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.

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.

Winged Sisters

Since we arrived in The Bay Area in July of 2008, the spiritual front has been a quiet one. There was a small vacation type period, followed up quickly by a settling in period, that was followed even faster by a “getting down to business period” wherein I started the new job and got into a new routine. But after the huge spiritual push, lots of faith and self-discipline that launched us from Connecticut, it seemed to have done its work and so slipped into a temporary dormancy, insofar as spiritual influences are able, that is. I am satisfied with this spiritual quiet knowing that Ammachi will be in the Bay Area in late November, and I’ll be to see Her for the first time in almost three years. Knowing I am just a train ride away from Mother’s Kitchen is one of the best parts of being here. After all this life activity, I could use the boost, although I wonder what spiritual blockage will be forcibly moved by Ammachi’s intense spiritual energy and what it will feel like.

As they are always in my life and whether or not there is spiritual quietude, animal signposts are present to light the way, illuminating certain consistencies or patterns and reminding me that She is there guiding my hand. I’ve written at length about it here. Most recently, Grandmother Spider has been my guide, but since arriving here in California, it’s been all about birds.

I saw a Great Blue Heron from the back of the hotel when we first got here. A familiar and personally significant creature, this was my comforting confirmation that I’d arrived where I was supposed to be in my personal journey. Immediately thereafter, there were hummingbirds, lots of them, all over our backyard, forcing a change in my perception. Just last weekend, I was outside with our Golden Retriever, Jack, when one of these gossamer creatures hung suspended just one foot from my face as if asking me, “Do you get it now?”

“In MEDICINE CARDS: THE DISCOVERY OF POWER THROUGH THE WAYS OF ANIMALS, Jamie Sams and David Carson say that, for many people, the hummingbird is the creature that opens the heart. When we assume hummingbird consciousness, our life becomes a wonderland of sensuous delights. We live for beauty, delighting in flowers, aromas, fine mist, and delicate tastes. When it becomes our totem, the hummingbird teaches us to laugh and enjoy the creation, to appreciate the magic of being alive, and the truth of beauty. Hummingbirds awaken us to the beauty of the present moment. As they dance the four quarters of embodied existence, they bring us medicine to solve the riddle of duality. They also awaken us to the medicinal properties of plants … Hummingbirds teach us fierce independence. They teach us to fight in a way where no one really gets hurt. They teach us simple courage. Andrews says the twittering, vibrating sounds of the hummingbirds bring us an internal massage that restores health and balance (All Excerpts from a work in progress by Larry Gates -- Copyright 1998).”

This weekend, just Saturday, in fact, I ran headlong into a Red Tailed Hawk at the mall of all places. We were parking the van, when from the corner of my eye I noticed one of these enormous birds in front of another car just across the way. It stood on the ground, so I thought perhaps it was sick, and went directly there to see what was happening. I was drawn to it like a magnet. This was no sick bird, nor was it a juvenile. It was a full grown hawk, healthy and vigorous, and it seemed completely unintimidated by my daughter and I. It jumped from the ground and perched on a railing no less than 10 feet away from me. It turned its head this way and that, getting a close look at us, as we did it. Then, still watching us, and unbothered by the small crowd that was gathering, it jumped into the branches above, where it could keep a watchful eye on everything, and where we could still see it. After five minutes of quiet meditation and absolute fascination, we left it and returned to Leslie, who watched from the van. Finally, undeniably rapt herself, she approached it, as well.

“In representation to humanity, the hawk is called messenger, protector and visionary. Keen vision is one of its greatest gifts. Hawks see things others miss. The hawk comes to you indicating that you are now awakening to your soul purpose, your reason for being here. It can teach you how to fly high while keeping yourself connected to the ground. As you rise to a higher level, your psychic energies are awakening and the hawk can help you to keep those senses in balance. Its message for you is to be open to hope and new ideas, to extend the vision of your life. The Hawk is an animal of flight. It soars through the air looking down, and sees everything. It has a larger perspective of what is going on down below. With its keen eyesight, it looks down as it soars through the air looking for its prey. It can see the smallest of creatures below. The Hawk is known as a messenger, similar to the planet Mercury, for the hawk soars close to the Grandfather Sun, as does the planet. When you listen to the power of the Grandfather Sun or Wise Spirit that lives within, you are protected from all types of harm. The Hawk teaches you to be observant and take a close look at your surroundings. It soars with the power to overcome difficult situations. It soars in circles over the life of the earth, asking you to circle over your life and view it from a higher perspective. The Hawk has a distinct cry, one that most people are aware of. Its cry signifies awareness. If you hear the cry of the hawk, use your intuitive ability to discern the message and seek the truth. If a hawk has soared into your life, you require a higher perspective. You need to see the details of what is going on and look at the bigger picture. Take a look at your situation from above (excerpted from www.divinesparks.blogspot.com).”

