I have to admit, I love having something to write about. Even if it’s just something as innocuous as a mushroom or a carrot or a pig.
I was lamenting to a dear friend this evening that I had nothing to write about, and that sometimes that void is excruciating (and not easy to fill!).
She promptly texted back the photo you see above. Her accompanying comment was, “This probably won’t help, but I know it will make you smile.”
Of course, she was right. And it’s probably no big surprise that someone who’s known me since we were eight years old or so is probably pretty good at knowing my heart.
Brings Me Right Back
The look on the face of that kitten brings me back to the times Chris and I played in the fields surrounding our homes, hung out in her grandfather’s barn, and a couple times throughout our growing up years found scruffy little kittens to nurture and care for.
They’d usually have the little bit of crust in the corner of their eyes, dirty fur, and often smelled of hay and perhaps a little very old manure.
Mmm. The smell of manure is one of my favorite memories from growing up.
What an odd thing to remember fondly, I guess. But it didn’t smell like ‘shit.’ Manure has a distinctive, pungent, tangy smell all of its own – and it always reminds me of the hard work that goes into growing food.
Lesson On Riffing
This post is precisely that. Some random bits of memories from growing up as a country girl.
And the warm feeling it gave me to have my maid of honor (of 39 years ago) remind me that scruffy little kittens will always be my weak spot.
The brilliance of the emerald moss caught my attention and insisted I honor it by sharing its image. Truly, it called to me and when I say it insisted, I mean it. I sensed a desire to have its beauty shared.
Semi-Mindful?
So I guess I could claim that I was being semi-mindful as I strolled through the woods. I had a destination in mind, but I was at least conscious enough of my surroundings to appreciate the lush moss blanket and the intricate pattern of leaves splayed across it.
At least I heard the call for attention.
But now, as I look at this photo more closely, I’m starting to wonder just who it was that called me to stop and pay attention to this particular tree at this particular moment.
Are those eyes? Photo – L. Weikel
Eyes Looking Back
As I shushed forward through the piles of gold and brown leaves, I was called back to pay specific attention to this tree, this moss, this small but obvious portal into the darkness of Mother Earth. But when I look more closely at this snapshot of a moment in time, a blink of an eye, I see something staring back at me.
I peer into the tiny entrance at the heart of this tree and I realize…I’m not alone.
What’s behind the eyes I see staring back at me from inside the tree? Instead of fearing me, did it energetically reach out and snag me, pulling me back to engage in some energetic exchange? Was there a challenge issued from within this hollow, a call to stop and witness its presence?
Are the Beings that usually remain invisible to us humans demanding to be Seen and perhaps Heard in these volatile times?
I’m sitting here on the bed listening to Karl’s rhythmic breathing punctuated by the haphazard splattering of rain on the metal roof outside my bedroom windows.
I can tell when a gust of wind arrives. The clattering sounds like someone dumped a glass of ice water onto the hunter green steel.
The raindrops’ voices are mesmerizing, in spite of their unpredictable intermittence.
My voice, however, feels muted. Lately, I’ve felt as though I can no longer write about myself and my life. It’s hard. I can’t say what’s happened; it’s a mystery.
Long Day
It’s been a long day, and I can’t say any of this is comfortable. All I can say is that it feels like my future is every bit as clouded over as the world outside my window. But it’s not clouded over in a depressing sense. It’s simply…obscured.
Something tells me that this is a necessary part of my process.
So I’m going to go with it.
Good night for now. May tomorrow bring us all more clarity.
The past couple of posts have felt harder to write than the prior 260 or so. Prior? Previous? (Ha ha – this bugged me and I kept vacillating on which word was more appropriate, so I looked it up. Each used the other in their definition, pinging me into a self-reflective loop. Ugh. So I guess either one is technically ok to use, even though I sense a subtle but distinct difference. Maybe that’s what I get for using dictionary.com?)
And right there is yet another example of how easily it is for me to go off on tangents sometimes.
My Point
My point is that I’m closing in on the one year anniversary of my commitment to posting every single day for 1111 days in honor of our son Karl.
The first ten, fifteen, twenty days were tough. The very enormity of what I’d declared publicly loomed large and verged on the cusp of insurmountable. And then, surprisingly, I seemed to get into a rhythm.
When I realized the benefit of taking at least one photo during the day, the game (which is most definitely not a game) changed. Those photos saved my bacon many a day by giving me something to write about. A starting point. A platform from which I could dive into the twists and turns of an invisible tunnel.
A Journey of Sorts
I never actually thought of my posts in this way before, but in writing that last paragraph, I realize that the photos I use as instigators of my posts are portals, in a way, leading to unique and distinctive journeys that I map out before you with my words.
