That Self that allows you to be Full and Open and Blind Enough to receive the unexpected gifts coming your way.
Realize that Loss overwhelms us to strip down our guard so that we are Available to the Process.
Ask for Love. Ask for Grace. Ask for the Good Gifts.
And trust that everything that comes your way is part of Your Process. The difficult things are the "honers" that you learn through so that you can appreciate the blessings when they arrive. Remember... Gifts are either blessing or curse. It is up to us to Create the interpretation.
So, as we roll into July, let us be Open and let us Practice the Art of Being Carefree. (And boy, oh boy, that's gonna take a lot of practice on my part.)
May 3, 2009
I find myself very sleepy in these early days of May 2009, as if waking in that poppy field of popular fiction. I, only half willing to awaken to what lies ahead, suspicious that there will be disappointment in finding the man behind the curtain, but equally restless to the knowingness that the answers lie within the mysteries represented by the curtain itself.
At risk of mixing my metaphors, I wonder what beautiful dream Sleeping Beauty wove in her slumber that created the fertile ground for her waking dream to come to her.
And this is how I move into May. Working in the realm of premanifestation and possibilities. Willing to hold Hope for a new weave to find its way into the greater consciousness of humankind so that we can experience a greater shift into Understanding. A compassionate understanding of ourselves, of each other, of the greater evolution of the species and of the planet itself -- within a cosmos larger than our finite minds can conceptualize. All this, so that we may find the tranquility we seek, the joy we desire and the fulfillment our hearts crave.
As we plant our Springtime seeds, let us fill them with wonder and hope. Let us be pure to our purpose. And let us be open to allowing enchantment to buffer us against the strain of the everyday while it gently ushers us into optimistic tomorrows.
March 31, 2009
(excerpts from an e-mail to my mailing list)
Spring is here and we are entering the season of resurrection, regeneration and renewal. The sky is blue and cheery today as I listen to birdsong through my sunlit window.
I find myself atypically troubled in these recent days. Extremely unusual dreams... feeling less drive than what normally propels me... and feeling that people as a whole are disconnecting from their long held dreams. This comes with a surreal feeling of suspension. A sense that the greater collective is holding their proverbial breath. And in this suspension, I ask, "for what?"
As I ponder this, it all begins to feel fitting. As if we are being given a grand and archetypal opportunity to shed the aspects of our perspectives and our lives that are superfluous. Here, we are being asked to reflect upon the things that we have learned to hang our hats on. Perhaps they have no actual import -- or perhaps an import that we have come to take for granted. And, what I keep hearing from my Guidance is that this is a time of a great "correction".
I am reminded of the one and only philosophy course I took in college, where on the first day, the professor asked, "What is life?" And, because I unconsciously groaned out loud at the trite beginning of the discourse, I got called on. (Yikes!) From a place of burnout and exhaustion, I gave an (at that time) uncharacteristically flippant answer -- which surprisingly, the professor loved and ran with. (Much to my chagrin.) "Life is just going through the motions," I said flatly. (For those of you who know me well, can you tell I was taking the class pass/fail?)
And here, today, I remember that moment and realize why my answer was the fodder of a a great starting point. Because, really... what are we doing and why? And in these times, when the treadmill of our long-standing expectations is slowing down, it gets harder and harder NOT to ask this question.
This April, I continue to read the heartbeat of the psychology of my world and the world around me as it comes to me. I feel the emotions of the days as they run through me. And I offer what I can to do my part in the greater story. As I move through time, I unravel and gather the fraying threads of yesterday and today to create a Healing Weave from the remnants of what was - with the new energies permeating the Now -- and the gathering energies of tomorrow.
January 22, 2009
Oh, to be living in interesting times!
The dread of December-past has been leapfrogged by an overwhelming sense of history and destiny. On January 20, 2009 AND January 21, 2009, Barack H. Obama took the oath of the American Presidency. It does not matter who you are or what you believe, America stands witness to unprecedented events in this month of sweeping change and potentially momentous strides as we behold the first African-American President of the United States. Barack Obama. A name that will be recalled throughout history as the 44th President of the United States.
My thoughts turn to Abraham Lincoln. I hope that he is finding peace and healing in this outcome.
It remains to be seen how the enthusiasm of these first days of 2009 will be transformed into viable action and workable results, but we do now stand at a precipice… a brink… a springboard….
Today, I hold Optimism in my heart. Indeed, this is an adopted stepchild in my world, but one that I have learned to lasso, nurture and coddle. Optimism can be a delicate thing. I have come to understand it and honor it as a vibration that needs to be carried.
In these first days, I stand at the ready. To do my part. To be Of Service. Even though I do not yet know what that will entail. Times will be hard. The losses will be many. But the rebuilding will define us.
December 2008
(excerpts of an e-mail to my mailing list)
As the holy days of Light approach during this twelfth month of 2008, I spend much time witnessing visceral changes in the fabric of our reality. Not just the outer changes that we see reported on the news, but changes to the actual fabric of how our reality comes together. Although subtle to the human eye, these changes are real nonetheless. As the ancient Chinese blessing/curse suggests, we are "living in interesting times."
