Not much to say today, blogmates. I've spent a lot of time (my extra time, that is) visiting blogsites, getting registered here and there. Got some great info at Dave's site in a comment from a guy in London (go figure!)--David at cheesycom. Check it out--you can go to this site and find the way to get through the automated phone system of many companies you may be dealing with (and having to jump through all the hoops for, to finally get to a "real person"!)
I'm going to see "Evening" with my daughter tonite who lives "inside the loop" in Houston. I know, I've waited so long to see it now that there will be nothing new for me to say about it, except how it was for me and her to see it together. We don't get to do stuff together too often, so it's always a special treat when we can make connections. I'm guessing this will be a good flick for mother-daughter viewing. I'll let you know...
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Monday, July 30, 2007
Passions out of Sync? - Venus and the Full Moon
How about that full moon last night, bloggers? Grand and pulsingly radiant was that golden orb on the horizon as it rose in a cracking clear sky (at last) here in Houston. Quite potent in the reflection of that Leo Sun, I’d say. So much so that I was somewhat intoxicated on my lone walk last night through the dark tree shadows along my thick woodsy trail. There was no fellow walker’s conversation or foot-falls to distract me or diminish the power of its attraction on me in any way.
I walked last night for my increase in potency, passion, pleasure, and respect—for joy, as I committed to you that I would at the time of the new moon. Actually I affirmed that on the crescent moon with all of you who focused in meditation during the Fire the Grid endeavor to fill the global consciousness grids with the flame of joyful purpose. And so I am not surprised at the quality of this Aquarian moon’s energetic presence—it was almost difficult to look upon without feeling quite overwhelmed.
As I told you in my “Summertime” post where I revealed the off-beat passions present both in my back yard and in the national news, I haven’t been sure whether to attribute these quirky mating rituals to climate change or Venus going retrograde the day before in Virgo, a few degrees from the cusp of Leo. And that remains unclear to me at this juncture. I must consider that Saturn and Neptune, at the same time, continue their oppositional dance flanked aggressively by Mars, demonstrating some of his own brand of sensuality.
But, certainly, Mercury trine quirky Uranus, having picked up some momentum in slogging through Cancer’s emotional seas is adding to the overall psychic atmosphere of these phenomena. In addition, I have to say, the bride thing just seems so Virgo to me! (Actually, Virgo does represent the Bride, Bridget/Brigid, before she surrenders her sovereignty into the marriage bond in Libra.) *sigh*
Nevertheless, the retrograde period of Venus from now until September the 8th should bring us some time for clear reflection upon our passions of the past, though I don’t expect they will all be recollections of quirky, out-of-time, sad, or aggressive relationships. Do, however, recognize, my friends, that they are reflections of relationships you are no longer “in”! It’s a good time to both honor those relationships, foul or fair, and recall what their consequences have been for you. You may now commit to live with those results, using them to plan for a more pleasurable and potent relationship future.
This recognition will become clearer as Venus retrogrades back into Leo and forms a conjunction with Saturn (August 13th). It may also be a good time for you to reflect upon how your relationship with your opposite sex parent (or both parents) has affected your sense of personal attractiveness in terms of your potential for pleasure with intimate partners. I know a well-loved daughter, the apple of her father’s eye and the chest busting out pride of her mother who exudes self-confidence in her beauty and worth, and attracts men like flies. So, you see what I mean, bloggers?
As we go into the waning phase of this moon cycle, let us make meaning of what we have received in the experience of this full moon, enjoy and revel in its gift, and disseminate its joy to all our relations! In short time we will be gathering up the harvest (last quarter moon, August 5th at 4:19 pm CDT), storing what needs storing, and setting aside in good faith what will be used in the next cycle of manifestation.
I walked last night for my increase in potency, passion, pleasure, and respect—for joy, as I committed to you that I would at the time of the new moon. Actually I affirmed that on the crescent moon with all of you who focused in meditation during the Fire the Grid endeavor to fill the global consciousness grids with the flame of joyful purpose. And so I am not surprised at the quality of this Aquarian moon’s energetic presence—it was almost difficult to look upon without feeling quite overwhelmed.
As I told you in my “Summertime” post where I revealed the off-beat passions present both in my back yard and in the national news, I haven’t been sure whether to attribute these quirky mating rituals to climate change or Venus going retrograde the day before in Virgo, a few degrees from the cusp of Leo. And that remains unclear to me at this juncture. I must consider that Saturn and Neptune, at the same time, continue their oppositional dance flanked aggressively by Mars, demonstrating some of his own brand of sensuality.
But, certainly, Mercury trine quirky Uranus, having picked up some momentum in slogging through Cancer’s emotional seas is adding to the overall psychic atmosphere of these phenomena. In addition, I have to say, the bride thing just seems so Virgo to me! (Actually, Virgo does represent the Bride, Bridget/Brigid, before she surrenders her sovereignty into the marriage bond in Libra.) *sigh*
Nevertheless, the retrograde period of Venus from now until September the 8th should bring us some time for clear reflection upon our passions of the past, though I don’t expect they will all be recollections of quirky, out-of-time, sad, or aggressive relationships. Do, however, recognize, my friends, that they are reflections of relationships you are no longer “in”! It’s a good time to both honor those relationships, foul or fair, and recall what their consequences have been for you. You may now commit to live with those results, using them to plan for a more pleasurable and potent relationship future.
This recognition will become clearer as Venus retrogrades back into Leo and forms a conjunction with Saturn (August 13th). It may also be a good time for you to reflect upon how your relationship with your opposite sex parent (or both parents) has affected your sense of personal attractiveness in terms of your potential for pleasure with intimate partners. I know a well-loved daughter, the apple of her father’s eye and the chest busting out pride of her mother who exudes self-confidence in her beauty and worth, and attracts men like flies. So, you see what I mean, bloggers?
As we go into the waning phase of this moon cycle, let us make meaning of what we have received in the experience of this full moon, enjoy and revel in its gift, and disseminate its joy to all our relations! In short time we will be gathering up the harvest (last quarter moon, August 5th at 4:19 pm CDT), storing what needs storing, and setting aside in good faith what will be used in the next cycle of manifestation.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Boulder
It is dark now looking out my window, and still my keyboard warms my thighs. I close my eyes and breathe myself into the ripples that float me back to Boulder where I began my day watching the light play on the folding currents of the creek—some winding round and some sliding over rocks that break them into voice and song. The air is dry and cool here though the summer sun at peak presses on me persistently, ignoring any pale resistance raised by the atmosphere of thin blue sky. It heats my insides—burns my indoor skin.
I pull my plastic bottle from its pouch and gratefully suck down into my dry throat the water still cool from the air-conditioned car I left parked in a shaded space on the visitors’ lot. I climb back up to the trail, slipping once on the rocky slope, and as I step onto the rough edged concrete, I feel the sun’s reflected heat jump up at me—and yet the air I draw into my cramping chest is cool. Am I a visitor here, I wonder as I look over to my car in the lot, or could this place of such paradoxical ambience be my home?
Several yards away from the rushing tumble of the water, the voice of the creek changes its quality and tone. Further up the hill and across the road in the shady yard of a yoga center, the creek’s presence below is a well kept secret—here, its voice imitates the sounds of freeway traffic during rush hour. But on the trail, where I am walking now, it lilts and tosses the currents of sound softly across the drums of my ears in pleasant percussion.
