During this morning's virtual animal reiki circle, I focused not just on the animals in the group but on those humans who are also facing critical moments in their lives, including my father, who is in a very delicate physical condition that requires high risk surgery. My mother has begun making pre-need arrangements "just in case," so we know that even if he pulls through this last of many heart-related crises, this is neither a false alarm nor exaggerated worry. It was with this in mind that I asked for special healing energy to be sent his way -- not meaning physical healing, necessarily, as I'm not presumptive enough to want to direct the Universe, but I wanted to intensify the Light that will carry him whichever way his karmic path leads.
In this meditation I received a very clear visualization with this message:
"You do not make this journey alone. There is a cadre of spirits waiting for you. When you begin the walk out of this life, everything behind you fades and only light awaits you. At the end there is a large round table where the spirits sit and greet you. One chair is empty; this chair is for you. We have been waiting for you. Welcome. Sit. " This is a joyful reunion.
The concept of table fellowship remains a strong and living symbol of inclusion and welcome in Christianity, and in Judaism, it continues to be the center of the home: of dialogue, of service, of kinship. But the tables I see in my meditations with Spirit are never the rectangular banquet tables reproduced in religious paintings; they are instead round tables that create an energetic enclosure.
Of course we all know the eternal message of the circle,continuity, but in seeing this vision again this morning, I want to share its greater implications:
* when we enter an already existing circle, there is no
visible break indicating order, rank, or position
* when we take our place in the circle, we become equal; no
one is at a greater or lesser distance from the center
* when we form a circle we create the energetic hub and become,
collectively, a physical container for Light
* when we create circles we replicate the Divine design of the
Universe (God, the Great Spirit, the All) right down to the
nuclear level.
Now feel the energy in your body as you articulate the circle in a long-held and very sacred sound: OOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMM.
http://www.mandalayoga.net/index-newsletter-en-mantra_om.html
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Love and Farewell
When my dog-world friend Sandy died, I left her a very tearful message thanking her for gracing my life and teaching me, and I gave her final messages from her dogs, which was her own last request. It was the first time in 54 years I felt like an adult, confronting death and loss without fear. We're so often afraid say goodbye, to accept grief. We fear saying the wrong thing, we fear seeing something ugly, we fear confronting finality, and we fear losing control. I bundled all of that as I spoke my farewell message with the breathless gasps of a child who has cried for hours....yet ironically I consider it my most intimate and mature relationship encounter. By then Sandy had been unconscious for about three days, but because hearing is the last sense we lose as we exit, I wanted to give voice to my love and gratitude in a way that would reach her. Imagine -- so great a friend was brought to me through dogs.
I asked her husband to play the message to her on the day she died (January 11, my birthday). My final words to her were (in between sobs), "When you get to the other side, let me know you arrived." He played it for her that evening. She took her last breath shortly after, at 11:22 p.m.
A day or so later, just as I was waking up or seconds before-- you know that state of half sleep and half consciousness-- straddling two planes of existence -- I literally saw a typed note across the screen of my drowsy vision: It read, "Dear Lisa, I made it through to the Light, Love Sandy."
A couple of months ago I saw her husband running agility at the Eukaneuba dog show in Orlando. He came to visit us at the Irish Water Spaniel Meet the Breed booth. It was the first time I'd seen him since her funeral in Alabama. He said he had something for me and gave me a vial of her ashes. Yes. This is not a custom with which I am familar and not the custom of anyone I know, but he reserved them for me and kept the rest to give to the ocean. She wanted me to have them. I'm honored -- and I suspect that she laughed harder than she ever did in life when she saw me accept what was left of her in an old plastic prescription bottle.
She went through my life like a bullet -- a concentrated and potent energy, and I can say that in so many ways, she changed my life. Her last request was that I do a reading for her dogs, Skyler and Nicky, polar opposites. Sky was a calm boy who loved Reiki, and I've written before about Nicky, whose teeth would chatter whenever I entered the room. She wanted to know not that they would be OK without her (because she knew they would be in her husband's care), but she wanted THEM to know that they'd be fine without her physical presence. I asked Skyler, who certainly knew where "mom" was going, and his only question was who would be taking them to the vet once she was gone. I know she waited for this report so she could die peacefully.
