Thursday, October 26, 2006 - Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood

We have a tendency, as humans, to believe that ours is the highest, best, most intelligent expression of Creation. Alas, our civility blinds us to the wonder and elegance that a loving Creator affords even the most humble inhabitants of life. For whatever reason, I notice the little things, the small details of Divine Intention that assure me that the least are loved as much as the greatest. Would you like a tour of my neighborhood?

The residents of these small abodes are anonymous. Yet one must admit that the landscaping touches and homey architecture tease the imagination into wondering whether squirrels . . . mice . . . or faeries dwell within these earthen domiciles.

Do you suppose there's room in there for me?

Sunday, August 6, 2006 - Owl Eyes

The woods lay soft and muffled by the oncoming storm. Nothing stirred ~ even the pine needles gave way to my shoes without protest. I chose the westerly deer trail midway down the bowl, rounding a thicket of bearberries just above a broken tree. Suddenly, soundlessly, a Great Gray Owl rose from her perch on the stump and disappeared into the woods on whispering wings.

She was huge, nearly as tall as the broken pine, which had splintered about three feet from the ground. Never one to ignore blatant omens, I finished my hike, then looked her up the moment I got back to my computer.

As it turns out, my intuitive gender specification, “she,” was correct. Owls have been connected with the Divine Feminine, the moon and the night since the Old Stories were told around peat fires. Owl is about mystery, vision and magic ~ the silent messenger between the obvious and the illusion.

Many clairvoyants possess “owl magic.”

Most specifically and universally, the owl represents “the sight beyond illusion.” Owl people have the gift (or curse) of hearing, not what is said by others, but what lies hidden in their words. Those over-sized owl wings are necessary to elevate the “seer” above the disenchantment of “white lies,” small deceits, and out-and-out bald-facers that inhabit the daily discourse of human interaction.

She is silent, too. Just as owls are bedecked with fringed, downy feathers along the front edge of their wings to mute their flight, Owl people also have the gift of silence. Many an unspoken ”B.S.!” and “give me a break” pace endlessly within the Owl person’s mind, because her “secret-keeper” temperament will not let her speak them.

Wise ones say that Owl comes into one’s life to signal the need to open one’s eyes and study the situation at hand. One needs to silently observe and discern truth from fallacy ~ to trust one’s own intuition, which does not lie, rather than the human ego, which does. Finally, it is said that Owl spreads her healing wings to comfort those who are wounded by their own self-deceit.

Pretty heavy stuff. A Great Gray Owl took my breath away with her sheer magnificence. Beyond that. . . I cannot say.

A little footnote: This morning, I hiked early to be back before the rain sets in. I took a different path, looking for a sittable log from which to observe the valley. Purportedly, a new family of Lynx moved into the valley, and I would love to see them. Anyway, as I settled down on a smooth log, I noticed an owl feather nestled beside it. Evidently, Owl will make sure that I remember the lesson.

Saturday, July 29, 2006 - The Vortex Voyage

Anyone who knows me even remotely well knows that folks don't come much more woo-woo than me. They also know that I am a tolerant person, for I believe that God speaks to each of us in the language we best understand. So, I offer the following, not as a critique, and certainly not in ridicule. Rather, I offer an observation on the human soul and its eternal quest to touch the Divine.

I just returned from Sedona after a twenty-nine year absence. Back in the day, Sedona was a breathtaking, but sleepy, valley that emanated tangible holiness simply by virtue of its existence. Today, it is a bumper-to-bumper, million-dollar-estate, art-and-enligntenment mecca intertwined amidst some of the most magnificent scenery on Earth.

Oak Creek Canyon is the pilgrim's way, the induction from the mundane into the magical. Each switchback unwinds a little of our everyday consciousness in preparation for the impossible vista of the valley. There, no matter light nor time of day, The Rocks stand gracious and sacred among this generation of humans. And the humans come, as they always have, to touch the power that materializes the ancient dreams of gods into the red rock sculptures of Sedona. I have not studied its history, but have no doubt that ancient shamans and leaders of spirit revered the place, and that powerful visions were to be had by those who ventured humbly into the valley.

It's a little different now. Seekers flock to Sedona, intent on a tangible spiritual experience that will set them on the right path, heal the body or the heart, or manifest their wildest dreams. They look for answers and salvation, and many of them have little clue as to what to expect or how to receive it.

We, too, were curious about the "Vortex Experience," even though we've had our share of encounters with vortex energy over many years in many settings. So, we bought our obligatory vortex map and manual and headed, as did everyone else, it seemed, for Airport Mesa. Maybe 75 people crowded atop a rock, some with hands raised, others, looking around, a few in obvious meditation ~ most of them waiting for the vortex energy. As if it occurred like a geyser.

