Halloween Witch Tribute: If You Want A Job Done Right, Do It Yourself

There is something inherently pathetic about a witch who won’t do her own dirty work. If you’re going to embrace the devil in your psyche, like those crazy bitches on The O Channel’s television show “Snapped” (which we always seem to end up watching on Saturday mornings), the least you can do is wield the poison apple yourself. This is the lesson learned by the Evil Queen in Disney’s “Snow White”, who is the subject of our Halloween Witch Tribute.
One may argue that The Evil Queen, also known as Queen Grimhilde, is not a witch, but a royal matriarch, and therefore is disqualified from this tribute. I would disagree with that. Any woman who is narcissistic enough to get hung up on her beauty, for example, or riches, or power, and then kill someone to protect it, should be elevated to witch status … um, evil witch status, that is. After all, every woman is a witch, and every witch is wise, right? Walt Disney certainly understood this. Glinda from “TheWizard of Oz”, for example, was incurably annoying, but she was, most certainly, what we might consider a good witch. It is interesting to note that Queen Grimhilde, voiced by Lucille La Verne, was also Disney’s first “serious” villain in a full length feature, and has yet to be surpassed for excellence in sheer malignancy.

Let’s acknowledge the presence of OCD, or obsessive compulsive disorder, in most all of these evil women, as well. Cruella had to have a Dalmatian puppy coat. Trying to realize that desire in a number of nefarious ways finally did her in. The evil queen, Narcissa (what a name!) in Disney’s “Enchanted” had a thing for her stepson. I’d rather not analyze that too closely, thank you, and not just because he was a completely self-centered dolt whose teeth were way too big for his face. Yet, despite calling on her powers as a shape shifter and turning into a dragon just like Malificent (from “Sleeping Beauty”), who by all counts was an evil feary and not really a witch, she managed to be outdone by Love’s First Kiss, which is about as pathetic as it gets … truly.

Disney’s Evil Queen is a regal bitch who probably started out as a scullery maid. She happened to be graced with good looks. Perhaps she got lucky enough to find the King alone in his office when, after a difficult day on the stock market, he needed a good blow job. She was happy to oblige, after which one might speculate it was her good looks that found him enamored of her, so much that he had his first wife tossed unceremoniously from a parapet. The king neglected to reveal that he had a daughter by his first wife, who was also lovely, although very young. She, of course, was quickly banished to the Kingdom’s projects, where she shacked up with seven little people, because, after all, there can be only one good looking bitch in the castle. Descendants of the Roloffs, these little people took advantage of Snow White for house cleaning services and singing with woodland creatures when they weren’t in the diamond mines slaving for the precious gems upon which the Kingdom’s failing economy was based. Before too long, the Kingdom would be forced to purchase those precious gems from other countries such as Far, Far Away, and the seven little homeys would have no choice but to work at Kingdom-Mart, where they would be fired if they were caught whistling on the job. In fact, it was this crash in the market that drove the King to his own death shortly after being married.

What made Grimhilde, now the reigning matriarch in the kingdom, so darn special was that she could read crystal balls. Some women are just born gifted, I guess. Soon, scrying became her chosen tool of divination, and she used it to find and promptly dispose of other young, lovely and nubile ladies in the realm. Nobody knows why she ended up with that annoying Magic Mirror, but it was he who couldn’t keep his big trap shut when the banished princess got old enough to be competition. Maybe one of the little people, thrust into a personal alcoholic hell after losing his job, couldn’t keep HIS big trap shut in the local pub. After all, he couldn’t get any insurance at Kingdom-Mart and so his addiction was never treated.

Anyhow, The Evil Queen sent some fucktard Huntsman to kill the princess, and demanded her heart be returned in a pretty little box. I just love little boxes. She threatened the Huntsman with death if he failed. Naturally, he did, and if that wasn’t enough, he tried to deceive her, as well, because he needed his job desperately. Jesus, you just can’t find good help these days. The Evil Queen, an alchemist at heart, descended into her dungeon laboratory, where she drank polyjuice to look like the old woman who worked in the Castle’s laundry.

The rest is history.
The fact that the Evil Queen sacrificed the very thing she coveted to get what she wanted is what perplexes me the most. It is, however, a testament to the severity of her OCD, which is undoubtedly what she would blame the entire mess on if she were arrested for premeditated murder and put on trial. She wasn’t, of course. People in true power, no matter what time in history, can get away with raping the country they live in, and having others killed for the sake of convenience. This, after all, is fact and can be seen time and time again by watching cable television and YouTube.

The moral of this story, if there is such a thing, is two-fold. First, let’s acknowledge that the Kingdom did not have a decent plastic surgeon. If it did, the Evil Queen would never have bothered with the Magic Mirror and the whole crises could’ve been averted. Second is the age old axiom, if you want a job done well, you have to do it yourself.

