Public Animas Ceremony Part 5b(3): Art. Let It In. (And Celebrate the Artists: Joanne Harnagel)

Continued lessons from the Public Animas Ceremony: An Invitation to Passion.

Trespasser Joanne scaled a fence to join this party...
a woman after my own heart.

If The Vision is true, it will find the right people. Celebrate them.

With great regularity I come across fundraisers, auctions, art shows, etc. featuring varied artworks where there is no mention of the artist contributor as a person. A name, yes. Maybe it is the animist in me, but when I experience art, it usually makes me want to know more about the artist. I think the humans behind the art should be celebrated as much as their work. So, in an effort to do so, we created laminated biographies to accompany each of the bowls that were created for this ceremony. Since the bowls were auctioned off as part of the don't-let-your-ceremony-bankrupt-you strategy, each person who took home a bowl also took home something to help them "know" the artist better. It's all about relationship.

For the next few entries, I will be including the biographies of our artists in an effort to further celebrate them & express our gratitude. Also included are the statements they provided (if provided) about their piece for the Animas Ceremony: An Invitation to Passion.


Joanne Harnagel: Artist, Teacher, Intuitive Reader, Theta Healer, World Traveler
A Passion for Painting -- Poulsbo, Washington

“Way back in the heart of the woods in a rustic log house above Indianola lives a pretty, merry-voiced Goldilocks... She sits all day in her orange and gold print gown at her studio table painting beautiful flowers...” -- Nan W.

Joanne Harnagel is an artist and seasoned traveler whose noticeably grounded energy does not betray her proclivity for wandering. Her footprints can be followed across many lands including Italy, France, Switzerland and Greece. In her youth, she lived on a pig farm in rural Italy and later, in the small coastal village of Riomaggiore she taught herself to draw and paint. She began with passing the rainy days painting market places, horses and other regional features.

Joanne earned a degree in Italian from California State University (CSU) in Sacramento and while she has undertaken some instruction in art, she prefers to limit her exposure to formal art education because, as she puts it, “I didn’t want to have a professional art education because I’m the type of person who will follow a rule if I know there is one. There are a lot of rules in art, and I just didn’t want to know them because then I would have to spend a lifetime learning how to break them.”

Seduced by the beauty of the northwest, Joanne now spends most of her time in her home studio painting photorealistic watercolours of flowers which she produces from images she captures with her camera. While she has worked in many different mediums, she prefers watercolours for their flow and brilliance. 

When Joanne isn’t stalking flowers with her camera and paintbrushes, she dreams of traveling to India and works as an Intuitive Reader and Healer for the renowned Phoenix Rising metaphysical bookstore and at various intuitive arts fairs throughout the Washington area. Her readings and healings are a combination of clairvoyance, clairsentience, clairaudience, and Theta Healing. Joanne has been doing readings and healing energy work for over 20 years. In addition to her work as a psychic, she has also shared her love of art and creative, nurturing spirit with children through expressive arts education programs.

Untitled (no statement available)

Untitled, Joanne Harnagel

If The Vision is true, it will find the right people. Celebrate them.

Public Animas Ceremony Part 4c: Trust Your People: The Magus (DJ, that is)

Continued lessons from the Public Animas Ceremony: An Invitation to Passion.

Our DJ/Magus's Avatar.

If The Vision is true, it will find the right people. Trust them.

Trust that The Vision will attract the right people. This is a story about letting preconceptions, personal judgements & ideas go, trusting The Vision & trusting that you have the right people.

