It’s been a long time since I created a post here, and I’m finally feeling like it’s time to move forward and begin connecting with the outside world again. A move to Substack is in the offing, and I hope you’ll follow me there!
As most of you know, I’m not the most technologically savvy individual, but I am embracing the challenge to jump on the Substack bandwagon and shift my communications to that platform.
I promised myself I would reach out and create my first Substack post by the full moon (which occurs tomorrow night – at 7:48 p.m. EDT). And, heck, it doesn’t hurt that today is Earth Day, either, since so much of what’s important to me is connected to Mother Earth. It won’t technically be Earth Day anymore when you receive this, but I did actually write and post that first Substack missive tonight.
Speaking of which, HERE is the link to my very first Substack post!
I am going to do my best to import your email addresses to that platform, which will enable you to read all my future posts more easily than forcing me to post in two places. And yes, this is where my command of the technology gets dicey. So I do beg your indulgence and hope you’ll forgive me if you receive some duplicate posts or other annoyances.
Benefits?
If you follow the link to my Substack account, you’ll see that you can simply choose to subscribe for free there and receive my regular posts as I publish them. Will I write a post every single day forever and ever? That’s highly doubtful. But I will be devoted to maintaining frequent connection and communication with you. My intention is to renew my relationship with all of you and share the same type of photos, messages, musings, and myriad other observations that I did while fulfilling my 1111 Devotion commitment. Only now, I’m simply engaging in a Devotion to Paying Attention.
If you choose to become a paying subscriber, you will be actively supporting me and my efforts as I finally get down to writing those sequels I’ve been talking about for twenty years. There was a time when I wondered whether I’d ever feel compelled to tell the rest of the story. This project and my move to Substack is proof that the urge has returned.
But first, I will be posting, chapter by chapter, the content of my spiritual memoir, Owl Medicine. I’m offering this as a benefit to my paid subscribers so you can easily bring yourself “up to speed” and enter the realm of my second book, The Quest, with a clear recollection of the events that had just transpired in our lives. I’d also like to think that reading Owl Medicine again might bring you different insights or new perspectives than you might have experienced when (and if) you read it before.
Back to Paying Attention
I’m offering these sneak-peeks, so to speak, of the chapters of my newest book both for your enjoyment and – pointedly – as an incentive to myself to keep writing. If I promise you chapters, I’m going to deliver! It’s yet another layer of devotion to my readers. Of course, the book as ultimately published will undoubtedly have chapters rearranged, as well as lots of editing applied to my prose. But that could be fun, too. You’ll be watching the evolution of a memoir in real time.
Please join me in paying attention once again, together, to the wonders all around us. Remember: it’s the little things that often make the biggest difference in our lives. We just need to remember to be present, pay attention, and listen.
I’ve been looking forward to reaching this moment and yet dreading it at the same time. We all know it’s been on my mind – it’s not as if I haven’t kept a running “T minus” count at the bottom of each post. So here it is. My Act of Power is complete. And the weirdest thing of all is how truly ‘full circle’ I’ve come. It’s more than you might think.
When I wrote my first post in the Act of Power I ended up dubbing my ‘1111 Devotion,’ all I knew was that the goal was set. I didn’t project into the future. In fact, I remember dividing 1111 by 365 just to see roughly how long my commitment would play out. And I distinctly remember wondering what day the project would end but making the conscious decision not to figure it out ‘with specificity.’ I didn’t want to consciously know the end date. In some way, I think I didn’t want to get ahead of myself. Who knew what might happen between then and now? In spite of my very best intentions, circumstances might have interrupted my efforts – so why put a date on it.
Over the past few months I began to get a sense of what the end date would be. (Yeah, I know. I’m weird.) And the fact that this effort on behalf of honoring Karl would end tonight seemed, oh, I don’t know. Too perfect.
Last Night
And so it was only last night that I finally permitted myself to pull out my journal from the time when Karl died and check some of the dates that were dancing around in my head. What I discovered may have contributed to my difficulty writing last night’s post. No. They absolutely did. My mind was going both a million miles a minute and simultaneously whirring, sort of stuck in neutral, in another time and place.
I was both rejoicing and thanking myself for keeping such detailed notes of thoughts, feelings, experiences, and messages – and also feeling a profound regret for not having kept even better records. Don’t get me wrong: I’m not saying that I was berating myself. It was more a feeling like when you’re watching a great movie or reading a book that’s totally engrossing and yet…you want more.
