Sunday, September 26, 2010

Sea Gifts

It is a hot September Sunday here in SoCal. So hot that when I went to my car it was covered in ravens, mouths open with the heat, seeking shade. I drove to the water for restoration and was presented with many gifts. Much to the delight of the cats, four came home: a feather, rock, crystal, and shell.

The other gifts stayed at the shore, as they should. The tide was full out and I spent time peering in the tide pools, tickling anemones and watching the limpets and other barnacles blink in the sunlight. The water was clear and cold and took away the stress of the week as it grabbed my legs and pulled the sand out from under my feet.

Saturday, September 25, 2010

Fall Cleaning

For the past few months I’ve been really busy with work. Between my work at the local law library, my law office, and my intuitive work, I have been straight out. Whenever I can take a breath I run to the beach. And as I look around this morning, I can see my home really demonstrates this preoccupation.

What at one time might be excused as ‘creative clutter’ has morphed into menacing dust bunnies and worse. So it’s time for a clear out and what better time than the autumnal equinox of this past week to accomplish a good fall cleaning?

Today I grab the sponges, water, and cleanser. I grab the dust cloth, the vacuum, and large bags for discarding ‘stuff’. It’s amazing how much ‘stuff’ accumulates. Do I want this stuff? Do I need this stuff? Why is it here? Do I keep it, toss it, or file it and deal with it at the next big clear out? Ha!

I use cleanser and salt and vinegar. Cellulose sponges and cotton rags. Moon water from the last Full. I refuse to buy those toxic chemicals in environmentally irresponsible containers. Those foul things don’t make the work any easier, and they sure are harder on the Earth. Makes no sense. I’d rather use a salt-based bleachy cleanser in a cardboard canister that costs $2, than drop $10 on poison in an aerosol plastic abomination.

I reflect on times gone by when people either had house servants or were themselves house servants. That must have been rather nice. For each, I mean. To be the master and have a house with several families living there to take care of it while you went out and hauled in the money or managed the estate to generate the money. To be a servant and know the shelter and food would be there and you took care of your part of it, whether you were a cook, or a cleaner, or a grounds man or a general manager /butler. Everyone had a home and made a contribution to the home. Reminds me of those great lines from the film The Birdcage: Who cares whether you say I can stay or I say you can stay? It’s home. Or words to that effect.

Hmmm. I shake the cleanser on the white porcelain of the sink and rub it around. Gleaming once more. Am I really advocating feudalism? Or baronial whatever you call it from the 18th century?

What if I didn’t regard all this cleaning as a chore? What if I recognized it for what it really is? Some time away from the cares of work, away from the cares of clients, away from the worldly concerns that rattle around in my head? A meditation. A way to send love to my home. A way to send intentions of peace, of well being, of gratitude to my abode? A way to honor those who share this dwelling place with me?

And all of a sudden I started to enjoy it; this dusting of green powder on my tee shirt, and puckering of my fingers from the warm soapy water. My knees, wet and sliding across the kitchen vinyl floor as I kneel and scrub are now humorous and not inconvenient.

The dryer tumbles. Guitar music wafts in from the living room. Coffee scent lingers from the French press carafe of earlier. Cats stretch to unbelievable length and sleep in the hot sunbeams of September in SoCal. This is real. This is my life.

I think I’ll go tackle the bathrooms next.

Sunday, September 19, 2010

Awash in Emotion

Lately it seems I’ve been hearing a lot about emotions and how they are purportedly evidence of frailty and lack of control. What hogwash.

Emotions are every bit as valuable and critical as Intellect. Yet they come from a different place.

Our western society places great emphasis and gives great deference to Intellect. And it is generally acknowledged that Intellect is wisdom that issues from the brain. Intellect is very important it is true. But the brain is not the only sentient organ in our bodies. Today I present to you for your consideration the heart; another sentient organ. One of several sentient organs you possess in your marvelous body.

The heart is a repository of knowledge every bit as potent as the brain. The energies that swirl in us as the heart chakras are just as wise as those swirling in our brain. The wisdom that flows from the heart is known as Emotion.

E-Motion. Energy in motion. The words we so often use to describe Emotion are almost always action words. My heart soars. My fancy flies. I feel uplifted. I sink in despair. I writhe in agony. My heart freezes in terror. My soul crashes in sorrow. I was pulled out of pain by my love. My heart sings. My sorrow weeps.

