Vishuddha. The Fifth Chakra. The center of the throat and vocal communication center. The site of a personal trauma in my very young life, where I had a tracheotomy at age two.
As I look through my chakra guides and information I am reminded of the color turquoise and how it always seems to be a color that has resonated with me, besides red. How much I love the gemstone of the same name. How fractured and splintered my voice had stayed for so long until I found a place online where people understood an addiction that I had, and always will have. I found that place and I started writing. A lot.
Sometimes I wrote about how well I was doing, and then how I was not doing well. I would play the game of leaving for a hiatus and coming back. Checking to see if anyone was checking on me. You know how that is, right Facebook friends? All about communicating and not communicating.
Soon after that new online journal obsession began, I struggled for a new way to channel my energy and do it in a creative way. Food made me fatter. Sugar gave me cavities. Diet soda hurt my stomach and exercise became obsessive. I wrote and read and wrote and whined and wrote and prayed. I started reading things that inspired me great enough to create art. I picked up my favorite tool at the time, which was a metal quill dip pen and Winsor Newton ink imported from England. I bought a huge pad of golden parchment and started doing what I love to do most. Draw art and create beautiful letters, a font all my own. Very distinctive. To this day, I have perfected it, over and over in hundreds of pages and menu boards and sandwich boards. I have painted until my fingers were crippled and bent. I have painted and drank dirty paint water accidentally. I have revered the process of tattooing, loving ink in all ways, shapes and forms. I usually only write with a certain pen and have told the story to many people of how the manufacturers will send refills back when you mail them defective ones you may have purchased.
Creating and communicating through writing online and creating art became my highway to freedom from my addiction to smoking. Getting tattooed helped me keep that promise to myself, that I wasn't going to smoke because the money was already spent. I was tired of being petrified to go to sleep with that feeling in my chest of not being able to breathe completely. I hated how everything smelled and tasted. I hated the example I was to my children the most. I hated that I was doing something that was completely avoidable and how much control it had over me.
Now I am back at a cycle that I recognize and do not like, with people who remind me of other people that I have left behind because, for whatever reason, I felt unappreciated. As soon as I get into that mode of not trusting again, I know it is time to turn away. It is time to test the waters of fate and see if I am going to remain treading them or have the strength to swim to shore. Metaphorically, another water reference for my water sign Scorpio - its the one that always gets my attention.
The throat chakra is not water, it is air. If you are familiar with what a tracheotomy is, it is a surgical procedure that creates an emergency external method of opening up the airway in distress. In the book "The Complete Guide to Chakras" by Ambika Wauters, it reads many things that I personally recognize as specifically being issues, but this is another one that is so relevant to my entire life with this particular chakra being distressed:
Results of dysfunction
The energetic leaks of a dysfunctional Throat Chakra are experienced as fatigue, weakness, or dissipation. On physical level, this manifests as an underfunctioning thyroid gland. Medication may be prescribed, but this does not change or alter the leak. Conventional medicine stimulates the thyroid and causes it to overproduce hormones. Energetically, it is essential to one's spirit for energy to be freely flowing in the system and for the ductless glands to secrete proper levels of hormones.
In the year my father was diagnosed with lung cancer, 1999, I was diagnosed with hypothyroidism. I was treated with a radioactive iodine treatment that deactivated my thyroid and set me up for a life of Synthroid medication that I must take every day for the rest of my life. When I was pregnant with Markus, my dosage was raised from 127 to 150 to provide enough for both of us. It took awhile to go back to what is considered normal for me, the 127 mcg which it is now.
The point I am getting at here is that since I was two years old, I have had to pay special attention to this chakra, this weak point, a vulnerable issue that has not failed to make itself known over and over every single day since then. Perhaps some people have heart issues, or migraines or stomach ulcers. My core trauma has been with my throat chakra. Painting this painting has, as I said in the listing description, been a great teacher to me because I have been reluctant to share my creative vision as a piece of work that I am willing to let go. I am willing to let my creative expression be shared, to be heard, through my work and tireless happy hours painting it, and finally deciding that it is indeed time to let these pieces of work help heal me by letting them go to others who will absolutely appreciate and honor them the way that I do.
As the years have passed I have written reams and piles and scores of journal entries, published my book "Whispers of the Goddess", self published and illustrated, have manuscripts and parts of stories for at least five books busting out of boxes and folders and files all over the place. I have literally hundreds of parchment "Book of Shadows" pages that I had the most amazing time creating. I have learned so much on my creative ways. What I have struggled with, however, is the faith in the guidance I have received about what to do with my inspiration and art on this next part of my journey.
This next part of my journey has been a long time coming. I had been waiting so long on the edge of that broken old bed in that broken old house to be able to be on that next part. I am on it. I am letting go of things that make me unhappy, that hold me down and back, and having the courage to do that is not easy.
The Throat Chakra and the Emotional Body
The Throat Chakra gives expression to our emotions in word and sound. We purr when we are deeply happy, sigh when we are sad, grunt when we are angry, and close our throats down when we are afraid to say what is on our mind. It is the channel for communication and creativity. It is through the throat that we sing our joy, say our prayers for peace, or scream our pain away. Knowing that we have the right to communicate our feelings openly is essential for our life development.
