The Pestle of the Moon (Tarot)

On the Taurus New Moon, I put my Sacred Rose deck back into its butterfly book-box and switched over officially to the new Smith-Waite deck, which has been under my pillow every night for a couple of weeks now. I've been pulling a "card of the day" from it ever since I got it, to help with the bonding. I feel very comfortable with this deck now, especially since it gave me all three of my so-called Life Cards - Empress, Hanged Man and The World - on three consecutive days as card of the day, in their chronological order.  That was rather astonishing.

Starting on the New Moon, I began something called "The Pestle of the Moon" which is not really a divination but more of a meditation or exercise. This was described in the Katz-Goodwin book on the Smith-Waite tarot.  The purpose is to "regenerate your intuitive abilities". It derives from W.B.Yeats' poem called Phases of the Moon where he gives attributes for the Moon's phases. Katz and Goodwin describe it as "an entirely off-book method that may or may not even register consciously as to its effect." They suggest that it be done as a meditation, for relaxation and enjoyment.  They also suggest that dreams be recorded during the Pestle of the Moon cycle, naturally.

On the New Moon, according to directions, I laid out the High Priestess and Moon cards with the High Priestess above Moon. Then 8 random cards were drawn and placed around these two, starting at the right which is New Moon, then going widdershins to Waxing Crescent, First Quarter, Waxing Gibbous, Full, Waning Gibbous, Last Quarter and Waning Crescent. Each phase lasts about three days and nights.

I found a free lunar phase app to download to my phone, yippee! Ready to go.

The meditation or exercise is simple. Take the card of the current phase and put it by the bed. Before going to sleep, glance at it and let intuition pick out one thing from it as a focus. Eyes closed, visualize the card, then open eyes and glance at it again. Repeat until the card is clearly visualized. Then while falling asleep, repeat the keyphrase of the moon phase, derived from Yeats' poem, while seeing the image growing larger. As it grows and takes you in, merge with the scene. Let the keyphrase turn into sound, a chant, or music and take you deeper into sleep and into the card's image.

The first two nights after the New Moon, I did this with the World card. The keyphrase for the New Moon is "Cradle". Two things stood out to me in the Smith-Waite World card. The four figures at the corners of the card (which to me represent the fixed signs of the Zodiac) seemed cartoonish. One is a man (Aquarius) but the other three seemed to have human features, which struck me as a little silly and whimsical, but it was ok. The second thing was that the wreath around the dancing figure looked scaly to me, and I kept picturing it as an ourubourus snake even though I know its supposed to be leaves, ideally with roses. Why did Pixie leave off the roses, I wondered. The first night was very relaxing and I enjoyed the meditation, especially connecting the "cradle" idea with The World, being rocked gently to sleep. I did dream but couldn't remember it.

The second night (last night) was completely different. Instead of relaxing, it was vaguely scary and the meditation kept me awake instead of soothing me. I couldn't stop thinking about the snake-like wreath, which didn't really bother me. I like snakes. But it just kept coming back into my mind and preventing anything else from occurring to me. Even the 'cradle" rocking didn't help me to get into the right state, which got more tense as I continued. Finally I gave up and just let myself go to sleep without even trying to visualize anything.

Tonight is a new card for the Waxing Crescent phase, whose keyphrase is "The Dream". The card is the Six of Cups, a pleasant card for a dream. Meanwhile I transcribed the Yeats poem into my Moon journal for handy reference. So we'll see what happens next.

I'm looking forward to regenerating some intuitive abilities, as Katz and Goodwin describe in their intro. I feel that I'm intellectualizing too much - which is my nature, with natal Moon in Aquarius and Gemini Rising. However, this is supposed to be an "off-book" exercise for renewed intuition, and here I am doing research, looking up the Yeats poem, studying moon phases, even re-reading my old notes on Florence Farr and Golden Dawn, to prepare for this lunar cycle working. Wrong? I guess I should just let it flow, without any expectations or pre-fabricated ideas, and give my rusty, hide-bound intuition a chance to emerge from the shadows.