As I attend to the hiss of the bad economic news and the fear that it engenders, I beckon my soul to see the deeper meaning in all of this. To me, there is a sense that we are landing in the collective base chakra fallout of that horrendous hate crime enacted upon our nation's industrial/military complex on September 11, 2001.
7 years ago we were blind-sided -- stricken -- a veritable enactment of The Tower of the Tarot. As a nation, we watched as the symbol of our financial stronghold in New York collapsed -- and a wing of our military stronghold in our nation's Capitol was destroyed -- by a well-planned act of inconceivable violence and indecency. Our illusions of safety and security were shattered. With this act, we were asked to wake up and open our minds and our eyes to something larger than we believed at the time. And that vision at that time included the bad and the ugly.
In the past 7 years, as a nation, we have watched our military, as it is currently formulated, become exhausted -- and watched our economy drain before our very eyes. Now, we are in the thick of it. We have reached the threshold where our old ways of doing things do not create the results we need or desire. We are faced with our fears, our realities, our changing nation -- within an awareness of a changing globe. Climate change, the decline of the American dollar, unemployment rising and dependency on foreign oil. All these factors impacting our daily lives in a living, breathing way.
So, what next? What next?
This is the question I sit with today and tomorrow and tomorrow.
It is time to lift our Vision higher. Beyond the bad and the ugly. To what comes next...
And to do this, we heal. We look to each other -- and, in speaking my piece -- and peace -- I say -- let us see each other. Really SEE each other.
Then... let's decide who we want to be. Who do we want to be when we are at our best -- AND at our worst? Who do we really want to be when all the bets are in?
And who do WE want to be as a collective?
As WE THE PEOPLE, we voted for change, but it is up to us to create that change. It is up to us to hold a vision of Becoming. It is up to us to decide how we shall be as citizens of America, as citizens of Earth, as citizens of Life. It is up to us to Believe.
I do not celebrate the holidays. In 1993, my personal life crashed to a baseline level where I stepped out of tradition to honor every day as a sacred day. But, those of you who know me, know that I follow The Divine, The Sun, The Moon, The Stars, The Seasons, Love, We The People, Love (again), Beauty, Truth, Honor, Passion, Friends, the gods and goddesses of all traditions, the fairies, and THE JOURNEY TO FIND HOPE and to be loved.
So, this year, Solstice arrives on Sunday, December 21st. The first night of Hanukkah. To honor this day, I invite you to join me in co-creating a miracle for a personal healing for yourself, a healing for others and a greater miracle that is yet to be determined... a miracle to make the world a better place.
To bring something beautiful to YOUR world, to bring hope to OUR world and to create a MIRACLE of healing in multi-fold proportions, I invite you to join me in co-creating a miracle -- so that we may bear witness to that miracle.
If you would like to participate in a bit of "innerfairy magic" -- which is not conjuring... it is an offering of human kindness... I invite you to do the following:
Submit a charitable contribution to Serving Those Who Serve (see below) dated 12/21/08 (if you are reading this in the future, the current date will work just as well) -- the donation can be as small as you need it to be. ($3 is a valuable contribution.)
I am setting an intention that in sending healing energy (i.e. money) to those who serve First Responders to Ground Zero in NYC on 9/11, we are:
(1) honoring the innocent who perished or were injured during the atrocity
(2) honoring those brave souls who live in service to answering "the call" in 3 dimensional reality every day -- giving us our sense of protection
(3) honoring those who come to the aid of those who suffer after answering "the call"
(4) honoring the ability to heal the divide in consciousness created by "tribe"
(5) honoring the ability to heal where we feel lack
(6) honoring the belief that from all destruction, a phoenix rises
(7) honoring the ability to witness miracles when we open to giving AND receiving.
To participate meaningfully, set a personal intention. It can feel "selfish". i.e. financial well-being; a trip to Ireland; etc. (When we feel full, we have more energy to give!) Write down your intention -- stating it in the positive and ending it with "I ask for this or something better for the good of all concerned." If you decide to write a check, in the memo portion, write "innerfairy" _______ -- and fill in the blank with what you would like to manifest for yourself. (We do this with the understanding that when we allow ourselves to bring healing energies through us, we heal others as we are healed. By writing "innerfairy" -- you are multiplying/amplifying your intention by adding it to a collective prayer.)
Serving Those Who Serve (STWS.org) is a nonprofit organization dedicated to helping restore health to tens of thousands of Ground Zero rescue and recovery workers and volunteers as well as area residents and workers exposed to over 2400 toxins on 9/11 and in the aftermath. STWS provides holistic herbal formulas free of charge to gently detoxify the body and build up the immune system. STWS also offers therapeutic yoga classes and partners with other healing practitioners to provide acupuncture, and breath/meditation/stress management workshops. Please visit the website (STWS.org) for more information. Donations can be made via check or credit card using Paypal.
Make checks payable to Serving Those Who Serve, Inc.
and mail to:
STWS
P.O. Box 237047
New York, NY 10023
All donations are tax-deductible. Please visit the website (STWS.org) if you would like to donate via credit card.
I will do my part in setting this miracle into motion -- and then open my eyes to SEE what co-creation with the Divine brings into my world, your world and this world of OURS.