Anyway, when I saw Ken in December, he shared with me how Sandy responded when he played my last message for her that January evening. He said although she was no longer conscious, as he held the phone to her ear, tears rolled down her cheeks. Just like they are staining mine now.
I talk to her almost every day. What's the message here? Love.
I asked her husband to play the message to her on the day she died (January 11, my birthday). My final words to her were (in between sobs), "When you get to the other side, let me know you arrived." He played it for her that evening. She took her last breath shortly after, at 11:22 p.m.
A day or so later, just as I was waking up or seconds before-- you know that state of half sleep and half consciousness-- straddling two planes of existence -- I literally saw a typed note across the screen of my drowsy vision: It read, "Dear Lisa, I made it through to the Light, Love Sandy."
A couple of months ago I saw her husband running agility at the Eukaneuba dog show in Orlando. He came to visit us at the Irish Water Spaniel Meet the Breed booth. It was the first time I'd seen him since her funeral in Alabama. He said he had something for me and gave me a vial of her ashes. Yes. This is not a custom with which I am familar and not the custom of anyone I know, but he reserved them for me and kept the rest to give to the ocean. She wanted me to have them. I'm honored -- and I suspect that she laughed harder than she ever did in life when she saw me accept what was left of her in an old plastic prescription bottle.
She went through my life like a bullet -- a concentrated and potent energy, and I can say that in so many ways, she changed my life. Her last request was that I do a reading for her dogs, Skyler and Nicky, polar opposites. Sky was a calm boy who loved Reiki, and I've written before about Nicky, whose teeth would chatter whenever I entered the room. She wanted to know not that they would be OK without her (because she knew they would be in her husband's care), but she wanted THEM to know that they'd be fine without her physical presence. I asked Skyler, who certainly knew where "mom" was going, and his only question was who would be taking them to the vet once she was gone. I know she waited for this report so she could die peacefully.
Anyway, when I saw Ken in December, he shared with me how Sandy responded when he played my last message for her that January evening. He said although she was no longer conscious, as he held the phone to her ear, tears rolled down her cheeks. Just like they are staining mine now.
I talk to her almost every day. What's the message here? Love.
Monday, January 23, 2012
VIRTUAL REIKI CIRCLE FOR ANIMALS
Just a quick January note to all of you and to those who might be visiting the blog for the first time.
Every Sunday at 9 a.m. Eastern and 6 p.m. Pacific time we hold a distance Reiki circle for animals (and their people). Follow the link and ask to join, and I'll extend membership.
http://www.facebook.com/#!/groups/152536941490184/
This is a chance for all of us to sit wherever we are and tune in for 15 - 30 minutes while I send Reiki energy through the ethers and you and your animals receive it and send positive healing thoughts to the rest of the circle. It is a time when we slow down and open up to the Light. Feel free to write during the week and ask for special healing for those animals you know are in need.
What must you do? Nothing but breathe deeply and feel the good vibrations.
If you are unfamiliar with Reiki, please check out my web page that explains Reiki, especially as it is received by animals.
http://reikidogs.com/reiki.html
I hope to see you there. Remember, if you're in the South Florida vicinity, have Reiki, will travel. We can have a live animal Reiki circle in any one of our beautiful dog parks. Let me know!
Every Sunday at 9 a.m. Eastern and 6 p.m. Pacific time we hold a distance Reiki circle for animals (and their people). Follow the link and ask to join, and I'll extend membership.
http://www.facebook.com/#!/groups/152536941490184/
This is a chance for all of us to sit wherever we are and tune in for 15 - 30 minutes while I send Reiki energy through the ethers and you and your animals receive it and send positive healing thoughts to the rest of the circle. It is a time when we slow down and open up to the Light. Feel free to write during the week and ask for special healing for those animals you know are in need.
What must you do? Nothing but breathe deeply and feel the good vibrations.