Tarot Blog: Introduction (for lack of a better title)

I've decided to make this personal blog into a Tarot Blog. I wish I could think of a more magickal sounding name for it. Maybe eventually I will. "Tarot Blog" is just so plain and ugly, and I hate the word "blog" with rhymes with "flog"....

Anyway - the reason behind it? I've been in a renaissance with Tarot lately.  Long story, which started with receiving  Book of Shadows Tarot from a dear friend as a Yule gift in 2013. While it was good to have cards that were Wiccan-themed,  many of these cards seemed to have no connection to traditional Tarot images and symbols, which was a challenge. Still, I loved working with it over the past year and half or so.  It expanded my horizons with regard to how the basic form of tarot can be used and forced me to consider a broader possible interpretation of the cards in general.  Before that, I'd been in a quiet phase of tarot, having lost my entire collection of at least 20 tarot decks in a fire a few years ago. Shortly after that,  I received a new Sacred Rose deck from a thoughtful soul-friend, and those cards are still my all-time favorite. I purchased a few of the newer decks, but wasn't quite ready to pursue a regular tarot practice for awhile.  I was in a quiet phase with everything, as I rebuilt my life and slowly found my way back home.

What I'd been doing over this past year and a half with the Book of Shadows tarot was simply drawing 3 cards on each New Moon.  Then I would check in on the following Full Moon and make notes on how this was working, or not. As the moons passed, I noticed that the 3 cards seemed to coincide with the ongoing lunar phases. The first card, which I was originally reading as "The Past", was a good indicator for the first part of the waxing phase. When I checked in mid-cycle, on New Moon, the middle card, which I'd been reading as "Present" was beginning to manifest effects. The third card, "Future", was an accurate picture of what was going on by the time I did my final look at these three cards on the next New Moon, prior to pulling out the next set of 3.  And so on and so forth.

I should explain my methods of tarot reading here before going on to what came next. I am a minimalist as far as card readings are concerned. The fewer cards, the better, and I don't do reversed interpretations at all. If a card turns up reversed, I simply turn it right-side-up, with the philosophy that the tarot is a completely positive divination tool and doesn't intend any of its messages to be reversed. If a card or cards betokens some warning, it should be obvious from the picture presented by the reading as a whole. Besides, reading with no need to reverse a card's meaning makes it easier for me. At one point in my 50 years of off and on tarot studies, I went through the inevitable stage of believing that the more cards you use in a reading, the more accurate it can be. I did readings with entire decks, using every card, major and minor arcana, and all sorts of complicated Life Readings and Soul Readings and other mumbo jumbo. What a mess. Not only was it exhausting and took hours to do, but it was usually a very ambiguous reading in the end with so many possibilities (all the cards!) thrown out for perusal.  Finally I gave up on the huge tarot readings and used less and less cards until now I am down to just 3 at a time, which gives me a very clear picture at this point in my tarot journey.

About 2 months ago I started reading posts online about Pamela Colman Smith, the artist of the Rider-Waite tarot deck. Right away, I felt a strong kinship with this woman known as "Pixie", as I learned more and more about her life and her art. I ordered a copy of  the book  "Secrets of the Waite-Smith Tarot" by Marcus Katz and Tali Goodwin as soon as it was published. Then another close friend gifted me with the Pamela Colman Smith Commemorative Set for my birthday, to top it all off! It's a beautifully boxed set that includes the Smith-Waite Centennial Edition deck,  a copy of Waite's "Pictorial Tarot" which was originally written to accompany the first publication of the deck, another book "The Artwork and Times of Pamela Colman Smith" by Stuart Kaplan,  some postcards and prints of Smith's non-tarot artwork, a photo of herself, and a little folder of layouts for the cards.  I've read some reviews of this boxed set that complain about the way the Centennial Edition deck has been printed, presumably with a rather faded effect to make it look old and a bit fuzzy.  I have no problem with this, in fact I love it. It gives a feeling of time-travel through the cards, which I thoroughly enjoy.