More than half a year before the Summer Solstice, we recruited a good friend of ours to orchestrate the music for the ecstatic dance portion of the Animas Ceremony. Before I begin with the story of the DJ(s), I need to make a brief departure to discuss our choices around sound. My sense is that many (neo)pagan types balk at the idea of using recorded music for ceremonial purposes. I believe this must be because it isn't "traditional" or "Ye Olde Fashionedy" enough or something. I need to address this here as I did at the pre-ceremony briefing:

1. Music is culturally relevant. We live in the contemporary Western United States & the music created today speaks the language of our people more clearly than that of any other time. This is not so say that I dismiss the value of other musical forms or genres -- indeed, I do not, for I happen to be a great lover of, say, classical Jazz, but I know that is an inappropriate choice for moving people through & into the spaces we offered in this ceremony. We wanted to offer the people the opportunity to dance & to dance nonstop for hours. The most logical music to accomplish this is the music of today which has developed specifically for the purpose of extended dancing & altered states: the various permutations of electronica, mixed on-site by a seasoned DJ with all his toys out on the tables.
2. This was not an ancestral ceremony. We were not attempting to reconstruct some time period from the past, or recreate the sacred activities of a time gone by. There was no need for a Renaissance flutist or Celtic war drums (although I really do enjoy them). Ancient musics are a wonderful device -- in proper context -- but we were/are working in today.
3. Live drums are timeless. Yes, but... drummers need rest & replenishment, turntables & amplifiers do not. Drummers need to arrive with drums & skills in numbers & the facts? Our community doesn't have the numbers or the skills to fulfill that role. 
4. Like the drums, electronica is immediately adaptable. The DJ, or Magus, is there to know his acoustical inventory, read the audience & atmosphere & adjust the rhythm & sounds accordingly -- just like good drummers. Electronica also has the great asset of including layers of sound, including prerecorded speech & ambient sounds which are undeniably effective in generating a variety of moods & states of consciousness.

Balk away, some may, but it works. (You don't even have to like it for it to work.)

A few remaining, very tired, dancers in a light rain

under the Midnight Sun -- sometime after 1am.

But back to the lesson at hand: letting go of how you think the ceremony needs to happen & trusting that you have the right people & that they know what they need to do. I call this 'going organic.'

Going organic in this context was allowing things to unfold & evolve naturally without micromanaging. Which I/we didn't exactly do, but should have. A couple of months after we asked Gabriel, our primary DJ (who I have mentioned before), to bring his magick to the ceremony, we began to second guess whether he could solo the music for as many hours as we wanted (or thought/assumed we needed). The role of the Magus in an event such as this is so critical, nay, essential that we found ourselves perhaps a wee bit neurotic. So we asked another DJ friend if he might be willing to tag team, giving Gabriel the opening & closing windows of the evening & having the other DJ fill in the middle to allow for rest & replenishment. 

This ultimately turned out to be unnecessary (& a mistake on a variety of levels), but in our desire to make sure everything went just right, we forgot to trust the artist assess his own limits. This is not the way to do it. When you recruit an artist, be clear about the parameters & expectations & then let them do their magick -- don't try to intercede on their behalf part way through the project because you imagine or decide they might need help. 

Small & awkward mistakes aside, the process of working with a musical collage artist is a delight. Gabriel created a variety of sample mixes for us, set to different BPM ranges. It was a bit like getting boxes of auditory chocolates every week or so... a box of truffles, a box of dark chocolates, a box of dipped fruits... 

One of my favourite mixes -- especially beginning about 4:00... Embrace the World.

And the delight in the process was reciprocal -- Gabriel regularly extended his gratitude for being asked to participate in the process. He too gained from creating for a new context, expanding his collection, his repertoire & moving outside his usual range of sound into new places. 

And in the end, small errors in judgement aside, once we let go & allowed the ceremony to unfold naturally, organically, trusting our people, it was absolutely perfect.


Thank you Gabriel. Thank you.

If The Vision is true, it will find the right people. Trust them.

And trust them to know themselves.

I Aways Come Back to You & Your Woo...

June 24th, afternoon.

I am wandering with the wee folk, collecting wild rose (Rosa aciculariso or R. nutkanapetals) for a rose petal vinaigrette. 
Maybe some dandelion (Taraxacum officinale) leaves for a dandelion mustard.
I stop in a clearing between some birch (Betula neoalaskana) and black spruce (Picea mariana) because both boys want to pee.