On some level, I knew I’d feel this way even as I was walking through our shock and grief. That’s why I did make an effort a couple of times to write out in copious detail some of the more amazing experiences we had. But there were many, many more mundane connections and contacts made between Karl and us in the days and weeks following his drowning. One thing that apparently happened frequently – so frequently that I clearly started taking it for granted – was a classic sign of the presence of spirit: a sudden and often fleeting feeling of a cold draft or pocket of air.
Funny. I totally forgot that that happened a lot in the two weeks or so immediately following his death. And yet even other people experienced it. Even people who called me to say they felt his presence in that moment and had a word or a message to convey.
Karl holding Spartacus (approx 4 weeks old) – Photo: L. Weikel
Tip of the Iceberg
And all of this is just a taste of what I re-discovered when I went back and started reading my entries from that time. As I said above, it sent me into a reverie that, honestly, I feel I’m still in.
Indeed, a part of me wanted to try to write this final post in my 1111 Devotion ahead of time. What?!? And break with tradition? I’m pretty sure you all know I’ve written each and every post spontaneously, every night, often jettisoning an idea that had been lurking at the edge of my mind in favor of a thought, inspiration, or outrage that was simply too compelling to quell.
So no. I couldn’t write this ahead of time. And now we’re sort of stuck with this polyglot of thoughts.
YCMTSU
But of course, I must conclude with the final YCMTSU (You Can’t Make This Stuff* Up) of this 1111 Devotion. Today is November 26th 2021. Our Gathering in honor of Karl was held – you guessed it – on the Saturday following Thanksgiving in 2011: November 26th. This post, because of the way I stay up late writing and have it set up so that the email version gets batch posted at 1:00 a.m., will actually be posted on Saturday.
So yeah. Through absolutely ZERO planning or intention on my part, this 3+ year endeavor, based solely on writing 1111 consecutive posts (in tribute to his death on 11/11/11 – at or about 11:11 p.m. Pacific Time) is ENDING on 11/26 (my Friday night), but technically Saturday – the literal day on which his Gathering took place ten years ago.**
There’s More
Reading my journal entries has reminded me of some experiences that I’m still digesting, in that I honestly believe they mean more to me now than they did when they occurred. It’s almost as if they’re messages that I wrote down then but were meant for me to read and recall now.
This is something that happens a lot with dreams and shamanic journeys. That’s because time is an illusion, and sometimes we receive messages or have dreams that we know or feel are profound, but don’t really make sense in the ‘now.’ It’s only when we go back and read them weeks, months, and sometimes even years (or decades) later do they click into place.
Ah yes. Good stuff.
But in the meantime? I thank you all for sharing this epic journey with me. Knowing at least one other person (besides Karl – he has to live with me, so he was kind of obligated to at least fake it) was reading my words meant the world to me. Instead? I was blessed with so many of you.
Thank you.
Karl and I opening Sacred Space at Karl’s Gathering 10 years ago today – Photo: Ellen Naughton
*you know what I really say
**As usual whenever I mention 1111 Devotion, I added the link to the very first entry I wrote (the ‘Devotion’ post), above. For the first time in a very long time (ever?), I re-read it just now in its entirety and I see that – apparently – I DID calculate that this would end on November 26th. What I realize is that it obviously didn’t even CLICK that this would be the exact 10 year anniversary of his Gathering; and as a corollary to that, I don’t think I was counting eggs, much less any chickens, at that point. I can confidently say I never assumed I’d reach this goal without missing a day. I still can’t believe it.
I’ll admit it: I’m contemplating shamelessly exploiting more of my pets to avoid sitting with and exploring the unsettled feelings that are coming up for me. And that’s kind of a weird thing. Not shamelessly exploiting my pets, of course. If you’ve been reading my posts for any length of time, you know I do that with abandon. Indeed, whenever I’m at a loss for something to write about, I look to my four legged friends to bail me out.
No, what’s weird is the fact that I seem to be avoiding altogether the task of excavating and reflecting upon my feelings as I approach the completion of my 1111 Devotion. So I’m left with this creeping sense of dread that if I don’t look for the meaning, it will have meant nothing at all.
But even that feels disingenuous. I committed to this Act of Power to find some small way to honor the life and creativity of my son. I did it as an act of devotion to the relationship I lost when he died. I did it because I wanted to acknowledge the hole he left in my heart – in my life – and those of his father and brothers as well. And I know there are others out there who loved him – and miss him – as well.
