About a week ago I bought a bag of runes and the book that comes with them. I remember playing with them as a kid. One of my stepmother's friends had them and would bring them over. She kept the tiles in a red velvet bag, and I loved the way the felt and sounded as I reached my hand in, searching for the one, the absolute right one to answer my question.
Last week I drew a rune asking about my creativity/writing - I got "Ansuz: Signals/Messenger Rune/The God Loki" The keynote here is receiving: messages, signals, gifts. Even a timely warning may be seen as a gift. The message may be that of a new life unfolding. New lives begin with new connections, surprising linkages that direct you onto new pathways. Take care now to be especially aware during meetings, visits, chance encounters, particularly with persons wiser than yourself. When the Messenger Rune brings sacred knowledge; you are truly blessed.
Loki is the ancient trickster from the pantheon of the Norse gods. He is the heyeohkah of the Native americans, a mocking shadow of the creator god, as well as the bringer of benefts to humankind. He is a reminder that even scoundrels and arch-theives can be the bearers of wisdom. When you draw this Rune, expect the unexpected: The message is always a call, a call to new life.
Ansuz is the first of the thirteen Runes that make up the Cycle of Initiation - Runes that focus directly upon the mechanism of self-change - and as such, addresses our need to integrate unconscious motive with conscious intent.
Drawing Ansuz tells you that connection with the Divine is at hand. It is a signal to explore the depths, the foundations of life, and to experinece the inexhaustible wellspring of the Divine in your nature.
At the same time, you are reminded that you must first draw from the well to nourish and give to yourself. Then there will be more than enough to nourish others. A new sense of family solidarity invests this rune.
Then, today, I decided to draw another rune, it being new year's eve...and ask what the new year holds in store for me regarding my creativity/writing. And this is what I plucked from the bag, I felt like the rune found me though, it felt so surely the right one as I held it in my hand. "Dagaz: Breakthrough/Transformation/Day"
Here is the final Rune belonging to the Cycle of Initiation. Drawing Dagaz often signals a major shift or breakthrough in the process of self-change, a complete transformation in attitude, a 180-degree turn. For some, the transition is so radical that they are no longer able to live the ordinary ife in the ordinary way.
Because the timing is right, teh outcome is assured although not, from the present vantage point, predictable. In each life there comes at least one moment which, if recognized and seized, transforms the course of that life forever. Rely, therefore, on radical trust, even though the moment may call for you to leap empty-handed into the void. With this Rune your Warrior Nature reveals itself.
A major period of achievement and prosperity is often introduced by this Rune. The darkness is behind you, daylight has come. Nevertheless, you are reminded not to collapse yourself into thoughts for the future or behave recklessly in your new situation. Considerable hard work can be involved in a time of transformation. Undertake to do it joyfully.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Responsibility and Dragon Tattoos
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Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Connections
Flowers - peonies, dahlias. I love lilac and honeysuckle for their smell. Oh and beach roses. I have a tattoo of an iris. And I love lilies - hence my daughter's name. I like the big flowers - gladiolas too.
This past September, on the morning of my dear friend Jennifer's wedding, I woke early and rode my bike to a woman's house (we'll call her Mary.) My stepmom decided to join me, and we met Jennifer's sister there. The woman - Mary, has thousands of dahlias planted in her backyard gardens. I learned that morning from Mary that since winters are so bitter in Rhode Island, she has to dig up each of the bulbs in the fall, and then replant them again in the Spring. She said it took a special sort of person to have dahlia gardens in the cold climates, that they had to be "touched".
These gardens were gorgeous, and most assuredly felt enchanted. With wooden arbor-covered gates, the sort where vines and miscellaneous flowers wind their way protectively overhead. The grass was the deepest of greens and wooden benches were placed just so. The perfect spot to sit with a cup of coffee and a friend, or perhaps more often, by oneself. The plantings were mostly informal and certainly abundant. I had the sense, once I'd entered this space, that I was surrounded. Not in a claustrophobic way, but as in an embrace, or snuggled down warm in a well-loved quilt. The trees, the high grasses and the flowers, so many flowers. It felt, and I'm sure you'll think it hyperbolic of me to say, but it felt sacred.