And that, I think, describes the greatest disservice done by the world's organized religions. Every dogma casts God (at least their god) as the sneaky Bad Cop, who drops in and out of our lives to shake things up and collect his requisite groveling ~ an unpredictable force ~ the jealous, vengeful Mystery of Mysteries.

But this I know is true: The Grace that grows a tree does not require the tree to kneel. It requires only that the tree accept its "tree-ness" and allow the ever-present flow of Life to make it so. Yes, trees do fall to clear-cutting, fires, and Christmas, but on the whole, each tree experiences the fullness of tree experience with neither question nor fear.

Humans, being creatures of different conceit, have infinitely complicated our relationship with our Source. Thus, the penance, the I'm-not-worthy-ness, the globalized guilt and of course, the dogma. Which is why, I suppose, so many questing souls converge on power places, like Sedona. They come seeking that one, profound, spiritual event that forever eliminates our earthling fears and questions.

Alas, that was never part of the deal. Oh, we do manage occasional earthshaking moments of infinite Oneness, after which, we become our little mortal selves again and forget. We forget that Life, itself, is the ultimate spiritual experience. We forget that each of us is a completely unique walking, talking vortex ~ God's notions refined and cloaked in human guise.

There are holy places on Earth. Certainly, Sedona is one of the holiest, and not because of her present burgeoning popularity. She has always been a sacred place, perhaps because part of her magic is to remind us that she may be grander and more ancient, but as intentional expressions of the Divine, we are no less magnificent.

Wednesday, July 19, 2006 - Why the Lie?

One of my dearest friends lied to me the other day. Found himself in the midst of a tale that I was not supposed to know about, so he pulled a moot lie out of . . . (I’ll be kind). . .thin air and launched it straight into my heart. There it remains, cutting and writhing, an ugly thing, meant to spare him shame, but shaming us both, because he’s too stubborn to unspeak it.

He should know better, too. We go back a long time, and he’s seen first-hand how badly lies work on me. They set off my full array of alarms, and no matter how smooth or well-rehearsed they are, untruths arrive with a fanfare of wrongness that I cannot ignore. No matter how desperately I wish I could.

So, here we are. My friend blithely convinced that he pulled it off, that I am none the wiser to his cracked integrity. And I, left to deal with the refuse he dumped on me, wondering, truly, how good of a friend he can be when he so easily dishonors me by counting on my stupidity.

Sadly, we’re awash in a culture that has lost its regard for the truth. Varying degrees of lies ~ from TV commercials to State of the Union Addresses ~ are beamed through the ethers at hundreds of thousands of dollars a minute. And most Americans gobble them up, mentally paralyzed by either apathy or denial. Thus, ignorance is their bliss.

But not mine. I learned early on that our personal power is linked directly to our integrity. Or as my Wiccan friends say, “A witch is only as good as her word.” The Bible says it, too: “In the Beginning was the Word, the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” Accordingly, all of Creation was launched on the strength of divine integrity.

So, it truly boggles my mind that people so casually compromise honesty. At best, it buys a little breather from personal accountability. At worst, it launches wars.

As for my friend ~ his adversarial relationship with the truth is a relatively recent thing. And, as I said, we go way back, so I’ll cut him a little more slack. But if the lies and dishonor continue, then I suspect the love and trust that make us friends will dwindle away, and so will we.

Monday, July 10, 2006 - Way Woo-Woo

I confess. I believe in miracles and magic and all the things most folks wish they could believe in, but dare not. I came to this attitude naturally, mystic-born as I was. Even so, I’ve backed my strange purview with decades of study that began with The Bible and continues on well past quantum theory and elemental magic.

Books occupy every cranny of my home sweet home, with nary a romance or mystery among them. Oh, there’s fiction, to be certain, as I’m a firm believer that fiction is a powerful tool for teaching and for social evolution. Since my particular interest is consciously applied quantum principles, a.k.a. magic, my fiction collection comprises popularized myth, fantasy, and science fiction. But the bulk of my books are non-fiction explorations into how Mind interacts with matter to create our experience.

For the record, I’ve conducted my own experiments and have experienced unequivocal personal successes ~ all quietly done in private. The ol’ take my word for it, it works kind of thing. Only I knew what I knew.

Until the other day.

Ah, a brief digression. Despite my broad definition of existence, I tend not to give too much stock to “evil.” That it manifests is obvious. But I give it no powers beyond any other expression of energy, except to say that, weighted as it is with human superstition, “evil” is naturally and strongly attracted to human fear.