I look for another break in the trees where a navigable bank might offer an additional view, one from an angle that looks down the tangled ribbon flow for a distance, revealing secret shiny satin billows everywhere the shimmering light breaks through. I never bring a camera, always relying upon the pictures my eyes press precisely into memory. I seal them safely into sensory pockets laced with glistening light, crispy smells of earth, water, and cool sun-burned air. I store the stance of my body which is feeling the pull of the slope towards the cool wet air rising off the shady shallows. I capture a wave of sound and bottle it to carry with me for my soothing in another life far away from here.
Back up on the trail, I walk a while, musing about my situation. I had made this trip with such enthusiasm and anticipation of what potential for a new life I might have here in this part of the country that had always invoked in me such awe and inspiration. A part of me seemed to have always felt at home here, as if these majestic mountains conceived me and birthed me through a spring source in their headlands, freeing me to explore the lands below, walk among those of my kind.
But a cloak of heavy darkness had been weighing on me ever since the blow that had shaken my senses loose and taken my breath away on my third day in Denver. I sigh deeply seeking to recover my lungs’ capacity for capturing air and drawing its life support into my blood and body. I tune into my body’s center and reassure myself of its connection to the larger economy of life surrounding me, pulling, as best I can, my remaining scattered senses into the sustaining medium of that holy essence.
By now, I’ve made the circle back around to the creek again and I begin to formulate a deal with the damaged part of me fearing the 1100 mile move. Actually this part of me was bordering on, or already pushed over the edge, into full-fledged panic. I was in the early stages of shock and denial—frozen in my fear and pain so that my sensory acuity was dull, my awareness, dim. All the wealth of nature’s beauty surrounding me was massively dumbed down, experienced as if I were encased in the padded armor of a deep-sea diver— sealed tightly away from the pressures of a life-threatening condition.
I tell myself that I will sit in the magnificent presence of the living waters before me and move into the stillness of deep meditation, asking my most loving source of wisdom for a sign that will give me resolution. I tentatively agree with this more faithful part of myself and settle into a pose of inquiry on a flat rock that appears to promise temporary accommodation.
I breathe deeply into my center and surrender into the great presence of all I am in that passionate essence and release into it all my fears and doubts. I release my pain as I am able to know it in this moment and ask for the great one who loves me most and wants all the best for me to give me a sign if I should choose to make a major move at this time of my life—if I will be safe and secure here, blessed with the joy and pleasure I seek.
I take another deep breath, knowing my prayer has been delivered as I have felt the energy of it leave through my hands and move into the medium of which I am a holy part. I hold a knowing in my gut that an answer will be forthcoming. When I open my eyes, they come into focus in the center of the stream on the hovering of a hummingbird—I see nothing else but its crystal clear form and color—all else fades into shades of gray.
I am not surprised that I am not surprised, and yet I am astonished at the magic of this manifestation. Can it be real, I ask? How unexpected, how defiant of practical experience is this reality I am clearly witnessing, my senses fully intact. How such a tiny and fragile creature could even reach midstream over what must be torrential currents of air thrown from the tossing, breaking waters, stuns my sensibilities, and yet his little body hangs, seemingly suspended—the natural ability of his wings hold him steady far away from any safety of landing for rest or respite.
Only my inner spirit knows that hummingbird is my secret symbol for “yes”. He is, for my inner child, the ultimate symbol for joy and passion, for love and harmony, and yet he is being displayed for me in the outer expression of the natural landscape, in the reality of my physical experience. How much more vivid, how much more affirming could a message be? And yet there remains a nagging pull in my stomach from the fearful one. I am ashamed of her doubting and quickly ask the universe for her forgiveness lest its gift be taken back from me.
It could be a trick, she whispers to me—you know how energies sometimes conspire in a strange place to trick you into choosing wrongly and leading you into great danger. It could just be the power of your wishful fantasies creating for you what you wanted to see so that you can be supported in making an irresponsible choice—so that you can run away from the difficult life you have created for yourself far away from here. After all, wasn’t the disruptive experience in Denver an attempt at demolition of the dream?
Then I wonder if this may be the voice or reason rather than the voice of fear. How ever am I going to KNOW? Is there some form of meta-knowing I may tap into? Should I believe my eyes and my sensory experience, or my inner voice of caution? Which has served me best in my past, I ask—then answer myself saying these days in which I’m living now are outside the range of my normal experience. Otherwise I wouldn’t be having such difficulty making a decision. I never have before.
I’ve gotten up by now from my sitting rock and am standing back up on the trail. Frustrated with myself now for letting the magic of this moment be disrupted by doubt, I am still unable to quell the queasiness in my stomach. I curse myself for this split state of being and, throwing up my hands, ask the sky what I may do to have peace in me! Clearly some force at work in me is trying to sabotage my peace and happiness. How could I tempt and torture myself so?
Was the shotgun-like blow to my gut in Denver another of my projections into real life—this one of self-criticism, ridicule, humiliation? How cruel could I be to myself to ferret out, find my most secret self-doubt, my most well-protected secret shame, and blast myself with it at the most unexpected moment? A moment of being completely open and trusting in just the place I would expect safety and support on this journey of discovery—a place for acclimatizing, like the base camp at Mt. Everest—the shelter of my oldest daughter’s home?
I pull my plastic bottle from its pouch and gratefully suck down into my dry throat the water still cool from the air-conditioned car I left parked in a shaded space on the visitors’ lot. I climb back up to the trail, slipping once on the rocky slope, and as I step onto the rough edged concrete, I feel the sun’s reflected heat jump up at me—and yet the air I draw into my cramping chest is cool. Am I a visitor here, I wonder as I look over to my car in the lot, or could this place of such paradoxical ambience be my home?
Several yards away from the rushing tumble of the water, the voice of the creek changes its quality and tone. Further up the hill and across the road in the shady yard of a yoga center, the creek’s presence below is a well kept secret—here, its voice imitates the sounds of freeway traffic during rush hour. But on the trail, where I am walking now, it lilts and tosses the currents of sound softly across the drums of my ears in pleasant percussion.
I look for another break in the trees where a navigable bank might offer an additional view, one from an angle that looks down the tangled ribbon flow for a distance, revealing secret shiny satin billows everywhere the shimmering light breaks through. I never bring a camera, always relying upon the pictures my eyes press precisely into memory. I seal them safely into sensory pockets laced with glistening light, crispy smells of earth, water, and cool sun-burned air. I store the stance of my body which is feeling the pull of the slope towards the cool wet air rising off the shady shallows. I capture a wave of sound and bottle it to carry with me for my soothing in another life far away from here.
Back up on the trail, I walk a while, musing about my situation. I had made this trip with such enthusiasm and anticipation of what potential for a new life I might have here in this part of the country that had always invoked in me such awe and inspiration. A part of me seemed to have always felt at home here, as if these majestic mountains conceived me and birthed me through a spring source in their headlands, freeing me to explore the lands below, walk among those of my kind.
