A New Year

We packed away the holiday regalia. Scott worked a portion of the day while I did laundry and played domestic god. I treated myself to a massage in the afternoon and had a delicious nap on the sectional with Scott.

Sometime during the day, I talked to Julz on the phone and we talked about doing a reading – an annual ritual that I’m challenged with keeping. I have many tarot decks in many different styles and flavors, and some I’ve never used or even opened. The deck that I wanted to use is called the “Faeries Oracle,” created by Brian Froud. Initially, I worried that the deck was too whimsical and light, but the content convinced me that it is quite substantial, and the artwork is enticing and enchanting (no pun intended). The card I pulled for myself for 2008’s theme was: He of the Fiery Sword.

The gist: there is (or is a need for) ‘clear and focused will and a determination to carry through on decisions, even if much effort is required.’ The admonition is to be aware of how that strength or will and their expression may be enhanced or improved in order to ‘burst the bonds of an outgrown way of being and move on to the next level.’

I did another reading with the major arcana cards of a set that Christopher Butler sent me. I pulled one card only to validate the theme for 2008, and what I pulled was Death/Rebirth. I admit, the first moment of reading the card made me want to put the card away and reshuffle, because death in any shape/form is something I have a hard time dealing with. The archetype makes complete sense, though. The meaning of Death in 2008 is simple: this represents my capacity to change and transform at deep levels. It is an active process of letting go of old patterns in able to experience and express new parts of myself. (But if I do die in 2008, then you read it here first, and know that I’ll be having LONG discussions with baby Jeebus.)

Two card readings, and one meaning: work will be very different in 2008. It IS official, by the way – a certain person has retired and their last day was today. Tomorrow, when I go to work, will be a new day – unlike any that I’ve had in the 8.5 years I’ve been there.

Native American Day

Native American Prayer

Oh, Great Spirit
Whose voice I hear in the winds,
And whose breath gives life to all the world,
hear me, I am small and weak,
I need your strength and wisdom.
Let me walk in beauty and make my eyes ever behold
the red and purple sunset.
Make my hands respect the things you have
made and my ears sharp to hear your voice.
Make me wise so that I may understand the things
you have taught my people.
Let me learn the lessons you have
hidden in every leaf and rock.

I seek strength, not to be greater than my brother,
but to fight my greatest enemy – myself.
Make me always ready to come to you
with clean hands and straight eyes.
So when life fades, as the fading sunset,
my Spirit may come to you without shame.

(translated by Lakota Sioux Chief Yellow Lark in 1887)

Hold On

Hold on to what is good,
Even if it’s a handful of earth.
Hold on to what you believe,
Even if it’s a tree that stands by itself.
Hold on to what you must do,
Even if it’s a long way from here.
Hold on to your life,
Even if it’s easier to let go.
Hold on to my hand,
Even if someday I’ll be gone away from you.

A Pueblo Indian Prayer

“Man did not weave the web of life – he is merely a strand in it.
Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself.”

Chief Seattle, 1854

Light

For Weekly Anamnesis #63

Summer of that year, we flew with my partner’s family to Portland. The plan was that we’d stay a few days before renting a car and driving up to Seattle, then Port Townsend, for his cousin’s wedding, hit the coast and camp in the rain forest, then back to Portland. Whirlwind trip, yes.

My memory is cloudy, here, since I don’t know if was in Portland or Seattle, but we spent an afternoon in one of the cities and had lunch. On the way back to the car, we noticed signs for a “free experiential art show.” The operative word for us was “free.” We entered the building and he and I split off from his family, each of us exploring this enormous warehouse that had been converted into an exhibition of 3-D, interactive (touch, walk on, climb, etc) pieces of art.

The last display was called “Hope,” created in memory of mankind’s atrocities against itself, such as the Holocaust, the Trail of Tears, and the World Wars. One hallway was covered with newspaper articles, paintings, drawings and poems. An attendant stood at the end of the hallway beside a door. The instructions were very simple: remove your shoes and step through the door. There was no time limit.

He and I entered the room together, stepping into a completely dark space, our feet sinking into what felt like sand. We whispered to each other and I reached out and found his shoulder. I knew the door was behind me, so I felt for the door or wall. I kept one hand on the wall and one hand on his shoulder, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the absolute darkness. He saw the difference first; there was less darkness in the distance. I let my hand go from the wall and followed him into the room, plodding beside him.

I could not understand this so-called “art” called “Hope.” If anything, this was “despair.” Walking in darkness, unsure of each step, unsure of what you were even walking through, straining to sense the different hues of black. I remembered the articles and images of war and thought of those who had died, all the the millions and millions of people who had been killed by their own human family. We walked. The black turned to grey, and then far away was a pinprick of light.

