A Steady Hand

This week while traveling on a Southern California freeway I witnessed a beautiful, heroic, and magical thing.

Like so many things in life, it started out as a bad thing and became a lesson in how wonderful people can be.

There is a section of the 805 freeway under construction. For months now we have seen the workers moving earth, putting in girders, and shifting equipment all within feet of us as we motor by at speeds around 70 mph when the road is open.

The other morning a storm was moving in. The rain had not yet reached the shore, but the wind had and an uneasy energy swept over the land.  I even remarked on it on Facebook before I got on the road.

A car with a family of five heading north on that section of the 805 was sideswiped by another car swerving to avoid a separate accident. It was about 6:30, the sun was just properly up, and the construction workers were only barely getting underway with their labors. The struck car became airborne and hung up on the concrete divide separating the road from the construction pit. Severely mangled, the car hung there precariously.

At great peril to themselves the construction workers raced to the car. They pulled a child out. They maneuvered one of their trucks with an extension under the car to prevent it from falling in to the pit. They worked to get the other people out of the car, and all this before the emergency teams had time to get there.

This caused quite the stir, as you can imagine, and traffic backed up in both directions. I came on it just as the ambulances and fire trucks were getting there. It was both horrifying and stunning: that truck reaching up to steady the car. I think everyone within sight was holding their breath. For a long time.

I sent up prayers of thanksgiving and deliverance for the people in the car, and for the workers supporting them. The people were all taken to hospital. Constabulary got the car up and over and on to a flatbed truck. Four of the five people lived. The grandmother passed later that day.

Life does this sometimes. Sometimes we get hit out of nowhere and get flipped in the air and seem to hang in the balance and we are not sure whether we will fall and die, or be rescued, or figure it out somehow. Certainly in these interesting times this happens a lot.

Yet help can come from the most unexpected places and in the most unexpected ways. You might be surprised who reaches out to steady you when you have a wobble. Or grabs you when you get flung in the air and are hanging upside down by only a prayer.

This accident happened as the workers were gathering, finishing their coffee, and starting up their equipment. It happened close enough for them to have the ability to see it happen and the path to rapidly get there. And help they didn’t hesitate. They didn’t worry about their construction deadlines. They abandoned their plans because of a new imperative.  Wow.

I don’t think we should worry. Help is all around. The stranger who passes you by on the street could be the hero who saves you. Or you for them.

I think we are in this together. I think we are learning that. I think that as the economy tears away our materialism and out of control consumption we are learning what is real.

I salute the construction workers every time I drive by them now. I call down radiant love to bless them, these unsung heroes of the roadway.

The Commute of the Crows

Since my household move I have a long commute to work. About an hour going; an hour or more coming home again. Hey, it’s the economy. Over the months I’ve fallen in to a nomadic routine, and have come to appreciate the time I get to myself zipping down the freeway and back again. I’ve come to appreciate that my trip has a rhythm of its own, and this appreciation instructs me to see other rhythms that play out near by.

One of my favorites is The Commute of the Crows.

Each morning as I head out at dawn and leap on the freeway I see a huge murder of crows also taking flight for the day. They rise in masses of at least several hundred and circle as they gather their bearings and then split off in to squadrons of smaller numbers. Each squadron takes off in its own direction. So as we car-bound humans wait in line at the meter to get down the ramp and on the thoroughfare, so the crows circle and establish their pecking order, organize, align, and head out in all directions.

I think the birds gather some sort of altitude advantage from the warmer air over the interstate. In some odd way the exhaust from thousands of cars gives them that boost they crave. At least I can’t think of any other reason they’d always be there, rising up over the road, and circling, circling, ranking, ordering, and then pulling off in their many separate groups for a day of hunting and whatever it is that crows do. I’ve taken to calling Good Morning to them and wishing them well.

Returning home at dusk I witness the reverse happen. I see the crows again, only now massing together and coalescing. They come in from all directions to the same space at the same place on the highway and swirl together and head off again. They rise and fall and gain in number and then traject to wherever they spend their evenings and sleep.

What is this? Is it some great crow party? Do they mass for society? For protection? For warmth? Do they have a culture? Do they tell stories of what they did all day; the adventures they had and the sights they saw? Do they remark on the cars on the road? Do they notice us at all? The gridlock, the speeders, the crashes, the arrogance, the close calls?