And then I feel it.
I look about. There must be something, someone here...  But I don't find the source of this energy, this dizzying woo, this psycho-spiritual play on the body which cannot be described but only experienced.

I see nothing of note. Where are you?

Then I abandon the search when the Changeling begins to get radical with his clothing removal, figuring I might have been having a false alarm. After all, it is quite early in the season & it has been very dry...

As I am tackling the wee one in the duff, attempting to save his naked flesh from the flocks of mosquitos clamouring to get at his tiny bottom, I hear our eldest gasp & shout from behind me:

O...
M...
G...

OMG!

We both turn & scramble to him. The spot where the Little Lad is now hovering, clutching his camera, is the precise spot where I had been standing.

Two tiny, precious little slimes, hidden in the shadows of the strong, slanted sunlight popped into view with the gesture of his finger. 

Wolf's Milk Slime (Lycogala epidendrum)

I was standing on that log. Had I not been so still, I might have trampled them. In all that scanning the micro-landscape, I hadn't thought to look down at my feet.

Wolf's Milk Slime (Lycogala epidendrum)

And this might seem inconsequential to most humans, probably nearly all humans... but for the humans who find themselves entangled with me & this slime, this encounter speaks volumes about connections complex & inexplicable.

Where is Moma? Foraging & Fundraising

Dark Arts/Conjure Box by Moma Fauna.
See our FUNDRAISER AUCTION WEBSITE for details.

Between foraging & coordinating a spectacular community fundraiser auction, I have had zero time to invest in journaling... *sigh*

It is a wee bit out of character for me to use this place as a forum for advertising, but I am going to do it... just. this. once.

One of our community members sustained serious injuries during land site preparations for the Summer Solstice festival. His condition requires surgery to the tune of $25-32K out-of-pocket as he is uninsured. We have come together to help support his family with this difficult situation. 

Please consider participating in our auction, this Saturday, August 24. The auction opens at 12:15 am, AKDT & closes at 5:00 pm, AKDT. My husband & I are the administrators for the auction -- feel free to email me personally with questions: momafauna (at) gmail (dot) com. Visit the FUNDRAISER AUCTION WEBSITE for details & please, please, share it far & wide. Thank you.

I made a bunch of the items for this auction, some of which I find very difficult to part with... ah, so painful to be an animist sometimes. Below are some photos of a few items (but by no means all) up for bidding. 

Sickle Pendant/Locking Mechanism for
Dark Arts/Conjure Box by Moma Fauna.

Upcycled Tarot Storage Box with Waterhouse Art Print
also by Moma Fauna.

Dionysus Devotional Statue.

Inked Glass Jar with 13 High Desert Sage Smudge Sticks.
(plus assorted optional labels) by Moma Fauna.

Aphrodite Devotional Statue.

Raku BodiceVial Pendant with Vintage Beaded Mohair Cord.

Tomorrow is the Esbat. I have not forgotten. We have big plans for another Mushroom Moon Shrine. We shall see if the forests will collaborate.

Wandering: Waiting on Ice.

Waiting on the Ice.

Twilight. March 13, 2013. 

I am waiting on Ice. Braced against the bitter winds by the grace of a White Spruce (Picea glauca), I am waiting for the Comet to present its glitter beneath the Moon. Some people find waiting easier using the steep, icy sheets of Earth as their personal noctilucent luge course. I do not.

✫✫✫✫✫

Until now, I entirely missed the gravity of the message, the omen presented to us when we returned the offering platter to the kitchen. The Waiting Moon left Her mark, as if to say, "Oh, yes. You will wait." Her sigil, a slow chemical reaction of elements, ingredients & sentiments, now resides above the stove: a constant reminder that we are waiting.

And I am beginning to think that all this waiting is not so much about the end result, the goal or destiny, but rather the process of waiting itself. What do we learn from this?