If you are unfamiliar with Reiki, please check out my web page that explains Reiki, especially as it is received by animals.
http://reikidogs.com/reiki.html
I hope to see you there. Remember, if you're in the South Florida vicinity, have Reiki, will travel. We can have a live animal Reiki circle in any one of our beautiful dog parks. Let me know!
Monday, December 5, 2011
"Oh My God. This is Amazing!"
I seem to have gotten over myself and the emotional wrangling that has preoccupied me since my divorce. In the six or seven months since the untangling of a very unbalanced relationship, I've taken accidental hiatus, and even with the best of intentions, have been too distracted and depressed to return calls, respond to requests for readings, and set up appointments. I did teach a two hour class on animal communication in October, but I have not been operating at full psychic speed as my body chose to absorb the shock of my ex's unparalleled selfishness and unpexpected meanness by developing Graves disease, which left me rather unsettled and yes, more than a little bit angry, not the greatest conditions for intuitive work.
All that changed yesterday.
My father's physical therapist called me a couple of weeks ago to check my availability for a dog birthday party on Dec. 4th. I said I was available and she and her partner booked me for two hours to help celebrate the first birthday of an adorable little poodle mix who hosted the gala dressed in a pink coat fastened by a very blingy rhinestone brooch. I was esorted into an office where I remained while about 20 canine guests entered individually at five minute intervals. The idea was to do a mini reading for each, the "event" of the party. Most of the people had never encountered an animal communicator before and were rather receptive, figuring they'd do what most people do with a psychic, either accept the informaton they received if it seemed helpful and discard what felt unreasonable. Five minutes is not usually enough time to provide deep inights, but I surrounded myself in light before I entered the house and asked the Universe for accuracy and clarity, extreme clarity.
I read clairvoyantly. Once in a while I hear words. My technique is to stroke or hold the animal and enter a meditative state where I receive the information through visions. If the human companion has specific questions, I actually ask the animal and wait for an answer, but often, as was the case during most of yesterday's readings, the people just wanted to hear what their dogs wanted to reveal. And eager to finally be heard in this way, dogs almost always leap at the opporunity to share this usually hidden part of themselves.
Holding a yellow lab in my hands, I closed my eyes and saw growths or lumps, but when I opened them, didn't see these on him. It's always difficult to prepare the owner for an upcoming health issue and I select my words carefully as I am not a medical consultant and don't venture into unlicensed veterinary territory. "He is concerned about growths or lumps that may be bothering him, so check him carefully as something may be emerging," I told her. She turned over both of his ears, exposing very large and hard bumps in both. "Hematomas. He's having surgery tomorrow." If any of you reading this have any doubt that our animals are aware of everything happening to them and us, dissolve them. The poor boy was just as worried as we are when we face a medical procedure.
At the end of the party, the host entered and said, "This was great! You converted the one skeptic we had. All day, she was telling everyone, 'This is b.s. I don't believe in this stuff ,' and then you told her about the Pekingese she left at home."
And this,blog readers, is the most significant anecdote because people like her -- even people who love their dogs -- are reluctant to accept them as spiritual creatures who have missions to guide and teach us. When we (communicators) hit so accurately, it changes their perception about spiritual life, about who we are and about who they are, and that is really our purpose.
All that changed yesterday.
My father's physical therapist called me a couple of weeks ago to check my availability for a dog birthday party on Dec. 4th. I said I was available and she and her partner booked me for two hours to help celebrate the first birthday of an adorable little poodle mix who hosted the gala dressed in a pink coat fastened by a very blingy rhinestone brooch. I was esorted into an office where I remained while about 20 canine guests entered individually at five minute intervals. The idea was to do a mini reading for each, the "event" of the party. Most of the people had never encountered an animal communicator before and were rather receptive, figuring they'd do what most people do with a psychic, either accept the informaton they received if it seemed helpful and discard what felt unreasonable. Five minutes is not usually enough time to provide deep inights, but I surrounded myself in light before I entered the house and asked the Universe for accuracy and clarity, extreme clarity.