Which was all a very nice theory until the election of 2004. Not only was the outcome a crushing blow to my heart, my country and the earth, the whole fiasco reeked so strongly of “wrongness” that I spent a solid week examining what I knew and believed and anything else I could find on (for lack of a better term and the one that turned up some interesting search results) “dark magic.”

Most of what I found confirmed what I already believed, that “dark magic” has no effect unless one accepts it ~ say, by fearing it or giving it creepy unnatural power. I did learn that certain groups, who believe they profit from fear, have the technology to generate constant electromagnetic dissonance. So, conceivably, even a conscious person could tire enough to experience what feels like existential “wrongness.”

So, here’s where we tie it all together. The notion that any “vested group” could do such a thing sent me on a righteously indignant cleansing tangent. I used alcohol and sea salt, eucalyptus and sage, sunlight, moonlight, and fresh clean air. And then I set wards around my land and house. Simple little natural devices programmed to deflect any untoward energy or intent and disperse it into the light to be cleansed.

I’m guessing that’s when my house disappeared. Oh, it’s real and tangible to me and my friends. But according to the satellite image my son located the other day to direct his friend to our house, the place does not exist. The new house next door is clearly visible, as is the new house across the street. Even our driveway shows up in the photo. But the space my house has occupied for the past thirty years is filled with trees and shadows. My life-long dreams of being “off the grid” have been fulfilled. I’m just not sure what to make of that.

Thursday, May 25, 2006 - Big Medicine

I’m not totally daft . . . at least not in this regard. I’ve been ranging long and far in my recent hikes, right past the old tin mining shack and up the long aspen glade that loops west and back up the hill. And every time I’ve returned from one of my forays, I’ve told my hubby, “There’s something really big down there.”

I knew it wasn’t the big cat, as we haven’t heard her caterwauling for weeks. Besides, whenever she’s around, she makes my hair stand on end. I thought maybe it was a bear, as bears carry a strong “beware” kind of energy, which I definitely feel while navigating the marshes and thick stands of aspens. But this “beware” wasn’t quite the same. I simply couldn’t put my finger on it, and wondered if it was just my imagination.

Nope. Moose are on the loose!

I had just finished my afternoon e-mails when I caught a hint of movement in the woods outside my office. Rather I should say, it seemed that the entire forest shifted a bit. Then I saw a big brown leg and rump that resembled a horse’s backside. Then it moved again, and I saw the unmistakable proboscis of a moose. No. Two moose ~ a mother and her baby (“baby” being a description of age not size, as the little one was as big as a donkey). Mom and baby trotted past my house, across the dirt road and into the woods on the other side. Then, startled by my neighbor’s dog, they circled back and trotted up the road, giving me a magnificent view of their magnificence. Finally, they disappeared into the ravine to the west of my house.

In my twenty-one years on this hill, I have never seen moose. So, naturally, given my mystical bent, I wondered at their significance and looked up “animal totems.”

Moose is one of the most ancient and unique of all “power animals.” A bull moose’s bellow can be heard by a lady moose a full six miles away. Her response puts him in the mind to bulldoze anything that stands between them. Thus, two aspects of moose power are determination and “presence.”

Moose are also masters at camouflage, and despite size and apparent gawkiness, they move unseen and unheard through their territories. Thus, have they earned the name “shapeshifters” among shamans and mystics.

The massive antlers the big guys sport symbolize the crown chakra and openness to higher wisdom.

Since moose calves are born with their eyes open, it is said that folks who carry “moose medicine” see things with exceptional clarity on both inner and outer planes of existence.

Moose wisdom acknowledges the truths denied by the ego and finds parts of the soul that we hide from ourselves. Moose are symbols of confidence, determination and strength. And moose always reminds us that unkind criticism and nitpicking wound the spirit.

Finally, in apparent contradiction to all that strength and power stuff, Moose is a primal feminine force that is both deeply maternal and symbolic of death and re-birth. Some say it’s because moose can submerge underwater for long stretches and then reappear, seemingly out of nowhere.

So . . . now, as I walk through the woods, I ponder the lessons of moose wisdom to discern how they apply to me. Surely, such creatures would not manifest for me to see unless they brought me a lesson. Oh, and I remain on alert to ensure that I never come between mother and baby. For hell hath no fury like a riled-up moose mom!

