DEEP WINTERING

WINTERING:

Luscious. I titled it in all caps. There is solace in the stilling of winter. Back behind the Salvation Army bells at store entrances and “sir-rishhhh” of tires in snow slush, there is organic permission to quiet, to go deep into moon-satined rivers deep within us, to curl up in the “tree-trunk” of our bodies, to touch ourselves, hold ourselves, to be animal, to be connected to the deeper rhythms, to relax into it . . .

Wintering: To “hear” what we see; to see what we taste . . . some kind of deep level synesthesia. Back to being "animal": alive, really, fully, with it--instead of just skimming it. I'm saying yes. I am giving myself permission to wallow in a year of soft gray and ivory, tawny tans, and deep shadow blues. 

. . . a year of cozy, of comfort, of nurture, of restoration and recovery from "too long, too much". I am going to literally soak in other people's words. What a vacation to take long drinks of other peoples' thoughts, contemplations, and flights of watercolor art delivering the spell-bound images of the word magic scrawled on the pages and the wonder of reading out loud again, the magic of voicing what is written. I'm going to read myself bedtime stories. Seed my dreams, stretch in the cozy warmth of my own body heat, peeking at the soft-footed arrival of the gray day, over the rumple of my bed covers, with a milky sun peering back at me through my window.

Wintering: having time to pause, to contemplate, to gaze, to mull over, consider . . . has become such a luxury in our time. I'm claiming a year of it. I'll be working, still, but only 36 hrs, instead of 40 per week, starting the day after Christmas—16 hours more per month that is mine.

I have several journal-format magazines, one of them that I'm working with now, Field Guide to Everyday Magic by Stampington, and stacks of books, such as Wintering by Katherine May, gorgeous books—images and words by Jackie Morris about Snow Leopard; another about a Gypsy-woman who rides a polar bear pulling a vardo wagon full of books who comes by in the night and leaves a book for you . . . Jackie's book about unwinding. 

This is the time of star boats that sail away into the rivers of stars. Then, there is the soothing of dark branches scratching the soft gray underbellies of the lowering clouds, pregnant with snow fluff, waiting to come down in soft flurries. I'm always amazed that our sensitive faces relish the nip of snowflakes, looking out from a ruff of fur. There is a quality to the voice in snow country that is a timbre like no other, held in a silence that you can hear. There is snowfall inside me, a stilling quiet, as those animal-self seeds slumber beneath the surface of winter white.  

Silence, an Open Canvas

WABI SABI IMPERFECT PERFECT, in my right brain

What will it be like?

when I frequently arrive to a

hushed flight of pauses—dipping and soaring the welkin of constant cerebral activity, cracked

open with parting curtains of quiet, skeins of  quietude—gratitude for skin-tingles either side of a bell

spilling into pools of silence,  soothings of sooty gray sky quivered by Victorian lacings echoing an

exquiste mend: veins of gold-dusted laquer, lacing porcelain Quan Yin, Wabi-Sabi imperfect,

tracing her mercy of silences into a canvas of sound.

A Different Lens: covid-19

Our world is in a cocoon--an unscheduled retreat, at great cost to many, yet  meta- morphosing us into a new form of inner and outer community we've not seen before. The enforced shift in social distance and varying degrees of self-quarantine has also been bringing about self-arrival, a chance for us to catch up with that which we never slowed enough to meet before.

In this pause, more inner changes--and the maverick actions that will come of that, breakaways from stuck thinking—have arrived than many formal attempts on my part to create change. Spiritual and literal oxygen has arrived, refreshing my intuitive web-link to the Universe, and refreshing left-brain and right-brain to each other, and the creative fostering that comes from their chat.

Years of entrenched views, that have held me back, self and life interpretations, that have hobbled my self-confidence, made me hesitate, pause in unnamed anxieties have gotten enough fresh air let in for me to be arriving a new me, to  how can  look at things differently.

I am feeling most grateful this morning, that being able to air out all of this in a safe environment, and some overnight incubation, creates a bridge for me start a shift out of this stuck place, this old view, old fear--and open up to a new way of looking,
interpreting it. I think just the idea that I can look at it differently is a shift.

And I look forward to the new view/interpretation coming in, even though it's still fuzzy right now--like adjusting the lens on binoculars and something coming into clarity.

Everyone of our tribe brings something to the THRIVE table. Grateful to share the journey. We can't heal what is hidden in mistaken think'n, until it is revealed. We Just stay stuck when its concealed.

I feel like a wild horse that has just cleared the fence!