Taken today, too – Photo: L. Weikel
Regret
There are days when I regret my failure to create something truly meaningful and enduring to remember Karl by. He was passionate about feeding people and caring for the un-housed. He had that uncommon generosity of sharing what little he had with those who had less. I’m keenly aware that I barely even wrote about these societal challenges, much less did anything to alleviate them.
Many families that lose a child seem to turn their tragedy into an instrument of good. Their efforts range from establishing foundations to counter the gun lobby, or raising money to research SIDS, or creating better systems to feed the food insecure or to bring tiny homes to communities.
I stand in awe of mothers who create legacies of this kind.
So, no. I don’t put a lot of stock in the fact that I stayed up late 1111 nights in a row to write about stuff. From what I saw on my walks in nature that day to my reactions to the slow-moving coup we call our daily lives (in the U.S. and world-wide, sadly), my missives covered some pretty mundane, albeit occasionally fanciful subjects. And what I’m realizing in this moment is that they were, for the most part, a pretty far cry from creative. So much for honoring Karl’s prodigious creativity and irreverence.
Don’t Get Me Wrong
Lest I leave you with the sense that I regret this effort, please, let me assure you, that’s not the case. I think I can safely say my skills at iPhone photography alone have benefited significantly. So right there is an artistic and creative aspect to this project that I didn’t foresee.
And beyond a shadow of a doubt, the most amazing aspect to this 1111 Devotion was the dedication displayed by so many of you. By making a point to read my posts each day (and sometimes having to go to Facebook to find the daily missive or search directly on my website), each of you engaged in an Act of Power yourselves.
I can’t thank you enough for being such steadfast companions on this journey.
(Hmmm. Well, this was a surprise. I guess I’ll exploit my pets tomorrow night instead. I still have three more posts to write!)
This is always a tough time of year. Actually, most of the month of November is a challenge. Starting about a week before the 11th, I begin framing everything in my life around that day. (This day. Today.) I see 11/11 ahead on the calendar and I want to look away. I want it to mean something different than it does. But of course it can’t. It never will again.
This year, I’ve sort of been in an in-between place. It’s been ten years. Karl’s been gone for ten years – and actually, I haven’t seen or put my arms around my son in just under 11 years. He left for the West Coast in January of ’11 and never made it home again.
But even though today marks a full decade of missing him, I’d grown a bit detached – perhaps a smidgen one might call ‘spiritually aloof’ – over the past several months. Make that the past two years or so.
The Beginning of the Quiet
Now that I’m thinking about it, it’s all starting to make sense. Since he died, my main mode of receiving communications from Karl has been through the music on my iPod (and now my iPhone), which I would most often listen to as I drove in the car. Since the pandemic hit, I’ve hardly driven anywhere. As a result, I’ve barely listened to any music in the past two years. (Yes, this realization is appalling to me as well.)
While music (and especially the lyrics) of songs is his most effective means of communicating more complex messages, I am cognizant of the occasional hints he drops that he’s ‘around’ – or at least checking in. Some of those I’ve even written about. I guess, though, in the chaos of Covid and everything else that’s been unfolding in our lives, I just felt a distance growing between us. I assumed it was probably natural, that he was busy moving on with his own evolution.
Lately, though, the dearth of communications from him has left me feeling wistful and sad. It starting to hit me just how long he’s been gone. I think the impending end of my 1111 Devotion is also weighing on me. This Act of Power in his memory is coming to a close. Is it a metaphor for something bigger?
Recent Increases
Over the past two days, I was seeing so many license plates with his initials or even his name (for instance, “KRL 1234”), I actually talked to him out loud. “I don’t know what you’re trying to say, but you have my attention. I see the initials. I see the signs. But I’m starting to feel like it’s just because I want to see them. Our area issued a bunch of license plates with your initials. Big deal. I used to see magic, but I’m starting to think maybe I’ve just been acting dumb.”
Yeah. I went there.
I was feeling sad. And losing my sense of wonder. And yet I still maintained a grateful heart – for if that’s the extent of the messages I was going to receive anymore, at least I was receiving them.
Salmon Speaking
I ran over to Whole Foods today to pick up some salmon for our dinner this evening. We’ve barely eaten any fish since we watched the documentary about over-fishing. But this is a hard week for us, and I thought both Karl and I could use some Omega-3s to lighten our outlook.