Sunday, May 7, 2006 - Loveable Sociopaths

My good friend, Bob, does not feel empathy. I don't mean just in certain instances or under specific conditions, I mean he does not understand what it's like to walk in anyone else's shoes. Ever. Nor does he aspire to, because the concept mystifies him, and he claims that it is a basically meaningless exercise. I personally think it scares the crap out of him.

Men like Bob often find themselves filed under "sociopath." Fortunately, Bob and his eerily-similar friend, Michael, practice compassion, generosity and ethics ~ almost to the extreme. Which, to those in the know, is mind-boggling. They function this way, because they understand the Universal Law of treating others the way you wish to be treated yourself. Besides, it's important for them to see themselves as heroes, so they are both great contributors to society and dedicated to humanity. They are brilliant, too, for the most part. Except for those times when it's imperative to accurately see from another's point of view.

Then they're completely clueless. They are so transfixed by their own conclusions about life, they literally cannot see things any other way. Thus, all of their assumptions about how and what other people think and feel are based on their personal perspectives, fears, ambitions, and biases.

Oddly, Bob and Michael consciously choose to remain emotionally semi-conscious in life. They cannot blame painful childhood memories, as both grew up in enviable situations with doting parents. Neither endured the trauma of war. Both were "golden-haired" boys in their respective careers. And their failed marriages merit pragmatic shrugs, at best. (Can you imagine trying to establish an intimate relationship with someone who "shuts down" at the first sign of intense emotions?) They choose emotional lock-down, because they've convinced themselves that feelings degrade their intellect.

Children and nameless masses are Bob and Michael's preferred comfort zones.

Children flock to these guys like they flock to ice cream trucks. It's a sight to behold. I suspect that Michael and Bob revel in the emotional simplicity that kids' abject honesty and spontaneity provide. Thus, the guys can temporarily abandon the tedious 24/7 strategizing that dominates their brains. They embrace their child-selves to get away from it all. Kids love the big boys, because they become furniture, adventure rides, monsters, goof-balls, athletes, magicians. . . the wackier, the better. It's a gift.

Bob and Michael also have that gift with people en masse. Give 'em a crowd, whether it's a staff, a congregation, or an audience, and these guys come alive. Both of them have incredible life experiences, and as I mentioned earlier, are brilliant, so they have a lot to share. And they do it with panache. The milling energy and emotions feed them, without demanding any understanding. It's the perfect venue to love and be loved unconditionally, without the mess that generally accompanies intimacy.

I wonder when, or if, Bob and Michael will realize that they are not sparing themselves anything, and are in fact, depriving themselves of half of life. All those icky emotions contain important information for the soul ~ information that will make its way to their consciousness sooner or later. They both know that "what you resist, persists." They may not realize that resisted emotions ultimately become excruciating. Open up, Boys. It's for the best.

Saturday, April 22, 2006 - Screams in the Woods

Did you ever get an out-of-nowhere feeling that stands your hair on end? The other morning just before dawn, that feeling woke me from a sound sleep. Then I heard an unearthly scream that sent creepers up my spine and made me feel prickly all over. Another scream came from east of the house across the road. By the time I jumped out of bed and looked out my window, the screams sounded right outside of my office. I ran from window to window, hoping to see the creature, but wraithlike, it slithered through the shadows up the ridge behind my house and dissolved away over the hill.

The internet confirmed my suspicions. The invisible screamer is a female mountain lion, and she’s madly in heat. Unlike a typical big cat, she moaned and caterwauled all through the broad daylight, spooking deer and stirring up all the dogs in the valley.

And to think that I’ve been walking the woods, blithely unaware that 120+ pounds of riled-up feline lurks amid the trees.

I cannot stay out of the woods, though. All winter long, they called to me, even when the snow or wind or temperature kept me housebound. But now that everything is waking up and new life is stirring, I must be there, enfolded in the magic.

Oh, you can bet that my vigilance is honed. For now, I’ll take my hubby and my longest walking staff. But nothing can keep me from Nature. It’s as essential to my life as air and water.

It is the surety of earthy things that helps me keep my balance. Come summer, I’ll be barefoot out among the pines. Were it not for the encroachment of “civilization,” I’d be barely clothed, as well. Digging my toes into the dirt, breathing the mingled woodsy perfumes into every cell, and opening myself to all the nuances of the living Earth do more for me than any pill or potion.

Even the wildness of that restless lioness adds a delicious element to the experience. As did the bear (as big as a Volkswagon), the elk (as big as the bear), the king stag (as big as the elk). And the wolf, who was magical. I delight in the fox’s eerie cackle and look forward to the seasonal choirs of coyotes, too. They are fur beings, come to teach me something.