Leading me to believe that should I continue to hold back on my creative skill and voice, I will somehow develop some other throat ailment. I continue to learn what the worst things for the throat chakra are: lying, malicious gossip, substance abuse, overeating - all of which pass through the delicate fabric of the throat.
So for this painting, as I said in the listing, it is also made up of so many parts of me and I cannot be the only one who knows this. I cannot be the only one in the trauma of this space and the only one who truly knows that creative expression is the portal to freedom. In every sense of the word.
Thank you for coming here once again.
Until next time
The past week has shown me a lot of different truths, in my life and the life of others. Last night I posted a quick note that this would be my last weekly Monday blog. Not to say that I won't be writing blogs anymore, I will just write them when I feel like I am not competing with something else in my life, like that painting that I have been faithfully layering into a pretty impressive piece of work. I have been more into organic inspiration and meditation as a means of waiting for the answers to prayers I have been praying for weeks, months, years. I have been thinking about all the things that I have learned and thought that I have learned, only to come to find I have only skimmed the surface of so many things that I need to know more about.
So many things that I must address this serious issue that I have, with social media. I love being able to see what both my friends and not so much friends are doing. I love being able to see through the windows that people have allowed us to see through. But, its like a portal that sucks you into this place where all of a sudden, a whole precious hour of time has passed and what have you learned? What someone cooked for dinner. What someone did at whatever place with whoever they wanted to tag in. Whatever someone did only to satisfy the urge to post about something important they did. Or not so important. Or something devastating. Or something ridiculous. All in all, I love it regardless. I think it is an amazing tool of self destruction, if you let it get that far. And I have. I am so guilty of posting all the stuff that I love and not love. But then Chester Bennington committed suicide...or...was he murdered? For being involved in the same activity that Chris Cornell was involved in - exposing pedophiles in Hollywood? Did I read that shit right? Can it be true? Could they both have been targeted for what they were about to expose? So many people want to say that people like this, these rock stars or celebrities have every thing they could want, fame and success, and children and spouses. But...they were once just like you and I. Way back before they decided to go for the best way they knew how to get out of those hollowed out and depressive thoughts and feelings. Which, in this case for both artists, was very true. Never the less, I wish they finally have the peace they couldn't find here...but wouldn't it have been better to live in peace...why wait to rest in it... I do get it, though.
What if getting to your highest self doesn't provide the results you had anticipated? What if there are so many old scars related to what you are trying to do that you literally drive yourself insane between the rock and the hard place?
It's like you try and try and try, seemingly having everything and none of it gets down deep enough, to the roots at the beginning. You get tired of digging down to try to uncover it and reveal it. Maybe you finally do, and its uglier than you can imagine. You give up, despite all the times you promised you wouldn't. All the times you said you would fight. You surrender in a silent darkness. The pain is overwhelming. The ridge of where you want to be and where you want to go is too narrow, too sharp, too long.
there is a loneliness in this world so great
that you can see it in the slow movement of
the hands of a clock.
people so tired
either by love or no love.
people just are not good to each other
one on one.
the rich are not good to the rich
the poor are not good to the poor.
we are afraid.
our educational system tells us
that we can all be
it hasn't told us
about the gutters
or the suicides.
or the terror of one person
aching in one place
watering a plant.
I've got a rampage of thoughts going on so much so that I have to see it through, like the promise I made to myself to post at least once a week, every Monday. And I did that, for over one year. My next promise is to cure myself of the social media disease where the lives of so many others has taken to the habit of flowing so freely and deliberately that it has become actually disturbing and dehumanizing. It's become like a monstrous television program only its everyone you know, broadcasting whatever, where ever and however they want. I am not exempt from doing the same exact thing. But now, however, I am changing my choices and listening to the voices that are ringing loud and clear. And soon, I will share what they are saying through my work and my spontaneous posts here, on my website because I will find less distractions here. I welcome you to comment if you'd like, and I am notified when you do.
Until next time -
Twenty four hours in a day, a construct that helps us maintain routine and continuity in our everyday worlds. Our wages and energy are stretched and confined, our love and leisure time minimized as our stress and anxiety is maximized. When do we start to tip that balance? Do we? Can we? It could take me all day to write this one post. It's 10:06 a.m. now. I start painting. I have written and thought and felt a range of things, but in an important moment realized that the time I am spending feeling slower, calmer, and more in control of at least my thoughts, I realize that these swatches of time can be either accounted for in a written or creative way, or disappear back into sleep, or food, or television or social media - forever sucked away into a state of being asleep.
This is why art has been and has become even so much more important to me. That what a part of my time consists of is illustrated and proven on a paper or canvas or wood, stone or metal. To have the best chance of surviving its way into the world and lasting awhile longer than my physical body will.