But a cloak of heavy darkness had been weighing on me ever since the blow that had shaken my senses loose and taken my breath away on my third day in Denver. I sigh deeply seeking to recover my lungs’ capacity for capturing air and drawing its life support into my blood and body. I tune into my body’s center and reassure myself of its connection to the larger economy of life surrounding me, pulling, as best I can, my remaining scattered senses into the sustaining medium of that holy essence.
By now, I’ve made the circle back around to the creek again and I begin to formulate a deal with the damaged part of me fearing the 1100 mile move. Actually this part of me was bordering on, or already pushed over the edge, into full-fledged panic. I was in the early stages of shock and denial—frozen in my fear and pain so that my sensory acuity was dull, my awareness, dim. All the wealth of nature’s beauty surrounding me was massively dumbed down, experienced as if I were encased in the padded armor of a deep-sea diver— sealed tightly away from the pressures of a life-threatening condition.
I tell myself that I will sit in the magnificent presence of the living waters before me and move into the stillness of deep meditation, asking my most loving source of wisdom for a sign that will give me resolution. I tentatively agree with this more faithful part of myself and settle into a pose of inquiry on a flat rock that appears to promise temporary accommodation.
I breathe deeply into my center and surrender into the great presence of all I am in that passionate essence and release into it all my fears and doubts. I release my pain as I am able to know it in this moment and ask for the great one who loves me most and wants all the best for me to give me a sign if I should choose to make a major move at this time of my life—if I will be safe and secure here, blessed with the joy and pleasure I seek.
I take another deep breath, knowing my prayer has been delivered as I have felt the energy of it leave through my hands and move into the medium of which I am a holy part. I hold a knowing in my gut that an answer will be forthcoming. When I open my eyes, they come into focus in the center of the stream on the hovering of a hummingbird—I see nothing else but its crystal clear form and color—all else fades into shades of gray.
I am not surprised that I am not surprised, and yet I am astonished at the magic of this manifestation. Can it be real, I ask? How unexpected, how defiant of practical experience is this reality I am clearly witnessing, my senses fully intact. How such a tiny and fragile creature could even reach midstream over what must be torrential currents of air thrown from the tossing, breaking waters, stuns my sensibilities, and yet his little body hangs, seemingly suspended—the natural ability of his wings hold him steady far away from any safety of landing for rest or respite.
Only my inner spirit knows that hummingbird is my secret symbol for “yes”. He is, for my inner child, the ultimate symbol for joy and passion, for love and harmony, and yet he is being displayed for me in the outer expression of the natural landscape, in the reality of my physical experience. How much more vivid, how much more affirming could a message be? And yet there remains a nagging pull in my stomach from the fearful one. I am ashamed of her doubting and quickly ask the universe for her forgiveness lest its gift be taken back from me.
It could be a trick, she whispers to me—you know how energies sometimes conspire in a strange place to trick you into choosing wrongly and leading you into great danger. It could just be the power of your wishful fantasies creating for you what you wanted to see so that you can be supported in making an irresponsible choice—so that you can run away from the difficult life you have created for yourself far away from here. After all, wasn’t the disruptive experience in Denver an attempt at demolition of the dream?
Then I wonder if this may be the voice or reason rather than the voice of fear. How ever am I going to KNOW? Is there some form of meta-knowing I may tap into? Should I believe my eyes and my sensory experience, or my inner voice of caution? Which has served me best in my past, I ask—then answer myself saying these days in which I’m living now are outside the range of my normal experience. Otherwise I wouldn’t be having such difficulty making a decision. I never have before.
I’ve gotten up by now from my sitting rock and am standing back up on the trail. Frustrated with myself now for letting the magic of this moment be disrupted by doubt, I am still unable to quell the queasiness in my stomach. I curse myself for this split state of being and, throwing up my hands, ask the sky what I may do to have peace in me! Clearly some force at work in me is trying to sabotage my peace and happiness. How could I tempt and torture myself so?
Was the shotgun-like blow to my gut in Denver another of my projections into real life—this one of self-criticism, ridicule, humiliation? How cruel could I be to myself to ferret out, find my most secret self-doubt, my most well-protected secret shame, and blast myself with it at the most unexpected moment? A moment of being completely open and trusting in just the place I would expect safety and support on this journey of discovery—a place for acclimatizing, like the base camp at Mt. Everest—the shelter of my oldest daughter’s home?
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Summertime
“Summertime,
And the livin’ is easy,
Fish are jumpin’
And the cotton is high—
Your daddy’s rich,
And your mama’s good lookin’,
So hush, little baby,
Don’t you cry.”
Yes, bloggers, summer is high, and de-e-p [sotto voce gone bass and drawn out hypnotically] at this time in the seasonal cycle. Sitting out by my lily pond today at high noon, I couldn’t get a better take on that. Though it’s much cooler than usual at this time of year here in Houston because of the unusual amount of rain we’ve been having, the sun came out strong to bear down on my shade-friendly white shoulders (not that I’m a southern magnolia flowah, but I do have that indoor skin more familiar with the monitor light of my ‘puter), and pull my attention to all the high-life going on before me.
The first thing I noted is my only remaining gold goldfish (since the debacle some of you may remember), who is also the smallest, and clearly now, the only female, was being battered about by my two feisty and richly winged inky-black males. (Actually one of them has a gold mouth and will probably become all gold during his lifetime, as I have seen others do, born inky and invisible in the darker waters.) Anyway, earlier in the day on my tour of the pond, I had seen her, the gold one, lying close to the surface in the shallow watery embrace of a lily pad—quiet, still, and seemingly close to death.
At that time, I left her to her fate, but later, seeing commotion on the pond’s surface from my living room window, I went back outside, and that’s when I became apprised of the chasing and battering. She first would be batted sideways, exposing shiny scales and one eye to the sky, then, as she looped wildly in a dive, would be hit again one way, then another by the two larger males flanking her. The attempted escapes would take her skittering clear across the pond’s surface like a skipping rock, where she would suddenly arrive as if she’d slipped through a worm-hole, but her pursuers would be right upon her before I could catch my breath.
Now, as I sat lazily in the sun, pond-side, I realized (because I’d earlier examined her for any damage) that they were doing their very aggressive mating dance, even though spring’s long gone, and the cooler days of fall have not yet arrived. Then, in grand redundance, I noticed two enormous iridescent blue-bodied dragonflies stuck together as they are when mating, one’s tail inserted at the back of the other’s head, while the latter dips her tail agilely into the water dotting the surface near the lily pads. I began to wonder if the life stream in my back yard had been fooled into re-gearing their bio-rhythms for responding as if the year were further along than it truly is.
Other mating anomalies I noticed this morning were in my morning news feed. A bride in Brooklyn decked in full wedding regalia was found sleeping on the ledge above the door of a Park Slope brownstone (first reported in the July 21st “Brooklyn Paper”. She was awakened and removed by police called to the scene by worried residents, but was speechless except for her “squeal” when officers tried to separate her from her teddy bear purse containing the Tiffany wedding ring. Maybe she had also misjudged the timing?
Whether to attribute these quirky mating rituals to climate change or Venus going retrograde yesterday in Virgo near the cusp of Leo (while Saturn and Neptune continue on the other side of their oppositional dance and are flanked by Mars showing his own sensual and aggressive mating behaviour), remains unclear to me at this juncture. But I won’t bore you bloggers with astrological details you don’t comprehend. I’ll save that for another post that goes to the astrologically acclimated.