In tandem, these beautiful winged creatures, the Hummingbird and Red Tail Hawk, both indigenous to California, and both indicative of air or thought, bear similar messages in different packages. They remind me to keep my eyes open and to use discernment at all times. They remind me to lower the defenses I had erected while in Connecticut, and open my heart once again, free of the burdens of the past and holding a candle lit for the promise of the future. This is a keen reminder at this time in our economic and sociological history, when so much is changing and uncertainty is prevalent; all catalysts for spiritual transformation on our planet.

Thank you, my winged sisters.

Thank you.

End Note: I take no credit for the photographs, some of which have notes on them. Otherwise, I found them on the web.

Lawn Mower Labyrinth

Writing has become a necessary function for me. As I dredge up, analyze, and list old memories in chronological order, so much begins to make sense, even where I thought it wasn’t relevant, and spontaneously blockage is released into the ether. The last year here in Connecticut has been about slowing down enough to find my pace, attain beneficial introspection, reprioritizations, release the past, and embrace the future. I mean, its one thing to say it, and entirely another to do it.

I owe it all to my lawn mower.

I have a labyrinth in my backyard. When the grass is high, it is invisible, and it’s my job to recreate it every time I mow the lawn. What’s ironic about all this is that in California, the last time we were there, I loathed mowing the lawn, and never did it. Not once. We paid someone to do it. A hundred bucks a month, too. It was one quarter of the size of our land now, and I never did it even once. Now in Connecticut, I mow the lawn. Our yard is enormous, and I sweat through it. In the summer, when the sun is hot and humidity is high, you have to do it almost every week to keep it from turning into a jungle. Sometimes Leslie and I tag team it. It’s made her much stronger physically. She does a little, I do a little, and switching off a couple times like that until whammo it’s done. I still get to whack the weeds, though. I wouldn’t trade anything for that. I love the weed wacker.

There is something about occupying the physical body with a repetitive, mundane task that frees the mind to explore and organize. The same thing happens to me when I drive, which isn’t a good thing, really. I don’t drive much for that very reason. My mind drifts something terrible. But when I mow the lawn, I do so much productive thinking! It’s really cool.

The Labyrinth is an archetype, a divine imprint, found in all religious traditions in various forms around the world. By walking a replica of the Chartres labyrinth, laid in the floor of Chartres Cathedral in France around 1220, we are rediscovering a long-forgotten mystical tradition that is insisting to be reborn.

The labyrinth has only one path so there are no tricks to it and no dead ends. The path winds throughout and becomes a mirror for where we are in our lives. It touches our sorrows and releases our joys. Walk it with an open mind and an open heart.

There are three stages of the walk:

Purgation (Releasing) ~ A releasing, a letting go of the details of your life. This is the act of shedding thoughts and distractions. A time to open the heart and quiet the mind.
Illumination (Receiving) ~ When you reach the center, stay there as long as you like. It is a place of meditation and prayer. Receive what is there for you to receive.
Union (Returning) ~ As you leave, following the same path out of the center as you came in, you enter the third stage, which is joining God, your Higher Power, or the healing forces at work in the world. Each time you walk the labyrinth you become more empowered to find and do the work you feel your soul reaching for.

Guidelines for the walk: Quiet your mind and become aware of your breath. Allow yourself to find the pace your body wants to go. The path is two ways. Those going in will meet those coming out. You may "pass" people or let others step around you. Do what feels natural.

(source)

I can testify that the labyrinth in San Francisco’s Grace Cathedral is beautiful. I’ve walked it, and sat with it, feeling its quiet humming. It thrums with every walk done by every person since its creation.

The mind opens for clarification.

Our beautiful back yard ...