Emotion must flow in order to be healthy. If we get stuck in one Emotion then illness and dis-ease come in and sets up housekeeping. Have you ever been lost in despair; so lost that you ignored the beauty in your life? Have you ever been so intoxicated with love that you ignored the practicalities and duties of your life? If you reflect you will recognize how being stuck did not serve you.

Emotion must swirl and flow. It analyzes by movement. When we are in despair, we often seek the comfort of our bed or metaphoric cave, but we must not remain there overly long. After we have had our think, and let Intellect have a go at the situation we must move and take up action in order to fully find our way through the situation. We must engage Emotion. Intellect sits. Emotion moves.

This is why we instinctively go to water when our heart aches. The water is a mirror and teaches us about flow. As we watch the water flow, and we reflect in the mirror of it, we understand that our emotions must flow as well. Water teaches us how to move, how to escape being trapped in negative emotions, and how to elevate positive emotions to new heights.

The next time you are near water, whether it be an ocean, a river, a stream, or a pond, watch it. Watch how it moves. How it adapts, and flows and never loses itself yet becomes what it must become.

When you feel an emotion, let it flow over you. Analyze it just as the water analyzes the rocks and creek bed, the seafloor, and sea creatures. Caress it and see what wisdom it has for you, and utilize it. I don’t write of gut instinct; that is another wisdom, another chakra for another discussion. I refer to feeling, of the clarity of knowing and incorporating what cannot be put into intellectual words and phrases. Intellect has its lexicon. Emotions have their feelings. You know what it is; you feel what it is. And thereby you gain in understanding. Yes, let Intellect have a go; it too is valuable. But do not exclude Emotion.

Emotions wash over you. Revel. Feel them, the good and the bad. You are alive. This is a temporary situation for you. So enjoy it all: the ups and downs, the pain and the joy. Welcome the giddiness of laughter, the release of tears. They all serve you. They are you.

Monday, September 6, 2010

Bringing in the Sheaves

The dawn rose misty and cool this morning; a rare gift in SoCal in September. I have had my head in several wrongful death cases for the past month and needed balance this morning. So off I went to the beach, arriving long before the Labor Day revelers; when only the surfers were there. I walked hip high in the incoming surf and then sat, and dug my feet deep in the sand for grounding and clearing. I sat there until the tide overcame me and kelp swirled in entreating tendrils around my ankles. I am MerCrone.

I felt solitary. And started to muse on helpmates and partners and how these tend to emerge from the ether when we call for them. I ascended the cliff to head home to the piles of medical files that await me.

And suddenly I started noticing all the help that spontaneously arrives. Upon reaching the chairs at the top of the stairs I saw a policewoman and some bicyclists petting the local cat and inquiring whether she belongs to anyone. She has a collar and tags, and is well cared for. But people were asking and would have intervened had she needed them.

I saw a pair of ancient pug dogs with gray faces being pushed along in a pram, like the enfants terrible I am sure they are. The pram was pink and had satin blankets in it for their aged rumps. They looked content and entitled and they wheezed as the pram passed me, their two daddies in close attention.

I saw a greyhound of tremendously regal build, no doubt rescued from that dreadful race industry, walking alongside a very portly couple. I laughed at how fate intervened to take him away from that cruel land of forced exertion and placed him in a world no doubt full of soft cushions and good fatty cuts of meat.

And I realized that no matter where you are in life, you can always call for help, the siren song will go out, and the perfect answer will always arrive in perfect time. If you look the signs are all around you that all you need to do is call, and the way there will emerge.

I looked across the highway and saw the pumpkin patch. Large orange orbs ripening and almost ready for the children to come seize them for All Hallows Eve. I saw all the future pies, and breads, and pumpkin butter. I thought of that old hymn Bringing in the Sheaves and how as children we used to sing Bringing in the Sheets… an ode to laundry. And laughed.

Harvest is coming. All hands to the field. I flew home, stopping at Peet's to get caffeine and a smile, and now face the sheaves of medical files. Time to bring them home. Loreena McKennitt serenades me from the living room sound system. The sheaves are lining up perfectly.