Feeling like a Queen

 

Speak to the Queen, and the Queen will Answer
- Finnish Proverb

Being a triple Libra, I have always associated myself with the Queen of Swords. She is somewhat known to be cold-hearted and a little bit of a bitch,  but I always have taken that in stride, that being an acronym for Being In Total Control of Herself.

We see her here with a crown of butterflies, which usually I associate with her sister air sign Gemini, but it does show to me that she has flitting thoughts and can sample the nectar from every flower. She is also graced with a snowy owl, symbol of wintry wisdom, long-term survival, and the ability to see in the darkest of times.

The Queen of Wands purrs like a cougar. She knows she is a woman well loved, and she enjoys flirting across the spectrums. Yellow sunflowers burst around her; orange California poppies grace her arm tattoos. Sensuous and serene, her warm hold robes exude her being centered in her third chakra of will power. She is Will. She is Power.

Orcas accompany the Queen of Cups, matriarchs of the sea. Killer whales are one of the few animals that experience menopause, the sense that the grandmothers are here to tend to the generations. She knows storms and calm waters, typhoons and the slow growth of the clams, who witness the eon-long changes much like the rings on redwood trees. Her blue and purple robes evoke both the crown chakra and the third eye - The Queen of cups is deeply intuitive, pays attention to her dreams, and is in love with the Moon.

The Queen of Pentacles is enjoying the garden harvest, which is ripe with apples, grapes, roses, and pomegranates. The Tree of Life is carved on her throne. 

The king counted his money, she counted her honey, and now she is ready to both reap the abundance and save the seeds for future endeavors. She is seen with a hare, ears a-twitching, nibbling at the grasses, eyes darting everywhere. While calm, the hare is alert, ready to respond at any moment- that is her responsibility, her ability to respond.

The Tarot of a Rambling Rose soon available on Amazon!

Reclaiming Hypatia

 

During this time of menopause, I've been doing art projects that have been on my mind for years, a feeling of tying up loose ends, taking things off the back burner, a need for completion and closure. This included painting a statue by Philippa Bowers, which was part of a Goddess fountain when I had my café back in the nineties. About two feet tall, glazed in a matt green, cradling a large vibrant purple amethyst cluster, we named her Hypatia after the Greek mathematician, who was killed by having her flesh flayed with oyster shells.

 

We would add a few drops of bleach each week to the fountain water to keep down bacteria. After a dozen years, bleach deposits both built up and began to decay parts of her face and body, as well as loosening the crystals in her belly. After I closed Herland, Hypatia came to live in my garden, along with an assortment of other broken-nosed and gently damaged goddesses.

 

Being flayed was a feeling I related to, and during those dozen years, I got over a dozen tattoos. Much of this was a reclaiming of my body, my beliefs, and my standards of beauty. A way to be comfortable in my skin. Everyone has scars on the inside - mine are on the outside, and they are pretty, colorful, and make for good stories.

 

Now in my fifties, I'm experiencing a new body image issue, that of becoming the crone, the hag, the elder. What does it mean to age gracefully? What does it mean to express my authentic self? I am questioning dying my hair, working to accept my Buddha belly, while pondering the delight in creases, folds, and wrinkles.

 

I decided to paint Hypatia, to reclaim her as a symbol of my croning. Her hair is silver white, with a crown of pearls and roses. As I painted her thin hair, fine wrinkles, smile lines, tattoos, and scars, I thought of Ani DiFranco's line, "I got highways for stretch marks, see where I've grown." I think about all the ways to love a body that is half a century old, the ways to treat myself with tenderness and respect. Just like my old car, this body needs more regular tunings, more quality fuel, and a little more lubricant.

How will you re-create yourself today?

(Excerpt from Laphrodite's Guide to Mindful Menopause or the Adventures of a Baby Crone)

Tarot for the Dogs

I had so much fun making my deck, The Tarot of a Rambling Rose. Now I'm working on the guidebook - it could take a bit. Meanwhile, I've sold half of my first printing, and will not reprint until next year, so if you're interested, send me a message!

Part of the fun was choosing a particular animal for each card. It seemed obvious to choose birds for the air cards, marine mammals for the water cards, etc. but what came up in both the minor and major Arcana were dogs. Now, I am a cat person, hence my companion calico cat through my journey through the tarot, but as I contemplated each card, I thought about dogs in my life...

Sweet Maisy dog, black lab, constant companion at the Herland Women's Book-Café during her time of seizures. Maisy was transpetual - a cat trapped in a dog's body, as honored in my book, Vibrissae. We see her here in the Eight of Pentacles as the loyal, steadfast friend who witnesses the hero as she carves the tree of life into the church walls. When you pull this card, notice being the apprentice, connect with peers, guilds, and colleagues to both offer and receive support in developing yourself now.