You can bet I’ll ponder that lioness energy in its rowdiest form and see what’s in it for me. You can also be certain that I’ll watch my back until I know that the big cat has moved on.

Monday, April 10, 2006 - Choose Peace

Today, I made it to the lip of the valley and back, only once setting foot in snow. The way was soft with promise and scents of the awakening forest. I first paid a visit to Ripley, who rests in a little pine grove that I can see from my kitchen window. Then up the gentle rise and north along the crest, the warming earth springy beneath my feet. It's odd, I suppose, that no matter my route, I always end up at my tree. And today as I stood there, I realized why.

The tree is an old, gnarled pine, tucked into the slope of a narrow bowl just over the ridge from my home. Her roots sprawl out into an earthy lap where I have sat through many a mental debate and once curled up in hopes of dying. Mostly, though, I stand in reverence, as is due this small plot of God's imagination.

My secluded perch faces me due North and affords a panoramic view of the rolling glen that ends just above the water meadow. Nature has reclaimed most of the mining destruction, smoothing away the pits and piles, draping them all with pine needles, bearberry and juniper. The world is cushioned there ~ traffic sounds muffled ~ breezes stilled ~ creatures discreet in their doings. Such bliss to stand in that potent silence, beyond the din of the everyday.

No wonder I jumped at the clatter of underbrush crackling and the whipping of branches. I expected to catch the tail end of the buck whose path I often cross, but there was no trace of him. I took a step, my eyes and ears pricked for the source of the crashing. And there before me, about five yards away, a lady Flicker flapped and rattled the dry branches of a downed pine, warning me away from her nesting area.

What a spectacle she made of herself, puffing her feathers and splaying her feet. She glared at me, daring me another step. I stopped in my tracks, rooted myself to the earth, and harmonized my breathing with the forest. In no time, Lady Flicker cocked her head, smoothed her feathers and returned to pecking the anthill beneath her:

Peace Restored. Peace emanating from the groggy woods. Peace implicit in the land.

I wondered why peace resides so seldom in the hearts of man.

Ah, but that is an illusion. Reality does not belong to grown up nasty boys who plot violence to fill their moral void. Those who see nothing as sacred ultimately reap their own disregard. Those who substitute hubris for humanity forge their own demise. Their only art, and a temporary one at that, is a loud and noxious voice. One that demands an equally resonant alternative.

And protesting will not do. In fact, anti-anything energy feeds the very thing it opposes. Locking eyes with that ruffled Flicker elegantly captured the power and simplicity of pro-actively Choosing Peace.

In this and every moment, Choose Peace.

Vocally and passionately, Choose Peace.

Make no exceptions, Choose Peace.

Monday, March 20, 2006 - Defining Mysticism

My self-referenced mysticism invokes amazing responses from educated people who do not understand what I mean, and they tend to file me away as either woo~woo or wicked. Ah well, that's always been the case. Throughout history, mystics have been tormented or revered, sometimes both. Look how many came to gruesome ends, only to be canonized after the fact. Today, mysticism occupies a special new category in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual~Fourth Edition,which describes and codifies psychological disorders for billing purposes and government identification. The mystical experience, by the way, falls under the Religious or Spiritual Problems heading.

So be it. Abraham Maslow, the proponent of self-actualization who created the Hierarchy of Human Needs, claims that transcendent states, like mystical experiences, occur universally. Other luminaries like William James and Andrew Greeley agree that the mystical experience is common and need not occur within the context of a religion or psychopathology.

No doubt, the mystic is misunderstood because definitions are so difficult.

I once described a walk through my woods as feeling like I walked through God's thoughts. It humbled me, and I ached with delight to see each little detail as a detail God so thoughtfully provided, an offering of love to this earth child.

It is not the ordinary way of seeing the world. But then, I do not see anything in the world as ordinary.

No doubt there is a physical relationship between my bipolar brain and my mysticism, and no doubt, such is the basis for the common psychiatric view that mysticism shares a tenuous border with schizophrenia. The prevailing attitude is that if the mystical experience is intentional and positive, it's okay, but suspect. If the experience is accidental or unwanted and somehow negative, then it's a pathology and warrants caution.

As for me, I appreciate whatever cerebral misconnections confer this splendid perception of life. Yes, it renders me strange. Yes, there are times when I'm stunned by the snow-blinding chaos of the "outside world" and wish to flee to the sanctity of my woods. Even so, I wouldn't trade my weirdness for anything. Whenever I choose, I can turn my thoughts inside out and keep company with Creation. It's sacred space I carry in my heart.