Anyway, about 25 years ago Mary lost her daughter. At the time 16, she was in a car accident on her way to high school...My stepmother happened to stop by, spur of the moment, at Mary's house that morning and was there when the call came in from the police. It is something that you don't easily forget. A year or two before, Mary had stopped by my parent's house to see them on a whim, and it happened to be the morning my sister Naomi was born (she was 3 weeks early and Nan had her at home.) These two women, although friends, were not the close sort who often stopped by to visit each other's houses.
Anyway, on the other end of things, Jennifer's mother committed suicide almost 4 years ago. It was awful. Really and truly awful. Jennifer's mom was friends with Mary too, and used to go to her gardens with her aged and slightly senile mother. Growing up Jennifer would tell me that her grandmother was a bit "off" due to her, we'll say difficult relationship with Jennifer's grandfather.
A spider's web of connections...
So there was Mary who'd lost her daughter; and Jennifer's sister who had lost her mother; and my stepmother and me. We four, roaming through the gardens cutting oversized flowers for the table arrangements at the wedding.
I've been thinking a lot about that morning in terms of my relationship with my stepmother, who has been in my life since I was four. I was really having issues with it and her last year. Which was surprising to me. I have spent so much of my life railing against my "real" mother, that I think I never wanted to acknowledge any issues real or imagined with my step mother. I found myself trying to work through some of my hang ups, and anger and pain - very vocally at one point, with my father at our favorite breakfast spot. I know he must have told her the things that I said, but it's all remained unspoken between the two of us. And over the course of the summer, while I was visiting, she reached out to me. In a very quiet way. Trying to let me know, I think, that she chooses to love me, and wants to include me as a daughter. A daughter of the heart, if not the blood. So here I am thinking about mother-daughter relationships. And that September morning. The beauty and loss; the circle of life and the potential for healing...and the things we do to survive; a thousand flower, annual tribute to a memory. Anyway...that's where my head's been for the past week, revisiting that garden, trying to listen to what it was telling me.
Okay. I'm just a geyser today.
Finito bandito.
This past September, on the morning of my dear friend Jennifer's wedding, I woke early and rode my bike to a woman's house (we'll call her Mary.) My stepmom decided to join me, and we met Jennifer's sister there. The woman - Mary, has thousands of dahlias planted in her backyard gardens. I learned that morning from Mary that since winters are so bitter in Rhode Island, she has to dig up each of the bulbs in the fall, and then replant them again in the Spring. She said it took a special sort of person to have dahlia gardens in the cold climates, that they had to be "touched".
These gardens were gorgeous, and most assuredly felt enchanted. With wooden arbor-covered gates, the sort where vines and miscellaneous flowers wind their way protectively overhead. The grass was the deepest of greens and wooden benches were placed just so. The perfect spot to sit with a cup of coffee and a friend, or perhaps more often, by oneself. The plantings were mostly informal and certainly abundant. I had the sense, once I'd entered this space, that I was surrounded. Not in a claustrophobic way, but as in an embrace, or snuggled down warm in a well-loved quilt. The trees, the high grasses and the flowers, so many flowers. It felt, and I'm sure you'll think it hyperbolic of me to say, but it felt sacred.
Anyway, about 25 years ago Mary lost her daughter. At the time 16, she was in a car accident on her way to high school...My stepmother happened to stop by, spur of the moment, at Mary's house that morning and was there when the call came in from the police. It is something that you don't easily forget. A year or two before, Mary had stopped by my parent's house to see them on a whim, and it happened to be the morning my sister Naomi was born (she was 3 weeks early and Nan had her at home.) These two women, although friends, were not the close sort who often stopped by to visit each other's houses.
Anyway, on the other end of things, Jennifer's mother committed suicide almost 4 years ago. It was awful. Really and truly awful. Jennifer's mom was friends with Mary too, and used to go to her gardens with her aged and slightly senile mother. Growing up Jennifer would tell me that her grandmother was a bit "off" due to her, we'll say difficult relationship with Jennifer's grandfather.
A spider's web of connections...
So there was Mary who'd lost her daughter; and Jennifer's sister who had lost her mother; and my stepmother and me. We four, roaming through the gardens cutting oversized flowers for the table arrangements at the wedding.