Nevertheless, the retrograde period of Venus from now until September the 8th should bring us some time for clear reflection upon our passions of the past, though I don’t expect they will all be recollections of quirky, out-of-time, sad, or aggressive relationships. But do recognize, my friends, they are relationships you are no longer in! And I have to say, the bride-thing just seems so Virgo to me, anyway! (Actually, Virgo does represent the Bride, Bridget/Brigid , before she surrenders her sovereignty into the marriage bond in Libra.) *sigh*
A poem from several years ago seems to fit in here, so I'll insert it:
In the Garden
I am the girl who likes to play
The game of love how e’re I may
There are no rules in love and war
No limits there, no holds to bar
I claim my freedom and my youth
My Victory, my Self, my Truth
In the garden of my Father’s world
I am a carefree, nascent girl
The boy next door whose strong young arms
And body make me feel so warm
Stealthily stretches tight his bow
I watch his muscles roll and flow
And breathlessly I fall in bond
Though he may be of me but fond
While swimming in the waters deep
It’s hard for me my heart to keep
The sparkling bass flash, colors fly,
The sky reflected in my eyes
Has blinded me from deep blue cold
In piercing eyes that are so bold
Oh, Mars and Venus, you are still young
Your Soul’s sweet song has not been sung
In your Mother’s forest play
Grow up to Love another day
December 5, 2004
And the livin’ is easy,
Fish are jumpin’
And the cotton is high—
Your daddy’s rich,
And your mama’s good lookin’,
So hush, little baby,
Don’t you cry.”
Yes, bloggers, summer is high, and de-e-p [sotto voce gone bass and drawn out hypnotically] at this time in the seasonal cycle. Sitting out by my lily pond today at high noon, I couldn’t get a better take on that. Though it’s much cooler than usual at this time of year here in Houston because of the unusual amount of rain we’ve been having, the sun came out strong to bear down on my shade-friendly white shoulders (not that I’m a southern magnolia flowah, but I do have that indoor skin more familiar with the monitor light of my ‘puter), and pull my attention to all the high-life going on before me.
The first thing I noted is my only remaining gold goldfish (since the debacle some of you may remember), who is also the smallest, and clearly now, the only female, was being battered about by my two feisty and richly winged inky-black males. (Actually one of them has a gold mouth and will probably become all gold during his lifetime, as I have seen others do, born inky and invisible in the darker waters.) Anyway, earlier in the day on my tour of the pond, I had seen her, the gold one, lying close to the surface in the shallow watery embrace of a lily pad—quiet, still, and seemingly close to death.
At that time, I left her to her fate, but later, seeing commotion on the pond’s surface from my living room window, I went back outside, and that’s when I became apprised of the chasing and battering. She first would be batted sideways, exposing shiny scales and one eye to the sky, then, as she looped wildly in a dive, would be hit again one way, then another by the two larger males flanking her. The attempted escapes would take her skittering clear across the pond’s surface like a skipping rock, where she would suddenly arrive as if she’d slipped through a worm-hole, but her pursuers would be right upon her before I could catch my breath.
Now, as I sat lazily in the sun, pond-side, I realized (because I’d earlier examined her for any damage) that they were doing their very aggressive mating dance, even though spring’s long gone, and the cooler days of fall have not yet arrived. Then, in grand redundance, I noticed two enormous iridescent blue-bodied dragonflies stuck together as they are when mating, one’s tail inserted at the back of the other’s head, while the latter dips her tail agilely into the water dotting the surface near the lily pads. I began to wonder if the life stream in my back yard had been fooled into re-gearing their bio-rhythms for responding as if the year were further along than it truly is.
Other mating anomalies I noticed this morning were in my morning news feed. A bride in Brooklyn decked in full wedding regalia was found sleeping on the ledge above the door of a Park Slope brownstone (first reported in the July 21st “Brooklyn Paper”. She was awakened and removed by police called to the scene by worried residents, but was speechless except for her “squeal” when officers tried to separate her from her teddy bear purse containing the Tiffany wedding ring. Maybe she had also misjudged the timing?
Whether to attribute these quirky mating rituals to climate change or Venus going retrograde yesterday in Virgo near the cusp of Leo (while Saturn and Neptune continue on the other side of their oppositional dance and are flanked by Mars showing his own sensual and aggressive mating behaviour), remains unclear to me at this juncture. But I won’t bore you bloggers with astrological details you don’t comprehend. I’ll save that for another post that goes to the astrologically acclimated.
Nevertheless, the retrograde period of Venus from now until September the 8th should bring us some time for clear reflection upon our passions of the past, though I don’t expect they will all be recollections of quirky, out-of-time, sad, or aggressive relationships. But do recognize, my friends, they are relationships you are no longer in! And I have to say, the bride-thing just seems so Virgo to me, anyway! (Actually, Virgo does represent the Bride, Bridget/Brigid , before she surrenders her sovereignty into the marriage bond in Libra.) *sigh*
A poem from several years ago seems to fit in here, so I'll insert it:
In the Garden
I am the girl who likes to play
The game of love how e’re I may
There are no rules in love and war
No limits there, no holds to bar
I claim my freedom and my youth
My Victory, my Self, my Truth
In the garden of my Father’s world
I am a carefree, nascent girl
The boy next door whose strong young arms
And body make me feel so warm
Stealthily stretches tight his bow
I watch his muscles roll and flow
And breathlessly I fall in bond
Though he may be of me but fond
While swimming in the waters deep
It’s hard for me my heart to keep
The sparkling bass flash, colors fly,
The sky reflected in my eyes
Has blinded me from deep blue cold
In piercing eyes that are so bold
Oh, Mars and Venus, you are still young
Your Soul’s sweet song has not been sung
In your Mother’s forest play
Grow up to Love another day
December 5, 2004
Friday, July 27, 2007
Staying Alive
Some of you have asked about my references to Fire the Grid in my last post. "Staying Alive" gives you some of its history and a little more insight into me. I appreciate any honest and interested feedback--
No, this is not a recap of the John Travolta movie, though that was a lively fantasy, and wasn’t he hot back then? This is, instead, a stream of consciousness flowing from a source located in a writers’ blogspot. It begins with a blog from a girl floating down Boulder Creek in cool currents of gurgling waters rippling over me in Houston—while I sit, looking beyond my window, interconnected intimately with the shades and shimmers of the day passing before me in a moving stillness that is co-conscious with my own thoughts as they play through my fingers on the keyboard and then magically appear before me, manifesting in black on blank white pages.
And in that flow that ripples easily beyond time and space connecting us, there was talk of death—a death dry as choking on a cracker, a wet death mired in muggy mold, or drowning in the drench sweat—the death of a mate, the death of an old mother. And yet all those writers nationwide are choosing to stay alive. And it is my choice, also—staying alive. WHY, is the question flowing within this universal stream along my computer banks and spilling out onto my monitor. WHY—the word echoes off the banks of Boulder Creek from each weaving current that ribbons and curls its way through the sunlight playing with my mind’s eye. What beauty, what joy, what pleasure or passion—what pain is it that keeps us choosing to stay alive?