As I was driving home this afternoon, I had a very clear and strong urge to listen to my music on shuffle again. No podcasts. No radio. “I need to listen to my music.” I’ll admit, I hoped for but honestly doubted whether anything ‘special’ would come up for me.
The Voice
The very first song that played on ‘shuffle’ was The Voice by The Moody Blues. I do not know why, but as soon as I heard their voices and listened to the lyrics, tears started streaming down my cheeks and all I could think or say was how much I miss my Karl. It was the weirdest thing: like a button had been pushed that immediately triggered a doorway to the pain in my heart that I live with and try not to dwell upon.
For my own special reasons (due to context and history), I heard in the lyrics some statements I sensed Karl was making to me about trust and moving forward with new projects and ideas. I felt like he was offering commentary on a number of things I’d said out loud to him while out doing errands, driving alone in the car, over the past several days.
I will admit that even then – even after bursting into unexpected, unbidden sobs – I actually said out loud that this was pretty well orchestrated, Karl, but who was I kidding? I was probably only hearing what I wanted to hear. After all, today was the 10th anniversary of your death. Of course I’d like to hear from you today. (I’m actually a lot more skeptical about receiving signs and messages than a lot of people assume. Sometimes I make Spirit – and my ancestors and allies – jump through hoops before I’ll believe they’re really giving me a message.)
Tonight’s Wagon
So it was especially fascinating tonight during the Wagon when one of the participants reported that she’d met Karl for the first time. Tonight. In her journey. Now, for some context, when Karl comes through to other people, he almost always brings messages specifically for his father.
That wasn’t the case tonight, though. He asked her to tell me, among other things, that I need to “let go of the past and focus on creating the future.” And I’m supposed to “BELIEVE.”
I had to smile at that last comment. To me, it was very obviously a direct response to the cynical commentary I’d made out loud in the car earlier in the day – in spite of my visceral reaction to the music.
I guess our work together has yet to conclude. I miss you, Karl. But I’m glad you’re so persistent and willing to insist that I move forward with our collaboration.
Won’t you take me back to school? I need to learn the golden rule. Won’t you lay it on the line? I need to hear it just one more time.
Oh, won’t you tell me again? Oh, can you feel it? Oh, won’t you tell me again tonight?
Each and every heart it seems, Is bounded by a world of dreams. Each and every rising sun, Is greeted by a lonely one.
Oh, won’t you tell me again? Oh, can you feel it? Oh, won’t you tell me again tonight?
Cause out on the ocean of life my love. There a so many storms we must rise above. Can you hear the spirit calling, as it’s carried across the waves? You’re already falling it’s calling you back to face the music. And the song that is coming through. You’re already falling the one that it’s calling is you
My a promise take a vow. And trust your feelings it easy now. Understand The Voice within. And feel a change already beginning.
Oh, won’t you tell me again? Oh, can you feel it? Oh, won’t you tell me again tonight? Tonight?
Oh, won’t you tell me again? Oh, can you feel it? Oh, won’t you tell me again tonight?
And how many words have I got to say? And how many times will it be this way? With your arms around the future and your back up against the past. You’re already falling it’s calling you on to face the music. And the song that is coming through. You’re already falling the one that it’s calling is you
Each and every heart it seems, Is bounded by a world of dreams. Each and every rising sun, Is greeted by, a lonely, lonely one.
Won’t you tell me again? Oh, can you feel it? Oh, won’t you tell me again tonight?
Won’t you tell me again? Oh, can you feel it? Oh, won’t you tell me again tonight? Tonight
Oh, can you feel it? Oh, won’t you tell me again tonight?
Consecrate: verb (used with object) 1. to make or declare sacred; set apart or dedicate to the service of a deity. 2. to make (something) an object of honor or veneration; hallow. 3. to devote or dedicate to some purpose. (Dictionary.com)
As you may recall from last night’s post, while I chose the Ace of Air as my primary card, the 10 of Water was clearly a player in delivering the message. Considering that I was posing the question of “What’s next?” in the context of the impending conclusion of my 1111 Devotion and the sacred intention with which I began this process almost three years ago, I was surprised by the keyword of the 10 of Water: consecration.
Whether I ‘get’ the crux of that message tonight or in two weeks – or maybe even two years from now – what I find amazing is that the cards seem to realize the essence of my query.
The cards know that, fundamentally, this is all about making the ordinary sacred. It’s all about lighting upon an act that I might consecrate in memory of my Karl. Choosing to engage in an action which might ordinarily be viewed as routine and making it holy; making it sacred and meaningful in a way that transcends ordinary day-to-day consciousness. This is my quest.