As I commute to and from my day, so do they. As I rise each morning, shamble out the door and get to work with thousands of my fellow humans , several thousand crows get about their day and apparently conclude and come home the same time I do. What an odd parallel. Yet their commute is more dimensional than mine. I inch forward in a straight line with glazed over weary workers in line with me. They rise and fall and move in all directions: high, low, side to side. They have energy and agility. We hunch over our steering wheels and listen to subscription radio.

I call Good Evening to them at dusk and wonder whether any of my fellow travelers notice them. How could they not? They are beautiful. My fellow commuters in the sky. I’m in good company.

Cricket Intentions

Over the past month and a half I’ve been moving my household and my office. Didn’t intend for it to fall that way, but Life does move quickly sometimes. I’ve been very preoccupied. Haven’t been writing much, which is very unlike me. A great many things have changed. I’m exhausted but it’s all working out and my life is starting to feel normal again. A little bit anyway.

The other day though, I witnessed the most amazing change in another being’s life, and so I want to write about it now.

I purchased a pot of greens and a pot of catnip at the local pet supply store, and brought them to my new home for the cats. These pots and all the routine groceries were set down by the front door while I dealt with putting chilled items away. Out of the corner of my eye I spied my younger cat intently fixed on trying to catch something in the pile of groceries. Oh dear, I wondered. What did I bring in with me?

A cricket was barely eluding my cat’s pounce. It was only a matter of time before cat would triumph so I intervened and inverted a glass jar over the cricket and took him out to the patio to release him, from whence he rapidly hopped over to the edge of the woods and away.

My cat glared at me and walked away to start munching on the catnip. Then it struck me. What that cricket had achieved.

Only a few hours before he was sitting in a pet supply store, seemingly doomed to be sold to someone with a large hungry pet reptile. They don’t call them Feeder Crickets for nothing.

But no. That isn’t what happened. This cricket managed to hop out of the enclosure. Or maybe he fell out of a bag on the way to the check out. Point being, he made it from the Feeder Cricket Container all the way to the Catnip display. He sat in a catnip plant. Then I brought the catnip plant home. He hopped off. He was then menaced by a fierce predator but once again Deus Ex Machina swooped in and poof! He’s outside in nature, living his life as a free cricket.

What an incredible series of events! Was it random? Did the cricket set up an intention to get to the wild somehow? I’m put in mind of the Chilean Miners (all respect; I’m not comparing them to crickets directly!) and how the one miner dreamt of running in a marathon and then did it.

However it happened it was great. It reminded me to not worry so much about how things are going to get accomplished. It reminded me that the important thing, from an energy standpoint, is to set the intention. “I will be free and in the wild once more; I am transcending the Feeder Cricket Container”. Or something. I do not know how crickets think.

I think the magical lesson in this little drama I watched unfold is to set our intentions, and then relax, stay alert, and when you see the time is right to act, well then act. And when you see the time is right to perch in the catnip, well then perch in the catnip. And if a large predator menaces you, well you never know what may swoop in and in a twinkling of an eye, set you free.

Raven Gifts

Ah my Darlings I’ve been so busy that I let the blog slip a bit. My apologies. Going to try and keep on task now and continue to pen some thoughts and fling them in your general direction (thanks, Monty Python!).

This morning I’m seated at my desk in the window, where I’ve been cranking out legal papers nonstop for a few days. I’ve also gotten in the habit of putting bread out for the ravens, who come land just outside. They are huge, and the cats crouch down and get so excited when they arrive!

The giant birds flap in and land on a wrought iron railing, survey the bread, and then hop down and get what they want. I regard them as I tap on the keyboard here, and my indoor cats turn themselves inside out and cackle at them. The ravens are bigger than the cats! I am put in mind of Antonio Banderas in his cinematic portrayal of Armand, the great vampire from long ago. Large, powerful, wise, and wonderful.

This morning my ravens gave me this blog post.

A young one arrived and lit on the railing. He saw the bread and I could tell he wanted it. He looked at the bread. He looked around. He saw me in the window. He hopped up and down the railing. He turned around. He looked at the bread. He dithered. He wanted the bread, but something was holding him back. He wasn’t sure it was safe. He wanted assurances. Hop, regard, turn, hop, regard, incline, hop… fly off. Return, hop, regard… this went on and on.

I mentally told him: it’s ok ! You can take the bread! It’s my gift to you! And I thought of how this is so like the gifts we are given here on Earth. Some people just come take the gifts and others are afraid and consider the details so much that they don’t take the gifts.