I wait for the hummingbird to return. I wait for birds to feed off the glass feeder I set out to replace the old broken chewed up plastic one. Time passes and the nectar stays full. The seeds stay waiting. I keep writing, painting, teaching, creating. I recall things I regret saying, even if only joking and it may only be one sentence, or two words .
I add paint to a painting that I literally started over seven years ago. I realize that I have not finished many of them, yet the time that I have already spent on them has not been lost. It has been recorded in paint, shape, flow and emotion on the canvas. I am the same human but I am not the same being that started them. I have learned so much from my paintings from day one. I have seen them metamorphosis into the best pieces that I thought I was capable of into something much more. Today is one of those days when I realize my potential has not even nearly been reached.
I sit for timed periods of time and then move the rest of the day. I am aware of my body being in different stages of energy, aging, pain, and strength. There are thoughts that I have about my body that I didn't have this time last year. There are thoughts that I am sure I will have about what I plan to do about my body in the next few weeks that I do not have now. The measurement of time on a day by day basis seems so drawn out. The length of time that it takes for the swollen skin of a mosquito bite to stop driving me insane seems so minimal compared to other things that drive me to the point of wanting to close all the curtains and light a candle to sit in front of in meditation.
I should sit more often. Possibly. If you know me personally, you know this is hard for me. I often say that I mostly sit when I am driving. Sitting in meditation has made all the difference in the world to me, especially since moving. Things are still very unstructured but as I have recently witnessed, I know that they will slowly pull together the way they should like mercury out of a broken thermometer.
I get these very small nudges that lead me away from what I would say are distractions from following my intuitive urges. (Say fuck it, keep on going/Feels by Kiiara) Everything is about Feeling now. Everything is becoming really clear on the topic and the element of water, my home sign of Scorpio, is taking precedence in a lot of areas that I have been somewhat neglecting. All these slippery puzzle pieces sliding together in a mercury like substance that absorbs whatever fears and anxiety that I have harbored because of whatever I had learned to believe in the past. It is clear that so much of those old beliefs have to be discontinued and dissolved because when I look at that work that I am doing, there was nothing I was feeling that aligned with those unfounded and uninspired thoughts in the process of creating those pieces that have yet to be completed. That are asking for their completion. Which I have been working on in timed sittings. Reading, writing, and moving ever closer to the highly sought after momentum...
So with that, I must go for now.
Until next Monday
~ C ~
Something I have had issues with for decades at this point is selling original art. I have sold a lot of art over the years, mainly prints and hand painted items that I don't feel that same attachment to as a painting on paper or canvas. One day several years ago, I was told something by someone who I keep in a very special place in my corridor of kindred souls. He told me that I should try to make the painting at the start for someone else. His voice, carrying over thousands of miles of land and sea, can still be heard in that corridor of truth and surrender. His voice comes from a place of kindred origin and one day I know that I will travel there. For now, I will take that thought out of its dusty little coffin and brush it off. I will look into its dark glittering eyes and smooth down its crazy hair. Like a forgotten doll that never got the attention it needed, this thought stares into my soul like the dog did last night and I swore there were human eyes in his skull.
I have been thinking about all the routes I have and have not taken. The ones that I am tempted to keep taking because I already know how they work, but the fact is that they are tired and old and want to go to sleep in the middle of the day. They look at me with the same old outdated feelings swimming alongside a muddy river of "HOW DO I DO THIS?" Then I remember all the things that I have collected, all the magazines, articles, webpages, bookmarks...and I have to tell myself to shut up. SHUT UP. Listen. The feelings guide me the right way. They have been trying for so long. The feelings that I had before I moved compared to the feelings I have now are like the bottom of the pond now. The feelings that want to guide me are like the sprouts of what will soon be a lily pad, and then on one glorious day, a blooming lotus of allowance and release.
Last night I put the last firestarter log thing in the small fire pit and I lit some tiny tealights for the full moon. Just as I was about to sit down I saw a white and black movement out of the corner of my eye. A small skunk disappeared into a hole in the ground where a tree used to stand and now is only a stump. I jumped up and got inside but not before I twisted some muscles in my back. More than twenty four hours later, I am still recalling how fast I can move when threatened by the spray of skunk. Reminds me of the time I did the same thing at Lake Mohegan when I saw a large black rat snake by the bridge.
So today I think about that move and of course I am going to wonder about what the significance of the skunk is at this point. A quick look at my Ted Andrews pocket guide of Animal Speak tells me that skunk means its time to assert your boundaries. It just so happens that this tree stump is precisely inside the lines sprayed down to install a six foot chain link fence. Not only to keep that looney dog in, but to keep other dogs and creatures out. Except the skunk. Who is a great teacher of practicing what you preach and having your reputation precede you. Who also lets us realize how energy works and how to use it to manifest what we want. Other words that I found that are associated with the skunk are: assurance, awareness, confidence, courage, defense, effectiveness, innocence, introspection, judgement, pacifism, protection, prudence, respect, silence, steadiness, and strength.