I read clairvoyantly. Once in a while I hear words. My technique is to stroke or hold the animal and enter a meditative state where I receive the information through visions. If the human companion has specific questions, I actually ask the animal and wait for an answer, but often, as was the case during most of yesterday's readings, the people just wanted to hear what their dogs wanted to reveal. And eager to finally be heard in this way, dogs almost always leap at the opporunity to share this usually hidden part of themselves.
Holding a yellow lab in my hands, I closed my eyes and saw growths or lumps, but when I opened them, didn't see these on him. It's always difficult to prepare the owner for an upcoming health issue and I select my words carefully as I am not a medical consultant and don't venture into unlicensed veterinary territory. "He is concerned about growths or lumps that may be bothering him, so check him carefully as something may be emerging," I told her. She turned over both of his ears, exposing very large and hard bumps in both. "Hematomas. He's having surgery tomorrow." If any of you reading this have any doubt that our animals are aware of everything happening to them and us, dissolve them. The poor boy was just as worried as we are when we face a medical procedure.
On more than one occassion -- and this is a regular occurance -- the dog entered the room, sat in front of me, and began kissing me, upon which the owner said,"Now that is incredible. He never does that. Never." It's common with me. The animals operate on a higher frequency and understand vibrational energy, responding accordingly. We see this all the time when our animals immediately distrust someone and display apppropriate physical reactions like growling or barking. This is the same principle, only its positive opposite. The other reaction I see occasionally is the dog being startled by the rush of higher energy and not quite understanding it, creating distance between us. My late friend Sandy had two dogs who reacted this way. Skylyr would sit very close to me and put his paw in my hand and ask for his reading. Nicky would cower in a corner while his teeth chattered. Yesterday one little black dog went the Nicky route while his sibling was eager to share.
At the end of the party, the host entered and said, "This was great! You converted the one skeptic we had. All day, she was telling everyone, 'This is b.s. I don't believe in this stuff ,' and then you told her about the Pekingese she left at home."
And this,blog readers, is the most significant anecdote because people like her -- even people who love their dogs -- are reluctant to accept them as spiritual creatures who have missions to guide and teach us. When we (communicators) hit so accurately, it changes their perception about spiritual life, about who we are and about who they are, and that is really our purpose.
Friday, October 28, 2011
Moving Past Yourself
Self absorption is a character trait we don't like to acknowledge but unfortunately, in a society where individualism reigns supreme it presents a universal pitfall that's hard to avoid. I remember how much of my life was compressed into an insular capsule simply because I responded to the external world the way a sexually abused child/girl/woman naturally does and without any apology: How will this affect me? Not how, but WHEN will this hurt me? (because surely it will, as everything and everyone does). I always envied people who actually had a visible life outside themselves,who didn't turn the hostile mirror of the world inward.
Then something happened. Call it crisis, emotional breakdown, dark night of the soul, five of pentacles, psychological raku, crack-up. Call it shamanic breakdown. Call it healing. This is when the wise women showed me that hyphenating the word emergenc - y adds a higher dimension. It is when we heal in this frightening and painful way, like the cracking of an egg, that our authentic selves can emerge. So I emerged.
I have no children, but women tell me that the moment they give birth, their lives transform, and they are no longer the center of their own universe, that they live to love, shelter, and nurture this other being who is now of greater import they. My only reference point has been my dogs. These are the other beings to whom I am responsible and whose welfare I place before my own.
Twleve years ago, out of the blue, I watched my dog Seamus suffer his first grand mal seizure. I had never seen one before. We were watching t.v. and I noticed him looking up in the air at nothing, his right paw involuntarily scratching something imaginary. Long strings of spittle began growing on either side of his mouth. I said to my then s.o. "Oh my God,he's having a seizure," to which he said, "No he's not; he's fine" (I should have known then that this man was not marriage material). I said, "Yes, he's having a seizure," to which Mr. I Me Mine responded,"No he isn't; leave him alone, he's fine." At that moment I leaped off the couch, which was the instant Seamus started jerking his head back and moaning a painful cry from some unholy place I'd never seen. If this were another me, the old me, I'd have panicked and rUn into the kitchen, covering my eyes and praying for it to be over, but I ran to him, sat before him, and probably did the wrong thing medically but acted out of spiritual spontanaeity. I embraced him as the seizure continued, talking to him, just talking and talking and talking and calling his name. It lasted five minutes. Afterward, he was petrified, walking backwards as he tried to regain composure, and for the rest of the night, he sat planted at my hip.