Doberman - as noted in Carolyn Gage's play, No Dobermans Allowed. Fitting for the Hierophant, the False Priest, who is unpredictable, power-hungry, and generally full of themselves. On one hand, "Abstinence makes the Church grow fondlers," and on the other hand, if you pull this card, maybe "let your karma run over your dogma."

We see both a domestic dog and a wolf on the Moon card, representing both our tame and wild selves, what ebbs and flows, but both parts want to howl at certain times, uniting with the pack, raising our voices, releasing our sorrows. Much like during COVID, when folks would bang pots and pans or howl from balconies, this card invites us to connect with our neighbors, friends, and allies in the most basic of ways.

The Healer’s Manifesto

  

Breathe

Hold the Space

Ask Deep, Precise Questions

Listen and Reflect

Keep the Silence

Have Clarity in Your Vision

Have Wisdom in Your Words

See the Success

Breathe 

Smile

Repeat

(Excerpt from Laphrodite's Guide to Mindful Menopause or the Adventures of a Baby Crone)

Thoughts on Going Crazy

 

“‘Ormones, Me-Kay-La. ‘Ormones.” My Dadsays in his rich Italian accent as he swirls his coffee over our regular lunch date. “You know, my mother went crazy during menopause. Are you ready to go crazy?”

His memories of his mother were not pretty. Mostly, I remember my grandmother always saying I was too skinny and trying to feed me, “Mangia, mangia, mangia!” Ironic that now I’m fat.

I remember a particularly dramatic day in Milan when I was around seven years old. Nona Theresa showed up unexpectedly after taking the bus from Rome, her arms in the air, screaming at the top of her lungs, "Io Venuto!” 

Being crazy is something I'm pretty paranoid about, mostly from messages from my parents, who owned every self-help book available in the 80s. No wonder I got into the field of mental health. But what is crazy? There certainly are the manic-depressive moments, emotional sensitivity, angry outbursts, and storms of tears, but so far, I have never actually questioned my sanity. I have been aware of the roller coaster, and thus mindful as a result, to read these as symptoms that need addressing, not labels for the rest of my life. Back to soothing teas, acupuncture, doing the emotional release technique, as well as more art and journaling to channel mine, and hopefully my grandmother's energies into something grounded and centered.

(Excerpt from Laphrodite's Guide to Mindful Menopause or the Adventures of a Baby Crone)

Messages From Sea Glass

Once I met a windswept man,

Who constructed his days, 

Spent his nights in craft,
And the time between, 

Sifting the beaches,
For bits of precious sea glass.

Milky white, palest aqua,
Sea green, 

And cobalt blues,
Burnished browns, 

Occasional reds,
And the rarest of violet hues.

These shards of the past,
Once raw and jagged,
Now polished and refined.
He would make jewelry,
Creating a holder,
A reminder of the divine.

Solidly set in silver,
Skillfully soldered,
Edges worked intaglio -
Stars & moons,
Cut outs to reveal,
The treasured inner glow.

How like our hearts...

What was once a whole vessel,
To whatever elixir -
Ambrosia in the moment.
Containing the promise of eternity,
Infinity in a bottle,
Or so we take for granted.

Suddenly smashed & broken,
Tumbled by turmoil,
Tossed by tides of grief.
Scoured by remorse,
Cleansed of regret,
These fragments of relief.

Shrapnel of the soul,
Now soft, eroded edges,
Worn smooth by patience.
Translucent, transcendent,
A constant reminder:
Time is precious.

Sea glass, see glass,
See through the looking glass...
Salt tears & wisdom know -
Sand once melted,
Sand now scoured,
Even glass will flow.

Milky white, palest aqua,
Sea green baubles, Hung on sterling chains.
Reminding the throat, Reminding the heart,
Cherish each moment that remains.

(Excerpt from Laphrodite's Guide to Mindful Menopause or the Adventures of a Baby Crone)

Work is Love Made Visible

 

Time to dust again.

Time to caress my house,

to stroke all its surfaces.

I want to think of it as a kind of lovemaking

 . . . the chance to appreciate by touch

what I live with and cherish.

- Gunilla Norris, Being Home

One of my antidotes to the doldrums of menopause is staying both active and proactive. This was a productive week. I thought about the Kahlil Gibran quote, "Work is love made visible." This is true for me when I work with my clients - I am aware of the love, the care, the tending to another person's needs. I wanted to extend this to other areas of my life, so my housework became my house love, and my homework became my home love; working in the garden became loving in the garden, working on my website became loving my website; even sending out emails became sending out love letters. 

Midweek, I thought, "I should mow the lawn," then laughed because I knew it was the last thing I was going to do. The question became, "What would I love to do right now?" To my surprise, it was getting out the chainsaw and chopping up the firewood, a task that had been on my list for over a year. What a delight cross that one off, sore arms and all. Interestingly, the next day I found myself in the right mood to mow. I notice the things that I have to do can still be done with love, which is the essence of mindfulness.

(Excerpt from Laphrodite's Guide to Mindful Menopause or the Adventures of a Baby Crone)