Blessed Samhain

As the veil between the worlds is lowered this night, wishing you and yours a blessed Samhain and a very happy and spooky Halloween.

Who has crossed over that may want remembering this year?

Outside the Box

Inspired by an ezine by Laura Howard West over at Cafe Entrepreneur, I decided that my best hope for getting "organized" and using a day planner was to take a new approach. Combining it with something I love (collage work) makes the planner something I look forward to. Two months in and so far it's working. I'll post November's on the first...

When has thinking outside of the box served you?

Judging My Own Bravery

I am watching (and reading) with interest as Olivia takes part in Do one thing every day that scares you. I have no interest in doing it myself, mind you. I am curious about one thing, and it's something that troubles me on and off these days: how do you get over the idea that things that are hard for you are a cakewalk for others?

I'm pretty sure its my vanity (and my perfectionism) talking but sometimes it's really hard to stomach the fact that having to make a phone call to someone I don't know well can trip me up for days. I know other people don't have that problem - easy-peasy lemon squeezey for them, so why should it be so hard for me? And that's just one example; there are many more that pop up on any given day.

My post on driving through Italy is another example; my difficulties with that were lost on quite a few people, which made me feel sad, a little embarrassed and sort of like an ingrate. That was hard for me though. Two years ago I NEVER could have gotten through that, much less gotten through it without crying. I really have grown in the last few years!

I just wonder who else has these issues with judgmentalism and what are the tricks to getting over them. I don't need a blog challenge right now. No, for now I think I'll just keep on with living my life which tends to be scary enough on most days, thank you very much!

In what ways do you accept your quirks without overly judging yourself?

J-E-T-S...Jets, Jets, Jets!

Never in a million years would I ever have thought that I'd include a football game as part of my sacred life, and yet here we are on a Sunday afternoon, watching the Jets try not to get clobbered, eating junk food and learning the ins and outs of the game.


Ever since The Hubby began uncovering what brings him joy, Jets football has been a part of of lives. And because we love him we watch, too, and we're learning to enjoy it.

I can remember being a girl and wandering into our den while my dad was watching football. I tried to catch on to the rules but it's a tough game when you don't have a clue. My dad tried a little to explain but watching it was more important to him than bonding over it was.

The Hubby understands what my dad didn't - that this is an opportunity for us to all be closer to him. And because he loves us he lets us watch and he explains whats going on, and he's enjoying that part of it, too.

What surprises have you uncovered in your search for what brings you joy?

Survival Chocolate (literally)

The Hubby brought me home a chocolate bar from Switzerland. Check out the upper right hand corner - it's SURVIVAL CHOCOLATE! I knew there was a reason I loved the Swiss!

What dreams of yours have come true?

A Review of Silence

Last night's silence was less fulfilling than I might have hoped. I think I might have been happier watching Blood Diamond again, (my latest favorite movie) journal in hand, than silently untangling all my jewelry. So, what did I do?

1. I sat outside and watched the moon with a glass of Italian wine - silently.
2. I took a hot shower by candlelight - silently.
3. I undertook the long overdue process of untangling my jewelry that sits in the bowl on my nightstand - silently.
4. I put away chili - silently.

So, what did I learn?

1. When I am in silence I am very aware of how my body moves and just how much noise I make as I go about my activities. I can take Native American tracker off my list of potential jobs. Shucks.
2. The dog is like a toddler and needs talking to even when it is my intention to be silent.
3. I have words everywhere! Wonderful words on books, in notes, on the walls, in letters. I love words! I missed them during my quiet time.

So, this morning I am much more careless (carefree?) with my words - throwing them around. It's quiet in the house with everyone off at school or work but it isn't silent; somehow the added intention of silence makes everything feel different. I think I may go have some chili now, and sing at the top of my lungs in between bites!!

What happens when your intention turns to silence?

Below is something fun I found at Claire's blog:

You are The High Priestess

Science, Wisdom, Knowledge, Education.

The High Priestess is the card of knowledge, instinctual, supernatural, secret knowledge. She holds scrolls of arcane information that she might, or might not reveal to you. The moon crown on her head as well as the crescent by her foot indicates her willingness to illuminate what you otherwise might not see, reveal the secrets you need to know. The High Priestess is also associated with the moon however and can also indicate change or fluxuation, particularily when it comes to your moods.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

An Evening of Silence

In about 15 minutes I will be doing an exercise recommended by Julia Cameron in several of her books - An Evening of Silence. With two kids and a hubby, an entire evening without the company of others is truly a rarity. The kids played hard today and are in bed for the night. Meanwhile, The Hubby is somewhere over the Atlantic, heading to Zürich on a business trip. A rare opportunity for an evening of quiet.

What will I do without talking and TV and music and books or even...(gasp!) writing? The evening lies before me and I'm dreaming of a hot shower and from there, who knows? Perhaps my intuition will find its voice in the silence I provide.

What do you find in the silence?

The Art of Brian Froud

FearieCon: imagine a renaissance fair with an other-worldly theme. Hosting the whole shebang is Brian Froud, along with his wife Wendy. You may not know the names but chances are you know their work: they are the concept designers behind the wonderful Jim Henson productions The Dark Crystal and Labrynth (with David Bowie and the glass ball, remember?)

The art of Brian Froud fills me. Some people like Picasso; some go for classic painters. I tried, but those others just don't speak to my heart. They don't make it sing. Brian's work does. Looking through the concept drawings from The Dark Crystal grounds me and leaves me feeling calm.