Sigil of the Waiting Moon, revisited.

There is something about this waiting that makes me feel a little bit of insanity, a Berzerker agitation, like a steer in the chute or a racehorse at the gate. I want to run -- charging into the Sunlight, shedding the layers upon layers of clothing. Snow bibs off. Down parka off. Pillbox hat off. Smartwool socks off. 

I want don my faithful, ten-year-old sandals & dive into loamy duff, filling my nostrils with its rich earthy aroma. I want to see Bluebells (Mertensia paniculata var. alaskana) erupting from their sepals -- a signal, a sign that now we may doggedly hunt for the elusive Black Morels (Morchella elata). When we find them, I want to rejoice with my tribe, the trees, the Spirits of the Land, anyone, everyone who cares to join us.

Instead, I imagine the shimmery High Desert heat rising off the rocks -- stacks upon stacks of hot rocks, lizard tenements. I imagine a tiny sliver of black sand beach in Dominica -- oh, to return there now. I imagine the Sun high above, warming deck chairs on an ocean liner filled with quiet, slow-moving passengers -- just like the ship that ushered me into what is now my present.

Instead, in the tension of the here & now, I borrow the High Priest's sanctuary & desperately, frantically spin, raising energy so I might release it. Dance practice & exercise: I find that they are no longer enough. Panting, sweaty, legs curled under, arms prostrate, forehead pressed to the cool, smooth bamboo floor, I cast it to the Earth -- please, please take it. For the love of Mabel, take it. I do this so I do not kill anyone in the waiting. From this act of reckless magick, I gain temporary relief. But it also makes me feel a bit... well, mad. As in Hatter.

Bohemian Waxwings 
(B. garrulus) waiting.

Yet, I only need to look out the windows to see that I am in good company. Those Bohemian Waxwings (Bombycilla garrulus) are also waiting. As they feverishly flit & flock by the hundreds, it seems to me that they are equally as restless. They shift en masse from tree to tree & back again. 'Round & 'round they go, sometimes all day, as if in search of something just around the corner. Perhaps they are looking for signposts to a new season. Perhaps they are waiting for some of the very same things as me. Like Spring.

But, I find I am also waiting peevishly for any single ounce of time to write. My heart tells me I must. My life says, "Wait."

I am waiting to master, or even minor, a dance I just met. I want it to feel natural, today. My body & mind say, "No. Practice... & wait."

I am waiting to learn & know all these Alaskan birds which, obscured by thick foliage, can never be seen in the green months. I want to recognize them now, while I can, but the daily obligations say, "Wait."

The same principle applies to Aurora Borealis stalking & the pile of books at the bedside, the emails & letters (which will likely never be written), the community lending library I spearheaded (Gah, what was I thinking?), the painting that begs to be completed throughout the house, the flying ointment, reorganizing the kitchen, the Bovini celebratory project I began months ago, the backing up of data, the "Winter Queen's Necklace" I began stringing, hanging all those mirrors (good grief! so many! narcissism?), the mobile Moon Shrine... 

I am also waiting for the-cat-who-was-left-behind to gain back some of the four pounds she has lost. Which brings me to the lesson of all this waiting. Or at least one lesson.

Sleeping Lady, ever waiting.
Some are infinitely patient. Others, not so much.

If we spend all our time waiting, wanting, yearning, braced for something which is not now, but down the road a little ways, or possibly a long ways, what do we overlook in the present? There is that adage, something akin to, "Don't squander your time living in the past..." But how about the future? Do we squander our present by living for future expectations? Waiting for vacation. Waiting until we think we have the money. Waiting for better weather, better circumstances, better odds. Waiting until the house is clean, or the laundry is done (which by nature, can never, ever be done). Waiting for a convenient time. Waiting for a new day. 