For one man, 89 and living in a senior center far removed from family and community, it was the passion of betting with a buddy what image would be on the next state quarter to be released. It was around 2003 when this was reported and his desire was to stay alive until the last quarter was released. He was from Wyoming and worried it would be Old Faithful chosen for representing the spirit of that state. He proclaimed a cowboy should be the symbol for a state wild as Wyoming and vowed to stay alive until 2007 to see his wish come true.
CNN reports that widows in India flock to Vrindavan to die as is customary in their rural Hindu communities, but they stay alive for years on the streets begging just for food enough to continue on. These widows are shunned from society when their husbands die, not for religious reasons, but because of tradition -- and because they've become a financial drain on their families. They can’t remarry; they must shave their heads and wear white, and remain alone. No-one speaks to them--even their shadows are considered bad luck. They stay alive hunched over in pain and sorrow, choosing, all 15,000 of them, to crouch in this city until death comes to take them from life, never to have to be born again into its suffering. Dying in Vrindavan is believed to release them forever from the wheel of karma.
Some in Vrindavan, through the caring of a benefactor, are now living in a home where each has a daily meal and a small room for a pallet where she can keep her minimal belongings (usually what can be tied up in a piece of cloth). These are struggling to make the transition from living in isolation to living in community after as many as 50 years living on the streets alone—and some don’t make the adjustment. Are they staying alive in Vindravan to be complete with the passion of their suffering?
My mother is a widow living alone, like me. She was once an active and athletic woman who was a part of many clubs and community projects. I remember her smiling eyes, in one moment dancing rhythmically in friendly conversation, and in another, becoming deadly focused in piercing blue upon her pupil who better know her words are Law, but in either case, the deliverance was punctuated by her hands moving musically to coordinate her body with her meaning.
She has always been a lover of music. She played the piano—taught lessons to the children of the neighborhood—sang in the church choir, brought the symphony to the small town schools, played records and danced with us when we were children. She loves to sing and dance as do we all in our family. She made our lives very active with her social engagement in the communities where we lived. My mother had the energy and motion of a flirtatious filly on the one hand, and the insistence and will, on the other, of a bull ram.
Today her arthritic hands still fly in smiling conversation when she can find someone who will listen, she can no longer play the piano (but Katrina’s theft of that treasured box so full of her essence was grievous to us all), her voice has gone so low and raspy with her years of cigarette smoking that she is no longer welcome in the choir. But though she is often thwarted with word loss in her memory, she can still deliver the law when the spirit of it is called up in her. Maybe that is why she stays alive.
When left behind in the loneliness and isolation that follow the storms and suffering of life, what is it that makes us choose to continue staying alive? I think whatever that particular passion or purpose is, it is a very individual thing—and may not even be conscious, though a much more meaningful experience of life would most likely come from knowing it. But if we were to truly pursue awareness, we might awake a mighty beast within us. It is perhaps a fearing part of us who keeps it hidden.
Sometimes in my loneliness and seeming widowhood, I see myself becoming my mother, all bent over with arthritic hands, poorly functioning bowels, and faulty memory—shunned from brighter company and ridiculed behind my back. I sit in my window looking out upon the world I only experience in my daydreams and half-written stories. I draw into me the essence of life from the bountiful store in the trees grown tall and thick in my yard and along the trails nearby—from the flowers, birds, bees, and butterflies busily buzzing alongside the dragonflies dipping into my lily pond while gold and ink-colored fish bring me my only entertainment.
And I realize—in my loneliness and isolation I have become rich in new life, with company I never knew before—at least not so intimately as now. I am filled with a new song that gladly uses me as an instrument for its playing and I am more alive than I’ve ever been. It is this purpose I see that has become the reason for my staying alive.
You may be aware, reader, that a young woman who had a near-death experience a few years ago has been inviting us (along with many others who have joined in her purpose) to “fire the grid” of human consciousness—for reviving the life force in humanity and in the living body of the earth. She’s asking that we prepare ourselves for an hour of meditation on July 17th by imaging just what it is we love about life on earth, what gives us the greatest joy and pleasure, what fills our hearts with love, what gets our juices going. In this realization and its strengthening in us through the practice of experiencing it, we build a repository for, or activate a core radiance of that beautiful and loving energy within us, and can, by intention, focus it just as we choose.
She and a growing force of others are asking us to join with them in this focus for manifesting a new life frequency of joy on earth at 11:11 GMT on July 17th. (That’s 6:11 am here in Houston, readers.) If you feel called like many others do, to “fire the grid” in this activation of passionate purpose, you must ask yourself that question—why do I choose each and every day to keep staying alive? It is both an easy and a difficult question to answer, is it not?
No, this is not a recap of the John Travolta movie, though that was a lively fantasy, and wasn’t he hot back then? This is, instead, a stream of consciousness flowing from a source located in a writers’ blogspot. It begins with a blog from a girl floating down Boulder Creek in cool currents of gurgling waters rippling over me in Houston—while I sit, looking beyond my window, interconnected intimately with the shades and shimmers of the day passing before me in a moving stillness that is co-conscious with my own thoughts as they play through my fingers on the keyboard and then magically appear before me, manifesting in black on blank white pages.
And in that flow that ripples easily beyond time and space connecting us, there was talk of death—a death dry as choking on a cracker, a wet death mired in muggy mold, or drowning in the drench sweat—the death of a mate, the death of an old mother. And yet all those writers nationwide are choosing to stay alive. And it is my choice, also—staying alive. WHY, is the question flowing within this universal stream along my computer banks and spilling out onto my monitor. WHY—the word echoes off the banks of Boulder Creek from each weaving current that ribbons and curls its way through the sunlight playing with my mind’s eye. What beauty, what joy, what pleasure or passion—what pain is it that keeps us choosing to stay alive?
For one man, 89 and living in a senior center far removed from family and community, it was the passion of betting with a buddy what image would be on the next state quarter to be released. It was around 2003 when this was reported and his desire was to stay alive until the last quarter was released. He was from Wyoming and worried it would be Old Faithful chosen for representing the spirit of that state. He proclaimed a cowboy should be the symbol for a state wild as Wyoming and vowed to stay alive until 2007 to see his wish come true.
CNN reports that widows in India flock to Vrindavan to die as is customary in their rural Hindu communities, but they stay alive for years on the streets begging just for food enough to continue on. These widows are shunned from society when their husbands die, not for religious reasons, but because of tradition -- and because they've become a financial drain on their families. They can’t remarry; they must shave their heads and wear white, and remain alone. No-one speaks to them--even their shadows are considered bad luck. They stay alive hunched over in pain and sorrow, choosing, all 15,000 of them, to crouch in this city until death comes to take them from life, never to have to be born again into its suffering. Dying in Vrindavan is believed to release them forever from the wheel of karma.
Some in Vrindavan, through the caring of a benefactor, are now living in a home where each has a daily meal and a small room for a pallet where she can keep her minimal belongings (usually what can be tied up in a piece of cloth). These are struggling to make the transition from living in isolation to living in community after as many as 50 years living on the streets alone—and some don’t make the adjustment. Are they staying alive in Vindravan to be complete with the passion of their suffering?
My mother is a widow living alone, like me. She was once an active and athletic woman who was a part of many clubs and community projects. I remember her smiling eyes, in one moment dancing rhythmically in friendly conversation, and in another, becoming deadly focused in piercing blue upon her pupil who better know her words are Law, but in either case, the deliverance was punctuated by her hands moving musically to coordinate her body with her meaning.