And just before the day is over now, today, I am remembering my father who passed away seventeen years ago. I swear he is hovering around checking out the new place and reminding me that we are never really gone forever. So in that tone, I will continue to work on my art as a slight breeze stands next to me. I will do my best at being courageous and let my reputation as an artist and creator precede me as I plan to complete an original painting and reveal it soon as being the first of its kind to actually be sold where ever I feel would be a respectable and exciting place to offer it. I can change how I think now, because things are never going to be the way they were before, and if I don't try to make new things happen, the time will run on and on anyway and there is no time for regret. No time for holding onto things because the energy I have to create them will never die, and I will be able to say YES, I CREATED THIS OUT OF LOVE AND GRATITUDE FOR THE ART OF CREATING and I CREATED IT FOR SOMEONE ELSE.
So I chose my choice
and I thank you for loving it.
Until next Monday
There is an app I use every day, its free and it has literally thousands of meditations in all styles, forms, topics and practices. I have been using it for several years now and I have told several people about it. In the beginning of 2017 I started listening to a lady named Michelle Zarin, who has a series called 20/20 Meditation for Peace. This series enlightened me, made me happy, made me cry, made me remember that my story was a portal as well as a piece of creativity that will not lay down and die and leave me.
As I begin to carve out a practice of being able to once again sync up with all that makes me feel grounded, peaceful and secure, I hear things that try to sabotage my thoughts away from this. Thoughts and comments that make me feel regret, anger, shame and whatever ream of unpleasant emotions in regards to relationships long or short standing. I understand the time I have had to take to remove myself from that has come and asks me to be uncomfortable and unsure of what is coming next. It is all divinely orchestrated. It is all correctly designed to help me truly allow myself to receive the information that I need to continue with my work. Because sometimes, listening to "strangers" is the most unobtrusive and perfect advice one can receive. Because sometimes, strangers have the best look at a perspective you could not see because you were too busy with self limiting beliefs, shaming and vulnerability at wanting to be better but the approval you sought never came. It never gelled into what you had expected for support, and from whom. So you doubt yourself and your goals because there was not enough to back it up.
So one morning you are cutting strawberries in half and it hits you. You have to form these thoughts for yourself based on the words of someone not closely involved in your attainment. Because these strangers have nothing to gain or lose from you personally and they are saying what you need to hear because those people you have expected to hear it from have fallen silent. Or have voiced negative opinions. Or have pretended to be supportive and then turned into something mildly sabotaging.
I don't think I would have written the above paragraphs without listening to strangers. Without taking part in the meditation app. Without really making the time to sit and do it most every day. Sometimes it is only five minutes. Sometimes it is up to an hour. But I know that it has made a huge difference and that it is called "practice" because there is no one who started out meditation with their mind clear of thoughts.
I think the best way to introduce it to someone who has told themselves over and over that they are not the type of person capable of meditating is to tell them about guided meditation. It totally qualifies and I think that so many people misunderstand what meditation can do and how it can start out. How much easier could it be than to pick a short five minute session and just listen, follow a few simple instructions with basic visualization? Sometimes that is exactly what I need, and sometimes, if I am struggling with a question or issue, I will choose a soundtrack meditation which is just an instrument or the sound of the ocean, or of the rain. A thought or answer is bound to come through, most of the time. And there is a very real sense of gratitude involved in this. There is a very specific feeling that accompanies this. There is also the perfect pace of being present now. There is no other way that I have figured out how to make sure that I sit still and do just one thing.
Over the years I have been asked many times about who I am and what I believe. I refuse to be labeled in one category. I like to be open minded, I like to understand the way other people think about the Universe at large and the way that they praise who they praise, how they speak about that and how they demonstrate behavior in regards to what they believe, spiritually.
Right now, I am at that new desk, in front of that new window and along the ridge of the mountain there are fireworks. All my life I have had to drive somewhere to see the fireworks. I think that this is amazing, that it is exactly the way I want to see fireworks because I don't particularly like the whole ordeal of going to the beach and waiting for hours and then more hours of trying to get out of a parking lot. I hear the movie "Trolls" in the background, I know that my three sons are safe and in places where they are most content, and we are also safe - as well as the dog who doesn't seem affected by the fireworks at all, which is the complete opposite of the last dog we had. She used to try to scratch through the floor after peeling back the carpet, as if she could get to the basement through it.
So as the summer progresses, I know that soon enough the leaves will start changing and that when my favorite time of year arrives (its always autumn here) I won't be thinking about what I am thinking now. I won't be worried about many of the things I am worried about now. I will hopefully have integrated the ideas that I have been hearing on my rides back and forth to Fairfield on my audiobooks app. One of which I particularly love: "Worrying is a prayer for chaos." Meditation helps to reframe the thoughts that cause the worrying. And from there, everything else falls ever so gently into place.
Have a happy and safe fourth of July! I have been writing once a week every week for a year now!
Grateful and Blessed.
Until next Monday
I remember my first gemstone. I bought it when I was probably seventeen at a little place on Kings Highway in Fairfield, CT called "The Wizard". I always felt so strange in there, surrounded by candles and statues and so many little bowls of stones. I felt like the owners could see right through me.