I've been thinking a lot about that morning in terms of my relationship with my stepmother, who has been in my life since I was four. I was really having issues with it and her last year. Which was surprising to me. I have spent so much of my life railing against my "real" mother, that I think I never wanted to acknowledge any issues real or imagined with my step mother. I found myself trying to work through some of my hang ups, and anger and pain - very vocally at one point, with my father at our favorite breakfast spot. I know he must have told her the things that I said, but it's all remained unspoken between the two of us. And over the course of the summer, while I was visiting, she reached out to me. In a very quiet way. Trying to let me know, I think, that she chooses to love me, and wants to include me as a daughter. A daughter of the heart, if not the blood. So here I am thinking about mother-daughter relationships. And that September morning. The beauty and loss; the circle of life and the potential for healing...and the things we do to survive; a thousand flower, annual tribute to a memory. Anyway...that's where my head's been for the past week, revisiting that garden, trying to listen to what it was telling me.
Okay. I'm just a geyser today.
Finito bandito.
moles, cracks and elephant ears
So, I went to the dermatologist to get my moles checked this morning. They all look good - yay!
Last time I went I had to have one removed and passed out just as they were getting ready to start - the doc said "right flank" (talking about where the mole was to be removed) and all I could think about was flank steak and how I felt like a piece of meat being taken to the slaughter..........Shut up! I know, I'm overly dramatic. Some things can't be helped
Anyhooters (to steal a word-twist from a friend), I told the doc I wanted info on anti-aging/anti-wrinkle stuff. So she gives me this page long list of all this shiz, explains it all in detail (mind you, I'm bum arse naked b/c this doc thinks it's necessary to check and see if people have moles literally in their bum cracks - a little more thorough than I was expecting. I shit you not!! Welp I'm sitting in one of those dang paper tops and paper wrap skirts - seriously, can't they let you get dressed?!?!)
When she's finished talking, I ask her if they have any funky natural hippie crunch-crunch granola type stuff, and I could see it was all she could do to keep from rolling her eyes, if I was a betting type, I'd say she puked a little in her mouth. She looked over the list and pointed to one "well, see, there. That one has vitamin C in it. That's natural."
Aye yi yi.
It's so hard to find a doctor who is main stream enough to not be a smoked-out hippie new age guru type, but chill enough to embrace herbs (not that one!) and naturalie stuff too. Oh, woah is me. The dilemmas of a brat american housewife looking to erase what few wrinkles her privileged life has bestowed upon her...and seriously, just when I thought I'd come to peace with not getting fake boobs - BAM - sitting on that stoopid little exam table, made to do my best 'girls gone wild' impression in front of the doc and nurse; and all I could think was "this would be a really good time to have some pretty tatas (instead of the droopy, elephant ear, tribal ones my children have left me with!)" What is up with that?!?! Sorry for the TMI. I'm off on a ramblie scramble.
Last time I went I had to have one removed and passed out just as they were getting ready to start - the doc said "right flank" (talking about where the mole was to be removed) and all I could think about was flank steak and how I felt like a piece of meat being taken to the slaughter..........Shut up! I know, I'm overly dramatic. Some things can't be helped
Anyhooters (to steal a word-twist from a friend), I told the doc I wanted info on anti-aging/anti-wrinkle stuff. So she gives me this page long list of all this shiz, explains it all in detail (mind you, I'm bum arse naked b/c this doc thinks it's necessary to check and see if people have moles literally in their bum cracks - a little more thorough than I was expecting. I shit you not!! Welp I'm sitting in one of those dang paper tops and paper wrap skirts - seriously, can't they let you get dressed?!?!)
When she's finished talking, I ask her if they have any funky natural hippie crunch-crunch granola type stuff, and I could see it was all she could do to keep from rolling her eyes, if I was a betting type, I'd say she puked a little in her mouth. She looked over the list and pointed to one "well, see, there. That one has vitamin C in it. That's natural."
Aye yi yi.
It's so hard to find a doctor who is main stream enough to not be a smoked-out hippie new age guru type, but chill enough to embrace herbs (not that one!) and naturalie stuff too. Oh, woah is me. The dilemmas of a brat american housewife looking to erase what few wrinkles her privileged life has bestowed upon her...and seriously, just when I thought I'd come to peace with not getting fake boobs - BAM - sitting on that stoopid little exam table, made to do my best 'girls gone wild' impression in front of the doc and nurse; and all I could think was "this would be a really good time to have some pretty tatas (instead of the droopy, elephant ear, tribal ones my children have left me with!)" What is up with that?!?! Sorry for the TMI. I'm off on a ramblie scramble.
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