SURPRISE! When What You Hunt Finds You

Sometimes, those rare instances show up when something catches our attention from the corner of our eye--suspends us out of time--soaks us with a profound sense of recognition, connection, our only then knowing that sense of something lost--found. What has been unseen, disregarded, dismissed or gone torpid in unuse thrusts up and breaks surface--something that you didn't even notice was gone until that instant, until it stands there before you.

Under the glaring fluorescent lights at Walmart, surrounded by gaggles of noisy kid families about their shopping, out of place, at eye level, I flashed on the arresting image of a Blu-ray/DVD cover: a red-haired elfin teenage girl lifted in the arms of a svelte, boneheaded man--long elegant horns atop a canine skull. Reminiscent of Beauty and the Beast--it was something more. I stood transfixed--every hair on my body rising in a mysterious sense of joyful, other-worldly recognition. I was looking at a copy of Kore Yamazaki's anime, volume one, of The Ancient Magus' Bride.

On the spot, entranced by the image, I laid down my long-standing psyche pattern--the huntress with her "bow and arrows." As the "archery equipment" fell to the floor at my feet, my immediate takeaway was that I felt "filled." The acquisitive hungry ghost that haunted behind my fires of creative fervor and lurked in the luscious binges of engrossing conversations with friends, the want factor receded from me; shadow chased by sunlight. . . . I felt myself scooped up, on the spot, and held close, like the red-haired girl in the picture before me.

I felt found, seen, visible--wide awake, wide open--filled with a sense of possibility, mystery, intrigue--reclaimed by something--guarded and protected by a fierce, present, dragon energy--this, even while respectfully regarded and inquired--and mysteriously beckoned. To my sense of wonder, I stepped from inner shackles into an inner clearing.

All of this from a glimpse of an anime cover? What I had unknowingly sought stood magnificent before me--the anime image capturing an ancient archetypal story of a lonely mage and homeless young woman now become apprentice to this powerful, reclusive magus; and in turn about, sometimes she the teacher, his having lessons of his own to learn.

I stood looking at a star constellation in the night sky, recognizing it as my own. Why? Where from? Don't know. Don't care. Doesn't matter. Restored something in me--a sense of depth value, an inner confidence that had been definitely on walk-about--recall of connecting with a being not unintelligent by any means, but at the same time not acculturated to the status quo of our embedded social and cultural structures with all its attendant restrictions: Whoosh: breathing space--kind, if sometimes baffled, inquiry into Other, plumbing internal depths that had faded from sense and sight.

This is the story of Chise Hatori and Elias Ainsworth, and a full cast of characters spanning numerous realms; a story about the cultivation of empathy and self-introspection--seeing through to a person's quivering vibrant core and the ownership of emotions, choices and consequences; inquiring into integrity and ethics—not about the ownership or suppression of another person; rather, ownership of relationships and a deep regard for sovereignty, even as we are the challengers that trigger growth and change that sometimes takes us on separate paths.

I'm still receiving this new sense of being filled up, from within. Meeting moments of peace and equanimity before this, in the rich complexities of encounters with self and in exchanges with others, they've been fleeting. This brings a base shift; new glasses and new eyes.

Barnes and Noble, https://www.barnesandnoble.com, features an anonymous quote:

We lose ourselves in books. We find ourselves there too.

Kore Yamazaki has captured, in her magical manga and anime, a story etched within the very hollows of my bones, where the marrow lives: an Archetypal Presencing that has threaded my entire life--so often relegated, dismissed, as chimerical fantasy. Enter the ancient thorn mage and the courage of a young girl as they together leap into their own depths and darkness to find the light within both of them.

From want of use, since my late husband's passing, this archetypal pattern within me had slipped into torpidity. Blessed with rich, close friendships, and surged with cyclic creative fire manifested in a passion for writing, and in a wider arc, enamored with drawing/sketching, this part of me, a very active, vibrant and interactive part of me, had languished--a psycho-spiritual vitamin deficiency, costing me significant portions of my native verve, sauce and juice. A marathon session of watching season one and two of The Ancient Magus' Bride anime brought the lights back on! I felt alive as I had not in many years. Who knew!!!

Ms. Yamazaki! Self-described in the September 2017 Forbes Magazine interview as only knowing "how to draw manga" -- for me, you are a magician scribe revealed in this Ancient Magus' Bride story that spun out of you, renewing me to a deep sense of magic, of re-trusting the Universe, and myself, in my native ways of sensing and egaging my world--ways that over the years had gone bone dry in me--bones left to bleach and brittle, slivering in the sun--now moist again with quicksilver in my marrow, my psychic flesh sewn back onto them--my huntress' "bow and arrows" now a rubble of dust on Walmart's floor.

ありがとうございましたArigatōgozaimashita, Ms. Yamazaki

天の恵み Ten'nomegumi (Heaven's Blessings)

If I had Orange Hair

If I had orange hair . . .