The feeling of despair didn’t lift until we were close enough to make out that it was a candle. The floor was covered with a layer of soft sand. Participants in this exhibition left footprints which left patterns like sand dunes throughout the room. That candle burned itself into my lungs, blood, heart, brain and soul. The exhibit made very real the wonder of the grains of sand, the vastness of space, and the loneliness and utter uncertainty of darkness.

The Hanged Man

You are the Hanged Man

Self-sacrifice, Sacrifice, Devotion, Bound.

With the Hanged man there is often a sense of fatalism, waiting for something to happen. Or a fear of
loss from a situation, rather than gain.

The Hanged Man is perhaps the most fascinating card in the deck. It reflects the story of Odin who offered himself as a sacrifice in order to gain knowledge. Hanging from the world tree, wounded by a spear, given no bread or mead, he hung for nine days. On the last day, he saw on the ground runes that had fallen from the tree, understood their meaning, and, coming down, scooped them up for his own. All knowledge is to be found in these runes.

The Hanged Man, in similar fashion, is a card about suspension, not life or death. It signifies selflessness, sacrifice and prophecy. You make yourself vulnerable and in doing so, gain illumination. You see the world differently, with almost mystical insights.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

One Summer Circle

Our group planned an overnight trip to a place about an hour outside of Salt Lake City. We caravanned, several cars following David and Jimmy, with flags or scarves tied to the antennae of each vehicle. By the time we arrived, the wind had frayed the edges of my silk scarf, but I wore it around my waist or as a headband for the weekend.

Jimmy chose a campsite that was less than half a mile below a dam. We spent the afternoon setting up tents and preparing dinner. David built a fire pit and we all helped collect fallen wood for the night’s fire. This would be my first drumming circle. Tonight, at the summer’s height, we would be outside in a place that had elements of wind, water, fire and the strong canyon walls surrounding us. There were seven of us: Moonfire (David), Fuku (Jimmy), HapyHapy (Jason), Dyal (Thomas, who I always called “Sunshine”), two others, and myself (Kerris).

Me, being night blind, stumbled after Dyal as we gathered in a circle around Moonfire and the crackling fire, each of us sitting and getting comfortable on a blanket. The slight wind in the trees fanned the fire, splashing reds, oranges and yellows across the faces around me.

Moonfire cast the Circle. He explained our purpose, how he would drum and take us on a spirit journey into and through the fire. On “the other side,” we would meet our spirit guide, our totem. He encouraged us to sit and stare into the fire, or to lay back and listen and be guided by his voice. I lay down, staring upwards, my feet pointing away from the fire. I remember the smell of smoke and sage and the sound of the fire behind Moonfire’s cadence. I remember the darkness and how the stars seemed so close and clear.

I could hear my heart beat and gradually became aware of drumming. The drum beats anchored us as we floated in this night’s ocean. Moonfire’s voice gave us our bearings: tomorrows far to the east, yesterdays far to the west, and the north and south expanses wrapping us in ribbons of here and now.

Moonfire’s voice guided us into and through the fire. I don’t know what I expected, but I walked into daytime and into the same campsite, except I was the only one there, standing on a blanket in front of the fire. Moonfire’s voice seemed from far away. He said to be patient, that our guide would show themselves in time. Relax and let them come.

I sat and looked around, watching the trees for any signs of movement. I thought about wolves, owls, and panthers and my mind wandered to thoughts of dragonflies, butterflies, and hummingbirds. My heart beat with the drum. After a time I heard Moonfire say “Your guide is there.” I searched for movement in the trees and bushes or in the air, but there was nothing except the flames of the camp fire.

The fire, shaped like a man with golden eyes.

He wasn’t what I had expected, either.

(12/18/06: 6th paragraph edited for missing “us” in the first sentence, and shortened for clarity)

Talking to Strangers

If I were a child I’d be grounded all the time because I talk to strangers. It’s not unusual for me. It’s downright common. Today’s conversation was uncommon.

He was a man with hair that matched his namesake. I had seen him before, but today was one of the first times we had an extended conversation. We recounted our respective Thanksgivings. Both of ours were quiet and relaxing. His father, mother, and two brothers had passed away over the last several years. He divulged that he married on Thanksgiving day, nine years ago.

He said, “All we can do is appreciate right now, because five minutes or five weeks from now it’s already history. It’s in the past. I’m glad I got a chance to be my mother’s caretaker and stay with her. She had terminal cancer. We talked every day. I told her ‘Mom, we have four things to do today: breakfast, lunch, dinner, and whatever you want to do.’”