So I'm off on a new track of my lifetime travels with the tarot.  As custom recommends, I've been sleeping with my new Smith-Waite tarot deck under my pillow.  It's a new look at an old deck, one that is a classic and has accompanied me off and on throughout my tarot adventures.  With the next new moon, I will start using it as my regular deck. Until then, I will draw one card a day. This will help me bond with the deck.

This blog entry sets the stage for future entries to come. If  you liked reading this, stay tuned for more. I welcome comments and discussion too.
 

It's been a long, busy Summer. Haven't written in this blog since before Beltane. Now it's Autumn Equinox and it feels like Samhain is coming early this year, judging from the recent signs and messages from the Other Side.

In honor of Autumn and swiftly approaching Samhain, I share this poem I wrote last year "For my Dearly Departed". Lately it struck me that "dearly" is an adverb and therefore must apply to "departed" as a very, not a noun. Not everyone departed so dearly, in fact very few do.

Anyway, here it is, slightly edited from the original poem. It is a Calvera, a Skull Poem traditionally written on the Day of the Dead, usually as a satire. Offerings are made to the departed loved ones on the Day of the Dead, as we also make offerings on Samhain of things the people enjoyed when they were still here with us.

Can kisses come back like ghosts?
I hope yours never do
Because your lips tasted like Kools
And I still hear you wheezing in the kitchen when you laughed
Then you'd light up another smoke.
But here's three packs for you,
I spent the last of my money on them.
Now you can have all you want
And you won't choke.
Maybe one more kiss tonight?
It will taste like heaven. 

The poem reflects the mixed emotions I experienced on the occasion of my late husband's demise. There has been some healing with time's passing. Last night he popped up in the middle of a rather mundane, ordinary dream. In the dream I was at Wal-Mart with my sister and my cousin, wandering around the outdoor garden center. My cousin pointed out a strand of unlit star decorations  hanging above our heads, Christmas stuff. When I looked up, there was a bright flash and suddenly it was New Years midnight and Jay was standing there, smiling and clear as day. Music started playing (Auld Lang Syne) and we exchanged a New Year's kiss. I wished him a happy 2015. There was no animosity, only fond affection. It was so vivid, I could feel his soft beard against my cheek as we hugged and kissed. Then suddenly he was gone and everything went back to normal. I was looking for my sister's truck in the Wal-Mart parking lot. It doesn't get more mundane than that, does it? Somewhere in the world, they do observe New Year's today, on Autumn Equinox, but I'm not sure where.

On other topics, I'm going to drum class later this evening, which continues through mid-November. Learning to play the djembe. I am not ready to go out and buy one, but I'm having fun and expanding my musical horizons.

Then I'll come home and do a simple Autumn welcoming, a little meditation on the changing seasons, and maybe some more writing.

My front yard has been transformed into the garden I've always wanted. No more lawn! I killed my back, which was not in the greatest of shape for starters, between digging up a tiny herb garden in the backyard (tiny because I ran into some rocky ground and had to limit my original plans), shoveling a whole dump truck of mulch into the wheelbarrow and distributing it through the garden, then to top it off, filling in the center of the garden with one cubic yard of pea gravel, one bag at a time. It was worth the effort, some of it in near 90 degree weather, even if my digging days are over now and I've been advised to use a cane if I'm going to be on my feet for more than 10 minutes at a time.

The Dwelling-Within Time looks like it's shaping up into a quiet time of rest and recovery for me.

Sweet Leilani

She's finally here! Isn't she gorgeous? says great-grandma.

Amber was in labor for about 16 hours. And when Leilani was on her way down the birth canal, she unfortunately (and this is gross, I warn you!) pooped and ingested some of it. She had to stay in Special Care for a week because she was on IVs and oxygen. She has a heart murmur, and is going to see a cardiologist on the 22nd. 

She was also born with two thumbs on her right hand! And she's tiny. She weighed just a little over 6 lbs. at birth and is 19 inches tall. 

Both mother and daughter are doing fine now. Leilani is eating regularly and gaining weight and strength. 

Just look at those dreamy eyes. 