Somewhere between foolhardy and frozen we have to know when to act and take the offerings. I felt bad for this young raven, and immediately thought of the times I have hesitated too long and lost the gift proffered me. But then there were other times I leapt in without thinking and THAT was the wrong thing to do too. So I felt for this young raven and his dilemma.

He flew off. And I thought Oh! You didn’t take the gift.

And then it hit me. The lesson. The gift was still there. The bread remained. It didn’t go anywhere. He could come back when he was ready. Heaven doesn’t dangle gifts and then swipe them away. (I would have put out more bread had others taken it). The gifts are there for us when we are ready to take them! They are there just for us. And our guides are patient, they are! They will make sure the bread is there for us.

And I smiled and returned to typing, thanking my guides for the lesson.

Then the young raven returned with a great raucous cry. He had a friend. Two ravens now graced my railing. And they hopped down and took the bread and flew off. But not before the young one paused with bread in his mouth and looked at me directly as I sat in the window.

And I fancied that young raven winked at me.

Raven Wind

Sat and watched a raven fly against the wind of the outgoing storm front. He made small steady progress. "How do you do it?" I asked. "I find the spaces between the winds" he replied.

Sea Witch

Today I’m a right proper sea witch. Down to the water go I, wild of hair, entangled in kelp, and dripping with salt. I’m searching for moonstones cast up by the incoming tide, and instead find jaspers and shells, and no moonstones until I stop looking for them and then they come rolling in. Isn’t that just the way of life?

The pelicans fly overhead in great flocks. They proceed both north and south so I know they are not in migration, but scope for schools of fish to eat. I spread my arms wide as they fly over. I am not the only human doing this. It is a good beach, this one. No tourists. Just lone walkers and the flirts of surfers.

So, I marvel at the moonstones rolling in at the last few moments of my walk and I laugh. For the moonstones are like life. You don’t know where they are going to be or when they are going to roll in, but you know that it’s your job to go down to the beach and look. And they’ll find you. The right ones. The ones meant for you. I pause at the base of the cliffs and near a spray of ice plant flowers to pen these words.

Gulls stand on rocks as the water comes in providing them with their supper. As with the moonstones, they don’t know exactly what is coming to them, but they know that it will, and they wait on the rocks.

So what is the use of worry?

Sparrow

Yesterday a sparrow flew into a window inside one of the places I work. I didn’t see this accident; this confusion of egress. A colleague did, and said she just flew into the window frantically and fell to the floor.




Against all the protests of No! Don’t Touch Her! I picked her up. There is nothing to fear in nature such as her. What was she going to do? Peck me? That would be a minor injury. She was motionless, and made no effort to escape my intrusion. Her eyes were bright. She was warm, and a soft thrill met the finger I placed on her chest. She was paralyzed and alive. My heart bled.

I took her back to my office and regarded her closely. Her eyes remained bright and her body remained warm. At first I thought there was nothing I could do. And then I realized that I could be with her while she passed. No one should be alone in either birth or death. That was what I could do for her. I could send her love.

Fortunately I had set aside a few hours to work at my desk on some projects, so I could easily accommodate this small creature in her dying hours. If I held my hands in a slightly convex Namaste/Prayer position, she completely fit. I offered her Reiki twice over the next hour and a half and twice she took it. I prayed for her safe journey, whether it be to recovery or to leave. She remained warm and motionless. Her eyes continued bright. The chest thrill began to fade ever so slightly. Any thought I had that she was merely stunned and would make a theatrical recovery to suddenly rouse and fly away left me.

I held her in the crook of my arm, and checked on her between drafting pages on the computer. Another hour went by. Finally I held her in my hands and felt her pass. The energy left her and the light in her eyes extinguished. Slowly she cooled, and then her nits and fleas left her. It was at that exodus of parasites that I knew it was time to wrap her body; she had gone and flown to the light.

At the end of my workday I regarded this slight corpse that was next to my purse. I took her on my evening walk and adjusted my route to take me to a very happy park that is out of the way and known to only a few people. I left the path and made my way to an out of the way copse of trees. I unwrapped her and laid her to rest nestled in some sweet grass under a pile of dry leaves. It would have been wrong to bury her; that is not the way of birds. There she can gently return to the earth undisturbed.

At home later I felt a gentle release in my heart, and I let the tears flow. I cried for the honor of having been with her at her passing; at being permitted to share such elegant tragedy. I wept for my own past traumas, and maybe resolved them just a little further. I cried for reasons I couldn’t even articulate. I had experienced something profound. This little sparrow had taught me so much.