They each are completely unique because I rarely use the same portal more than once. That means that each portal has the potential to take me to unfamiliar territory.
Funny thing? Tonight I searched desperately for a photo I could use that would give me something to write about tonight. You see what I chose.
How did those four beasts (and yes, there is actually a dog completely submerged under the covers toward the front right of the photo) lead to this discussion?
Mercury went retrograde (Rx) on Halloween this year.
Quite honestly, I’ve been feeling that the usual experience of breakdowns in electronics or snafus in communication were seemingly giving me a wide berth, for which I was quite grateful. Indeed, I’ve actually been feeling surprised, grateful, and delighted over some communication experiences lately.
Over the past year, I’ve actually written a smattering of posts that at least tangentially discussed or touched upon Mercury Rx and possible instances in which I may have been experiencing ‘fallout’ from that celestial occurrence.
Today, though, was a perfect example of Mercury Rx creating some potential havoc.
Election Day SNAFU
At our polling place, we have machines that are more modern than the old machines that looked like they’d come out of Army barracks and would register one’s vote in a dramatic, mechanical WHOOSH (complete with opening the curtain at the same time as lodging the vote). But being ‘more modern’ than those olive green steel monstrosities isn’t saying much.
The machines we’ve had for probably a good 15-20 years (probably more – I’m guessing), are electronic in the sense that they have blinking lights a la an archaic Lost in Space episode. They log votes on a roll of paper resembling old adding machine tapes located in each machine, and they’re also ‘backed up’ on an electronic ‘tape.’
Today’s Mercury Rx Moment
For the first time in our Judge of Election’s experience (and she’s been at this for over thirty years) (I’ve participated as an official in one capacity or another for probably at least 20 or so), we had a major issue confront us at the close of the polls.
One of the machines printed out the results for us to tally…and the ‘register tape’ upon which we rely was BLANK. It apparently hadn’t registered any votes.
We were horrified.
Yes, this is precisely the type of thing that is often attributed to “Mercury Retrograde.”
I’m running out of time to post this, but suffice it to say, we delivered all of the tapes and forms and tabulations concerning the other machine to the Board of Elections, and advised them of the extremely stressful situation of one of our machines.
Luckily, they popped the tape backup into a machine they had at the courthouse and out rolled our printout of all the votes cast on our second machine.
All’s Well That…
Yes. I’ll take it. We were able to quickly tally the numbers from the second machine and add them to the tallies from the first machine. So all in all, it ended up that this was not nearly the crisis it could have been.
But wow – what a stress and a scare.
I, for one, am eager to see the new machines our county officials will be selecting in the near future.
It’s time. The Time of the Dinosaur Voting Machines is over. And I’m just grateful this crisis had a completely benign resolution, because VOTING MATTERS!
A couple days ago I needed to find a small backpack I knew I had in my closet. It’s actually more of a back sack, really, as it has no lining, no compartments, not even a zipper. It simply cinches shut with drawstring, and a flap flipped over the tied drawstring stays put with Velcro slipped through a metal ring.
Simple.
Extremely basic.
Not a backpack in which you might find treasures hidden in a secret pocket or compartment. Not a satchel that’s conducive to stowing sacred objects.
Imagine My Surprise
After rummaging through my closet, I finally located the pack under a variety of objects that had been randomly and haphazardly tossed on top of it. My purpose in searching for it was to consolidate my healing tools to accommodate a long trip. It was empty, as I’d expected, and I carefully added my rattles and notebook, my pendulum, and a few other items. My mesa too, of course, was going along for the ride.
Imagine my surprise, then, when I arrived at my destination and began unpacking these sacred items in preparation for a session with a client, only to find two these two feathers. I pulled out my mesa and underneath this cloth bundle filled with stones, crystals, and other sacred objects were these two beautiful, amazingly intact and unmolested feathers.
Confirmation of the Magic
To me, this was confirmation of the magic that infuses my life and, in particular, the ‘rightness’ of the work I was about to engage in. The details of how I’d come to have the appointment with the client I was traveling to see were a primer on synchronicity all on their own. I’d felt the importance of us meeting face to face, even though I could have easily arranged to work with them ‘long distance.’
But this time, for whatever reason, it felt important to establish a personal, tangible, eye-to-eye connection. Trust was essential. And the trip felt worthwhile.
Finding the feathers as I created sacred space were Spirit’s way of telling me, “Yes. This is important. Magic is afoot.”
“When you vote, you speak for me” – Tohickon Creek – Photo: L. Weikel
Use Your Voice
This a gentle reminder to use your voice this coming week by – you guessed it – remembering to VOTE.
Perhaps I should be saving this post for tomorrow evening, so the reminder is fresh enough to propel you out to your car and onward to your civic engagement.