I still have that Tigers Eye among the countless others I have collected since then. I don't even know all of their names but they have traveled with me up and down the east coast and my latest addition was the one I got at the flea market, that I previously wrote about.
As I empty the storage unit in Fairfield, I am finding my papers and pens and paints. I am aware of my massive amounts of pages and journals and books being the largest part of the bulk and I have been missing my paintbrushes and parchments as well as my canvases, slates and Moon Jars. I think of them all often as I struggle to create a new schedule for this new home and everything else that must be done. I get overwhelmed really easily and have to talk myself down off my creative ledge quite frequently because once I get up there, time does not exist. Suddenly the sun is setting and I have a piece of work in front of me that I could sit with for hours and hours until it is complete. Except I can't because we have to eat and clean and play and read and write. We have to get aggravated and anxious and overburdened...don't we?
If you know anything about me, you know that I write and paint, draw and create. If you are a fan, you know about my parchment art collections and other such pieces of work. Last year I learned how to create digital downloads so that I could sell them on Etsy and on this site as well. Soon after I figured that out, we decided that we were going to start clearing out the house to get ready to start the process of putting it up for sale. It felt like just as I was gaining some sort of progress and momentum with that part of my world, suddenly I was on a slide covered in butter - fast track right back to attention deficit obsessive complusive over functioning under achieving blender type mentality.
Recently I started a new painting with that new stone in mind, Celestite. When I first picked it up I had no idea what it was or what is was for. When I came home and read about it, I was happy to find that it is a stone that connects one to the angelic realm and is a great stone to meditate with so that you can connect to higher frequencies and feel the comfort and calm radiate from the pale blue stones.
As I have created many pieces of work based on the properties and associations of many things, crystals and gemstones being one of these things, I set out to use a different technique just to get started again and be excited about a new method. I wanted to paint "Celestite" - an angelic being who could radiate with the energy and meaning of the stone. But as I went on, I kept hearing Amethyst and Ametrine. Both light purple quartz like stones. So, I just assumed that was what wanted to come through. I kept painting and adding and wondering if I was going to be able to do a Celestite page and let the other painting just be what it wanted to be.
Today, as I was re-reading the entry for Celestite in one of my books, I saw that it said there was a light purple specimen...and I as blown away. I feel like that was an amazing manifestation that came through and it was beyond me why I could not put that purple paint away.
So, that was an amazing discovery for me. All morning I struggled with the old way that I used to create pages and art for the Book of Shadows collection that I am well known for. I had it down to a science, I had a certain formula to follow to avoid certain issues with paper, pen, ink, smudging, muddying of ink and paint, etc. Today I just couldn't get it. I sat with Celestite some more. I tried three different kinds of papers. Six or seven kinds of wet paint and ink media. I took that photo of my own personal piece of Celestite in the birds nest that I got for the garden, also from that flea market. It made me grateful to have a great prop to use. On the way back into the house, I got stung by a bee on the foot...
I struggled some more. I decided to take a break and be close to the boys in the pool and think more about what I wanted to try to do differently. I get OCD about my art and how its done and when etc. What it means to me, the first piece in the new home and all that. I can get a little ridiculous. Then it was time for dinner and I moved my pads and paints and pens to my desk again. I happened to put one upside down and as I went to put it right side up, I noticed a blue face staring at me from a back page...and guess who it is now?
Celestite, in blue.
So stay tuned for the reveal of the new work!
Check my Etsy shop for a portion of the existing art
And thank you for reading my rambling connecting the dots of my haphazard labyrinth of thoughts.
Until next Monday
What is that they say, the road to hell is paved with good intentions? Well, the road to my blog last night was paved with requests for me to "lay down with me so I can sleep in my new room". Which almost always ends with me falling asleep before he does. No large iced coffee nor glowing computer screen from across the room on the dimly lit new writing desk could pull me back to it, and the blog I had started writing was something I was sure wasn't going to be a quality entry. So rather than throwing up some conjunctive piece of shit just to say that I kept the promise on time again, I felt that my intentions were askew and that there was no doubt about it, I would write a considerable blog in the morning...this morning...and here it is.
Yesterday I had a visitor to the new home and was given a special set of gifts, one of which is one of my totems, the Bee. I tend to have them tattooed on me (my animal spirit guides) and when I was thinking about first publishing "Whispers of the Goddess" I had gotten my Carpe Diem tattoo that I had designed with a Queen Bee right in the middle. Complete with crest and crown, this tattoo was my first large tattoo that was enlarged because the text "Carpe Diem" was going to need to be at least that large so that over time it would hold up. It made me a nervous wreck until I told myself that it was for the love of the book, for the love of the written word and for the love of all that I create, including the design for the work itself.
I have loved bees for a long time, even if the first memory of bees were the ones that I had accidentally disturbed in a hive under a porch where I had followed a neighborhood cat and then had the whole swarm follow me home only to sting me as I tried to escape into the house but the screen door stuck and caused the incident to be a permanent painful memory, even now, decades later. At that moment, I would have never seen myself being tattooed regularly, or even thinking about such a thing. Tattoos were a rare sight in the time of my life I am speaking about.