Underneath My Ace
As I described in yesterday’s post, a few pretty salient details jumped out at me as I contemplated the illustration of the 10 of Water as depicted by the illustrator of the Witches’ Wisdom Tarot*, Danielle Barlow. There were a number of powerful symbols that had personal meaning to me and the pursuit of my spiritual path.
But again, sometimes the magic of perceiving a message being sent to us by Spirit, or even ‘just’ our own subconscious, or Higher Self, or soul is enhanced by considering all the opportunities provided us to ‘get the message.’ And that includes not only relying heavily – and primarily – on our own intuition and insight, but also availing ourselves of the nuances that lurk in the words or symbols proffered by others. For instance, the particular words and phrases used by the creator of the deck or other oracle we might be using.
10 of Water – The Witches’ Wisdom Tarot by Phyllis Curott, Illustrated by Danielle Barlow
My next step, therefore, was to consider and pay acute attention to these words:
“10 of Water – Consecration
Wisdom – Verdant, humid, and embracing, the rainforest grows. Tree and Vine, Butterfly and bright-beaked Toucan, tiny Tree Frog and fearsome, holy Jaguar peer through the leaves. Rain pours from above, pools on the ground below, seeps deep into the Earth, and rises to make everything grow. The rain is full of music – songs telling stories of this magical place that makes the world better for all of Life. The rainforest is wild and full of wonder, danger and divinity, chaos and perfection. There is Life and there is death, but there is no evil. It’s raining and everything is blessed.
Essence – Wonderment, flourishing, blessings. The rewards of feeling fully. Water of Life.
Counsel – What is the song your heart is secretly singing? What is the divine magic hiding within you? There’s no reason for self-doubts or fear. Step outside your comfort zone and into the magic of Creation. No matter how turbulent the Waters of Life may be, how hard the rain, muddy the river, or unknown the rainforest, remember, you’re made of Water, and Water makes all things grow and flourish.
Magic – Go out in the rain. Listen. What’s it saying to you? Reach out your arms and feel the Water on your skin. Stick out your tongue and drink it in. Wash your face with it. Let it bless you. Feel your heart open to all that is manifesting…”
My Interpretation
The word ‘listen’ comes up and is prominent in both cards. Abundance surrounds the question I’ve asked. Perhaps that means there are (or will be) an abundance of choices on what is the best next action for me to consecrate to my cherished son.
Again, I feel ‘patience’ is also a watchword that needs to be heeded. Yes, Spirit understands my desire to know ‘what’s next.’ But for now, my focus needs to remain on the 1111 Devotion. I must dedicate myself to successfully concluding my first Act of Power with impeccability. ‘What’s next,’ if anything, will reveal itself in perfect timing.
I will listen. And perhaps, if the stars line up just right, I’ll even open my mouth.
I’m sitting here on my couch anticipating this final new moon of my 1111 Devotion. Specifically, the new moon in Scorpio will occur tomorrow: Thursday, 4 November 2021, at 5:14 p.m. EDT. I feel like I should be planting the seeds for the next chapter in my life.
Perhaps that sounds a bit hyperbolic. Maybe it is. But it’s how I feel and what I’m contemplating as I sit here listening to the silence. For one thing, as I pointed out above, this new moon is taking place in Scorpio, the sign of death and rebirth, hidden or buried treasures, resources, and secrets.
Obviously, one thing that will die during the upcoming lunation is my 1111 Devotion. It comes to an end this month. Will the commitment, the Act of Power, the dedication and devotion it represents to the memory of my son find another expression? Will my 1111 Devotion die in one sense yet find rebirth in another form?
I don’t know. I’ve yet to receive any inspiration or direction from Spirit powerful enough for me to sit back and say, “Yup. That’s it. That’s my next devotion.”
So I wait.
A Card For Inspiration or Guidance
Perhaps choosing a card for this New Moon (I’ll capitalize it in this sentence – it wants to feel special) will give me a clue or serve as an inspiration? As I’ve been working a lot with my Witches’ Wisdom Tarot deck this year, I feel drawn to work with it tonight.
As I sat here shuffling, I held as my intention the question, “What seed can I plant at this time that will serve as the next expression of my devotion to Karl’s life? How can I continue to honor him and his memory?”