My grandmother … old Thelma did it again. She pulled a fourth quarter sneak out of her back pocket and is back at the Regency House. The Friday before they released her, we were on death watch, and I steeled myself for the inevitable. She came so close. She’s plateau’d at a significantly lower baseline of health, however, including her ability to swallow which has changed. They have her on puree’d food and thicken everything she drinks. She hates it! It hurts just to sit in her chair. But something is happening between Thelma and her aids. They missed her, I mean, really missed her. Bethany visited her in the hospital that Wednesday, and Thelma cried to her, “please take me home”. For years, “home” was the house my mother sold. Now it’s the Regency House. Bethany wanted to put Thelma on her back and take her to Wallingford. At the Regency earlier this week, I got to see the grand affection between Thelma and her aid, Karen. Karen knows just how to talk to Thelma, and gets her to laugh. Thelma is so ornery and cranky all the time that one smile is such a reward! These women are all very tactile with her, too, touching her, holding her hands, kissing her face, all over her face. This is very important to my grandmother whose eye-sight is almost gone, and whose dementia makes navigating her world so challenging. These aids make sure Thelma knows they are there, and in return, Thelma acknowledges them affectionately and sincerely. When Thelma is with her family, she has to be the grandmother, and she tries, even now, to maintain that demeanor for us. When she was sick, she was visited by all of her children, even my mother, who spent one day in town, and then left quickly and with little explanation. I can tell it was a difficult time for her, emotionally, and I hope she got what she needed out of it

The house … after spending a week and a half busting our you-know-what’s, getting the place in order for an open house last Sunday, we have a good solid offer. In this market, that’s a good thing. It’s also good to know our hard work may pay off. We’re in the middle of negotiations with a man who is buying our home for his daughter, who is relocating from Florida. We had our hands full last weekend, cleaning, and arranging … as Jack barfed on everything on sight.

Our dog Jack … Jack-Boy, the Golden Retriever, ate a pokemon and it got stuck in his intestines. As we were killing ourselves to get the house ready, he was ralphing all over everything. He ruined two carpets, and our king size bedspread. He also christened the back of the van, ad nauseum. We got him to the vet on Monday, and he was in surgery Monday night. Our boy has a six inch scar just under his peanut, and they shaved him from one side of his rib cage to the next. He’s getting more and more energetic every day. What’s curious is that the little one, Daizy, was so depressed when he was gone. She moped around, wouldn’t beg, didn’t bounce. It was tragic. When he returned, the first thing he did was meet his little sister muzzle to muzzle in the car for love.

In closing …

I just finished a long and personally involved article on my spiritual blog, When Isis Rises. It was a cleansing process that seems to have opened portals in my mind on past life recognition. It made me see how much I’ve grown in the way I view my grandmother, and it clarified a considerable amount on what I went through with my father. Then, I see where these patterns repeat and manifest in other areas of my life. It helps so much to write about our experience.

I’m thinking about my next article now.

I’ll go walk the labyrinth in my backyard and see what develops … I owe any good ideas I get to my lawnmower.

Happy Mother’s Day!

D~

Grandmother Spider

As I’ve said before, and written many times, I believe we come into this life with a purpose, and that purpose might be revealed if we look closely at the challenges we were born to. Those challenges might be called our “wound”. The wound, whether its focus is karmic, spiritual, physical or emotional, is an interconnected thing, and its unfolding mystery drags us, however unintentionally, through psychological doorways. For those of us who are spiritually minded, this journey might be conscious, and eAsach of those doorways is like passing through the Divine Mother’s transformational fire. They may open on different preferences, views, and energies in our lives, which evolve and change over time, but those energies are telling. They are called archetypes.

“The term Archetype began with Carl Jung. In Jung’s terms, ‘archetype’ is defined as the first original model of which all other similar persons, objects, or concepts are merely derivative, copied, patterned or emulated. These patterns derive from a universal collective consciousness which in metaphysics is called the Grids, Akashic Records, Sea of Consciousness, that which creates our reality. In this context, archetypes are innate prototypes for ideas, which may subsequently become involved in the interpretation of observed phenomena.” (author unknown)

Archetypes are visual symbols or energetic imprints that exist in our psyche, and if we pay close attention, they can often convey messages or hints as to where we are in our personal journey.