As the person who gifted me this special new addition that graces my current desk items knows, learning about the power of a creature helps us to recognize what its importance in our lives it has come for. In the above picture, there are, of course, three bees. One on my arm, one on the key, and one of the card that I pulled with my eyes closed this morning from my Druid Animal Oracle deck. I had been waiting to get that box here, and opened, the one with all my tarot and oracle cards in it. But as my husband has mentioned, the boxes all over the place are causing an ill effect and he is correct. When I look over in the corner I see them lingering, open and not being unpacked. It is a feeling of perplexion that I don't feel the need to deal with anymore. One by one, those frigging boxes can go down into a dark basement room and wait for me as I unravel my current intentions which have a better chance of becoming realized without all that excess in the way.
I have set the intention of changing on the wings of a dead butterfly, a scorpion, and countless creatures in my life. Just yesterday, we walked the dog down a different path. In the crosswalk was a tiny dead garden snake being eaten by ants. This morning I was making coffee and saw tiny black ants walking along the edge of a cabinet. The ant could make it into my collection because not only were they there, they were crawling across the window in front of my computer when I sat down to write this. As I write this, at this very moment, I look at the tiny books I have chosen to sit on my desk only because they are small and they are ones that I reference often. I decide I need to know about ant, as well... and what do I find... in the picture below:
Ant, following immediately by Bee. Double messages today. Industriousness, creativity, pursue your work for the common good. Oh, and is that Chapter THREE? Lol. Of course it is. Which will cause my seemingly micromanaging thought process to lead me to the third creature...which I want to hope is going to be a butterfly and not a big huge spider...as I wrote that, a crow glided past my window and is sitting on the wire outside.
I suspect the whole day will be like this. I think it started yesterday when one of the two TOADS we have left performed a Lazarus type move. Which I had to Google just now and you know what it says? Lazarus experienced THREE BIRTHS. Which is what this toad (we have been calling them frogs, but they never were frogs) has just experienced because yesterday morning we found him belly up floating in the water dish. When we took the dog for a walk I wondered where I was going to bury him. When we returned from the walk, there was no toad in the dish. I thought maybe somehow the dog got him or who knows what. Then I saw him staring at me from the corner of the dish. Fully alive and well, just as he is right now. His three births? Tadpole, toad, and reborn toad. His name is officially Lazarus. He will be a year old soon, as will his last brother in there. I appreciate the cycle and lives of these little guys, they have taught us many valuable lessons and on my desk is YES a black toad who is perched on a leaf that my son made with the first sparrow feather I found last week on the new lawn. Toad is a newer totem, but a totem nonetheless.
So where do I start with all these intentions that I have? How do I align with them and figure out which are priorities and which are not? Getting those boxes out of my face will help. Being organically inspired helps. Being able to sit and listen in meditation helps, and it has been hard to get that time recently. It is the key that unlocks that door that I shut myself. I cannot align with my intentions if I shut the door on them by cluttering all this other stuff in the way. I can't see them or hear them and it is the presence of the animals and creatures that have been a powerful intervention for me. I value and revere the presence of the animals and creatures, no matter how small like the black dots of ants and the dead cricket in the corner of the porch. All of them have a message and they, in their own simple and natural way, inspire the biggest and best changes possible.
Aligning with the intention of listening to the signs and omens, the energy of it and its frequency...connecting those dots.
Until next week...
Monday mornings are the ones that people like to say they hate. As a waitress, I love Monday mornings. It means that everyone goes back to their regular 9 -5 or so and I get to get back on some kind of track. Which is always going to be writing, teaching, creating. To start out this process of switching tracks there are several things to be done and one of them is choosing what kind of music I am going to listen to and start aligning with the thoughts that I will be writing on both on my blog and in my personal journal. Sometime I think I don't need it, but then I sit and stare at blank pages and remember that yes, yes I do.
I get intuitive nudges about what I want to write and what I should not write. Sometimes those things that I should not write become the most spontaneous and combustible things that I must write. My shifts in perception have come in such gossamer sheets that I am very grateful because they are allowing me to catch up and see what I need to still focus on and the things that are breaking my heart are dealt with on a slower level.
(...that I know you can't afford like that tattoo on your shoulder...)
I've been listening to audible books that have been helping me restructure some of the limiting thoughts that I have been harboring for years, possibly my entire life, about the things that I am capable of. With the passing of the full Strawberry Moon and watching the lives of those around me, both slowing down and speeding up with alarming tenacity, I get flashes of the shortness of it all. I get premonitions of wasted time being so much more than just an idle threat. They are full throttle glances at the inevitability of the end of everything. The rise and fall of emotion and the highs that you thought could be only achieved through circumstances you tried to control, that you thought you could manifest for yourself. The time passes, you are happy. Then you find yourself in an impossibly depressing situation that explodes in your face unexpectedly. Then you are contemplating what to do now. What is the right answer? Do you think you have it? Would it be to make the best of the time you have and be grateful as often as you can? To be the best version of yourself while you are still here? Because you know when you are not doing that. You know because you feel like it is all a waste of time. Situations pile up and build up and stack against your happy canvas in your head. Someone keeps walking by with a bucket of black paint and splattering it across the face of your masterpiece.