At first glance, I’m struck by how similar the background of the card resembles the two photos I took of the night sky this evening as Karl, the pups, and I took a quick walk. It is indeed the time of the approaching Dark Moon. The absence of the moon’s brilliant reflected light allowed the artistry of the clouds and stars to fill us with wonder and awe.
To me, an Ace represents a gift, a seed, a new beginning. So I’m delighted that an Ace appeared as an inspiration for this new moon and the larger purpose of my intention. The nature of the seed I’m being asked to plant? Just from looking at the card and knowing that the element of Air is associated with thoughts and the mind, I suppose it could signify a new project ‘of the mind.’
Magical Sky of the Dark Moon – Photo: L. Weikel
A Few More Details
Of course, the main element of the card (beyond the backdrop of the starry evening sky) is the Celtic harp created from bones. I’m not sure in this moment what those bones signify (or if it’s even Celtic), but they feel sturdy and somehow fundamental. The spurs on the bones? Or are they claws? I’m not sure what they signify – perhaps when I read the narrative from the deck’s creator I’ll understand better what inspired her (and her illustrator) to include them in this image.
There is a sturdiness to the three sides of this musical instrument that sends vibrations, if not melody and beauty, out into the world. It reminds me of how I felt for the first seven years of Karl’s life – that we were a “Sacred Three.” And then of course, with the arrival of M and S, our sons themselves were our Sacred Three.
I’m also keenly aware of the Spider spinning the 13th string of the instrument. Grandmother Spider is the creator of the Universe and thus is the ultimate representative of creativity. The strings also seem to be incorporating the stars, which somehow feels significant. And 13 is a wonderfully sacred number associated with the Feminine and the Goddess – not to mention that Karl was born on a 13th.
Each of the bones comprising the Harp is of a different part of the body. Are they all related to the legs, perhaps signifying movement? Are they even all human – or are any of them? I’m not sure. Again, those talons or claws feel significant.
When I really look closely at this card, I notice something red in the upper left corner of the harp. I’m not sure what it is. And this obvious instrument of great power is sitting atop a grassy hill – evoking a sense of it being an offering to the sky and the stars…and maybe even the Universe.
Sleep On It
I’m going to sleep on the details I’ve noticed in this image and reflect upon this card’s message as the new moon occurs. Perhaps tomorrow night I’ll share what ‘the book’ has to say. Something may be dying, but surely a rebirth is also on its way. What will this new moon in Scorpio inspire you to end…and begin?
Butter Wouldn’t Melt In Their Mouths – Photo: L. Weikel
Zoomie Casualty
That didn’t take long, did it? I wrote about the ‘zoomies’ but two short nights ago and have already sustained a zoomie casualty. What’s that oft-used phrase popular in the vernacular? “F*#% around and find out?” Yep. That’s it.
Well, the pups did – and we found out.
It happened so quickly it was akin to a lightning strike. Our eyes met. Karl and I, although on opposite sides of the room, both knew immediately what that thud meant. It meant that the pups, in the midst of their zoomies (which we were only just starting to realize might be a normal thing and not some dietary anomaly) had tangled with the charger cord to my laptop and whisked the machine from its esteemed perch on a tray table and crashed it to the floor.
“I’m not going to look,” I said to Karl as I picked the laptop up off the floor. “Broken or not, there’s nothing I can do about it tonight. So whatever its status, it’ll hold until tomorrow. Truth be told, though? I could see the charger cord light was still on, so I took that as a good sign. I told myself the laptop was unscathed and I’d be pleasantly surprised in the morning.
Sadly, that turned out to be wishful thinking.
Could’ve Been Worse
The next morning revealed a disappointing fact: while the charger obviously was still getting juice from the wall, it was no longer effectively transmitting it to the machine. The black screen remained unresponsive, even when I pressed the power button. A brief (oh-so-brief) flicker of life appeared in the form of a light underneath the power button, but it faded with but a whimper of effort.
I checked my warranty – the super duper extended version had expired in January of this year. My only recourse was to take it to a local repair shop.
Enter D’town Tech. It turned out that the zoomie casualty was indeed the charger. This was confirmed by Taylor, who kindly recharged my battery long enough to properly close everything down. After that, I went on a hunt for a charger and discovered they are not as easy to find as one might think – yet another victim of the dreaded Covid shortages.
Just More Fun
After more running around than I would’ve liked, I ended up ordering it off Amazon. But that left me with the dilemma of giving a Wagon (a group journey as part of my ongoing Shamanic Caravan) with a totally different machine.