She has always been a lover of music. She played the piano—taught lessons to the children of the neighborhood—sang in the church choir, brought the symphony to the small town schools, played records and danced with us when we were children. She loves to sing and dance as do we all in our family. She made our lives very active with her social engagement in the communities where we lived. My mother had the energy and motion of a flirtatious filly on the one hand, and the insistence and will, on the other, of a bull ram.
Today her arthritic hands still fly in smiling conversation when she can find someone who will listen, she can no longer play the piano (but Katrina’s theft of that treasured box so full of her essence was grievous to us all), her voice has gone so low and raspy with her years of cigarette smoking that she is no longer welcome in the choir. But though she is often thwarted with word loss in her memory, she can still deliver the law when the spirit of it is called up in her. Maybe that is why she stays alive.
When left behind in the loneliness and isolation that follow the storms and suffering of life, what is it that makes us choose to continue staying alive? I think whatever that particular passion or purpose is, it is a very individual thing—and may not even be conscious, though a much more meaningful experience of life would most likely come from knowing it. But if we were to truly pursue awareness, we might awake a mighty beast within us. It is perhaps a fearing part of us who keeps it hidden.
Sometimes in my loneliness and seeming widowhood, I see myself becoming my mother, all bent over with arthritic hands, poorly functioning bowels, and faulty memory—shunned from brighter company and ridiculed behind my back. I sit in my window looking out upon the world I only experience in my daydreams and half-written stories. I draw into me the essence of life from the bountiful store in the trees grown tall and thick in my yard and along the trails nearby—from the flowers, birds, bees, and butterflies busily buzzing alongside the dragonflies dipping into my lily pond while gold and ink-colored fish bring me my only entertainment.
And I realize—in my loneliness and isolation I have become rich in new life, with company I never knew before—at least not so intimately as now. I am filled with a new song that gladly uses me as an instrument for its playing and I am more alive than I’ve ever been. It is this purpose I see that has become the reason for my staying alive.
You may be aware, reader, that a young woman who had a near-death experience a few years ago has been inviting us (along with many others who have joined in her purpose) to “fire the grid” of human consciousness—for reviving the life force in humanity and in the living body of the earth. She’s asking that we prepare ourselves for an hour of meditation on July 17th by imaging just what it is we love about life on earth, what gives us the greatest joy and pleasure, what fills our hearts with love, what gets our juices going. In this realization and its strengthening in us through the practice of experiencing it, we build a repository for, or activate a core radiance of that beautiful and loving energy within us, and can, by intention, focus it just as we choose.
She and a growing force of others are asking us to join with them in this focus for manifesting a new life frequency of joy on earth at 11:11 GMT on July 17th. (That’s 6:11 am here in Houston, readers.) If you feel called like many others do, to “fire the grid” in this activation of passionate purpose, you must ask yourself that question—why do I choose each and every day to keep staying alive? It is both an easy and a difficult question to answer, is it not?
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Firing the Grid
Morning Bloggers, this piece is from my “Manifesting with the Moon” series. I am referring in this writing to the recent surge in the stream of consciousness initiated by Shelley Yates and her Fire the Grid (firethegrid dot org; Shelley Yates at youtube) and to my following of the moon’s phases in doing my creative work:
MotherSource Speaks – The World of Blog
Waxing Gibbous Moon – July 26, 2007
Moonwalkers, how did you “fire the grid” after our last communication, the one just before the new moon? The morning of that world-wide meditation, July 17th coincided with the crescent moon – an excellent time to be beginning or “firing” up a new project or a new phase/commitment in your life. I can tell you I didn’t feel any fireworks, even though I actively participated in the process. I made an altar and flanked my meditation circle with standing candles -- I burned patchouli incense for instilling the atmosphere with passion and joy and played the peaceful music from the “fire the grid” website for insuring the frequency for firing.
But though I felt no greater energetic presence or vibration than usual (and maybe not as powerful as I’ve felt on other occasions), I had a strong sense that something very good was happening. Just the awareness that so many people from many different persuasions were participating was uplifting. The thing is, this “happening” was happening while I was in the midst of a ten day summer writers’ bootcamp where I was committed to writing a thousand words a day! Phew!
So I used the fire in my grids for that project, and it has already been fruitful, even though the moon is not yet full—so there is WHAT?? Yes, that’s right, Moonwalkers, MORE TO COME!! And already more has come. From my writing program, I have been guided towards setting up a blog on blogspot dot com, a Google managed blogging program. What FUN! In just the last few days, I have launched my new blog, and have been writing a post each day. I am identified there as “In her own Voice”.
I’d love to have you stop by—however, if you choose to leave a comment there for me, it will be necessary for you to take three minutes or so and open a google account. There’s no way to post your comment without applying your google ID. It’s actually quite a world to explore. Already I have found the most interesting and readable sites with subjects of all kinds—layers and layers in which to muse, amuse, peruse and just be delighted with the variety of human talent and experience!
Some of you know, I’ve had on the table for some time, setting up a website, and I actually had someone beginning that work for me, but that began to get bogged down with various and asundry obstacles. This blog site has been the perfect answer to my needs for now and it offers so many tools for learning and practicing all the skills needed for actually managing my own website someday. (Which is what I have really wanted rather than having a webmaster to manage for me.) That will come later when my creation has grown too large and unwieldy for me to handle.
So you see, Moonwalkers, even though I felt no special surge of energy while “firing the grid” in the dawn time of July 17th, I did soon after pick up on what I had put out there for myself. In other words, I seeded the future with the energetic charge, and then it was there for me when the alignments were most favorable! And so it can be for you!
By the way, the Noetic Sciences’ Global Consciousness Project measured the consciousness in the way they have designed and found that there was a significant difference in their readings during that hour designated to our group meditation. If you’d like to check out their data, let me know. I am going to try Caffeinated Librarian’s instructions for putting in a link here, but not sure yet if I will be able to pull that off!
Anyway, Moonwalkers, the moon here in Houston will be full on July 29 at 7:48 pm. I will be walking in more and more of this lovely passionate and creative energy! How about you?
MotherSource Speaks – The World of Blog
Waxing Gibbous Moon – July 26, 2007
Moonwalkers, how did you “fire the grid” after our last communication, the one just before the new moon? The morning of that world-wide meditation, July 17th coincided with the crescent moon – an excellent time to be beginning or “firing” up a new project or a new phase/commitment in your life. I can tell you I didn’t feel any fireworks, even though I actively participated in the process. I made an altar and flanked my meditation circle with standing candles -- I burned patchouli incense for instilling the atmosphere with passion and joy and played the peaceful music from the “fire the grid” website for insuring the frequency for firing.
But though I felt no greater energetic presence or vibration than usual (and maybe not as powerful as I’ve felt on other occasions), I had a strong sense that something very good was happening. Just the awareness that so many people from many different persuasions were participating was uplifting. The thing is, this “happening” was happening while I was in the midst of a ten day summer writers’ bootcamp where I was committed to writing a thousand words a day! Phew!