Tonight I went out of my way to drive by the park and stopped. I did not get out; she did not need me poking at her resting place. I looked in her general direction, about half a mile in from where I was. It felt peaceful. I knew she was free.

Valentine's Day Trees

Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion. That is just being "in love" which any of us can convince ourselves we are. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossoms had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree and not two.- St Augustine

High Tide

If you go to the beach at high tide, you are going to get wet. Know that.

At high tide you aren’t going to find crystals. Those are for low tide. But you are going to get wet. You are going to get slammed by incoming waves and you are going to learn things you wouldn’t have learned otherwise and see things you wouldn’t have seen otherwise. You’ll learn where to step and when the waves are coming for you. It’s a great metaphor for Life.

Today I went to the beach at high tide. A narrow strip of sand called me, and the sea chased me into the rocks and pushed me in to quicksand and uncertain footing. I am like a mountain goat in the shore rocks.

I met many ladybugs who landed on me without hesitation. They stretched their wings and had a sniff of me and took off once more.

I met flocks of shorebirds who paid me little mind as they chased the water line back and forth seeking their Sunday brunch.

I saw where others had come before me and left their mark.

And of course my flirt of surfers.

I was surprised by a wave, and called it Thigh Tide, as I was unintentionally soaked to the waist. Silly ocean. Yes, it has the last word on these matters.

I found a rock as speckled as an egg, and full of magic. The cats have it now, and won’t relinquish it back to me yet. They can keep it. The ocean took my cares, and replaced them with calm.

Crystals in the tide

Went to the beach today to gather crystals left by the tide and to restore my mind. I accomplished both.

The sky was streaked with clouds which looked like two angels in flight. Or maybe a giant gerbil. I'm not sure.

One of the angels cast off a feather.

The birds studied their reflections in the sand.

And Ginger Cat enjoyed the day's haul of moonstones, prehnite, quartz, and agates.

Looking Forward

Wow the holidays are here and have really taken up my time. I’ve been totally preoccupied with work, with year-end business, with the business of the holidays, and parties, and people, and obligations, and…. Oh wait, aren’t we supposed to be having fun?

I got a great lesson the other day. I ran out at lunch to purchase some last minute New Year’s supplies and found myself in the local drugstore. Ahead of me in line was an older lady.

She was immaculately dressed: well done wig, sparkly scarf, boiled wool coat, dark stockings, and low heels. She was pushing a cart with three huge mechanical Santa Clauses on post Christmas sale – these fellows were about three feet tall each, with zombie like movements, flashing lights, and sang with a definite Asian accent. These Santas were great. You don’t get better kitsch that this.

As it turns out, the lady was 89 years old. She was buying the Santas for NEXT Christmas. And in addition, her birthday party was that night – she was having friends in and planning a great time.

That, my friends, is the secret to longevity. To be 89 and planning (and taking action toward) next Christmas.

I raise my New Year’s toast to her. And to her zombie men in red.

Treasure

Today I was helping a young man organize his legal research. He initially seemed an unlikely candidate: heavily inked, nervous affect, blunt and taciturn. He displayed all the classic signs of a tweaker who had been up for several days. He was, however, polite and appropriate with me, and as his story slowly unfolded he found his way into increasingly heavy legal materials.

He sat at a large table in the reading room and spent several hours in the material, and occasionally would ask me for another reference. Finally he asked for a dictionary. And then came up to me, confounded because he could not find a particular word. A really basic, non-legal word. The word was one ending in –ed. I found the primary word for him, which he had identified and explained that the word he was studying was the past tense of the primary word. He looked puzzled. I pointed at the word in the dictionary. ‘This is the present tense word’ I explained. ‘The word in the book you are studying is written in the past tense’. He looked up at me, still puzzled. ‘Present tense? Is that, like, the now?’ he asked. Yes, I assured him, and explained how the definition showed the various tense forms for the word.

I went back to my work marveling at how a young man, presumably educated in our society, could not know what the present tense and past tense of a pretty basic word was. And then it struck me how this was a metaphor for how many of us live. We don’t know how to distinguish the present from the past.

We dwell in past anguish; in memories, guilt, delusion, or pain. We dwell in denial, or we hold on to attitudes or thought patterns that no longer serve us, or have any use for us. In other words, we don’t let go.

And this is so silly and unproductive. Because all we have is the present. The past is beyond us, and the future not yet in grasp. All we have is this moment; this very second of our existence. And in this present moment we have the ability to create our reality and affect not only the future, but also the past.