Pretty box or no, if Grimhilde wanted Snow White killed, she should’ve put aside her class bigotry and racism and ventured into the projects to do it herself to begin with.

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Note: This posting was originally published in October of 2008.

That which is unnoticed has the most power ...

The transparent butterfly comes from Central America and is found from Mexico to Panama. It is quite common in its zone, but it not easy to find because of its transparent wings, which is a natural camouflage mechanism.

A butterfly with transparent wings is rare and beautiful. As delicate as finely blown glass, the presence of this rare tropical gem is used by rain forest ecologists as an indication of high habitat quality and its demise alerts them of ecological change. Rivaling the refined beauty of a stained glass window, the translucent wings of the Glass wing butterfly shimmer in the sunlight like polished panes of turquoise, orange, green, and red.

All things beautiful do not have to be full of color to be noticed: in life, that which is unnoticed has the most power.

The author of this piece is unknown.

***********

A special thanks to my friend, Anita, for sending me email chain ... I bet symbolically this butterfly is chock full of special meaning! Photographs are by Jose Reynaldo da Fonseca. They've been traveling about the internet for some time now, so I don't feel too bad about publishing them here.

Transformational Velocity

You must attend a Homa to truly appreciate one. Without knowledge of Vedic scripture or Hindu ritual, an intuitive person will simply know they are in the presence of a significant event. The preparation is extensive, the vibe is exquisite, and its lasting effects are unpredictably potent on all levels. This was the most intense and final day of my visit with Sri Karunamayi in the San Francisco Bay Area, and it has inspired an unusual stream of consciousness, even for me.

There is something in the air that speaks of transformational velocity, as well, a phrase I picked up from Robert Phoenix Astrology. Our existence is pregnant with transformation and the rate of change grows faster exponentially; however, for me, it was the Homa that put the big spin on it.

The Significance of Homas

A homa is a sacred fire ceremony in which various forms of the Divine are invoked in a sacred fire that has been kindled according to the guidelines in the Vedic scriptures. Certain special offerings are made into the fire while Sanskrit mantras are chanted. The combination of the powerful energy of the fire and the Sanskrit mantras creates extremely auspicious and purifying vibrations that are beneficial to all who attend the homa. The smoke that rises from a homa contains a powerful healing energy, and as it rises to the heavens it purifies the atmosphere, both physically and subtly, encouraging a peaceful environment and gentle weather. Even the damaging effects of natural catastrophes can be reduced through the performance of homas. The energetic vibrations that are invoked during a traditional Vedic fire ceremony represent the most powerful presence of the Divine on Earth. The element of fire is associated with the upward motion of the divine kundalini energy and is considered to be the most powerfully purifying element. Every kind of negative karma can be purified by the sacred homa fire, due to divine grace. Source

The Fire Goddess, Agni, is in the Homa fire. We feel Her more than see Her when She is coaxed from the flame with ritual offerings, but seeing Her is quite possible, as well. In early Hindu religion, Agni is a God, a male deity, whose extreme importance comes from the role of fire in sacrifices and rituals. He is the fire that consumes the offerings to the gods, and therefore he is the mediator between heaven and earth. In the Tibetan faith, Agni is a female goddess, a manifestation of the Goddess Tara, a form of the Great Mother, and universal shakti, who embodies the transformative element of fire in all its forms. When we feed Agni our desires, She transforms us. If our heart is open, this manifestation of the Divine Mother will work on our very cells, our karma, that which is written in our bones, to burn away karmic layer after layer.

When I look into the Homa fire, I see a dancing female figure, whose limbs and hair are alight with the creative fire of transmutation. In this photo of Amma’s Homa fire from her recent visit to Memphis, Tennesee, I actually see Agni, dancing there. Look at it closely. Wait. See.

As I mentioned in a previous post on Amma’s visit, there is one devotee whose transformation is astounding. The last time I saw her, and I won’t mention names to protect privacy, she seemed frightened, terrified even, as she pushed and shoved her way to get as close to Mother as possible. I’ve seen her crying in corners during programs, her anguish a rupture of spirit that moved me. I’ve seen this in others, too. Her pain was just like my own. This devotee made a trip to India recently to be with Amma, and I’m wagering the trip changed her.

But how?

While I know so much of Amma’s transmutation abilities are unfathomable to us, I also believe it’s about worthiness. It was for me to a degree, and I see a reflection of my own transformation is this devotee’s eyes. When the Living Goddess takes an interest in us, our self-worth is lit with a tiny flame of recognition which gradually blossoms into a full bonfire, giving us courage to attempt more in our lives. We must take the first step toward the catalyst we should embrace to gain release, but it is Her love, Her faith in us as individuals, that gives us the courage to do so. Suddenly, as reflected back in Her eyes, we become worthy. Then, on an accelerated basis and because we’ve opened the door to our hearts, so much more karmic baggage is lifted from us. This is my limited understanding.

If this isn’t transformation velocity, I don’t know what is.