Cfalaicos Short Red Orange Cosplay Wig

Several times these past weeks I've sported orange hair: a swingy, multi-layered, wig, alternate to the 1920's chin-length black bob of my real hair. I like the "otherness" the subtly different responses to people and things it brings; allowing a peek into other replys to the world, to myself. With the exception of one person, everyone I know liked it. One person I've known for years noticed I had freckles.

Incognito. The word brings to mind mood Bossa Nova: big black sunglasses, slouchy straw hat, white dress with red poppies-- eyes peering over the top of the dark shades; mellow, a little cheeky, a mischievous confidence. Think René Russo opposite Pierce Brosnan in the Thomas Crown Affair.

In orange hair I take off my blinders and let myself see, notice, explore what isn't usually on my menu; say hello to what looses me from my inner corsets into breezy chiffon and naked daring, skinny-dipping in the surf--fully engaging what undoes me into a flight of birds.

I've tried on many me's along the trail. One time a sales person recommended my trying on something I would never have selected myself. I had a lot of fun "trying out" the alternate persona looking back at me from the dressing room mirror. Some of her is still with me.

At a business dinner, surveying the room, I knew no one there. How freeing!--cut loose from others pre conceptions, and my own. I walked off the map into the undiscovered country. I didn't betray myself, just found more of me.

Another time, during an intimidating phone call with law-wielding attorney's, I stood atop a chair, unseen, none-the-less, changing the balance of power in that  conversation. It worked; I was bigger than they were; at least taller!

Next time you go shopping, don't just try on different clothes, try on different postures, gestures, facial expressions, 'tudes. On the way to your favorite clothier, take a new route, pop a Bossa Nova disc in the car player! Try on orange hair; you might meet a you you'd like to know.

The Heart's Story

My heart?

She's overjoyed that she hasn't got everything figured out yet.

She still has so much love, verve, and curiosity to express. She's definitely not done yet.

She whispers to me: "You know, there's a Korean film called: Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter . . . and

Spring."

So, this is our new Spring. "No shelf for me, she says!" she announces.

"This time, I'm being found, rather than the huntress. Oh, I still will indulge in treasure hunts, but

instead of tracking with my bow and arrow, I'm making myself available--in some deep, rich, fecund

way, letting the Universe claim me--discover me, and in the process, uncover me, unearth me."

I feel the quickening of being seen, sensed, recognized, appreciated--allowing me, in turn, to extend

that to others, also learning to let the selves be found:

Found by—Found to–Lost and found—Profound.

Resounded by the choir of the Universe--found to what wasn't honored, cherished; found to what

was blown off, dismissed, diminished, disinherited; found to the nest of my own heart, a heart of kind

inquiry. Found to the easy dust of summer, dandelions and the buzzy song of insects, grasshoppers

and once green grasses gone straw-colored, crunching underfoot.

Found. Found to the magic of a cool puddle under the shade tree. Found to me! -- and the magic

awareness of truly taking in the Presence and Grace of Other. And graced we are that we are not the

only--and, that, Thank God, it isn't just all about me; that there is Other to discover, discern, by

making me available to its revealing; by listening to it, sensing it, viewing it with open and eyes and

heart--sometimes even licking it.

I saw a sign in a TV series: "Do not lick the walls." I remember licking wood fences to get a better

sense of that delicious wood smell. It made me feel a kinship with trees. I even licked barnacles

once--sharp, tangy, bland--all at once: a part of my sense-based repertoire. Hope they have barnacles

in Heaven, in our lives beyond the veil.

A Swatch of Satin Silk -- Magic Carpet Ride

My age 8, A swatch of dark royal blue satin silk "took me" to exotic lands -- places of rolling sands, diamond bright stars, cycle moons, campfires flickering the night with pungent smells of bubbling savory stews, and cardamom pastries, unfurled below me as I gently, invisibly, sailed a magic carpet over the scenes below, just close enough to catch snatches of laughter punctuated conversation.

This patch of twilight fabric took me to floating shrines, tiny barges with a wise monk where I

apprenticed in the ways of mystic cooking, on bound logs, floating islands in the quiet of mist--objects

appearing and disappearing through the veils of fog.

It took me into velvet black where the emanation of body heat and the velvet of his voice were the only textures, the gentle rush of phosphoresced surf the only sense of dimension, the only stage prop in the depths of the dark.

It took me to places the adults in my life served only as fantasy. I could never figure out why they

always wanted to return to what was not working for them--trading in adventure for their disappointed

bitterness and forlornness. I could never figure out why they didn't want to bring this magical land back

with them, into our world.

Don't get me wrong--I love bitter: bitter coffee, and the depth a little of it brings to to a ladle of gravy. I

love shadows, that bring cooling relief to the eyes from the desert sun, cooling nuances, and

dimension that isn't present in sun-bleached landscapes, that harbor mysteries -- but not the

shadows, the bitterness, in their eyes and hearts.

It's time for a swatch of royal blue silk, again, or a silk pouch--holding mysteries, reigniting the

magic of stories yet to be lived.