I recognize that I must love, relish, cherish what I have, right now. I cannot live in the Land of Expectations. Love the demanding kids. Now. Love the gentle partner. Now. Love the skeleton-cat. Now. Love this frozen Place. Now. Love this precious & beautiful Life. Now. There is a feast in the waiting. Wait. Pause. Be. 

It is ok to wait, but be-present.

Be in the waiting. There is a feast!

✫✫✫✫✫

In the waiting for the comet, I am joined by a very special friend, a meow-friend. Sun-tanned & radiant, she tells me about her wedding. On a beach. In the Sunshine. In Love. It is good to hear her story & to feel all the warmth she brought back with her. 

Later, we climb two flights of clanging, frozen, steel stairs to join our boys on the wide, wind-swept rooftop of the park building. We gaze over the ocean & wait for the comet alongside a professional photographer wielding a camera as large as a cannon. He tells us about being a landscape photographer in Alaska. He talks about all the waiting, waiting for expectations which frequently never materialize. Luscious waiting. The comet never presents itself, but the frosty, sled-crazed children are so happy. We are all so happy & what the Universe offered us in all that waiting was much, much more than what I was waiting for.

The feast of waiting.

PICU: What a Visit Taught Me About Polytheism, Prayer & Pragmatism

PICU: looks like a party, but it's not.

PICU: A pediatric intensive care unit (also paediatric), usually abbreviated to PICU (pron.: /ˈpɪkjuː/), is an area within a hospital specializing in the care of critically ill infants, children, and teenagers. A PICU is typically directed by one or more pediatric intensivists or PICU consultants^[1] and staffed by doctors, nurses, and respiratory therapists who are specially trained and experienced in pediatric intensive care. -- Wikipedia

Just over a week ago today we were unaware that we would be admitting the Changeling to the PICU for treatment of what would much later be diagnosed as "staphylococcal scalded skin syndrome" (SSSS). When you have SSSS, your skin splits open & sloughs off at the slightest graze of a fingernail or the tug of a band-aid. Rashes bloom, blacken & fall from your body. The entire surface of your being is red, enraged, blistering, on fire, like that of an overeager prom-goer who took too much time at the tanning salon. 

Staphylococcus aureus (in stain): looks pretty, but it's not.
Image courtesy Wikipedia.

All this thanks to a little critter called S. aureus who, if introduced deeply enough into the body, will release exotoxins which cause detachment within the epidermal layer. This skin-sloughing bacteria is a relatively rare breed in the staph family. But still, it is staph & staph is everywhere in this beautifully complex & dangerous world of ours. Once again, no one is special.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, we have already had a very lengthy round with the NICU environment, so we have acquired a solid battery of ICU coping skills. This was not new territory. In fact, the familiarity of it might have been the most immediately traumatizing aspect of our visit. Awash in fluorescent lighting, the smells & sounds of the PICU brought back that little bit of PTSD that I carefully packed away with the hopes of never revisiting. I had to grab my swooning, crumpling, tear-welling self by the horns & say: "Do or die. This is survival time, sister. You know this place. Make-it-work." Less than an ounce of grief, followed by days of make-it-work. 

Setting our Selves aside. Making it work. We do these things because we must. We do these things for Love.

What struck me very clearly the first night while gingerly curled around the Changeling in his bubble-bed was that my personal gods & collaborative spirits aren't so befitting to the crisis situation. I have actually run upon this before, but perhaps I was never lucid enough to see it for what it is. I also think this is where I have always had a wee bit of ambivalence with the whole "prayer" concept. (Yes, I am aware of the irony of this blog's title.) 

Unpopular as it is, I consider myself a polytheist of the more Parmesan variety (as opposed to say, Ricotta). In practice, there have been many times when I would have qualified as henotheistic or perhaps more accurately, kathenotheistic, except that I am never a complete purist or ever entirely exclusive & animism muddles things, so I suppose even in this, I qualify as an In-Between (once again). Lunar & Solar devotions are my most concrete, consistent & ritualized practice, but the Moon & Sun -- as I recognize Them -- are not "gods" per se, but venerable, life-weaving & live-giving beings with corporeal forms. That's animism, as I see it. The gods proper are (generally) incorporeal spiritual entities who carry with Them their own set of skills, interests, personality & agendas. That's polytheism, as I see it. Of course, it's complicated.