During the Homa, I experienced a moment of grief as karmic cables were snapped with finality. I had a spiritual sister once, when I was young and unawakened, and during this Homa, I wished she were there with me. The longing was poignant and unexpected because I’ve been so upset with her for so long. Objectively, I found this surprising but my feelings were more of the accelerated emotional acceptance I wrote about previously. I watch this individual’s transformation from the sidelines (via the internet because I still can’t tear myself away), and I am filled with warmth for her happiness and creativity. I missed her desperately at that moment in response to the cut ties, and then felt grieving set in followed finally by acceptance, all very quickly.

Transformational velocity.

I found myself yet again pondering the connectivity in all things, the mundane and esoteric, and that which keeps us all intrinsically linked and what it is that can finally break those ties once and for all. The phrase “as above, so below” took on greater meaning. I believe there are numerous explanations for any given thing. Just like there are numerous aspects of Devi, so that we may find one that suits us best. Indeed, there are universal truths, as well, but I believe when dealing with the subjectivity of the human experience, those universal truths are interpreted in a myriad of ways. Intent matters always.

My mind wanders further, and I find myself engaged in a conversation with my DragonGuide, Gregor. Learn more about Gregor and dragon symbolism here.

I wonder if suffering is part of the job for Amma? I know it is for Ammachi. I mean, She sits for up to 24 hours at a time, and bears a perpetual bruise on her face for all the hugging she does. Then, I worry. If Jesus gave his life on the cross to absolve us of our sins, then why are Amma and Ammachi here? Which one will be the sacrifice for us this time?

“You worry about things you can do nothing about,” Gregor rumbles in his deep, baritone voice.

I am in the car again driving down Highway 280, and Gregor is spinning pinwheels in the fog that lay gracefully over mountains to the left of us. I am reflecting, and he responds telepathically, which has become second nature to me. He rather enjoyed last weekend’s blistering heat, as much as I despised it, but is infinitely more fond of cloud cover and the way his gigantic, beating wings leave patterns behind him as he spins.

Amma is an incarnation of Saraswati, who has a special affinity for rivers and water. Then, at work recently, I was involved in doing an Earth Day mini-expo, and researched the Great Garbage Patch in the Pacific. I mean, have you looked at that? If Amma is in rapport with the Earth, and she states Mother Earth is screaming with her burden, then what does it do to Her? Is part of Her reason for being here to bear the burden of our stupidity? Oh goodness, I don’t know if I can stand that.

“Mmmmm,” Gregor begins, “Ssssssshe knowsssss what Ssssshe is doing. The Great Mother would think it sssssilly that you dwell on this, child.”

He is right, of course, and he goes on.

“Yet Sssssshe asssssks you to throw up your hands to laugh out loud for nothing, and then laughssss outloud Herself. Mother tellsss you the ssssame stories again and again in the event even only one of you needsss to hear it just so to be inspired.”

Indeed. She will nod at me and shake her head, “yes, you are good” and “no, I will not leave you” as I approach her for individual blessings time after time. She is there for us one-on-one and globally. She is one aspect of many on earth, both hidden and visible, at this unique and accelerated time in our spiritual history.

Gregor is finished entertaining this stream of consciousness and retreats into the mountains, into the back of my head. My grandfather. My dragon.

I miss him immediately.

My visit with Amma and the Homa wrapped up with yet more animal symbolism, taking me back again to the card reading my friend Avia did for me. Squirrels followed me everywhere, reminding me to dig up those nuts I’ve put away for safe keeping. Then, I was poking around the book store and found a beautiful picture of Amma with a squirrel. As I was purchasing two (one for Avia, and one for myself), one of the guys behind the counter said, “Hey, you caught that, too, hm? I saw a black squirrel just over there,” he declared pointing outwardly.

There was also one curious duck, a water bird, which simply couldn’t stay away from the Homa fire, which I thought was interesting given the polarities involved. She was a mallard, and kept circling the fire to land on the roof top just above Amma, where she bobbed and weaved, peaking at the activity. I received interesting messages from that little girl, there. There were many, many bees about. Those sacred messengers took Amma’s message far and wide in their unstoppable way, some with wings that are physically too small to carry their body’s weight … yet they do. There was one very determined crow, as well, the symbolism for which followed me from home, where one very serious black, feathered messenger perched itself on the front fence to holler at me with determination. Maybe it was a raven. So many birds. Animal symbolism is the common thread in our lives if we pay attention, but animal symbolism in the presence of the Divine Mother takes on even greater significant assuredly.