Here is an example of visual symbols from ancient Egypt ...



We become aware of our personal archetypes in meditation, dreaming, or when we create. Feeling that archetypical energy, we might consciously or unconsciously give it form by embodying it through the mainstream media. Popular film, fiction, drama, and even the world’s religion and mythology are just a few of the places we draw from when defining our archetypes. We see our archetypes reflected in the symbols we are attracted to in jewelry, as well, or in the posters we hung on our bedroom wall when we were teenagers, or in the comic books we read. Archetypes also manifest auditorily in the music or lyrics we most enjoy. What song spoke to you the most as a teenager? Which speaks to you now? How about the little boy you saw at the market, who is draped in his Superman cape with the enormous, red S on his chest? This is the Halloween costume he hasn’t taken off in weeks! Our daughter, Elizabeth, saw Cathy Rigby in the road show musical “Peter Pan” just before her fourth birthday, and she fell in love with it. Elizabeth named her favorite baby doll Cathy Rigby, because it had hair like Rigby did in the musical, and she begged me to make her a “Peter Pan” costume. She wore that costume at her fourth birthday party, and the entire time embodied the energy of the boy who wouldn’t grow up. This is an archetype. These embodied archetypes, when viewed retrospectively or in sequence, become the colorful tapestry of our personal mythos, or, quite simply, our personal story.

I’ve had archetypes for years, for as long as I can remember, really, but this is the first time that I’ve felt on top my game enough to seek what an archetype is communicating, rather than let its modern manifestation define me. That’s why I’m writing about it. This is an exciting discovery for me!

When I was a child, I was into the Spiderwoman comic book. This was its first iteration in the seventies, and there was a comic book store I’d frequent in Milford Center. Collecting Spiderwoman was an obsession that happened before my life was sidetracked. I wasn’t able to stay with it, but I never forgot Spiderwoman, and in my obsessive collection of action figures over the last 20 years, I’ve sought out the Spiderwoman figure, which has made a comeback, quite zealously. Very cool stuff.



In high school, I felt most attracted to strong female types on television and in movies. Strangely enough, most of the strong female types that existed out there, other than Jamie Sommers, the Bionic Woman, and Wonder Woman, that is, were portrayed in the modern media as evil. You know, they were your average Disney Villainess like Cruella de Vil, Malificient, or the Evil Queen in Snow White. While these women were all depicted as the epitome of evil, deep down inside, I felt they were misunderstood anti-heroines of sorts or women who just got hung up one thing (like, a spotted fur coat or eternal youth, for example) and couldn’t move on. I saw a tv movie in the late 70’s called “Dr. Strange” which was a take on a comic book, by the way, and in that movie the villainess was Morgan Le Fey … yes, the Morgan Le Fey of King Arthur fame … who, until Marion Zimmer Bradley’s “The Mists of Avalon”, was thought of as a manipulative witch, rather than a daughter of the Goddess. While Morgan didn’t make many appearances in those days, this one captured my attention raptly. In fact, there was a full costume Halloween party in my freshman year of high school and my mother actually made me the most fantastic Morgan Le Fey costume. I looked like a supreme teenaged sorceress and remember playing the role to the hilt, including the dramatic facilitation of wide, sweeping arcs with my cape. That costume empowered me just like Elizabeth was empowered by her Peter Pan costume. I had more than one relationship in high school that seemed strangely defined by this character, not so much in truth, but in a karmic or fantastical manner, which was no doubt fueled by intense imagination and teenage angst. As simple energy patterns, archetypes are often neutral. However, the subjectivity of our personal experience and the way we are perceived by others, and how those two perspectives interact, interpret those archetypes and how they manifest in both light and shadow aspects in our lives. I am not debating good versus evil here, for in my opinion, evil in mankind is often defined by intent, which is a conscious assertion, and not a state of nature or the divine.



My Morgan Le Fey archetype, which transformed ultimately into Morgaine, a daughter of the Goddess, was dominant within me through a large part of my adult life. As I dabbled with various forms of spirituality she was present, and she was reflected back to me in the eyes of some of my closest and longest relationships. I seemed powerless against the tide of my life at the time, just like Morgaine seemed powerless against the rise of Christianity against the old, matriarchial ways of Goddess worship. And so for a while, this archetype seemed to define me in ways that I was unable to define myself.