Not too long ago I stopped judging the things that appealed to me and decided just to enjoy them. I have to say though, that I never really stopped pondering why one artist but not another, or why one music genre but not another. It fascinates me to see the different ways people are wired and the different things that bring them contentment.


To the left is Brian Froud, on stage at FaerieCon, telling the fated story of his wife's first meeting with David Bowie. (Needless to say it didn't go well!) Above on the right is one of the artists/owners of Green Girl Studios where they make some fantastic pewter beads. Here he's dressed as "Jen," the gelfling from The Dark Crystal. He's another kindred spirit who finds joy in the work of Brian Froud.

What art speaks to your heart?

The Storyteller

One of the many wonderful people I met at FaerieCon was Marc Lewis, a storyteller by trade and by calling. He was remarkable, not just in his tales but in who he was in the few brief moments we had to chat. This is one of the tales he told:




The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes

PART ONE

I

THE wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding—
Riding—riding—
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

II

He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.

III

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
And he tapped with his whip on the shuters, but all was locked and barred;
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

IV

And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked;
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's red-lipped daughter,
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say—

V

"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."

VI

He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair i' the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(Oh, sweet, black waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonliglt, and galloped away to the West.

PART TWO

I

He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon;
And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon,
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching—
Marching—marching—
King George's men came matching, up to the old inn-door.

II

They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed;
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!
There was death at every window;
And hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.

III

They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest;
They had bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now, keep good watch!" and they kissed her.
She heard the dead man say—
Look for me by moonlight;
Watch for me by moonlight;
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!

IV

She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

V

The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest!
Up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast,
She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
For the road lay bare in the moonlight;
Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love's refrain .

VI

Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clear;
Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding,
Riding, riding!
The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still!

VII

Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him—with her death.

VIII

He turned; he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.

IX

Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat,
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.

* * * * * *

X

And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding—
Riding—riding—
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.

XI

Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard;
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred;
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

Brian Froud ended the telling by letting us know that he and his wife believe they live in the town where this poem (may have) happened...

When you long for nights by the fire and a storyteller in your midst, how do you fill that longing?

A Privileged Life

Miss M at the "Bad Faeries Ball" with foam "snow" magically raining down

I just got back from an absolutely wonderful weekend spent at FaerieCon with my own personal faery, Miss M. Our first mother/daughter trip together. I feel so privileged to have been able to take this trip with her, knowing that we can afford it and that everything at home was taken care of by The Hubby. I am a lucky woman, indeed.

Who fills your life with magic?

Coming of Age

My Sacred Life, Day 30

One of my favorite ways to pass idle time is to look through my past and trace the steps that got me where I am (physically, emotionally and spiritually) today. A sort of spiritual connect the dots, if you will. I am lucky; I have grown enough that I can recognize that even the most difficult things in life have been blessings. The teenage depression that I suffered, the postpartum difficulties, the insecurities were all a necessary part of the journey.

Recognizing them as necessary allowed me to put the past into context and, in the simplest terms, "grow up." And so, at 29, I got my first tattoo. It was my coming of age ceremony, admittedly a little later than most, but still of utmost importance to who I am today. By ritualizing it I made a conscious decision to leave behind the limitations of my youth and step forward with my strengths to an adulthood of my choosing. The tattoo, hidden to most on the small of my back, is a constant and physical reminder that I made that choice; that I am living it.

When did you come of age? Was it a conscious decision or was it thrust upon you by life? Was it an event that needs reframing or does the memory of it bring you strength?

With gratitude to all who have come along on this "Sacred Life" journey; it has been my privilege being with you all and sharing these glimpses of each and every one of our sacred lives.

My Journal

My Sacred Life, Day 29


My journal is the one spiritual practice that I have maintained through all the ins and outs of my life. It is the container that holds everything that I have. On the page I have learned to feel safe and "speak" even the darkest fear, only to see that its really not so terrible. It is on the page that I often find myself closest to "God" and on those pages are the sincerest prayers that have left my heart. When I am sad, scared, frustrated, rageful, confused, frustrated, disheartened or simply out of sorts, it's in my writing that I find perspective. (As Julia Cameron says, in "writing" I "right" myself..)

My life would not be the same without the refuge that I have in my writing. My Sacred Life Project would be incomplete without mention of the most important tool in my spiritual toolbox. My beloved journal...

Where do you go with all that you hold inside?

You asked for it...

My Sacred Life, Days 24 - 28

It is the first full day of a business retreat with The Hubby's company. I have now been driving around, lost in Italy, for well over an hour with a lovely young woman that I had just met that morning, who is equally upset about our situation. The powers that be have neglected to give us instructions on how to put the classic car (a cute little Fiat Spider, convertible) into reverse but have warned us that we need to down shift instead of relying on the brakes as they may overheat; we are now so lost that the directions they have given us are completely useless.

It is about that time that I realized that this situation is, karmatically speaking, all my fault. You see, I have always dreamed of owning a convertible but never driven one. About two weeks ago I mentioned to the Universe that I'd like to drive a convertible, thinking more along the lines of a test drive in the states. It was the classic era of not being specific about what you ask for (a classic D&D trap, for all you gamers out there!) The Universe, as ever more than happy to give me what I asked for, plopped me into a convertible in the middle of Italy.

I suppose I shouldn't have asked for courage the week before either because I certainly got an opportunity to practice that too!!

What situations have been answered prayers that came in "unexpected" (read: "unpleasant") ways?