Back to the now …

Yesterday, we were in Daly City still looking at houses in a very frustrating real estate market. Our real estate agent is exactly who we need at precisely this moment in time. She and my Leslie share a wonderful rapport, which makes sense given it was Leslie’s fathomless and innate real estate magic that drew her to us. The woman works from a large heart obviously, is very loyal to her clients, and has no intention of leaving us even though she’s investing huge amounts of time for what will be a minimal pay off. The Mercury Retrograde is making this a long process the chief ingredient of which is patience, clearly something Leslie and I are still working on in this life. Yet it doesn’t seem to bother this stalwart and long experienced woman. She is a strong, enduring Austrian, who hikes with 40 pounds of brick on her back to prepare for mountain climbing season. Her cell phone ring is a yodel. No lie. She’s made of stronger stuff than impatience.

I’m feeling that ping, as well, which tells me I’ve met this person before, in a life before this one, which hasn’t happened in some time.

As we were driving through Daly city, there beside the road and in the middle of a hill, was one very tall Great Blue Heron. It was completely out of place, and there was no body of water in the vicinity. I took a deep breath, feeling reassured, as the Great Blue Heron is a long standing and very familiar animal marker that even Leslie recognizes. It never, ever appears out of coincidence.

I mentioned seeing the bird to our mountain climbing, Austrian real estate agent, and she looked at me like I was bonkers.

Clearly not the superstitious type.

I’ll keep myself reigned in.

Ah well.

Transformational Velocity.

iz otay ...

TAROT SYMBOLISM AS A SIGNPOST FOR CHANGE: My Tarot Card Reading by Avia Venifica

The World Wide Web has become an inner world, like another dimension, running parallel to the mundane. Aided by super-powered search engines and social programs like Facebook, it facilitates folks of a like mind gravitating toward one another. Symbolism, ever present on the web, has been a significant part of my life for as long as I can remember. I wore my very first pentacle in high school, was somehow aware of its protective qualities then, and continue to wear it (and other symbols) in sterling silver around my neck every day. In our mundane lives, symbolism works on an intuitive basis, coming from the same place as dreams and creativity. It helps unlock the secrets of our higher selves, as well, releasing them from where they are tucked away for safe keeping in the subconscious mind. The magic of symbolism is present and working whether we are spiritually awake or not. Just what do you think advertising is? On the Web, our interest is awakened spontaneously by pictures and words, aka symbols, appearing briefly before us. It’s no wonder these symbols are like bread crumbs leading us to kindred spirits.

The bloggers we run into repeatedly become like friends, accept they are … well, internet friends. We leave messages for one another, one blogger to another, and at times exchange email. Rarely do those friends cross over into our real life. When they do, it implies a significant level of trust, and it’s usually for a good reason.

Avia Venifica has been in my internet orbit, and I in hers, for almost three years. She has two wonderful websites and a weblog. I visit What's-Your-Sign.com regularly, particularly when my path is crossed by a specific animal bearing messages, which is frequently. I never hesitate to refer to Avia’s work in my spiritually minded blogs on Sapphokinesis because she and I share one very important belief – that all spiritual seekers have the right to be where they are on their path. This isn’t something she told me, but something I’ve intuited from her work, made more obvious in one of her recent postings. Tarot Teachings is entirely dedicated to its namesake, including card meanings and specific symbols within the cards. Symbolic Meanings takes symbolism to the next level, including places where it crosses into Celtic mythology, dream symbolism, as well as alchemy, astrology, and native american and chinese symbolism. Something Avia calls symbol scopes appear on her weblog. They are an unexpected and unusual but tasty tidbit spun happily from your average horoscope and issued on a monthly basis.

I signed up for Avia’s email newsletter and was lucky enough to have my name pulled from a hat for a free card reading. This happened when I find myself in the midst of a personal review, brought upon by the upcoming visit of my spiritual mother, Sri Karunamayi Ma, who’ll be in the Bay Area in just three short weeks. I’ve been working, writing, and doing my art, all the while rifling through the file cabinet that is my life experiences and mind. Avia and I also decided to do the reading over the phone, which we accomplished by engaging in a tentative communication exercise on scheduling. Happily, our exercise yielded only positive results!

I didn’t go into this looking for specifics, so I asked no specific question. In fact, I had no focus and no expectations. Nor did I harbor skepticism. My motto was go with the flow, keep an open heart and mind, knowing full well that my life is an open book and all over my websites. Anybody with a computer and half a brain can discover I’ve got past issues with my mother, a strong dedication to my family and career, and a habit of biting off more than I can chew. What can’t be premeditated, however, is the ebb and flow of a reading, and which cards show up where. This is where I found Avia’s deepest intuitive currents ran true.

Avia laid out the cards in a modified Celtic Cross formation, with no auxiliary cards on the right. She used the Gilded Tarot Deck, which is very beautiful. Right away the focus was on home and hearth in a transition, which I have not blogged about. Avia noted that Leslie and I are not entirely comfortable with transitions (although we’ve been through many) and encouraged us to avoid making decisions prematurely. This was on the mark, as though she lifted it right from my head. There is no way she could know we are in the buyer’s market for a home. No one knows it. Not even people at work.