Just before the time that Elizabeth was born, I entered my “Wicked Witch of the West” phase. This is when writing emerged as a form of creative expression for me, and it was right around the time I met Amma, my spiritual mother. I never really related to the witch in “The Wizard of Oz”, but then I read “Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West” by Gregory McGuire. McGuire redefined the witch and made her a rich, well rounded character. Elphalba, the Witch, was dedicated to a righteous cause in Oz. She was a rebel. When the love of her life was killed for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, her heart was broken. She simply could not recover from it, and so succumbed to what the people of Oz projected upon her … wickedness.

After meeting Amma, I went through a transformation of sorts. I’m describing this transformation more on my blog, www.whenisisrises.blogspot.com, but the short of it is that my spiritual transformation did a number on my ego (which is what it was supposed to do), and before I learned to accept these changes and learn from them, rather than fight them, I felt like I was melting. As my ego was melted, it changed the way I perceived the world, and consequently, it changed the way the world perceived me. In my ego’s place, my higher self, my true self, began to emerge, and surprisingly people around me either were drawn to it or were confused by the change and so resented it. People who were able to use me and manipulate me no longer could. I am most fortunate that my immediate family, Leslie and Elizabeth, whose relationships with me are based on love, were not afraid of these changes. Several close personal relationships dissolved, however, and these were relationships that I had habitually assessed myself thru. In fact, one of them, a deeply cherished and timeless friendship that went back as far as high school and my original discovery of Morgan Le Fey, came apart with such rage that I not only had to define myself, but I was forced to check and recheck my intentions, inner character, and right action. No longer could I seek my definition in external archetypes or through the eyes or another. Over a period of about seven years, I was forced to define myself, for myself. One song from the musical soundtrack of the Broadway Show “Wicked” put my feelings into lyrics perfectly!

Defying Gravity

Something has changed within me.
Something is not the same.
I'm through with playing by the rules of someone else’s game.
Too late for second-guessing.
Too late to go back to sleep!
It's time to trust my instincts.
Close my eyes, and leap!
It's time to try defying gravity.
I think I'll try defying gravity,
and you can't pull me down!
I'm through with accepting limits,
'Cuz someone says they're so!
Some things I cannot change,
but 'till I try, I'll never know!
Too long I've been afraid of loosing love, I guess I've lost!
Well, if that’s love,
it comes at much to high a cost!
I'd sooner buy defying gravity
Kiss me goodbye!
I'm defying gravity,
and you can't pull me down!
So if you care to find me Look to the western sky!
As someone told me lately:
“Ev'ryone deserves the chance to fly!”
And if I'm flying solo,
At least I'm flying free.
To those who'd ground me,
Take a message back from me:
Tell them how I am Defying gravity!
I'm flying high, Defying gravity!
And soon I'll match them in renown.
And nobody in, all of Oz.
No Wizard that there is or was.
Is ever gonna bring me down!



My Wicked Witch of the West archetype played a very important role in my spiritual and personal independence. But rather than submit to the perceptions of others, as the witch Elphalba did, I was growing and changing for the better. Still, there were people in my life, people that I loved dearly, who wanted me to stay as I was or more, wanted me to do things their way, and fought me. I experienced a new confidence in the work place, as well, which left me feeling repressed and fenced in, as old working relationships were no longer healthy or beneficial. As I emerged from living out of fear and into my own place in the world, Morgaine faded into the background. She wasn’t me. She was a reflection of what others saw in me.

I found myself at a crossroads, and when I didn't heed the winds of change quickly enough, it quickly manifested physical symptoms. My family and I left California to revisit the past in Connecticut. Of course, we didn’t know that was why we were being drawn to the East Coast. It just felt like a good idea to sell our house and realize the profit before the real estate market took a turn for the worse, which it did immediately thereafter. We felt drawn to Connecticut as if by magic, much the same way I felt drawn to Leslie on the West Coast when I first met her 23 years ago. It was a powerful urge. Spiritually, my time in Connecticut has been about transformation and discovery, and discarding old baggage from the past.