Those of you who’ve been reading my blog throughout this 1111 Devotion know that technological wizardry is not my forté. Initially I ran into the same problems I’d had in the beginning of this project, which was the machine deliberately ‘canceling’ the ‘noise’ of the rattle.
But I’m delighted to report that I figured it out. I didn’t panic. And the Wagon went off without a hitch.
Well, no. That’s not entirely true. I forgot – 7:00 p.m. (the Wagon’s start time), is also the ‘witching’ time for Pacha and Brutus to begin their crazy-antic running around ritual.
Let’s just say tonight’s journeyers received an extra layer of practice in conducting their work with – and without – distractions.
It’s hard to describe how much it means to me to have all my kids together at the same time. This weekend was one of those rare treats. Of course, no matter what, there’s always a hole in the fabric of any such gathering because Karl isn’t here. And while it’s not as if we act all maudlin and morose, there’s not a one among us who doesn’t think about him every day – but especially when we’re together. And then, miraculously – inevitably – he shows up.
The weather today lent itself especially to hanging out together and enjoying a fire. The creative juices were flowing and there was some serious pumpkin carving artistry taking place. Puppies reveled in the attention they were receiving from every direction.
Besides our conversations (which, to be honest, mostly centered on Pacha and Brutus), the crackling and popping voice of the fire was the primary sound track of our day.
Brutus & Pacha on a walk 24 Oct 2021 – Photo: L. Weikel
Did You Hear That?
Just as the afternoon was starting to grow some shadows, a couple of us perked up and shushed the others. “Did you hear that?” we asked together. It was the weirdest sound – a chirruping that did not sound familiar at all.
Movement down by the barn caught my eye and Sarah cried out, “It’s a raccoon! Look!”
Sure enough, a raccoon had just slipped into our barn. I barely made out the tip of its tail before it, too, disappeared into the dark innards of the deep red outbuilding. None of us were quick enough on the draw to snap a photo, but we all had to smile. “He had to make an appearance.”
The raccoon continued to make its plaintive cry, though. Only a minute or two later, it poked its head back out the barn door, then hopped out and scurried/waddled around the corner and past the compost pile. Oddly, it didn’t even hesitate at the pile. That usually has treats for all comers of one stripe or another.
Compelled to Follow
The appearance of this lovely, robust raccoon on a perfect fall day when ‘all of us’ are gathered together felt important. Significant.
Yes, we have raccoons that live around here. But it is rare to have them show up during daylight hours, calling a plaintive cry, and clearly on a mission. I felt compelled to follow it and see if I could see what it was doing and where it was headed.
Making sure the puppies were otherwise distracted, I headed out behind the barn. I meandered around the islands of wavy wild grass and the burial mounds of Sheila and Spartacus. I checked out the cherry tree Karl had nearly killed as a young kid.
And then I heard it. What a strange sound. Beyond the Weeping Willows and the eldest Sycamore tree, I heard a sound I can’t even write about phonetically. It was soft at first, and then I caught sight of the raccoon crossing the small creek at the back of our property. It was close – and it stopped and faced me as I realized we were going to encounter each other face-to-face.
It looked right at me and called out its plaintive cry. For the life of me, she sounded like a mommy, calling for her babies. Her coat was thick and beautiful, her eyes bright and her ears perky and aware. Her tail jerked expressively in time with her vocalizations.
Mommies and Babies
This raccoon spoke to me directly twice. It wasn’t afraid; it was demanding. On one level, I do believe it was looking for its babies. On another level it was serving as a messenger to tell me even my baby who’s no longer in a physical body is nevertheless here. Now. Reminding me – no, insisting that I acknowledge: when we need him most, he shows up.
And when I walked back up to the house, marveling at my mystical encounter? After looking at the video and live photos I’d taken (complete with audio), Tiffany gestured toward the pumpkin seed heart she’d found while I was behind the barn.
There are no coincidences. Messages surround us. As much as we miss Karl, I have no doubt he misses us as well and wants us to know: he’s with us in spirit.
Ok, you guys. Am I bad? We all know there are only 46 posts left for me to write before I reach my magic goal of 1111 consecutive entries; my 1111 Devotion. Many of you have been steadfast companions along this journey – giving me incentive to tackle the mountain one step at a time. “Pata y pata,” as the paqos said with sly smiles as Karl and I trekked, step by step, toward a glacial lagoon 14 years ago.