Avia encouraged me to search for my nuts, as well (a priceless way of putting it, really), intuiting squirrel symbolism, which she’s written about, and without knowing that we have a plethora of the little critters in our backyard. This refers to the number of things I’d placed on the back burner eight months ago to focus on my job. What Avia didn’t know is that I’ve established a groove at work and now have more time for the activities that nurture my spirit. She also indicated there would be support for these endeavors. How could she know that I worry? If I put my art on Cafepress, will people buy? The presence of Grandmother Spider, one of my most significant earthbound totems in the eight of pentacles, confirmed the need to “weave a web of creative design into daily matters”. Message signed, sealed and delivered!

The appearance of the Queen of Cups in a key position had me squealing with delight. Signifying past challenges with maternal energy, and the resolution of those conflicts with even greater maternal healing and reformation, couldn’t have been more poignant. Minor Arcana Queens appear in readings I do for myself, so her appearance was somewhat expected, and happily received.

The reading’s final card was the Moon, the only Major Arcana card amidst a preponderance of Pentacles. It held court in a summarizing position heralding significance and encouragement to pay heed. I’ve always loved this card, and consider it a marker for the Divine Mother. While respecting it’s cautionary warding (which Avia didn’t dwell on), I take great comfort from it. The Goddess resides in the moon, and so I see her there each time I look at it. Our dogs were there, as well, reminding me to heed the messages of animal guides. Not knowing I needed this affirmation, particularly at a time of personal inventory, Avia confirmed my intuitive impulses are a guiding light. The card also had significance for Avia herself, which she didn’t elaborate on, but which may indicate she and I have more work to do in the future.

The last tarot card reading I had was eight years ago. I’d just finished a grueling project at work and was exhausted as my family and I stole away on a Fourth of July holiday to refuel. We ran away to Malibu, California, which is one of my favorite West Coast retreats. The Goddess exists in Her full majesty in the Pacific Ocean, which is very natural sacred space. It felt so right. I could hear the ocean waves crashing against the shore from where I slept. Halfway into our trip, I was leaving offerings on the motel room’s deck.

There was a new age shop not far from our beachside motel. Rumor had it that spiritual folks from the business, like Richard Gere, shopped there. It had a curtained booth in the back where two separate readers did their thing daily. I was barely awake spiritually back then. True, I was perched on the precipice of great change, but still I lived from a place of fear, and was absolutely overwhelmed with life in general. I had a few readings, but the one which most impressed me offered excellent advice in a single word. That word was delegate, implying a surrender of control, in this case, at work.

Since then, my spiritual awakening has been steady, an on-going process I’ve written volumes on. The reading I enjoyed eight years ago marked a time of change in my life, and the overall message in Avia’s reading is essentially the same, yet it's timing cannot be overlooked. Astrologically, the March to April 2009 Venus retrograde has us all rifling through our mental file cabinets with an evolved point of view. As we release old baggage into the ethers, we are graced with the time and energy needed to crack the nuts we once stowed away for safe keeping. In synch with the stars and moon above, and the subtle undercurrents they portend, Avia’s reading addressed my hidden concerns yet encouraged me to release my creative spark into the world without fear.

Avia Venifica, a kindred spirit and gifted intuitive, races along the superhighway that is the World Wide Web, undoubtedly astride a dragon guide of her own. She poses the most timely question “will you let go?”

Having faith in her intuition, I do believe I will.

Dragon Musing

It’s late at night. The house is quiet. The dogs are quiet. The little one who reins over my existence has long since gone to bed, and Leslie is on the couch with Jack’s head in her lap. Her eyes are closed, and so are his, as well.

Peace.

I close my eyes. Gregor and I walk the shore of Gulf Beach. It’s dark outside, and the stars twinkle above us, almost as bright as the red, multi-faceted crystal on his chest, and the shining, colored scales all over his immense body. Looking at him with my inner eye is almost too much to bear, as he seems made entirely of light. The moon is full, as it always is in this timeless place I visit from time to time. My old, white Catalina is parked above the sand, behind the retaining wall, a token of days gone by. I’ve tucked the keys atop the front left wheel as always. Dolly Parton dangles from the keychain where she has since I was old enough to drive. I’ve had a million adventures in that car, and the sight of it makes me smile.

Gregor speaks using words when we converse because I am not yet used to telepathy. In this he indulges me because we share our thoughts, as well, even though we are completely transparent to one another psychically. He is walking beside me and despite his size, his feet make no prints in the sand. My feet are in cowboy boots. That is, until I remove all my astral clothing, and sprout fins to take to the sea.

Under the water, we glide like dolphins. I am a mermaid, and Gregor is a sea serpent. We go through caves that are so tight, I outreach my hands and can feel the sides, and yet he fits as formless as ever. It is quite serendipitous, our being here together; after all, he’s been with me since birth. First, he was the heart of my grandfather. And now, that red crystal is the essence of my grandfather’s heart, watching over me.