"Morpheus" by alexmartinez of deviantART

The pitfall of polytheism within my ICU-prone world is that the small handful of deities with whom I have a regular (or oftentimes irregular) relationship (but generally over many, many years) don't fall into the dulcet, pray-to, caretaker model. There are also no interventionists on my call list. Most of Them came to me in some strange, unexpected & abrupt fashion, while couple of Them I petitioned, stalked, flagged down or otherwise pursued myself. Regardless of how we came into relationship, none of Them are particularly apposite, at least in a conventional way, in an ICU. Oh, & I don't just go barking at gods I don't know when I suddenly need Them. So, how do we make-it-work?

Apparently I know by instinct. Once the situation settled, like an automaton I contacted the outside world asking for 'petitions, prayers, energy, good vibes, hoodoo, magick, whatever works...' I did this knowing that we would end up on my popular Christian-mystery author aunt's twitter prayer chain. I did this knowing that we would end up in multiple LDS prayer pools. I did this knowing that Wiccans would work us into their workings. I knew my mom would be exercising her Will (Thelemite? Must be something about psychiatrists). I knew that the Catholic, Druid, Jewish, Buddhist, Methodist, Atheist, Born-Again, Humanist folks & all those "Others" that comprise our friend & family network would be giving it their best go, in whatever fashion suits them. And really, if those people have a rapport with an interventionist sky-god like Adonai or JC or a mother-goddess like Toci or Brighid & they want to pray on our behalf, why should I object? Just make-it-work.

Even the 8:00 am prayer over the hospital PA system each morning was making-it-work. Never having stayed in a Catholic hospital before, the first day I awoke to the prayer, dazed & baffled. The priest's deep baritone & thick Spanish accent filtered through the isolation doors in a mostly unintelligible blur of voice, but I took it... & maybe even looked forward to it... a little bit. It came from Love. Make-it-work. 

/begin digression: This amuses me. When I was young & "fundamentalist" I would have balked at the idea -- I always found it offensive when someone else was praying or petitioning for my wellbeing because I interpreted their actions as a surreptitious attempt to impose their belief system upon me... somehow. I believe that inflexible, resistant, exclusive attitude stemmed from a defensive insecurity. Nowadays, I don't find discomfort in the well-intentioned spiritual efforts of others. As long as it comes from Love, I take it. I must be more secure, or getting older, or maybe I am just indiscriminate or something... /end digression

"Female Satyr with House, Child and a Putto" by Giovanni Battista Tiepolo.
My mind's eye vision of Fauna (& quite possibly my ideal body image too).
Image from the Norton Simon Museum.

But enough of other people's gods. After sending out the "Pragmatic Pagan's" smoke signals, I scrunched up, helpless & despondent in that tiny bed -- all the while remaining ever vigilant not to break any more skin on my little baby -- & I talked to my gods. Well, some of Them anyway.

I talked to Morpheus & I asked Him to use His pull with His Oneiroi brothers to give our tiny morphine-filled creature the peaceful, reparative sleep he needed in order to mend his devastated body. I talked to Fauna & Faunus & I said, something like, "I know You are not creatures of these hospital-places. You are creatures of the forests & wild places... We are too. My children are Your children & I want to make sure I can take them back into the bogs & the woodlands & the high deserts & teach them the secrets hidden there. Please, if You find any joy in the beauty of a babe reveling in Your sylvan secrets, if You have any strings to pull, please, please pull them. For him, for us." Then, maybe I asked Thoth (Tahuti, if you prefer) to give the still struggling-to-definitively-diagnose medical staff a leg up as I passed out from exhaustion, but honestly I cannot remember...