Astrologically, we are at a very intense place in time and space. I’m not an astrologer by any means, but I have discovered a wonderful astrologer by the name of Robert Wilkinson. His website “Aquarius Papers” at www.aquariuspapers.com puts all of these mysteries into understandable terms and has helped me understand what astrology means in my life and to me. As we approach a solar eclipse on February 6-7, while surfing an intense mercury retrograde (which usually signifies more visits from the past, and which it certainly did for me), we are also contending with what Robert appropriately refers to as “The Grand Irrationality” (you’ve got to read up on it to appreciate it). It’s astrological short hand for “anything strange and random can and will happen”.

About one month ago, I received a letter in the mail, and it was stamped with the U.S. Postal Service’s salute to the stars of Marvel comics. It was a Spiderwoman stamp! It was one of my favorite pictures from one of the earliest issues from the late 70’s. I couldn’t throw it away and put it in my wallet.



Shortly thereafter, Leslie found an enormous white spider in the laundry room. She wouldn’t touch it, of course, and hollered at me until I went in there and found this spider staring up at me from a pile of clean clothes. Hello!

Over the last month, as well, I’ve struggled with the latest article for my blog, When Isis Rises, after wrapping one article entitled “Animal Signposts”. Writing about animals as spiritual markers and the way it integrated with my next, more difficult article really had my brain spinning. I’ve tried writing and rewriting it, and ended up revisiting our family’s animal totems and archetypes as a result. I focused on Leslie’s animal totem, the bear, and found a beautiful semi-precious bear fetish that I immediately bought for her. I did a lot of on-line research about some of our other totems such as the Great Blue Heron, swans, eagles, and parrots. It isn’t a coincidence that these are all birds, as much of my life lies in the intellect, which is represented by air.

Then, when doing more research just the other day, I ran into a photo on-line of some remarkable photographs just taken of the planet Mercury. I’ll quote from Nasa’s website, as follows:

After a journey of more than 2 billion miles and three and a half years, NASA's MErcury Surface, Space ENvironment, GEochemistry, and Ranging (MESSENGER) spacecraft made its first flyby on Jan. 14. MESSENGER is the first mission sent to orbit the planet closest to our sun. The spacecraft's cameras and other sophisticated, high-technology instruments collected more than 1,200 images and made other science observations. Data included the first up-close measurements of Mercury since the Mariner 10 spacecraft's third and final flyby on March 16, 1975 … Unlike the moon, MESSENGER showed that Mercury has huge cliffs with structures snaking up hundreds of miles across the planet's face. These cliffs preserve a record of patterns of fault activity from early in the planet's history. The spacecraft also revealed impact craters that appear very different from lunar craters. Instruments provided a topographic profile of craters and other geological features on the night side of Mercury. The spacecraft also discovered a unique feature that scientists dubbed "The Spider." This formation never has been seen on Mercury before and nothing like it has been observed on the moon. It lies in the middle of a large impact crater called the Caloris basin and consists of more than one hundred narrow, flat-floored troughs radiating from a complex central region.



A spider.

On planet Mercury.

Shortly after that, just last week, in fact, I was trolling the internet when I found this 30 year old comic book picture of Morgan Le Fey and Spiderwoman having a stand off.



This picture, which I immediately posted in Flickr, had all the other cogs falling into place for me. Suddenly, I got the message. -- the spider in the laundry room, the stamp, the fact that Elizabeth was a Spider Queen for Halloween, and let’s not forget the enormous spider that made its web last year right at the front door! All of these tiny hints finally clicked for me, confirming that Morgaine’s time is past, as they pointed me toward my most recent archetype and animal totem – Grandmother Spider.

PING!