I couldn’t see this. I couldn’t see Gregor until I was ready.

It doesn’t matter, really, he tells me in his deep, lumbering voice. All things are as they should be. You are precisely where you should be on your path.

I am quiet.

Gregor and I visit the old temple on Charles Island. I’ve visited countless times during meditation, but not recently. I show him how lovely it is, and I walk the familiar spiral staircase slowly, running my hand along the iron railing, surrendering to it's call for psychic expansion. The temple is a glass front sanctuary, nestled in a hillside, a place I knew as a child. Where once it was only me, now it is we. I feel it all there on the staircase.

How appropriate and timely it is that Gregor joins me as my body begins it’s changes, and low grade hot flashes, of which I’ve had two already, begin. How strange it is that I get these hot flashes around the same time my daughter comes of age, that I muddle through weeks of mental mist before the mist is lifted, and I can think again.

Mist.

Gregor likes the mist.

During the rain, when we drive up the hill after dropping off Elizabeth at school, I hear his wings beating and cracking above the van. I feel the power of his flight, and it’s like standing close to a train's engine as it fires up to pull out of the station. When the van jolts to a stop, it’s his razor sharp claws resting atop the roof. Along Highway 280, he playfully pivots and races through the mountains, where the clouds and the land become one. I watch him with sleepy eyes from the passenger’s side, content that he is happy, my spirit soaring with him. Leslie is between us, and she senses him, senses the change within me, but cannot yet see him.

It won’t be long before she does.

I ask him why he enjoys the mist so much, telepathically this time, and he answers with a chuckle. It gives him form in an otherwise veiled countenance, he says, and he longs to be seen by everyone. He longs for the sleepers to awaken.

Ah, I answer. How appropriate.

Play Nice, Twerps ...

My First Spirit Guide

About one week ago, I had a strange dream. I was in a station wagon with my grandfather who has been dead for over 20 years. We were driving through Wallingford, Connecticut, and there were dark clouds everywhere. Dipping in and out of the dark clouds were tornado funnels, marking the second time that I’ve actually dreamed about tornados. There is no direct, real time connotation that I am aware of between my life and the presence of tornadoes in my subconscious, although I acknowledge them as intense, powerful, and chaotic forces of nature. It was my grandfather’s dream-time presence that struck me as somehow significant, however, and I have been thinking on him ever since. I called him Pop.

My grandfather was a double Aries, a musician and teacher, a bandleader, a gardener, and a painter. He was an independent businessman, who lived life on his own terms. He was a husband of 45 years, and despite the fact that my grandparents often played swords with words, my grandmother spoke of him with great affection, and missed him terribly from her bed at the rest home. My grandfather played with Benny Goodman’s band around the time of the war, and avoided being shipped overseas because of this commitment. I grew up hearing stories of his unpredictable childhood temper; how he held his brothers at knifepoint in the closet because they ditched him before heading for the beach. He was the youngest boy in a large, Italian family. As a young adult, he once held a group of young men at bay with a pistol in the street, because they made him angry. He spit fire like a dragon from time to time, so the stories told.

Pop was a cook, and had a special dish called “jombot”, a mixture of rice, mushrooms, and other delicious ingredients that he made on Sunday mornings when my Aunt Jean, his sister, was at the house to play cards. I can’t think of my grandfather without thinking of jombot in the next breath. He frequently played a trick on his sister, Jean, by leaving enormous mushrooms in her plate, ones she couldn’t possibly eat in one bite, or setting her place with an enormous serving fork. The mushrooms were always wild, hand picked by my grandparents from nearby forests. In fact, I saw my first faeries in those forests while picking mushrooms with them. Then, when I was a small child, the esoteric world superimposed itself over the mundane unexpectedly.

When I was young, perhaps my daughter’s age now, I took comfort from curling up in his lap. I did it often, then, and would lie with my ear against his chest, listening to his heart beat, and waiting for my love tanks to fill up. “Ding” the bell would ring, tanks are full, and off I would go.

Often enough, when times were bad, he came through for me in the oddest of ways. I was 13 when we lived on East Broadway. I had just gotten my period, but I couldn’t convince my mother to purchase pads for me. I have a clear memory of my grandfather standing at the backdoor with a box of pads in his outstretched arms.

That was an awkward moment.

When I was 16, and my mother’s current husband began beating me, I asked to move into my grandparent’s home. It was my grandfather’s decision, and he said yes. Thank the Goddess. My grandparents suffered an enormous emotional and financial burden when my brothers and I lived with them. Both parents had abandoned us, but Thelma and Ed did the right thing every time. I would have ended up in foster care had they turned their back on me.

My life would have been so different.