So what do you do then? It's dripping down over the piece you have worked months on, maybe even a year or two. What do you do about the person? What do you do about your reaction? What do you decide is the reason for this blasphemous desecration? Do you decide that it is probably your fault, that you had it coming for some unrealized ream of actions that finally needed to be brought to light?
So you get in your car and drive away somewhere you have never been, walk among the streets where no one knows anything about you. No one knows your name and you walk under a series of street lamps that make you highly appreciative of their light and shape. The way they are strategically placed along the paved walks. You decide that somewhere along the way, yes, you did bring this on yourself and that it is playing out exactly the way it is supposed to. Your painting is destroyed and you can throw it away now because it can't be saved. You cannot save that old persona. Nor should you want to. It is all your fault. Take it's hand and walk with it so it can show you why.
The images and the speed and the glow of the street lights illuminate things in the darkness. Shadows of the old patterns still hovering over you, by and large, asking you questions that you believe you have already answered. The problem is, you answered incorrectly at that time. You feel that frustration rise up and ask you once again, "The Question" and you say, "I Don't Know." Then you find it on the table in a flea market, a glittering stone, a piece of pale blue quartz like specimen that they are asking $10 for. You pull out your last $10 bill and hold that stone. You have no idea why it feels like an angel in your palm, but you know it makes you feel like silence and prayer. It is the simplest and quietest answer. It is the answer you have already answered and the one that you have been looking for, and all the words in between. It is planted in the dirt of your father's dead rose bush. It is planted in the one you will find to replace it and the bone meal you will drop down in the hole while mourning the passing of a seventeen year old plant. The plant you dug out of the yard where he last was, and you bought because when you were a little girl, you knew how important that rose bush was to him. Or maybe it was important to you. The whole composition of such a plant with its beauty and thorns.
(...so fuck your dreams...don't you pull at our seams...)
The point of all this writing and creating is supposed to be helping and healing me. And it is. And it is what I hope that helps you, too, because I cringe at the thought of all this working and all this moving and all this thinking and getting it down not being carefully perused and inspiring in some way. Of not being helpful or hopeful or dreadful enough to be of some better purpose than to be eroding the inside of my skin with nothing to grow new out of it.
Which is where I will end for now.
Until Next Monday.
XO C 333
I have been noticing so many things now that I am in a new place surrounded by no one familiar, except the girl at Dunkin Donuts who now smiles at me every time she sees me. I notice people drive the speed limit and no one is texting and driving. I mean NO. ONE. Strangers keep smiling at me and I must look ridiculous trying to smile back because its out of the ordinary for me to see so many people doing that all the time.
I have been watching that street light and still don't have the hang of its pattern. I like watching it spontaneously go off and on while I am drop dead exhausted trying not to use the television to push me to sleep. This whole event of cleaning and purging and packing a house full of things from myself, my sons, my husband and things that dearly departed have also left behind has proven to be quite a challenging string of decisions and responsibilities that I needed to and still need to weigh against each other. Too many things to be properly preserved. Too many things sliding into an avalanche of memorabilia. Too many boxes left to be unpacked and its too soon to worry about all of that because my creative complexion is slapping me around inside my head. It says, Sit and Write. Draw. Paint. OR ELSE.
I don't know how many people will understand the sheer raw frustration that stems from the blasting wound of not creating for a long period of time because there are other things that must be done. That have to be done. That take precedence, are higher priority because of one important reason or another.
But then I sit here and say "It's Monday night again. Does it matter if I write this blog or not? What is the point and does anyone care?" Now I know there are people who do. I know. I also know that I have been thinking a lot of the way people have been coming to the ends of their lives without seeming to have gotten a chance to burn as bright as they possibly could have...or maybe they did. Maybe they got to such a point of achievement that was not necessarily the best at all times. That was not necessarily happy or gratifying or pleasurable. Maybe they did it all to bring joy to other people and suffered through many hours feeling as if some karmic clock was ticking and they felt they had done their time.
I used to think that those things that were traumatic and painful and awkward and embarrassing would somehow, could somehow, mercifully fade into the gray horizon that is called The Past. That moving away from the associations and places and signposts could further push them away. But that is not true and my mind is finding ways to envelope those things even more now that I am away from them, as if escaping were ever an option. This is how I know that I will write them out. I will paint them out and I will create avenues of expression through my words and art. I will only purge them one by one like going through these hundred boxes of "things" and "stuff". I will sift through them and choose what will stay and find a place and what I no longer need. This is how the process of writing and creating saves me because just as I am about to go insane with the melancholy of it all, I push those things that others want me to see as priority out of the way and make sure that my creative veins get tapped. I don't like myself much when I am not creating. It feels as close to crawling out of my skin as I can describe.