The quantum physicists assure us that thoughts become things, and can alter the very DNA of our being. These concepts, well-known millennia ago and then forgotten, are now being proven in laboratories all over the world. What we do in the present matters. It’s our workbench. It’s the place from which we design our life, and our very world.

The past is history; the future is mystery. This moment is a gift. That is why it is called The Present.

So take this moment; this gift, and look at it. See the beauty you have within you. See the beauty in every moment and regard the treasures in the every day things. Don’t confuse the present with the past. The past is gone. Right now is the treasure. Don’t let it slip away from you. Use it well.

Gratitude

Once again the feasting season is upon us and we scurry around preoccupied with party and meal preparations, gift giving, and the logistics of fitting all the holiday gatherings in to an already full schedule. So many times in the past we were left feeling washed up in January with swollen charge cards, a depleted constitution, and a feeling of bereft emptiness.

But: not this year. The most marvelous thing is happening. The most wonderful shift in consciousness is moving in. As we approach that emblematic year 2012 we all of us feel it, if even a little. There is enough whispers in our ear.

For the longest time in our collective memories it seems we have battled with the notion that there is “not enough”. The idea that in order for us to “have”, we must wrest ‘it’ from someone else, and deprive others of “it” has dominated. The traditional concept: that there is a finite amount of raw material and our gain must perforce represent someone else’s loss.

By extension this philosophy led to us looking at those who had a lot of material wealth with feelings of envy and resentment. And with the current economic struggles in the world, I see a lot of envy and resentment. The media certainly doesn’t help: how many of us can afford all the baubles and delights we see paraded in front of us; paraded in a manner to suggest that having them is normal, and if you don’t have them, then you are a sad deprived creature.

But what if that ancient concept were flawed? What if the reality were that there is more than enough? That there is infinite supply, and that all we need do, should we desire something, is to intend it, believe it, and then act as though it were here? What if the energetic conditions were shifting, and we were entering a new age? What if we were evolving as a species? How would that shape our day-to-day actions and undertakings?

I suppose it might mean that we no longer felt we had to club someone else in order to take their stuff. What if we let them have their stuff, and instead created our own? What if we stopped focusing on them, and instead focused on our own actions in the world?

The other day I was walking on the beach and a gleam caught my eye: the most beautiful moonstone was shimmering in a pool of water. I scooped it up and brought it home. I have wanted a nice moonstone for some time. And there it was, just waiting for me.

I suggest that this Thanksgiving we look around us, each of us, at our situations. And regardless of our situation, we find what it is that we have that we are grateful for. And focus on that for a time. And experience gratitude. This beautiful thing we are grateful for, whatever it is, came to us out of the ether. Everything else will, too.

The struggle is not ‘us vs them’. It is us vs ourselves as we learn to get out of our own way, and allow the grace of That Which is Greater Than Us provide all the elements we need to fashion our own sparkling reality.

When you focus on gratitude, an incredible thing happens. You become more dynamic, and you become better able to help other people in addition to yourself. I think it’s because you shift out of negative desperation, and into positive appreciation. And, funny thing, once you are shifted into gratitude, you get more to be grateful for. Law of Attraction demands it. What you focus on increases.

So whether you are at a family gathering of all the oddball relatives, whether you are dining a deux with a lover, whether you are at a party with friends, or eating a frozen dinner on your own: find that which you are grateful for this feasting season. Focus on that, and notice the energy associated with that feeling. And then do whatever you can do to stay in that energy.

And watch the magic unfold.

Happy Feasting.

Encouragement

All of us have read endless writings on the power of intention, and we all know the value of visualization and believing in ourselves, no matter what. Sometimes though, when results are slow to manifest, we get discouraged. I was having one of those episodes of feeling discouraged, and then I saw the headlines about the Chilean miner who ran in the New York Marathon over the weekend.

I read about how, while locked deep under the earth, he visualized running in the marathon, and even practiced working out to get ready.

Imagine that. Imagine being buried deep under the earth, every logical indication being that you would either starve or suffocate in a matter of weeks, and rather than give up or resign yourself to a dark end, you start to train for a world famous marathon in a country far away. Did his companions think him mad? I hear they encouraged him! Imagine the visualization process, and the determination and optimism. “I will run in the New York marathon”. He saw it. He felt it. And he took all the steps he could to get ready for it.