As a child and as a young woman, I ran from such terrifying situations. Here I ran into it. I pushed myself aside and have continued to do this since.
Yesterday in my college cafeteria, a tall, healthy looking student collapsed into a grand mal seizure. I walked in just as the jerking began. There he was, flat on his back on this cold, hard floor, his arms and legs flailing. It lasted quite a long time. The cafeteria staff, two security guards, a few students, and I stood around trying to block students from entering and leaving. Some students actually stepped over this struggling epileptic because quickly paying for their soda was more important than respecting his condition. Once the jerking stopped, bubbles of white foam poured -- and I mean poured -- from his lips. He did not regain consciousness for a good 20 minutes.
I stood there, called the paramedics a second time, and looked at how fragile and alone he could feel, how humiliated he might feel if he knew he was the center of such attention, how uncomfortable that a very unpleasant and private ailment would morph into public event. I stood there, almost praying, really wanting to hold his hand and repeat, "it's O.K., it's O.K." until he returned to us, but did so in visualization only. As the paramedics took him away on the stretcher, he kept asking, "Why am I going to the hospital? What happened?"
I used to ask my therapist how it was possible for her to listen to her clients' deep grief and remain so still in the face of their torment, so unmaimed. I couldn't quite get it, especially considering what a basket case I was at the time. How could she remain composed and detached yet loving at the same time?
I'm learning how. I think I can do it. I get it.
Then something happened. Call it crisis, emotional breakdown, dark night of the soul, five of pentacles, psychological raku, crack-up. Call it shamanic breakdown. Call it healing. This is when the wise women showed me that hyphenating the word emergenc - y adds a higher dimension. It is when we heal in this frightening and painful way, like the cracking of an egg, that our authentic selves can emerge. So I emerged.
I have no children, but women tell me that the moment they give birth, their lives transform, and they are no longer the center of their own universe, that they live to love, shelter, and nurture this other being who is now of greater import they. My only reference point has been my dogs. These are the other beings to whom I am responsible and whose welfare I place before my own.
Twleve years ago, out of the blue, I watched my dog Seamus suffer his first grand mal seizure. I had never seen one before. We were watching t.v. and I noticed him looking up in the air at nothing, his right paw involuntarily scratching something imaginary. Long strings of spittle began growing on either side of his mouth. I said to my then s.o. "Oh my God,he's having a seizure," to which he said, "No he's not; he's fine" (I should have known then that this man was not marriage material). I said, "Yes, he's having a seizure," to which Mr. I Me Mine responded,"No he isn't; leave him alone, he's fine." At that moment I leaped off the couch, which was the instant Seamus started jerking his head back and moaning a painful cry from some unholy place I'd never seen. If this were another me, the old me, I'd have panicked and rUn into the kitchen, covering my eyes and praying for it to be over, but I ran to him, sat before him, and probably did the wrong thing medically but acted out of spiritual spontanaeity. I embraced him as the seizure continued, talking to him, just talking and talking and talking and calling his name. It lasted five minutes. Afterward, he was petrified, walking backwards as he tried to regain composure, and for the rest of the night, he sat planted at my hip.
As a child and as a young woman, I ran from such terrifying situations. Here I ran into it. I pushed myself aside and have continued to do this since.
Yesterday in my college cafeteria, a tall, healthy looking student collapsed into a grand mal seizure. I walked in just as the jerking began. There he was, flat on his back on this cold, hard floor, his arms and legs flailing. It lasted quite a long time. The cafeteria staff, two security guards, a few students, and I stood around trying to block students from entering and leaving. Some students actually stepped over this struggling epileptic because quickly paying for their soda was more important than respecting his condition. Once the jerking stopped, bubbles of white foam poured -- and I mean poured -- from his lips. He did not regain consciousness for a good 20 minutes.