I was almost 20 years old and still living in their house the first time my grandfather got sick. He’d been up unusually early that morning, working in his garden, as was his favorite pastime. He buzzed from here to there on their acre of property in his tractor, with a wide brim hat atop his bald head, and a towel or “mopene” wrapped around his neck. He suffered his first cardiac event atop the hill, but found the strength to bring the tractor down to the driveway and sit on the cement retaining wall. His heart completely stopped then, and Pop toppled over, face first, onto the blacktop, where my grandmother found him moments later. It was her shriek that drew me out of my room that day.

My grandfather lived another two years thereafter, quietly, and without much memory. Much later on, my Aunt, the smart one, discovered he had cardiomyopathy, or chronic inflammation of the heart muscle. He was 67 in 1985, when we buried him at the foot of his mother’s grave in Bridgeport, Connecticut.

There is so much out there on angels and spirit guides, those ephemeral, other worldly entities who watch over us. I’ve never seriously honed in on it, although I am fascinated by the work of clairvoyants like Lisa Williams and James Van Praagh. Just before the near year, I began thinking on it in earnest, felt the pull, you might say, and thought about going to see Felix Lee Lerma, who gave my friend, Jen, a few terrific readings, and who lives right here on the Castro. I even placed the call, but was side railed completely by going out of town in late January and bringing back a case of the stomach flu.

I am a firm believer in the subtle signs, and write on them frequently enough. Numerous animal signposts and other telling things light the path on my journey … and so, they did most recently.

About three weeks ago, a single mushroom sprouted at the base of the back stairs in our backyard. It was a very tall mushroom, quite the phallic little bugger, as well; defiant and proud, and I passed it each and every time I took the garbage out, every single day for over two weeks.

At approximately the same time, Isis began rising in me like high tide at Ocean Beach. It knew it heralded the visit of my spiritual mother, Karunamayi, who is scheduled to visit the Bay Area in late March. By early January, I found myself rifling through favorite books, seeking visual inspiration, and creating a huge pile of creative chaos on the dining room table

Spiders appeared as they typically do, announcing a subtle message from the ethers.

Then, I had that dream about my grandfather and the tornadoes, and thoughts of him weaved into many waking moments.

Last weekend, while we were kanoodling around Millbrae, I found whole cluster of wild mushrooms just outside the skateboard park and not far from where Elizabeth went to grammar school. I even took pictures (but can’t unload them right now due to the most annoying of technical difficulties). They drew me like a magnet, despite the fact that my daughter and I were squabbling about finding the right place to use her skateboard for the very first time. This was going on the same weekend she crossed the ultimate feminine threshold herself, which we cried over privately. Leslie and I mourn the rapid passing of our little girl, and welcome the fine young woman.

Early this week, I answered the call of Isis and finished a piece called “Gregor”. Gregor is a dragon whose mythos came to me spontaneously as I posted him.

“The ancient ones lie quietly, as old as the mountains, as strong as the rocks, stability and fortitude their mainstay ... that, and waiting, of course. They wait patiently for the world to turn on its spiritual and historical axis. With weathered wings that long to soar, eyes that see absolutely everything, and ruby red hearts of the purest crystal, they wait and wait until the sleepers awaken. They know that some of the sleeping ones can see them from time to time, tentatively aware as they are in their slumber. For the ancient ones, who need no mirror to realize themselves, and for whom existence is whether seen or not, this is only consequential. Soon the sleepers will awaken and ask them to be guides again, and, oh, the glory will return! But until then, with patience of the ages, they remain content to wait ... and listen to the primordial om, the sound of all being.

Meet Gregor, one of the ancient ones. Master of all the elements, this ancient guide prefers the earth to the skies, and wraps himself in a comforting drape of aromatic flora simply because it pleases him.

Om ...”

Gregor emerged as a guardian, which was also intuited by A. Venifica, a blogger I’ve grown to admire and whose focus is on symbolism and totems. She wrote, “Your Gregor is a stunning beast. You've rendered him in painstaking detail - gloriously bejeweled. I watched him, then closed my eyes. His scales still glitter in my inner sight. Gently approaching him, I see my reflection in each of his faceted crystals (trippy). Thanks so much for sharing your sparkling gifts. And, for resurfacing a very well kept secret. Angels got the credit first...for being spirit guides, guardians, messengers, fill-in-the- blank. Dragons serve in the same capacity and beyond. their inception was simply more primitive. Hence, the subjective understanding of the dragon was less received by human perception than angels were. Angels came on the scene a bit more formulated, more digestible to human logic than dragons. Some of us identify deeply with your artistic rendering, and wholly with what you've written here. There are some of us who have been awake and have taken the dragon as their consort. Some of us even move as one accord amongst a legion of them. Thank you for seeing, recognizing, translating and being awake. And, thanks also for wiping the sleep from the eyes of all who would See. "

The people I work with are enthralled with Gregor, as well, although they know him only as a drawing. Somehow, he’s emerged out of the two dimensional realm, and they recognize the energy, but don’t understand it or call it by name.

Then, like a bolt of lighting today, it hit me.