When I ask the question, “Am I bad?” I’m really only acknowledging that the newest members of our family will inevitably benefit all of us – including you, my dear companions on this trek. I have no doubt that Pacha and Brutus will make the next 46 days exponentially more pleasant for all of us. Why?
Because…PUPPIES. It really is that simple.
PachaPup – aka Bat Girl – Photo: L. Weikel
Transmuting Grief to Joy
There’s nothing like puppy (or kitten) energy to brighten our lives. And let’s face it: we’ve all been through the mill. The past almost three years have whipped us around physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually, if we’re honest. And while I’ve tried to walk my invisible line that wavers between optimism and despair, I’ve also – always – striven for honesty.
I’ve felt some heartaches in the midst of the past 1065 nights that I’ve not shared. You guys don’t need to know every jot and tittle of my emotional landscape. But truth be told, those not shared, or at least alluded to, have been few and far between.
For the most part, I subscribe to the “a joy shared is doubled and a sorrow shared is halved” school of thought. And knowing you are on this journey with me has doubled my joys and halved my sorrows. But wow – I do know some of the sorrows, such as Spartacus’s sudden death, were hard on all of us.
Brutus hangin’ with his Blue Dog squeaky toy – Photo: L. Weikel
A Gift to All of Us
All of which is to say I honestly think the astonishing discovery and adoption of these puppies was a gift to all of us. The infusion of puppy energy into our home was, and is, palpably restorative. The pall that descended upon us at our loss of Spartacus was very nearly overwhelming. And I cannot thank all of you enough for the love and compassion we felt pouring in.
I do believe we’re in for a bunch more ‘stuff’ out there in the tumult of our society. There’s more upheaval coming. But Spartacus was right: I do need him. And I believe we need each other – and (apparently) a double dose of puppy energy – to get us through the next…what? At least the next 46 more days.
After that? I guess we’ll see.
But I promise you this: Brutus, Pacha, and I will provide you with plenty of photos documenting their puppyhood. It’s the least we can do for our friends. While I might be shameless in sharing our new babies, I hope you won’t think I’m too bad for it.
Is something magical going to descend from above and cover me like a blanket of feathers* after I hit the ‘publish’ button tonight? Will my attitude toward my 1111 Devotion – or my writing in general – undergo a transformation once I hit the 1,000 club? I ask these questions because a major impetus behind my decision to embark upon this Act of Power was a blog post I read by Seth Godin.
As the title of that particular post implies (“The first 1,000 are the most difficult”), Seth maintains that reaching the milestone of writing 1,000 blog posts can make a huge difference in how a person perceives themselves. Understandably, this shift in perception can also significantly impact how a person approaches their concept of themselves as a writer.
My Attitude
I will admit that hitting the 1,000 mark is a bit of a stunner. It’s amusing to me that 995 posts ago, I wrote an explanation how finding Seth’s post about ‘the first 1,000’ felt like a message to me. I’d asked how I could honor Karl’s life, and in particular his creativity, and this showed up in my face. The weird thing was, I hadn’t even read it when it first arrived in my email a week or two earlier. I only saw it that morning because I accidentally clicked on it in my email.
Suffice it to say, it seemed at the time that I was getting a major nudge to wake up and pay attention to what was (and wasn’t) ‘working’ in my life. And if I found my attitude or circumstances wanting, then I needed to change my story.
Celebrating 1,000
In reflecting upon the impetus behind choosing to write 1111 consecutive posts as my ‘devotional’ Act of Power, I looked up the entry in which I described how I arrived at that number. (I remembered the part about the power of 1,000.) What I forgot, though, was the appearance of the other Seth Godin post: the one that spoke of the power of changing your story.
I feel yet another change in my story approaching again. Perhaps I will plant that seed in some way tomorrow, both in honor of attaining the dramatic 1,000 mark and also to take advantage of the powerful new moon in Leo. This 8th day of August 2021 promises to be a powerful day of manifestation.
It might behoove us all to contemplate our stories. Do we wish to change them? Now might be a great time to begin.
A Prize From Above
Finally, as Spartacus and I walked this evening on the freshly macadamed road along our usual path, something beautiful caught my attention.
The way in which this feather was standing at attention in the midst of tall grasses, its shaft gently nestled amidst the new pavement was curious. I don’t know how I caught sight of it. But there it was.
I’ll take it as one of my beloved signs. I’ll trust that perhaps the time is coming to change my story yet again.