Sometimes I feel that the fleetingness of life and the speeding of time going by doesn't support the massive amount of potential that a human has the ability to access and embrace. I feel that sometimes we are tired or uninspired and feel like saying, "I don't want to improve. It takes too much time and energy and I'm not sure it matters to anyone like it matters to me." It could be me being overwhelmed with expectation and responsibility and adjustment because I just can't leave well enough alone. I can't forget all those hours of sitting crosslegged on a broken bed for years, writing, crying, wishing, coughing for three months straight, wondering about when it was all going to end, and if it ever would.
Now it has. Now the full moon of June is coming on the 9th. The Strawberry Moon...and in the yard I see strawberry blossoms beginning to pop up. There is a hideous strawberry and random leaf and berry wallpaper covering the entire kitchen. There is a single red rose bud on a frail plant outside. There is that streetlight, flickering off and on like my sleep patterns. Just about two weeks until Summer starts and it still feels like Fall. There are my very addictive thoughts about sources of sugar and caffeine that keep swarming around my brain because it will take three people to maneuver my elliptical machine down a flight of stairs and I have wicked cravings for all things salty and sugary in the meantime.
As the Full Moon comes to remind me, the cycles are short. Time is short, and we do not have all the time in the world to make that dent we wish to make. We do not have time to be tired of ourselves and our pasts and failures and embarrassments because we are able to make a ripple effect that can and will matter for the future. Energy flows where attention grows. We don't need to be superstars but I think we do need to keep our promises to at least ourselves. What ever comes along with them is what should be. I know. I know what my promises to myself are, and when that Full Moon of June rides high in the sky, I will see her face through the trees just over that mountain ridge and I'll seal the deal that I have been scribbling about for so long. One big deal at a time so that it can have the impact I have hoped for. Then I can come back around to the ones that wait for my attention but know how important this One Big One is.
The Forest Labyrinth.
The distance has been made.
The decision has been met.
Full Moon of June.
xox C 333
There is a streetlight outside of the large bay window that I will be now writing to you from. It starts out as a low amber glow and graduates to a stark white blossom, but it's not consistent. It's not predictable, yet. What has become a slight promise of predictable though, is the mannerism of the community. People smile at you and speak to you and look you in the eye. I have not had one panic attack while driving. I have been apologized to while walking around the new block with my son, for something we did and a driver went out of his way to say he was sorry to make us jump in the road when it wasn't even him. It was a cat and hose draining alongside the opposite side of the road.
I am currently experiencing a weird sense of deja vu, as if I have told that story before, from this location before, while that streetlamp does its unpredictable thing. We saw a small red fox this morning preceded by five crows, whom I was blessed to watch arrive one at a time. I filled the bird feeder and watched squirrels hang upside down while stretching their gray bodies from the large oak tree over to the opening and then getting frightened away by the many sparrows who spent the entire day on the feeder. I can't see it now, in this dark new place.
On our first night here, there was a skunk digging in the front yard and a dead mouse on the porch out back. A couple of dry deceased ladybugs lay on the windowsill in the bedroom. I see the face of a monkey in the bark of the oak tree and an elongated skull that matches the skulls at the feet of my Morrigan statue. That streetlight is so erratic. Plunges me into computer screen light and then slowly burns into amber and now white, still no pattern. I am sure if I sat here and did nothing else, the pattern would emerge. I will let you know next Monday.
I have been thinking about how this change of latitude has taken the edge off of the frustration that we have faced for so many years and I am amazed at the way my anxiety has leveled off in the process. Just like the saying goes, "You don't know what you got till its gone." In this case, its a major blessing.
I also have been thinking that there was a whole lot of time where we sat in a purgatory state and I am going to be reflecting a lot on how that, too, was a major blessing, even if a lot of times it felt like hell and disparagement. A lot of times where I felt like it was never going to end, and if it did, it wasn't going to end well. The only thing that helps it feel more worthwhile is the perception that I need to now hold onto, in a great swath of gratitude, for everything I learned, and everything I was taught on a road so appropriately named "School Street".
There were so many statements that we said and that we lived up to that we don't now have the time to regret. There were a lot of ways that we were unhappy with the way things were, and there were things that we settled for that other people probably would have loved and wanted. My perception on how all of this was good or bad, was hard or fortunate is the most important now, as the boxes are unpacked and those endless stacks of papers and notes and words come out to remind me of all of that and the foresight they will reveal will surely be gargantuan.
The fact that it is indeed time to implement the things we had been talking about for so long has finally arrived brings a new sense of apprehension. A sense of movement that is a powerful shift in the way we will now live our lives, and a sense of having to gain a momentum on a time where we feel we lost headway on goals that feel like they are late in coming. But as I kept saying, over and over, The Universe has it all timed out to the last second, and the time we feel we have lost has not been lost at all. It has all been cultivated carefully to bring me right here to this moment, with you. In this dark. In this new place, in the exact right moment. I am grateful, and I look forward to many more Mondays to share the progress of our harnessed time and projects.
xox C 333