The Doggie In My Heart

I'm grateful the pause of this covid-19, regarding my rescued doggie, Curry, who, last night, had an unhappy encounter with a baby gate that came unexpectedly crashing down on him . . . has me home today to help him recover from his assumption that the crashing gate was his fault and that I'm mad at him, which I am not—and worse, that it was a 'live trap' to then drag him away back to the pound.  I heard the gate, and I went to right it, and he was nowhere to be seen. He had gone to hide under my roommate's bed, out of reach, cowering.

This morning, when I heard his prancing-toes out on the deck, I went to go see him, and he backed out the sliding glass door and went to cower on the far side of the deck, hanging his head in shame, walking stiffly, as if he was broken—his eyes sadder than I've ever seen.

I got down on all fours, hands and knees, then went to lie beside him, stroking him and speaking to him in soothing “good boy” tones, and crooning other endearments. He allowed himself to partake in a loving belly rub, but then shortly walked away, tail down, and stashed himself under her bed again. I can only imagine what abuse and terror conditioned him to respond like this, what unbidden cruelties of “Your're not wanted.”

He is a most beautiful Basenji-Chi (blend of African Basenji, once a gift to kings, and loveable Mexican Chihuahua). He is the light of my life. When we brought him home last June, it took several months to build up trust, and play, and a sense of family with him, his being an adopted brother to my housemate's Chiweenie, Mookie, (blend of Chihuahua and Dachshund). It shreds my heart to see his sense of trust, confidence and play shaken out of him like this.

And, this can maybe be a rewrite of that story for him. Something happened that he assumes was his fault, or that he is the fault—and, this time, this Mom is NOT mad at him, and we are not sending him away to a kennel or turning him out into the streets because of, he supposes, his transgression. Oh my God.

Were our world normal, no covid-19, I would have had to go to work, would have had to leave him, with no time clearance to work this out with him, except in broken intervals, with more time for his old negative assumptions to reset and solidify. I am so grateful to be available to him, as we recover him, together. What grace this covid-19 brings to this, while I continue to recognize the distress, grief and financial impact that it has also brought.

And, in spite of this grievous setback, this morning, while a little dented, we started with each other from NOT ONLY the original trauma, but also from our shared history since that. He let me touch him, let me bond, even while he still warily engaged from a shadow of shame . . .

And now, a few days later, shared joy arrives this morning: Curry greeted me with a pounce, a wet cold nose, bright eyes shining. Here's the Curry that  I know and love -- squeaks of happy greeting coming from my beloved Basenji-Chi, tweets of joy emitting from my heart.

Arriving and Continuing

Ailment: I'm afraid of not being what I'm not for fear of $ financial disaster.

Antidote: Spirit finds the Soulution.

I am making a choice to TRUST my HP (Higher Power), that I call Mariko-san/MaiLing (Truth Worth) + All-That-Is, + Other and Company (the support and companions we always have, even in Anime)—and . . . in spite of the jitters, anxiety, fear, sadness, rejection disappointments, frustration, worry . . . on and on . . . to find the Solution that is work I can engage with deep motivation, and not put my writing and art passions at risk of prostitution. This is a rich and complex path to come up with the combination key-lock that will allow me to move forward.

One of the things I see here is that my engagement with the animal world—pet, feral, wild—is very directly connective = animals and those who love them. On the other hand, writing and art, though they can be inspired, and even amped by others, is a very self-engaged “retreat” energy for me, in which I get to dive beyond sight into both Treasured and completely unexplored realms, and the deep need for protected boundaries in that.

To many, I am sensed as an extrovert: Public speaking, blogging, make-it-so/happen, arrive the 3D, engage, take action . . . and while I do very much carry those energies within rich intuitive nuances, actually, it comes from being a contemplative, exploring, turns-within, introvert.

I grew up with a blessing of animal presence: Horse, dogs, cats, goats, chickens, baby barn owl, raccoon, baby fox—and—as I moved into later adulthood as a Cultural and Natural History Tour Guide,I found a renewed connection with fox, bobcats, coyote, eagles, hawks, jays, squirrels—and one very special Peregrine falcon whom I was blessed to rescue--(after a WEEK, I so found out, later, of others noting and not acting!!! This falcon now resides in the Sierra Vista area as a part of a licensed educational program, as injuries disallowed return to the wild, and a very worthy lifestyle alternative!)

Animals are magic to me, as are the stars/galaxies and the Fine and Performing Arts, and the grace of those who embrace these arenas. We are also blessed by paper-pushers, accountants/number crunchers, retail sales personnel, IT specialists . . . and it's time for me to find both my work and creative niche, which, while connected, are not necessarily the same. Arriving.

What I've arrived to is that I want to switch careers into animal grooming/care as work—visible and connected to my shared world with them and humans, and continue to explore my writing and art in a non-work environment. Anybody out there? Would love to hear from you!!!

Blessings, on your path and all your endeavors!

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.