 

 

Cabin Fever

There was a glimmer of hope on Imbolc. The temperature went above freezing for what seemed like the first time in ages. Small blurts of grass were visible. Watching the sky that morning, I spied a vaguely crescent-shaped cloud making its way across the freshly washed heavens and it inspired me to write this "Death Song for Winter".

The rains came down
The mists went up
And Winter went away.
A peaceful passing,
Carried off on carols
Of wren and robin
No more suffering.
Scars of dirty snow erased,
To rise in rainbows
From her face.
No lament,
No regrets,
Just the luminous promise
Of Spring
And that last arched eyebrow
Fading in eggshell sky.

It didn't last long. The few inches of snow that came afterwards are now preserved under a thick layer of ice that is both treacherous and stubborn. After yesterday's fall while trying to avoid a stray dog by cutting across the soccer fields that are now more like a skating rink, I don't even dare to walk Johnny in the park. The backyard will have to do. Both of us are going stir-crazy here. 

Johnny is a high energy dog. It's the Border Collie in him. He always has to have something to do, the more lively and interesting the better. His Lab side shines in his appearance only, in his glossy black coat and bright eyes, not in any laid-back temperament. When I finally got the backyard fenced in late last summer, I thought it would give me a break from marching up to the park with him three times a day. Well, now we only have to go to the park once a day - normally. Being iced-in, his yard excursions have dwindled to skittery two-minute trips to the far end where he does his business, then my high energy dog flops down in the snow and lays there, blissfully licking the ice. He could do that forever. He can't run on the ice. So we have to walk up to the park.

Yesterday the ice was horrible but we went out anyway. He was driving me nuts, dropping his Kong Ball on my foot every two minutes, (ouch) throwing his toys at me, even trying to engage the poor ancient cat in doggy games. So out we went. I had no intentions of going into the park, just briskly walking around it, still a good half-mile stroll with lots of scenery and scents for canine entertainment. We'd gone as far as we could go, all the way to the dead end, past the spot where there was a roadkill deer the day before, now removed but apparently leaving its blood-smell behind, past the K-9 training center, past the turn-off onto the path that is a secret back way into the park. Turning around, I spotted a large black dog coming down the road by itself, no leash or human in sight. Naturally it stopped where the deer had been. I prefer to avoid strange, loose dogs especially when they're bigger and bulkier than Johnny. There was nowhere to go to avoid this one except to cut through the park and across the soccer fields.

I quickly discovered that the soccer fields were now an ice rink.I held onto Johnny's leash and let him pull me across the ice. I didn't even have to lift my feet. I was swiftly gliding along with no effort at all. This was good!  Until he suddenly sensed the other dog, turned around and started pulling me backwards towards the road. The other dog noticed us and lifted its head, but stayed put. I struggled to control Johnny. Inevitably my feet went out from under me, I sailed up in the air and came down flat on my back, breath knocked out of me. Then I couldn't get up because I kept slipping. My canine companion was no help at all, he was still intent on maintaining his territorial rights on the roadkill traces. Somehow I got up and dragged Johnny across the field, stomping my way through the ice. The only safe way to go was to high-step it, smashing a ragged footprint into the ice with every stride. The stray dog went over the hill. We were home free. Now I have a monster bruise on my back and the sciatica demons are having a party all the way down to my toes.

So finally I get around to writing something in my blog!

The groundhog's prediction this year was of special interest. Not because it was a weather omen. It's always six more weeks of this or that, because there are six weeks until Spring Equinox. This year it was a declaration that in six more weeks I will get to meet my great-granddaughter, Leilani Mae, as she is predicted to make her entrance into our world just in time for Spring.

Will she be an Aries like her daddy or a Pisces, in harmony with her mother's moon-sign? Will she be pale or dark, red-haired or brunette? I hope she'll have her father's eyes, sky-blue, but genetics weigh in heavier for dark brown. Of course we'll all love her, no matter what she looks like.

Crow Lesson

Crows are my favorite bird. I admire their intelligence and cunning. Recently they taught me a lesson in respect.