And for me, here’s the key part. He did what he could, and he knew that others on the outside were doing what needed to be done to get him to the point where he could run in that marathon. Hundreds of people from all over the world were digging that tunnel and devising that life-saving pod and all the mechanisms necessary to bring those lads to the surface. And what a surfacing it was. It was like watching each one of them be reborn. The long, slow, dangerous ascent through the tunnel; the claustrophobia; the bright light; the embrace and back slapping.

Did this Chilean miner ever get discouraged? I’m sure he did. It can’t have been easy to be buried deep in the earth and be told that no one knew how to get him out, but that they’d sure try. But he obviously didn’t let his discouragement remain for too long.

The word courage has its roots in the Latin word for heart. To be encouraged is to be strengthened in the heart. To be discouraged is the opposite.

I think intention and manifestation are exercises of the heart. Sure the brain plays a role too. And the other sentient areas of our body assist. But I feel it is of the heart. My heart swelled as I watched those miners surface. My heart rose in my throat and I was empathing so hard I had to take a couple of breaks.

Fast forward to the Marathon. He ran. He did it. That dream, conceived in the womb of the earth at a time of great uncertainty, manifested in great glory this weekend.

So who am I to be discouraged? Who are any of us to doubt the power we have to achieve all we dream of?

Busy Bees

It’s hard for me to believe an entire month has gone by since I last blogged here. So much is going on in my life, both with my “normal” career and with MHML. I’m happy and thrilled with both.

One lesson, which has been presenting repeatedly to me during this past month, is a lesson in versatility and expectation. Sometimes we think a process is going to open up in one particular way, and then Spirit shows us a different way! We have to be open to the signals and the cues and adapt to what Spirit gives us.

Take these beautiful honeybees. They recently discovered the hummingbird feeder in my garden. And they love it! They always leave a port open for the birds, but they have been commandeering the other ports for themselves. And they love my homemade sugar syrup! (4 parts water to 1 part sugar, bring to a simmer and DON’T allow it to reach a full boil; for some reason cheap white granulated sugar is what they love most of all).

Me? I’m thrilled they are here. With the worldwide hive collapse tragedy still in full throe, I’m happy any time I see honeybees at work.

So I put the feeder out expecting exclusively hummingbirds. I get hummingbirds and bees. The bees head out looking for flowers and they stumble in to this plastic delivery system. Nothing any of us expect, but it works for us all. Even the hummingbirds, who look askance at the bees, are able to dodge them and get their slurps in too.

The bees are so beautiful. Their gossamer wings, and fur like shoulder ‘shrugs’ have always reminded me of 1920’s fashion. And like the birds, the bees move away when I arrive to replenish the feeder; they don’t sting me or bother me. The hummers back away and chit-chit at me to hurry up; the bees buzz at low timbre and hover at a polite distance. I am the large creature who brings the syrup.

I could ask for no finer reputation.

Dancing with Luna and Hares

Today was a rare day of solitude and leisure for me. Reading, painting. I went over to Lisa's site (http://www.lisawilliams.com/) and found myself writing in response to a question about moon phases. So I thought I'd make that subject my blog post today.

For some reason today I was once again pulled to painting hares and the full moon. I am not a skilled painter but I do have fun with it, and am starting to share a bit of it. This is one of the hares I painted today; a burly fellow with a kick in his step:

As I type this we are winding down to a New Moon around the 7th of October. So start clearing out. Remember the New Moon is a time to bring things to conclusion. Wrap it up and let it go! Clear out a cabinet or two, get rid of unwanted emotional baggage, resolve to conclude a project if the time is right, or just take some time to meditate and bring to an end negative ways of thinking. Take the remaining days and mentally cocoon. Draw energy IN, and formulate your plans.

Then... once the New Moon is here, around the 7th, start sending your energy OUT. After the New Moon period is concluded, start putting those plans in action, and start implementing those new attitudes and resolutions. The New Moon = New Beginnings. And as the moon waxes to full, so let your ideas and plans bloom and grow.

And remember, this is all about your energy. It's not the moon; it's you. Nature is helping you and giving you props and symbolism and energy, but it's really you doing this. You are a powerful being, and humans are able to channel and direct energy far more than we typically realize.

Then the next Full is around Oct 23. There is an old tradition of sitting out in the moon's glow during this time, and meditating, and soaking up some good energy. It is a great way to center and focus for the planning that comes.

Do you see the rhythm? Two weeks of planning, two weeks of doing... over and over; a divine balance which enables you to progress in life. We do not have to solve all our problems at once. But we can establish a rhythm that moves us forward.

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.

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.

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.

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.