I stood there, called the paramedics a second time, and looked at how fragile and alone he could feel, how humiliated he might feel if he knew he was the center of such attention, how uncomfortable that a very unpleasant and private ailment would morph into public event. I stood there, almost praying, really wanting to hold his hand and repeat, "it's O.K., it's O.K." until he returned to us, but did so in visualization only. As the paramedics took him away on the stretcher, he kept asking, "Why am I going to the hospital? What happened?"
I used to ask my therapist how it was possible for her to listen to her clients' deep grief and remain so still in the face of their torment, so unmaimed. I couldn't quite get it, especially considering what a basket case I was at the time. How could she remain composed and detached yet loving at the same time?
I'm learning how. I think I can do it. I get it.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Harvest the Good
It's October, the time of year that for me stirs the nest that is my subconsious, moving sediments of memory into full blown consciousness as the autumn deepens and swells with flavor. Because I live in Florida, I can visit this season only as visualization, but religiously, every year as Halloween approaches, images of the past begin whirling before me, a most joyful and sensual dance.
At P.S. 203 in Brooklyn, each fall we'd create "art" with red and gold autumn leaves, study pictures of the harvest, eagerly buy paperback books of ghost stories at the Scholastic book fair in the school cafeteria. I also felt a physical excitement at the first sight of Halloween decorations for sale in the stationery store: cardboard cutouts of witches on brooms, black cats, and full moons with guardian owls. The smell of chewy orange wax harmonicas and red wax lips remains with me. In those urban masquerade days, harvest meant grabbing handfuls of candy corn and sticky popcorn balls.
As an adult, I still thrill at getting my house Halloween ready: the window goblins and ghosts, the scent of a cinnamon broom in a closed room, and the purchase of the season's first pomegranates. It may not have the original charm of vampires and flying witches flying on the bay windows of OldMill Basin houses, but I do feed an internal fire as I pumpkin shop and string orange lights around my sub-tropical bushes. Yes, I do that.
Wiccans and earth religions respectthe beauty and mystery of this season. The Celtic holiday of Samhain, Oct.31- Nov. 1 honors the harvest and central to this day is the recognition of shifting time, of past and future, beginning and end. Etymologically, the Gaelic word Samhain combines the words for "summer" and "end." It's the tao of life. As we receive earth's abundance this time of year, we also mourn the passing of a season. Our lives flow this way. Learning to balance the end of some part of our life with the promise of new life remains challenging.
This weekend I spoke with at least three unrelated, geographically distant people who, linked by the collective unconscious, began clearing and discarding, decluttering and rearranging space. Some Divine wisdom propels us to release accumulated debris, both physical and psychic, external and internal. It's not spring cleaning as we have always known it; it's autumnal shedding and gathering. I cleaned out my garage, throwing away bags of items that just collected dust: old paint, multiple canvas bags picked up at this convention and that workshop, cans of hurricane foods that expired three years ago. Simultaneously, my emotions took a bumpy October hayride as well and I found myself almost breaking with each new toss into the dumpster. The one item that opened the floodgate was a verdigris garden stake in the shape of a mallard below a sign reading, "Duck Crossing." I was a Muscovy duck rescue volunteer, the neighborhood "duck lady," and upon moving into my new house just months before my marriage, I planted that stake in the front yard to designate my house as an animal sanctuary. I can't recall when I plucked it from the yard, years ago, just as I can't recall the moment my marriage crossed into hurtful landscape, years ago, but finding it swept me up in a wind I had not expected. I found myself jockeying between relief and grief, the kind that comes when you stare at your own decay.
Embracing this ritualistic neopagan cleansing, I retrieved some early photographs of my husband and me, and dug a well in the yard into which I placed them, prayed, and lit a candle. It rained more than half the weekend, and as I reconstructed my own thoughts, I speculated that I had not buried my old life but perhaps planted it. Maybe planting the hurt will transmute it and yield ...something.