So I used the fire in my grids for that project, and it has already been fruitful, even though the moon is not yet full—so there is WHAT?? Yes, that’s right, Moonwalkers, MORE TO COME!! And already more has come. From my writing program, I have been guided towards setting up a blog on blogspot dot com, a Google managed blogging program. What FUN! In just the last few days, I have launched my new blog, and have been writing a post each day. I am identified there as “In her own Voice”.
I’d love to have you stop by—however, if you choose to leave a comment there for me, it will be necessary for you to take three minutes or so and open a google account. There’s no way to post your comment without applying your google ID. It’s actually quite a world to explore. Already I have found the most interesting and readable sites with subjects of all kinds—layers and layers in which to muse, amuse, peruse and just be delighted with the variety of human talent and experience!
Some of you know, I’ve had on the table for some time, setting up a website, and I actually had someone beginning that work for me, but that began to get bogged down with various and asundry obstacles. This blog site has been the perfect answer to my needs for now and it offers so many tools for learning and practicing all the skills needed for actually managing my own website someday. (Which is what I have really wanted rather than having a webmaster to manage for me.) That will come later when my creation has grown too large and unwieldy for me to handle.
So you see, Moonwalkers, even though I felt no special surge of energy while “firing the grid” in the dawn time of July 17th, I did soon after pick up on what I had put out there for myself. In other words, I seeded the future with the energetic charge, and then it was there for me when the alignments were most favorable! And so it can be for you!
By the way, the Noetic Sciences’ Global Consciousness Project measured the consciousness in the way they have designed and found that there was a significant difference in their readings during that hour designated to our group meditation. If you’d like to check out their data, let me know. I am going to try Caffeinated Librarian’s instructions for putting in a link here, but not sure yet if I will be able to pull that off!
Anyway, Moonwalkers, the moon here in Houston will be full on July 29 at 7:48 pm. I will be walking in more and more of this lovely passionate and creative energy! How about you?
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Getting Started
Good Morning Bloggers,
I’m back on the floor again sitting comfortably on my purple prop chair and drawing in my morning tea. Yes, I like Starbucks too, but earl grey is my staple for making mornings come alive. I’ve committed to writing at least a little each day, here – not the thousand words a day of summer writers’ bootcamp, and maybe not the three hundred Max suggested, but enough to keep my writing mind agile and my lap warm :-).
It’s really been fun and exciting to meet the bloggers who’ve dropped by since I opened the door yesterday. I’ve been doing a little tracking around myself and have been very pleased (and amazed) at what I’ve seen so far. Puzzled, too, I might add – some sites out there have appeared anomalous on first glance, but they, soon, may become more familiar to me. As you may have gathered from my first blog, I like traveling to places unknown and hostelling there until I have full grokking.
But then, I have to be honest – or at least, realistic – I will never come to the place of fully grokking nations such as N.E.R.D., one of the blogs on the board of note. *sigh* Isn’t that the distress, though, that figures on the other side of pleasure’s coin for those of us who are first scouts on an uncharted course, and then messengers delivering the goods back at the campfire? Always a little twinge of pain that comes from the withholding of what we cannot understand or verbalize when the time comes to report back—comprenez?
Well, I’ve given a preliminary (and really short) summary to my family and a few friends I think might venture into this territory to witness my effort here. (Who knows, they may also find they’re pulled to explore beyond my pages! – or even begin their own – great gawd!) I think I’m going to like this, so I’ll have to be sure and thank Max for recommending it. This is both a venue for self-expression and an opportunity for nesting on small eggs of creativity, at the same time as meeting, greeting, and warming to others having a similar experience. Much more fruitful than just journaling…
Have a good day, my new fellow travelers!
I’m back on the floor again sitting comfortably on my purple prop chair and drawing in my morning tea. Yes, I like Starbucks too, but earl grey is my staple for making mornings come alive. I’ve committed to writing at least a little each day, here – not the thousand words a day of summer writers’ bootcamp, and maybe not the three hundred Max suggested, but enough to keep my writing mind agile and my lap warm :-).
It’s really been fun and exciting to meet the bloggers who’ve dropped by since I opened the door yesterday. I’ve been doing a little tracking around myself and have been very pleased (and amazed) at what I’ve seen so far. Puzzled, too, I might add – some sites out there have appeared anomalous on first glance, but they, soon, may become more familiar to me. As you may have gathered from my first blog, I like traveling to places unknown and hostelling there until I have full grokking.
But then, I have to be honest – or at least, realistic – I will never come to the place of fully grokking nations such as N.E.R.D., one of the blogs on the board of note. *sigh* Isn’t that the distress, though, that figures on the other side of pleasure’s coin for those of us who are first scouts on an uncharted course, and then messengers delivering the goods back at the campfire? Always a little twinge of pain that comes from the withholding of what we cannot understand or verbalize when the time comes to report back—comprenez?
Well, I’ve given a preliminary (and really short) summary to my family and a few friends I think might venture into this territory to witness my effort here. (Who knows, they may also find they’re pulled to explore beyond my pages! – or even begin their own – great gawd!) I think I’m going to like this, so I’ll have to be sure and thank Max for recommending it. This is both a venue for self-expression and an opportunity for nesting on small eggs of creativity, at the same time as meeting, greeting, and warming to others having a similar experience. Much more fruitful than just journaling…
Have a good day, my new fellow travelers!
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Feeling Very Virgin
Oh Famous Moon, I am yours!
Look down upon me,
See only yourself.
--Rumi
Hello Bloggers,
I'm feeling very virgin today sitting down here to write my first blog ever! I'm really even new to reading here, having just spent yesterday afternoon exploring the site. Some very talented peeps here! I already feel I'm among good company, though after absorbing the atmosphere through the senses of some other bloggers, I can tell there will be surprising new scenes ahead.
I got here by way of a summer writers' bootcamp -- a thousand words a day! Phew! That was intense -- and a wonderful experience! What a commitment I made to myself -- and I accomplished it! A thousand words a day for ten days! Not bragging, just kind of elated over the whole thing. This was the site used for writer relief--the participants could "talk amongst themselves" here, and, believe me, towards the end I did some sweating and wringing of hands in our blog space. So you can see how, during my ten day intro to this site, I kept entirely to that small, contained, and "known" space--it was my comfort zone!
Had my conference with our "mentor" yesterday and he suggested opening up a blog here--you know, to keep the momentum going and to further explore and expand on some of the topics I introduced in my ten day writing spree (all first draft stuff, of course). So here I am, blogging away and not saying much of anything at all! Aaah, *sigh*, had to change positions--that chair was getting hard on my sit-bones. I'm on the floor now, sitting on my purple meditation prop chair with my 'puter warming my lap. *sigh* again.
Oh, about the Rumi poem... Well, actually a lot of references to that-- Should I have a countdown, or just cut to the chase? Well, today, I'm into cutting to the chase. I obviously have plenty of time and space to elaborate as we go forward. OK, even though Rumi was, here, as the mystical poet, describing that tantric union with the divine, my take ("in her own voice") for now is that the power of greater knowing and greater experience is mine for looking upon it, feeling into it, sensing it deeply. And so I relish in these lines that feeling of awe in claiming for myself the opening to self-love and self-empowerment--the gifts rather than the limitations of narcissism.