As a bio-regional animist, I profess to live as part of a family that embraces all creatures of nature including stones and plants as well as animals, and humans of all races and creeds. I honor the ties that bind us all. I am pledged to respect each one's role in the play of Life, and honor their right to live and create in their own ways. This is not as easy as it sounds, nor is it always beautiful and bright. Part of this is also acknowledging that there is darkness as well as light, sadness as well as joy, and danger as well as comfort.

A pair of house finches chose to build their nest on the eaves of my porch in the springtime this year. I felt blessed by their presence, especially since this was the first Spring in my new home. First they came scouting out the site. Both of them surveyed one corner of the porch and seemed to discuss it daily, deciding exactly where the nest should go. I was glad they didn't pick the space right in the corner because I knew the drainpipe and gutter dripped there. Wisely, they finally settled on a spot a little off from the corner, hidden behind the top of one of the metal support posts. Every morning I enjoyed watching the nest take shape as the pair busily gathered stuff and put it neatly into place. Home sweet home!

Then the mother bird sat. I knew eggs would be coming soon. Both birds were spending more time in the nest. Then one morning I heard the tiny peeps of hatchlings. There were at least two, maybe three. I didn't want to disturb them by peeking too closely.

The hatchlings were well-fed by their parents over the next several weeks. One morning I was thrilled to see one of the babies flapping their wings, practicing to fly. It wouldn't be long before they would leave the nest. This was a little sad, of course, because I would miss watching them each day, but I was happy to see this wonderful avian rite of passage taking place right before my eyes. It was a joyous, hopeful experience.

I mentioned crows at the beginning of this bit of writing. I think you know what comes next. The same day I saw the baby bird flapping its wings, I went out to walk my dog later and noticed a crow on the porch roof. There are lots of crows around here, but they prefer to stay in the woods across the street or roost in the line of old pine trees behind my house. This crow was watching, listening, and putting together a plan. I could almost hear the wheels turning inside that sleek black head. I clapped my hands and yelled to chase it away. It cawed back at me and flew only as far as a nearby tree, where it remained on surveillance.

It was a gift to be able to watch the finches make a home on my porch and raise a family. This daily story I'd been witnessing ended abruptly when I saw the crow squeeze itself into that small, presumably safe place in the rafters and tear into the nest, taking away one baby bird, then quickly returning for the other. The mother and father did their best to ward off the crow but they were too small to be intimidating.

After the babies were gone, the pair flew away and didn't return for about an hour. Then suddenly they were back - with an entire clan of their fellow house finches! This group of birds swarmed all around the vicinity of the nest, fluttering and twittering loudly, for a good ten minutes. It was like a wake. Then, as suddenly as they appeared, they all flew off at once.

It was heartbreaking, yet I couldn't hate the crows for being crows. I still love them. Now I have a slightly different kind of respect for them.

There's still a happy ending. I thought the house finches had abandoned the nest after the crow-raid. There was no activity for a few weeks. Then one morning I saw what I assumed was the same pair return and take up housekeeping again. Or it could have been a different pair. It doesn't matter. Soon there were eggs, hatchlings, and this time they survived without any threat from crows. Two healthy young house finches left the nest with their parents a few weeks ago.

The song of life goes on, finding its own harmony on the wing.

I am submitting this blog entry to the Eco-Animism Blog Carnival whose theme for August is "BIRDS".

Connexions and Relations

I learned recently that the braids of Native Americans symbolize connections to the Earth Mother and All Our Relations. Wearing one's hair loosely is supposed to connect one's Spiritual Essence with the Wind Spirits. I never knew the significance of the braids and I don't even know how true it is.  Not everything we read on the internet is true! When my hair was longer, I would sometimes braid it, mostly just to get it out of my way, but being a child of the Woodstock generation, naturally I preferred to wear it loosely flowing. Now its too short to be braided but still long enough to flow blissfully.

Do we need to have braids to connect us with our Earth Mother and All Our Relations? No, but to some it may serve as a symbol of that link.

As an animist who professes to live as a part of a family that embraces stones and plants, all creatures of nature, humans of all races and creeds, and honors the ties that bind it all, I am pledged to respect each one's role in the play of Life, and honor their right to live and create in their own ways. This is not as easy as it sounds, nor is it always bright and beautiful. I find it very liberating, though, in many ways.