I straddle the border of hopeful, and in that welcoming space offer you a seasonal message:
clear the darkness from your life anyway that feels right, ritualize it, believe in promise. Then when the time is right, harvest only good things.
At P.S. 203 in Brooklyn, each fall we'd create "art" with red and gold autumn leaves, study pictures of the harvest, eagerly buy paperback books of ghost stories at the Scholastic book fair in the school cafeteria. I also felt a physical excitement at the first sight of Halloween decorations for sale in the stationery store: cardboard cutouts of witches on brooms, black cats, and full moons with guardian owls. The smell of chewy orange wax harmonicas and red wax lips remains with me. In those urban masquerade days, harvest meant grabbing handfuls of candy corn and sticky popcorn balls.
As an adult, I still thrill at getting my house Halloween ready: the window goblins and ghosts, the scent of a cinnamon broom in a closed room, and the purchase of the season's first pomegranates. It may not have the original charm of vampires and flying witches flying on the bay windows of OldMill Basin houses, but I do feed an internal fire as I pumpkin shop and string orange lights around my sub-tropical bushes. Yes, I do that.
Wiccans and earth religions respectthe beauty and mystery of this season. The Celtic holiday of Samhain, Oct.31- Nov. 1 honors the harvest and central to this day is the recognition of shifting time, of past and future, beginning and end. Etymologically, the Gaelic word Samhain combines the words for "summer" and "end." It's the tao of life. As we receive earth's abundance this time of year, we also mourn the passing of a season. Our lives flow this way. Learning to balance the end of some part of our life with the promise of new life remains challenging.
This weekend I spoke with at least three unrelated, geographically distant people who, linked by the collective unconscious, began clearing and discarding, decluttering and rearranging space. Some Divine wisdom propels us to release accumulated debris, both physical and psychic, external and internal. It's not spring cleaning as we have always known it; it's autumnal shedding and gathering. I cleaned out my garage, throwing away bags of items that just collected dust: old paint, multiple canvas bags picked up at this convention and that workshop, cans of hurricane foods that expired three years ago. Simultaneously, my emotions took a bumpy October hayride as well and I found myself almost breaking with each new toss into the dumpster. The one item that opened the floodgate was a verdigris garden stake in the shape of a mallard below a sign reading, "Duck Crossing." I was a Muscovy duck rescue volunteer, the neighborhood "duck lady," and upon moving into my new house just months before my marriage, I planted that stake in the front yard to designate my house as an animal sanctuary. I can't recall when I plucked it from the yard, years ago, just as I can't recall the moment my marriage crossed into hurtful landscape, years ago, but finding it swept me up in a wind I had not expected. I found myself jockeying between relief and grief, the kind that comes when you stare at your own decay.
Embracing this ritualistic neopagan cleansing, I retrieved some early photographs of my husband and me, and dug a well in the yard into which I placed them, prayed, and lit a candle. It rained more than half the weekend, and as I reconstructed my own thoughts, I speculated that I had not buried my old life but perhaps planted it. Maybe planting the hurt will transmute it and yield ...something.
I straddle the border of hopeful, and in that welcoming space offer you a seasonal message:
clear the darkness from your life anyway that feels right, ritualize it, believe in promise. Then when the time is right, harvest only good things.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Home is Where the Dog Is
For the past ten years, I have been using The Wizard of Oz to teach mythology, fairy tales, and Eastern philosophies to my college Literature students, sometimes three classes per semester, three semesters per year. In recent years, rather than paying attention to the plot and effects, I have been taking greater note of my students' responses to the Oz journey. Once Dorothy hooks up with her companions and skips along the yellow brick road (surely a symbol of the third chakra, the "I am" of individual existence), we see how each character mistakenly seeks an object like a heart or a brain, thinking it will render him complete. Actually it is not the object but a chakra, an integral part of the whole that the character thinks he's missing. Of course we know that no parts are missing; the chakras are there but the characters have not been fully awakened to them. This pretty much parallels the way so many of us live our lives in the mundane world which dulls the senses with extraneous noise and frivolous concerns. Sadly, it often takes a tragedy -- in this case, Dorothy's isolation from home and desperate need for familiarity -- to awaken us to what is truly important in our short lives. Enter the four-legged angel.