The best, meatiest descriptions of animal totems can be found in Indian spirituality. Not Indian, as in Hindu, but rather Indian, as in Native American. This has never been a comfortable spiritual realm for me, mostly because the people I know who practice animal medicine are accusatory, judgmental, and downright mean. I know this is an unfair assessment of an old, highly spiritual path, but my experience hasn't been good. Grandmother spider is too insistent to ignore, however, so I’m going to get over it and move on through this journey. After all, even the Mayans predicted the presence of a great web over the world. Grandmother Spider’s contribution to the World Wide Web certainly cannot be overlooked, and the Goddess only knows how much time we’ve all spent there. Also, the word "grandmother" resonates to my own grandmother, Thelma, who once wove the family web that my relatives carelessly traversed. I tried to restring that web when I got here, but soon discovered that my extended family is not interested in healthy, postive relationships. Truth to tell, they don't know what they are, and when I tried to communicate with them, they wouldn't have it. The web I tried to weave here in Connecticut, for the sake of my daughter, was repeatedly broken by their careless negligence and selfish insinuations -- none of which I could tolerate without paying too high a personal cost, which is in direct conflict with where I am right now. And so, these people fell from my family web like dead things. First, there was my father, who fell long before I left California. Then, my mother toppled off, followed shortly thereafter by my brother, Curtis, and my Aunt Barbara Jean for various reasons. Then, brother Donald jumped off the web in a huff, and believe it or not, even my Aunt Edwina who I felt a kindred spirit with for years, let go, even though she would rather believe it was I who pushed. No more. All of these people, my extended family, have no place in my life, which is a sad thing. I rarely, if ever, speak with them.



Spiders differ from insects in having eight legs rather than six and in having the body divided into two parts rather than three. The number eight laid on its side is the symbol for infinity. The number two implies the union of two forces joined together. Together they equal ten. Drop the zero and you are back to the starting point of one. The hidden message of spider is unity. The study of numerology is beneficial for those who hold this medicine (internet author unknown).

When the spider crawls into our awareness, it is asking us to rebuild the web of our life in accordance with the Divine Mother’s design. This is very appropriate at this point and time in my life, particularly now that I find myself at the end of a two year cycle , no longer burdened by the past, and looking to new horizons with my family. She also builds bridges, which serve as links tying all things together. She reminds us of our interconnectedness to life, and particularly reminds me of my interconnectedness to the Goddess and the Goddess as She resides in all things. Grandmother spider shows us that the past, present and the future are all interwoven. This is most clear to me, particularly over the last several weeks wherein issues from the past have re-emerged specifically to highlight this emphatically. If you see a spider in its web, or creating a new one, pay attention. It symbolizes where you are in the weaving of your own destiny.



Spiders are actually very delicate and embody the energy of gentleness. They usually aren’t aggressive unless they are defending their lives or loved ones. Gentle strength is a skill that I am still learning, and so I pay heed to these retrograde lessons, being careful not to react hastily to recent strange, mercuric occurrences, but rather wait and respond. However, the bite of a poisonous spider symbolizes the death, rebirth process reminding us that when neurotoxin (or "venom" from another individual) enters the system, the body either transmutes it or falls victim. This reminds us to remain flexible to the Divine Mother’s fire of transformation, and be ever vigilant to recognizing the patterns of illusion. It also embodies female energy, or shakti, the creative force of life.

Last, but certainly not least, Grandmother Spider says that those who weave magic with the written word, those who write, usually have this totem. This is evident in the web she weaves and the primordial symbols that are inherent in the transluscent but strongly attached lines (not unlike those lines or silver cords that run between souls). Those ancient symbols are themselves the most basic of sacred and ancient visual archetypes. When Grandmother Spider weaves her web, she is weaving the fabric of our lives, and linking us to one another with symbols in pictures and archetypical energy. Don’t you think this is most appropriate on the world wide web, where we can communicate with pictorial archetypes on Flickr or participate in e-commerce, and write the chapters of our changing spirituality in blogs --- the internet is where anyone can have a voice!

During this mercury retrograde, I am reminded that the web we weave is the reality we experience. I say farewell to old archetypes, as one of the most powerful and present archetypes of my childhood emerges once again.

I find myself emboldened to reclaim it.

**************************

Morgaine is Calling

Morgaine, my love, are you calling me?
From beyond the lusty, soulful seas
Of retrograde calamity!

Supreme, you once reigned over me;
When distractions outweighed reality,
A glorious mistress named Destiny.

Yes, She tests us all again and again;
And as planets come ‘round,
doubts may set in, but …
Lo! New pathways illumed are ripe to begin!

Morgaine, my heart, your day is done!
No karmic bondage, no smoking gun;
For tenets once binding are long since unsung.

But know this …

You are my moral compass,
My lamplight in the black;
You are what keeps me straight & true,
Though your call harkens me back.

~

I look fondly on the past,
But seek refuge in the present.
Even though …

Morgaine is calling.

© January 29, 2008
Mercury Retrograde,
Inferior Conjunction
By Donna L. Faber