Rosemary

 

Remembrance

Thank you for

Calling

Reminding me

Pistol Fingers

W.I.T.C.H Reading

I am in Idaho for my father-in-law's funeral on Saturday. I splurged on the W.I.T.C.H  (Woman In Total Control of Herself) deck when US Games Systems did a 4th of July sale, and did the Self Care spread from RoseBMystics.

I am just loving this oracle deck, written by Angie Sullens with art by Silas Tobal. It came in a beautiful, sturdy box and also had a green sheer pouch to hold the cards, plus US Games included a free bookmark. The book is gorgeous - heavy paper, full color, quite sumptuous in its own right. Angie refers to herself as, " Dumbledore and RuPaul's secret love child."

1. How can I best cleanse my mind?

24. The Dancer

We see a woman dancing with a white goat on a parquet floor holding a tambourine. "you are invited to take the time to enjoy rather than hurrying to the next goal." I like this permission for a mental vacation.

2. How can I better care for my body?

36. Weaver of the Red Tent

A woman in a red dress and veil with heavy silver jewelry smiles in front of a red palisade. Well, this was interesting since I have started my period again after six years of no bleeding, due to being on HRT. The card speaks to "healthy interdependence" vs "ultra-independence as a trauma response... We continually feel the pressure to perform, produce, fix, create, heal, help without ever acknowledging our own needs." 

3. What is the best way for me to connect with spirit?

16. The TrailBlazer

We see a woman moving through the forest following a dove, while various creatures trail behind her - wolves and lions. The moon is eclipsing her head.

This card speaks to being the expert on your life, rather than giving your power away to a doctor, lawyer, or any other "authority." It recommends to stop fearing my path, be loyal to my visions and the longings in my heart.

4. How do best connect with my intuition/inner priestess?

17. The Scholar

We see an elderly woman consulting a huge time, while boos are piled high on the shelves, a lone raven on the top."She's a scholar of the sacred texts of experience..." The card is a reminder to embody what I know and put it into practice. Trust my gut.

Blessed Be.

Graphology

My handwriting is
Cryptic, secret, sloppy, just
Like my tender heart

Random Advice

• Compliment people- be sincere. See something you like - a piece of jewelry, the color of a shirt and say something. People love it.
• Say thank you- send note cards by snail mail, have a stack of little gifts like painted rocks and bookmarks to give to clients- I hand out  a lot of hematite, rose quartz, and magnets (law of attraction) and gratitude
• Take time for yourself- be intentional, don't fight just to get some space. Nor do you have to be sick or cranky. Make it organic.
• Listen to music- turn on the radio, play CDs in the car, sing in the shower, notice that earworms in your head. Find the lyrics, watch the videos, and dance to them.
• Love your pets. They are amazing. Enough said.
• Don't listen to advice that does not resonate with you.

Thoughts on Beginner’s Mind

Thoughts on Beginner’s Mind

If the angel deigns to come it will be because you have convinced her not by tears. But by your humble resolve to be always beginning to be a beginner- Rainier Marie Rilke

Beginnings, successes, and failures. I chose to be a beginner when I signed up for the children's illustration class at Cabrillo College. I know my artistic talent needs to be developed so I enrolled in watercolor classes as well as online drawing classes. 

The online classes were complete flunk. I read the essays and watched the videos, but never did the homework. What a difference it makes being in an actual classroom with an actual teacher. I remember taking the nude portrait class at the Corcoran in Washington DC, my senior year of high school. We laughed as the model did a headstand and we had to draw his danger dangling straight down his belly. 

I felt so inept then, still do when confronted by some charcoal or pastels. I completely fail in realism, something my art lacks unless a photograph. My art feels childish more than cartoonish, immature rather than anime, and I comfort myself by saying at least it's mine. At least I'm willing to put it out there. 

Still my inner critics says it's no good, has no value, and in my dad's voice, it will never make any money. Maybe my art is primitive. It certainly is inconsistent. What is consistent is my pattern of doing something  a hundred times, then stopping, just like the batik silk scarves I made to earn money for the Global Walk.

Or the Herland crafts that I would make after hours -  stained glass boxes in the shape of pink and black triangles; decoupage cigar boxes lined in burgundy velvet repurposed from the thrift store; simply scanning objects and adding a pithy quote to create mugs, bookmarks posters. Magnets and more, who knew what you could do with a laminator and a pair of good scissors. 

Some sold and did make money but there was always a feeling of falseness. It wasn't real art, especially any collage work, using somebody else's images, cut from magazines and old calendars as opposed to just doing a google search and downloading an image. Although in this day and age of AI scrapings, whether mixing music or images, who’s to say what is art? 

These days I struggle with colored pencils, I’ve used up all the pastels, I muddy up the watercolors too often. I’m going back to painting with acrylic. Wonder if I do better with oils. We'll see after the next hundred little canvases bloom...

I choose to be a beginner. Not quite the perpetual student, but certainly willing to flip from medium to medium. Never mastering any modality fully, but least feel comfortable getting my hands dirty. The page and the coffee table now splattered as I spray liquid confetti from the ends of an old toothbrush across the page.

This Moment

While I look out my window, I remember a few moments ago before class started, I sipped my green tea and brought a mug full of color sharpies to my to be my writing bouquet on the table. During today's class, a glimmer caught my eye and threw the pale lace that offers a modicum of privacy to my office. I saw an emerald-throated hummingbird dipping into the bright orange blossoms of the shrub whose name I do not know that was planted by the neighbor. It has taken over this space.

This plant provides a refreshing screen as we no longer have a fence between us. I come from the sprawling suburbs of Bethesda, were huge yards created all the social distancing needed of the day with their expenses of grass, borders of pink and red inpatients. Here in Santa Cruz where everyone is on top of each other. We have redwood, white, picket, rusted iron and hedges that would defy the middle ages in terms of barriers made of briars.

My neighbor was open to creating a virtual fence once the old fence had fallen over for the update time, rotted with termites and mold, but it took a while for the shrubs to grow in, to feel unexposed, to have good boundary. I see blue sky, a clean roof, healthy plants, a house with white and blue trim. I noticed what dangles in my window. The healing Hamsa hand from Charlie, cobalt blue bottles with crow, hawk, bluejay feathers popping out. rose quartz and purple fluorite, a bottle of holy water next to some sacred honey.

The cobalt bottles are from my parents, a fish and ink bottle, the head of George Washington, a cluster of grapes. There’s also a vial of kosher salt and a glass carving of an iris for my trip to Sweden with my mom ten years ago. My writer's talisman which I made in Lisa's class two years ago. Sage green curtains. All the elements, cozy and complete.

Clothes Lines

God is in the details. Yesterday, I gave one of my clients a fistful of dried rose petals from the Coretta Scott King rose bush. It's in the backyard. planted between reputation and love/union/marriage, according to Tibetan Black Hat Feng Shui. This uses the front door as the key alignment instead of the traditional north-south compass.

As she continued her story, I laid my hands on her shoulder blades, sending Reiki along her spine, her angel wings. She was using the blue, pink, and purple sharpies on the clipboard paper to outline her letting go.

In therapy we say you know you're “over it” when you can speak about ”it” in a normal tone of voice. Or I think about Marianne Williamson forgiveness does not mean what happened was okay. It means it no longer affects you.

So I forgive myself for not following up on the health insurance today, or watering the backyard, let alone mowing. Since at least the laundry’s in the washer, not quite ready for the dryer, I give myself permission to write down these few lines. Closing lines. Clothes lines.