Oh, & I talked to the Moon of course. That Lady, our measured guide, the Gradual One. She Who Makes Change by Degrees. I thanked her. Because by then, Her work was already done.

Please do not mistake my words as dismissive of Those that I carry close to my heart, Those I whisper to in the greenwoods & in the Darkness. Theirs are among the greatest of gifts, but so much of that world is left unshared. Mostly, that world is about me. Absolutely none of this situation could be about me. It needed to be 100% about making-it-work.


Setting our Selves aside. Making it work. We do these things because we must. We do these things for Love.

Sometimes this means pragmatism over purism. The Who & the How is irrelevant. When it comes down to it, all that matters to me as a mother, lover, partner is that it works & that Love, something so Good & so big is allowed to triumph over the selfish smalls; like bacteria... & egos. 

Going home.
We made it work.
All of us, together.

On Grief & the Human Condition (My, How Much it Looks Like Animism)

"Never Abandon" by Sakina666 of deviantART.*

It has been a week now. I don't think I cried for you today. 
Time & balm. Time & balm...

One of my simple home remedies for the broken-hearted has involved slipping into John Siddique's world. His voice is a gentle, honest balm. His words are better than natural, they are naked. 

And in reading all over his pages, I remember & I forget. I forget & remember. But mostly, I cherish.

John's notebook "On Reflection" had an entry that made me think for a few days. I knew that somehow it was personally relevant, but it took me awhile to rub it in & understand why:

"On The Function of The Human Being

Human beings seem to have two basic functions in this universe of ours: having relationships, and telling stories. I can’t think of much else that we are made for. Oh I know we make war, and chase money, power, and make mistakes - but even those come down to relationships and stories at heart." -- John Siddique

..."having relationships & telling stories..."Why is this so familiar?

Ah, because it sounds just like grief.

❤ ❤ ❤

Only an hour after we stroked his soft fur for the last time, I am standing like a zombi in the snowy parking lot of a box store. There is a raven on a lamppost squawking as though the sky will soon be falling. I am vaguely aware, but I cannot move or care. The bird abruptly dives at my head, startling me from a rheumy haze. In the closeness, I get the distinct feeling that this raven is actually the cat, or his messenger, or might somehow be carrying his spirit. Plaintively I ask, "Is that you?" The bird swoops away to the East, leaving me puzzled & longing. My relationship to ravens has permanently changed.

I text my sister & I tell her the news. I tell her I love her & it seems an imperative. I do not tell her this enough. She responds by remembering him fondly. She tells me she loves me. Later, she tells me again. We are being in relationship.

"Depend" by Sakina666 of deviantART.*

All day long, Hubby & I crumple into one another's arms. We hold the Lad up. We hold each other up. We talk things thru, over & over. We say, "What if...? & "Remember when...? & "I can't do this..." We tell stories. We love, protect & support one another. We are being in relationship.

That evening, my mother calls. I tell her how things happened & how I am feeling. She listens & asks questions. We remember past events with fondness, kindness & Love. We are telling stories. We are in relationship. I love her. So, so much.

The following evening, Hubby & the High Priest return from the grocery store. The High Priest has purchased me a very special bottle of wine. The bottle is a symbol. It tells a story about very special relationship which was born out of storytelling. The High Priest is honouring a special relationship by honouring other special relationships. 

Some friends extend their condolences & offer support. Others, perhaps more private like myself, opt to give me a wide berth. Still, every one of us is being in relationship. 

I spend several days longing to hear the voice of someone with whom I have never spoken. I do not have a telephone number. But like magick, my silent plea is answered. The voice materializes in the form of a voicemail which is followed by a frenetic return call & "like E.T." we have contact. Disorganized thoughts & disjointed stories are babbled. Like frantic songbirds, we are being in relationship.