It is no coincidence that Gregor emerged from my pen at the same time I was thinking of spirit guides and dreaming about my grandfather, seeing mushrooms everywhere, and watching Grandmother spider wave her eight feet at me to get my attention. As I ask the question “who are my spirit guides?”, I remain unable to connect with the concept of angels or people as guides. I am, however, wholly able to connect with the primordial dragon, who was a guide and protector long before Christianity came up with the word angel to identify these subtle entities.

I am the Witch of the West, once called Melufa, The Recordkeeper, and once called Morgaine and Aurora. I am a Daughter of the Living Goddess, as well as a lover of women, and a mother. I acknowledge Grandmother spider, who appears from time to time to help me toward my destiny. I am blessed by the hummingbird, who reminds me to stop and smell the blossoms. I am blessed by the Great Blue Heron, who assures me I am where I am supposed to be. I acknowledge the faeries in my life, tiny embodiments of my personal discoveries.

I meditate on Gregor and he emerges at once as my ever present spirit guide, a shimmering creature of multi-faceted crystal clarity. I acknowledge Gregor as my spirit guide, and in him feel the spirit of my grandfather, also a dragon, who once protected me. I call upon Gregor now and through him nurture my masculine energy, the ever present Shiva, handed down to me through my mother’s blood, also from my grandfather.

I am awake, and I can see.

I am the Keeper of Mysteries in my home. I am protected by the Goddess, who often gives me what I need (as opposed to what I want).

To those who wish me harm, or who waste their time weaving negative webs I am expected to get caught in, I say this …

Deal with Gregor.

And may the goddess help you.

Found on da inerwebz ...

Daizy and the Wolf

Today, we visited the dog park in Foster City, a pilgrimage we make regularly, and one, as far as our dogs are concerned, that’s right up there with cookies. There are two words in the English language that our furry beasties understand without fail and those words are cookie and dogpark. Ears go up and everybody’s alert.

We entered the special double gate today at the dog park, and Daisy was in the forefront chomping at the bit. It isn’t unusual for a dog or two or three to be waiting right there with wagging tails and drooling chins, and it isn’t unusual for Daizy to growl and snarl her way past them, strongly vocalizing her superiority to the rest of the group (who are all, by the way, three legs bigger than she is). Rather than seeing the usual welcoming committee, however, we walked in and walked right smack dab into a wolf. I’m talking about a full blood, grey, long legged and long nose, wolf. The real deal. Not a hybrid. He was there with his human, a young man who looked, well, wolfish..

At first I was concerned. Really concerned. I mean, this is a wild animal, whose instincts (and badoobies as it turns out) were well intact, and I was there out in the open with my pushy little boston terrier, my golden retriever, and my eleven year, all of which are quite precious to me. Nobody else in the fenced in area seemed concerned; in fact, they all thought the wolf was pretty cool. I expressed a bit of low grade caution and everybody thought I was being incredibly square. One woman thought there was no difference between a wolf and a rottweiler, for example, if each animal is raised properly.

No difference? How about wild instincts versus years and years of instinct suppression through domesticity?

Once I got over myself (which wasn't easy), I was able to sit quietly and enjoy the wolf’s energy as he wound his way through the crowd, up against me, and all around us. His eyes were very soft, and his coat was dense and wiry. I plunged my hand into his coat as he made his way past me. I wondered what The Great Mother had to say by dropping me right in front of one of her most amazing and beautiful creatures?

Thinking on this, tonight I dropped by A. Venifica’s website “What’s-Your-Sign” to see what she had to say about wolf totems and symbolism. The following are points that jumped out at me. All of this was written by A. Venifica, and I am simply quoting her inspired work, which can be read in full here.

To understand totem wolf symbols, one must first understand the heart of the Wolf. This takes time because the Wolf has had to endure many false stereotypes, misconceptions and misunderstandings.
Some common traits that accompany totem wolf symbols:

Intelligence
Cunning
Communication
Friendliness
Loyalty
Generosity
Compassionate

Not at all the picture of ferocity or terror, the Wolf is a creature with a high sense of loyalty and strength. Another misconception is that of the “lone wolf.” To the contrary, the Wolf is actually a social creature, friendly, and gregarious with its counterparts.

A.Venifica also writes that the wolf prompts us to ask ourselves certain questions …

Are you thinking about a different form of education?
Are you being a true friend, and are your friends being true to you?
Are you communicating yourself clearly to others?
Are you being loyal to yourself?
Are you incorporating strategies and planning to achieve your goals?
Are you spending enough quality time with yourself, friends and family?

As it turns out, the wolf’s name is Coda, and he was about a year old, not yet sexually mature, and very docile. He was submissive; in fact, to the extent that Daizy, our boston terrier, attempted to dominate him and would’ve gotten away with it if I hadn’t stopped her (I was nervous, ok?). I thought it rather ironic that Daizy discovered her inner wolf at the dark park with a real one.

Things to think on …. There’s always something.