In this film, who leads us to and through that awakening? TOTO, the dog. The dog, the same creature that unites us in this blogosphere. Toto is the emissary of the Divine who propels us into higher consciousness . What prompts Dorothy's escape from home in the first place? It was Toto's mischievous exploration of Elmira Gulch's garden. When Dorothy is captured and imprisoned by the Wicked Witch of the West, who leads the trio of her companions fearlessly to the tower of her confinement (a symbol of her subconscious self)? Who ultimately unmasks the Wizard as a shameful fraud? And who prevents Dorothy from taking the slacker's way home in a hot air balloon? Toto, who leaps out as the balloon ascends, forcing Dorothy out after him, so she must use her third eye (brow chakra) and visualization skills to will herself home, learning the lesson that there are no fields greener than our own and no wizards greater than ourselves. Toto as the animal guide transports her to higher planes, her spiritual teacher in every regard.
Over the years, I've been monitoring students' responses to the characters and notice that they differ markedly from mine. Overwhelmingly, they identify the Cowardly Lion as their favorite character, relating, perhaps, to his humorous expression of anxiety. I, however, get drippy as a toilet every time Dorothy bids a sad farewell to the Scarecrow, her first and completely unselfish, loyal protector (and I've seen this film over a hundred times). OK, go ahead, point out how this translates into my own life, or more accurately, my deepest wishes for such devotion in my own life.
This is exactly what I invite you to do for yourself at the Crystal Garden in Boynton Beach on October 22. I will be conducting a Wizard of Oz workshop to explore mythology, symbolism, and the archetypes that teach us where we most need to heal. We will discuss the chakra system, Joseph Campbell, then watch the film and analyze why we resonate with particular characters and scenes. This will be a fun and enlightening way to spend an afternoon.
I hope to see you there. Feel free to call me at 954-680-5759 or the Crystal Garden at 561-369-2836 for more information.
In this film, who leads us to and through that awakening? TOTO, the dog. The dog, the same creature that unites us in this blogosphere. Toto is the emissary of the Divine who propels us into higher consciousness . What prompts Dorothy's escape from home in the first place? It was Toto's mischievous exploration of Elmira Gulch's garden. When Dorothy is captured and imprisoned by the Wicked Witch of the West, who leads the trio of her companions fearlessly to the tower of her confinement (a symbol of her subconscious self)? Who ultimately unmasks the Wizard as a shameful fraud? And who prevents Dorothy from taking the slacker's way home in a hot air balloon? Toto, who leaps out as the balloon ascends, forcing Dorothy out after him, so she must use her third eye (brow chakra) and visualization skills to will herself home, learning the lesson that there are no fields greener than our own and no wizards greater than ourselves. Toto as the animal guide transports her to higher planes, her spiritual teacher in every regard.
Over the years, I've been monitoring students' responses to the characters and notice that they differ markedly from mine. Overwhelmingly, they identify the Cowardly Lion as their favorite character, relating, perhaps, to his humorous expression of anxiety. I, however, get drippy as a toilet every time Dorothy bids a sad farewell to the Scarecrow, her first and completely unselfish, loyal protector (and I've seen this film over a hundred times). OK, go ahead, point out how this translates into my own life, or more accurately, my deepest wishes for such devotion in my own life.
This is exactly what I invite you to do for yourself at the Crystal Garden in Boynton Beach on October 22. I will be conducting a Wizard of Oz workshop to explore mythology, symbolism, and the archetypes that teach us where we most need to heal. We will discuss the chakra system, Joseph Campbell, then watch the film and analyze why we resonate with particular characters and scenes. This will be a fun and enlightening way to spend an afternoon.
I hope to see you there. Feel free to call me at 954-680-5759 or the Crystal Garden at 561-369-2836 for more information.
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