My best friend sends an apologetic text in the middle of the night. She tells me, "I love you too. Forever." She & I have traveled long & hard & far together. There is no need to apologize -- she is in my bones. We spend very, very little time in communication, yet we are always in relationship. 

The Changeling has taken to calling the cat from his toy telephone. The afternoon the phone was retrieved from its extended stay behind the stairwell, he promptly called the cat. He has called no one else since. He chats away, babbling & jabbering. He is telling stories. He is being in relationship. I sure wish I had that number.

I revisit John Siddique. I know nothing of him but his words. I know that he is brave enough to feel out loud & this attracts me. It helps me heal. I read & listen to his stories, attentively wandering about in his poetic world. He is writer. I am reader. He is teacher. I am student. We are strangers, yet this too, is relationship. 

I am thankful for each & every story.
I am thankful for each & every one of you.

"Lotus Lake" by hybridre of deviantART.*

* What's with the cosplay? Well, a few things. First, I see the world of cosplay as entirely about storytelling & relationships. In fact, I would argue that cosplay is all about exploring & living out relationships within the context of storytelling. Second, these particular images are a tribute to the manga/anime series Saiyuki (more specifically, pictured here is Saiyuki Gaiden in which the main characters are gods). I adore the Saiyuki tales almost entirely because of the characters & their relationships. Finally, these two particular characters (Genjyo Sanzo/Konzen & Goku) travel very, very long & far together. I think their love is apparent in the images. It makes me happy -- more story, more relationship, more balm.

What She Said. (About cats.)

Heartache's balm on the subject of cats: 

"Ah those felines are always deeply woven into our hearts, or more like our veins and our very breath itself... He will of course be with you as you find fur long after your endless vacuuming, years afterward. They visit, shamelessly, reminding us of our obligation to them, of our worship of them and of the love that they taught to us. They are so much wiser than we can ever be. And though dogs are family, and even moose connect with us, somehow cats own us. You are forever his..." -- S. P.

I love her. 

 

Correction. Reflection. Devotion.

Correction.

I came here to make a correction, but in hindsight I realize that it is not necessary. Apparently, sometimes I have foresight. Or something. On October 23, 2012, I wrote this about you: 

"I find comfort in small dependabilities & gifts-in-hand... The cat will crap on the bathroom floor every night. In the morning I will curse him & amid my irritation, remember my love for him. An old gift-in-hand."

I didn't think I had the audacity or forethought to say it, but in rereading, I guess I did:

"...For now I can find comfort in knowing that things will go on until they don't & I will remain thankful for my precious gifts-in-hand. You know who you are."

"...until they don't..."

Until you don't.

Sure wish I could unravel the Web & make a correction in your Fate.

I miss you.

Reflection.

In the night, the voice of the cat-you-left-behind is caterwauling.

Not even the compassion of opiates will let me sleep through this.

I am glad I danced with you that final evening. 
Rubbing heads, 
I think my bones knew things my heart & mind could not handle.

We have traveled long & far together. 
You are in my bones.


The nature of Nature: no one is special,
But for whatever it is worth, you are to me.

Some events in life will bring us to our knees.
It is during times like this that I find no comfort --
No comfort in the spirits, 
or from the gods, 
or in other beings.
I find my comfort in a humble & ambivalent return
to the dark folds of His musky Abyss,

where I can hear the silent hoof-beat heartbeat of the starry Void
& feel the equanimity of the Nothing that is Everything.


Devotion.

I cannot avoid vacuuming indefinitely, 
nor can I indulge in protracted, crippling heartache,
but 
I can allow your scent to linger along the edges of the upholstery,
I can leave your blanket by the window for you,
I can carry your soft tufts close to the wreckage of my heart,
I can walk with you in my bones
& I can love you, forever.

I will brace myself to receive your ashen remains
& I will tell them,
as I told your unmoving, no longer serviceable form,
I love you. Forever.

We will travel long & far together.
You are in my bones.

I love you. Forever,
April 21, 2001 - January 30, 2013.