I grew up with racial prejudice and ethnic jokes as the norm. My mother was born and raised in South Carolina. She had a black "mammy". Need I say more? My dad is probably the most prejudiced person I know. He hates anyone who is not exactly like him. He is constantly drawing lines between Us and Them. I think most of it comes from fear, although neither of them would never admit that. Every door in their house has not one, not two, not three, but four locks which are locked at all times, as if at any moment one of Them will burst in and beat them up and rob my parents, just because they are Them. By the way, they live in one of the lowest crime neighborhoods in the tri-state area. How different things would be if my parents suddenly realized we are all the same, or even opened slightly to that concept.

Less fear in my life is one huge benefit of being an animist. My sister instantly locks her car doors if she is caught at a red light and there happens to be a black man walking nearby.  Recently while I was walking my dog in the park, I encountered what appeared to be a homeless man, walking the other way, mumbling to himself. When I mentioned it to her, she insisted that I call the police if I saw him again. Why? He wasn't doing any harm. I just avoided him, stepping a little to the side and giving him his own space. He had as much right to be in the park as I did. Why should I make more trouble for him than he already had, which was obviously quite a bit? More than once in my life I've been homeless too.

Not that I deny there is danger in life. Respecting and honoring the truth and reality of each part of creation includes recognizing the reality of potential dangers. Sure, any man could be a rapist, no matter what color their skin. And any storm could strike you dead with its lightening. I recognize these truths but I don't let them get in my way. I try to be careful but I don't let fear keep me from enjoying the day. Life flows much more easily when energy isn't wasted on fear and pointless hate.

The wind in my hair that I enjoy as an animist makes me feel so free sometimes that I start to feeling superior, especially when I think about people like my parents and sister. Feeling superior isn't right. I should feel humble instead. I suppose their fears and loathings have a place in the world too but am I supposed to respect that? It's hard to respect and honor everything and everyone sometimes.

Take crows, for instance, a bird I admire for their intelligence and cunning. Recently I witnessed a crow take a baby house finch from the nest I'd watched its parents build on the eaves of my porch. Every day I watched the nest take shape, then the eggs came, and just the day before the crow came, I saw one of the nestlings flap its wings for the first time and it was such a hopeful, happy sight. The crow, after several days of surveillance, studied the situation as crows do and figured out a way to get to them. It was heartbreaking to see the tiny baby bird carried off while its parents did their best to fight off the crow, to no avail. Afterwards a very strange thing occurred. From out of nowhere, an entire clan of house finches suddenly appeared and gathered around my porch, singing and flapping around and generally acting as if they were at a wake. No crows attended. I can't hate the crows for being crows. I still love them, but with a slightly different kind of respect.

Being an animist often makes me feel quite ecstatic, almost high or stoned on feeling "the connexion". It's a big rush to open your heart this way. Yet there are always challenges, like the crow incident, that make me pause and sigh. The ecstasy I feel doesn't make me feel superior, just very much alive. I wonder if that's one of the purposes of religion/life-views, though, to make us feel superior (rightly or wrongly). It doesn't feel right, especially when animism is supposed to be based on respect for everyone's and everything's place in life, no one person or thing more precious, important, beloved, or better than another. I shouldn't put myself above any other person, let alone a pebble or a strand of grass.

I believe my path is beautifully summed up in the Thelemic "Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law. Love is the Law, Love under Will." It is not permission to do whatever you want. It bestows the obligation to find your true role in life and pursue it with all you've got, while respecting (loving) all others' places and roles, trusting that there is a plan to the universe and a holy order where everyone and everything is a star in its own orbit - even, to an animist, the rocks and trees, the wind and the rain. The challenge is to not only recognize these connexions and relations, but to find ways to live in harmony with them without putting yourself above anything. Maybe this is not meant to be over-analyzed or worked at too hard. It might be just enough to enjoy the rush of those freedom winds in your hair and keep your heart open while letting the path take you where it will.