His eyes were pale blue. He was looking at me intensely when he said, “Wouldn’t it be amazing to share the three true states of yourself with someone?”

“Three states?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. “The God or Higher-power part of you. The way you think of yourself. And the you that you project to the world. Wouldn’t it be such a gift to have those three things in alignment and share that with one person? To be able to connect on those levels with one person honestly and honorably?”

I listsened to this man. I let him talk, but I was smiling inside knowing that there was one man who knew me, who knew those ‘three states’, and that I live with him.

Recent Lessons

Julz reminds me to be grateful and thankful for life’s many gifts and blessings. Any ritual can be taken for granted or trivialized. Being grateful takes consideration and attention.

Lynski reminds me that age is just a number. This courageous woman can change her life as simply or as dramatically as coloring her hair or uprooting her home and career. She reminds me that love is energy, that we are made of light and love or lack thereof.

Neener reminds me that families are often the people we choose into our lives, and these people are closer than any biological relation.

Jody reminds me to live life fully. She exemplifies a story that was told to me recently. “People will like you or they will hate you, but they will always talk about you. Be true to yourself, because five minutes after you’re dead those same people will forget you.”

Runestone: Ansuz

Signals. The messenger rune. The god Loki, the reminder “that even scoundrals and arch-thieves can be the bearers of wisdom. When you draw this rune, expect the unexpected. This message is always a call, a call to a new life.”

This rune addresses “our need to integrate unconscious motive with conscious intent.” The Divine is at hand. “It is a signal to explore the depths, the foundations of life, and to experience the inexhaustible wellspring of the Divine in your nature.”

Draw first from the well to nourish and give to yourself – then there is more than enough to nourish others. This space is about a new sense of family solidarity.

Belated (mini) Reading

Each New Year and birthday, I usually do a reading. Usually. This year I let things slide, put it off, put it off a little longer, then finally had a little mini reading this morning. Yesterday was not so much hell at work (boss, idiot, status quo, was, rinse, repeat) as it was the realization (and grudging acceptance) that there are things that I just can’t change. For some reason, that silly little lesson eludes me. I went to bed late, tossed and turned much of the night, had work-related dreams, and I woke up much earlier than I usually do and didn’t go back to sleep. This morning I was the walking definition of ugly (I looked like Cheney, with hair).

I had a pouch of stones lying at the end of the bed in the front bedroom. Scott had given them to me the night before. They were stones made from terra cotta tile, each bearing one word of affirmation and/or meditation. The idea is to pull a stone and reflect, ponder, and learn more about yourself in relation to the issue that you’re drawing for. The golden rule of readings is that you be open and clear when you draw. I was in a total pisser. I hadn’t even had coffee yet. I thought to myself that I would pull something quickly for the year ahead and then go to work. I reached in my hand, felt through some of the stones, and pulled out just one.

I drew “abundance.”

There was a moment when I felt the world stop for a moment. It was a slow-motion feeling that was gone way too fast to register, like getting socked in the gut – the fist is gone by the time you realize you can’t breathe. Okay, so that didn’t happen quite that dramatically.

What I felt was an immediate sense of being an even bigger bona fide, petty, snarling, grudging, bastard.

How could I dare to be unhappy about a job, any job? How could I not see the wonderful abundance in my life? Why was I focusing on the temporal and ultimately irrelevant personalities at work, focusing on the things that I can’t change now or ever? Why do I challenge the status quo when I’m so vehemently (and hypocritically) opposed to change in my own life (“change is good, you go first” kind of motto)? Why was I wasting energy, yet again, spinning myself into a berserk frenzy?

I’ll do a proper reading. I will. Soon. For now, for whatever reason, I needed my own bitch-slap by the universe to slow down, acknowledge and appreciate the many Many MANY wonderful things in my life. I have: the sweetest partner, dear friends, extended families, and wonderful pets. There is abundance in my life. I need to look, listen, and appreciate, but before that, I just need to shut the hell up and get over myself for a while.

Personal Responsibility from an unlikely hero

from Neil Gaiman’s “Sandman” series: Season of Mists

Lucifer talking to Dream of the Endless:

‘Why do they blame me for all their little failings?

They use my name as if I spend my entire day sitting on their shoulders, forcing them to commit acts they would otherwise find repulsive.

“The Devil made me do it.” I have never made one of them do anything. Never.

They live their own tiny lives. I do not live their lives for them.

And then they die, and they come here (having transgressed against what they believed to be right), and expect us to fulfill their desire for pain and retribution. I don’t make them come here. They talk to me going around and buying souls, like a fishwife come market day, never stopping to ask themselves why.

I need no souls.

And how can anyone own a soul?

No.

They belong to themselves…

… they just hate to have to face up to it.’