Perhaps.
Or maybe giving an affectionate nudge the day ahead of time will encourage you to take a quick look at your local voter’s guide in order to inform yourself of the races that are up for grabs in this off-year election.
Why Should You Care?
For instance, voting for judges (here in Pennsylvania, at least) is an opportunity to choose people who you would trust to make decisions and render judgments that can have a profound impact upon our lives. Sure, we all hope we won’t have to appear before a judge for anything other than, perhaps, an adoption. Or a name change. (I’m trying to think of the best case scenarios associated with court appearances!)
But let’s face it. In our litigious society, people often end up in court, often more frequently than they can afford, in order to have a stranger tell them how to resolve their differences. This can range from asking a person you do not know (and does not know you) to tell you how to split up your property or how much time you will spend with your child to resolving a business dispute or determining the fate of your adult child who made a fateful mistake (or awful decision).
Or maybe you’ll be part of a suit that asks for an environmental regulation to be enforced that will determine the fate of your drinking water, or an analysis of a statute that could take your land to make way for a pipeline.
Do Your Homework Now
My point with respect to most elected officials, but judges and legislators in particular, is the importance of doing your homework now, before it’s too late. Don’t assume your choices won’t make a difference. And above all, don’t assume your voice doesn’t matter.
You make a difference.
And if you want to learn more or get involved in promoting voting and strengthening our democracy, check out the League of Women Voters, a non-partisan group that does outstanding work.
Some Different Resources
As many of you know, I ascribe to the work of Machaelle Wright, founder of Perelandra, Ltd., and her approach to energetically working with Nature in order to co-create our health and the health of the planet. (Indeed, I didn’t bug you this month about doing your biodiversity practice on the first of this month, but I will remind you before December 1st!)
I admire the civic engagement the folks at Perelandra encourage, especially since they recognize the direct correlation between activism, our health, and the health of the planet and all who share it with us. They provide some excellent links to resources that you might find helpful here.
And for those of you who might long for a leader who inspires us to make a difference no matter who we are, and what circumstances we find ourselves in, you might enjoy this video.
Elections matter. Use your voice to declare what you value, who you care about, and what your vision is of our future. If you don’t, know one will know – and worse, others will make assumptions, and will do what they want because they’ll think you don’t care.
If you had the bath pictured above beckoning to you in the wee hours of a frosty fall evening, would you find yourself willing to resist?
Would you succumb to indulging your mind with its overflowing ideas that demand fleshing and elucidation?
Or would you find your energy and attention drawn inexorably to the enticement of dipping down into the bone-nourishing warmth of soaking up to your chin in delicately rose-scented liquid that’s just a degree or two away from too hot…in other words, ‘just right?’
Not a Frequent Indulgence
I’ve mentioned the lure that a long soak has on me before – and I’ve mentioned that I’ve not permitted myself to indulge since taking on this 1111 devotion.
But tonight I’m going for it. It just seems right to celebrate the first snow of the other evening and the thin veils of Samhain.
Yesterday, November 1st, was, in the Catholic tradition, the Day of the Dead.
There were precious activities more sacred to my son than a long, luxurious soak in a hot bath. In his honor and his memory, I’m dedicating this soak to him.
Due to a mid-month impromptu visit from afar, we ended up having an early pumpkin-carving extravaganza this year. (Early, late – sometimes we end up not carving at all.)
Creativity ran thick in the air a few weeks ago, and we amassed quite the collection of most excellent hollowed creations.
Lest I be accused of failing to share these masterpieces, I offer photos of them in this post.
The ‘funny’ about my first sentence lay in the fact that, while everything was carved so far ahead of time, because of a couple days of very mild weather, nothing survived until the actual day of Halloween.
The Creations
T.D.’s Dragon – Photo: L. Weikel
S.A.’s Cheshire Cat – Photo: L. Weikel
Anonymous’s Green Ghoul – Photo: L. Weikel
My Contribution
I bowed out of the festivities this year. However, given this cool article on the origins of jack-o-lanterns, I feel it’s only right to give a shout out to my very – odd – carrot (I.M. Carrot), who most definitely could’ve gone really creepy if I’d permitted it.
Yes, I’ve been writing lately about the intensity of the times we’re living in.
Tonight is/was Samhain, when the veils between the worlds are the thinnest.
When I woke up this morning, I sat outside and wrote in my journal, a light drizzle misting the leaves of the trees holding vigil before me. I was in my bare feet, the temperature hovering in the high 60s. The morning was the epitome of ‘balmy.’
After the session I had today, which encompassed deep, profound shifts and major embodiment of the concept of ‘letting go,’ my client and I walked out of the room we were in and were greeted by temperatures that had plummeted and snow blowing sideways.