Besides further exploring myself here and encouraging my readers to do the same, I expect to be making social commentary--observations about current trends and their future ramifications. I may do so from time to time with references to psychological, astrological/cosmological cycles, past and future history (yes, I may go slip-streaming for our info--I'm a sci-fi/fantasy-phile)--annnd, I am a therapist (and yes, I've already seen it split into two words and have spam-blockers set all around me for bouncing it right back at ya!) I'm into personal and planetary transformation and I tend towards chaos theory (or evolutionary systems theory) as a social change model.
I also have my Moonwalk Mission which is all about manifesting the good things of life (inner and outer). I write and send by group email short essays with the phases of the moon, using those as a guide for creating projects, making life transitions, achieving personal goals. I call it MotherSource Speaks. My essays are self-referent, hopefully giving my readers some insight and inside knowledge into how the method can work for them along with a charge of inspiration and encouragement. I may decide to post some of that writing here, but it is time sensitive and seasonal, so must be read in the moment to gain most from its "wisdom".
The transit zones of birth, life peaks, death and dying are areas of interest, exploration, and lucid witnessing for me, as are the more non-ordinary experiences. Periods of both pain and pleasure are intensely and intimately associated with all these experiences, the more extreme being traumatic or at least very discombobulating. I work with those who've experienced trauma and other non-ordinary experiences, such as NDE's and psi. So you see the "dark" side and the "other side" are territories familiar to me. Some things I write, especially my poetry (oh, yeah, there'll most probably be a poetry section in here once I figure out how to set up this site in at least a beginning version of what you more sophisticated bloggers have created here for yourselves)...will be reflective of those other zones of awareness.
The metaphor of myth I find very helpful in making meaning of these altered states into which we are thrown when we meet with the unknown. So I will make reference in many of my essays to myth and to Jungian thought, which just naturally takes us into the deeper mysteries of life and death. But bloggers, I am not all about the deep and mysterious. In fact there can be a very playful impishness about me and the way in which I like to interact with you.
I like the way the Caffeinated Librarian made names and categories for her family, friends, and reading public. I am going to work on devising a similar kind of code and order. Hopefully I'll figure out how to get these postings divided up into categories where the peeps I know can pick and choose according to their interests. B/c I am a traveler, an adventurer and a scout within and beyond the realms of knowledge and awareness. I took on the Star Trek mission for my own at an early age--"to go where no [one] has gone before" (and maybe where many care not to go!) I want to know and be known (and the latter may be the more difficult of the two to achieve!)
But here is to my beginning, blogmates! (Geez, I hope there are no initiation rites -- *looking timid and a'feared*) Let's see, do you sign these things? hmm, "in her own voice" -- how will I be called? IHOV? In her? Voice? MoonWoman? hmmn, we'll see what develops.
Look down upon me,
See only yourself.
--Rumi
Hello Bloggers,
I'm feeling very virgin today sitting down here to write my first blog ever! I'm really even new to reading here, having just spent yesterday afternoon exploring the site. Some very talented peeps here! I already feel I'm among good company, though after absorbing the atmosphere through the senses of some other bloggers, I can tell there will be surprising new scenes ahead.
I got here by way of a summer writers' bootcamp -- a thousand words a day! Phew! That was intense -- and a wonderful experience! What a commitment I made to myself -- and I accomplished it! A thousand words a day for ten days! Not bragging, just kind of elated over the whole thing. This was the site used for writer relief--the participants could "talk amongst themselves" here, and, believe me, towards the end I did some sweating and wringing of hands in our blog space. So you can see how, during my ten day intro to this site, I kept entirely to that small, contained, and "known" space--it was my comfort zone!
Had my conference with our "mentor" yesterday and he suggested opening up a blog here--you know, to keep the momentum going and to further explore and expand on some of the topics I introduced in my ten day writing spree (all first draft stuff, of course). So here I am, blogging away and not saying much of anything at all! Aaah, *sigh*, had to change positions--that chair was getting hard on my sit-bones. I'm on the floor now, sitting on my purple meditation prop chair with my 'puter warming my lap. *sigh* again.
Oh, about the Rumi poem... Well, actually a lot of references to that-- Should I have a countdown, or just cut to the chase? Well, today, I'm into cutting to the chase. I obviously have plenty of time and space to elaborate as we go forward. OK, even though Rumi was, here, as the mystical poet, describing that tantric union with the divine, my take ("in her own voice") for now is that the power of greater knowing and greater experience is mine for looking upon it, feeling into it, sensing it deeply. And so I relish in these lines that feeling of awe in claiming for myself the opening to self-love and self-empowerment--the gifts rather than the limitations of narcissism.
Besides further exploring myself here and encouraging my readers to do the same, I expect to be making social commentary--observations about current trends and their future ramifications. I may do so from time to time with references to psychological, astrological/cosmological cycles, past and future history (yes, I may go slip-streaming for our info--I'm a sci-fi/fantasy-phile)--annnd, I am a therapist (and yes, I've already seen it split into two words and have spam-blockers set all around me for bouncing it right back at ya!) I'm into personal and planetary transformation and I tend towards chaos theory (or evolutionary systems theory) as a social change model.
I also have my Moonwalk Mission which is all about manifesting the good things of life (inner and outer). I write and send by group email short essays with the phases of the moon, using those as a guide for creating projects, making life transitions, achieving personal goals. I call it MotherSource Speaks. My essays are self-referent, hopefully giving my readers some insight and inside knowledge into how the method can work for them along with a charge of inspiration and encouragement. I may decide to post some of that writing here, but it is time sensitive and seasonal, so must be read in the moment to gain most from its "wisdom".
The transit zones of birth, life peaks, death and dying are areas of interest, exploration, and lucid witnessing for me, as are the more non-ordinary experiences. Periods of both pain and pleasure are intensely and intimately associated with all these experiences, the more extreme being traumatic or at least very discombobulating. I work with those who've experienced trauma and other non-ordinary experiences, such as NDE's and psi. So you see the "dark" side and the "other side" are territories familiar to me. Some things I write, especially my poetry (oh, yeah, there'll most probably be a poetry section in here once I figure out how to set up this site in at least a beginning version of what you more sophisticated bloggers have created here for yourselves)...will be reflective of those other zones of awareness.
The metaphor of myth I find very helpful in making meaning of these altered states into which we are thrown when we meet with the unknown. So I will make reference in many of my essays to myth and to Jungian thought, which just naturally takes us into the deeper mysteries of life and death. But bloggers, I am not all about the deep and mysterious. In fact there can be a very playful impishness about me and the way in which I like to interact with you.
I like the way the Caffeinated Librarian made names and categories for her family, friends, and reading public. I am going to work on devising a similar kind of code and order. Hopefully I'll figure out how to get these postings divided up into categories where the peeps I know can pick and choose according to their interests. B/c I am a traveler, an adventurer and a scout within and beyond the realms of knowledge and awareness. I took on the Star Trek mission for my own at an early age--"to go where no [one] has gone before" (and maybe where many care not to go!) I want to know and be known (and the latter may be the more difficult of the two to achieve!)
But here is to my beginning, blogmates! (Geez, I hope there are no initiation rites -- *looking timid and a'feared*) Let's see, do you sign these things? hmm, "in her own voice" -- how will I be called? IHOV? In her? Voice? MoonWoman? hmmn, we'll see what develops.
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