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 |   My blog--I pull a card--if it doesn't speak to me...perhaps it is for you? |
I pull a card...if it doesn't speak to me...perhaps it was meant for you?    How to Read the Tarot Begin by brewing a cup of tea, a nervine, lemon balm or chamomile, this is after all, your future. A reading at the dark of the moon is best, before the night creatures crawl and bad humours fill the air. Pick a circular deck, with a fairy-tale motif, and no reversals. Hold a question in your heart, shuffle the cards and place them on the table. Choose only two. Like the ancient Israelites, these are your seer stones, Urim and Thumimm, black and white, yes or no. Isn't that all you were asking?  |
| May 8, 2020 Believe VIII Today is the day after the full flower moon in Scorpio. My sun and moon are both in Scorpio and I am feeling the tidal pull toward water. Because of the virus I am still afraid to go to the beach. This evening I will sit by our pond as small consolation. I am singing silently to the trees, oak, cypress and palm, whispering the Tiwa sound for tree, Pee Wheh Neh. Trees are the lungs of Mother Earth. As we are destroying the trees, this virus destroys our bronchial tree. It is not metaphor. A gathering of mermaids is called a gossip of mermaids. There is only one old, veiled mermaid in my pond. Sybylla comes to the surface of the water and I can hear her singing, "the earth, the air, the fire, the water, return, return, return, return...." I ask if there are others like her, alone in retention ponds across the concrete condominiums of Florida. "There are many", she replies," fleeing from toxic algea, plastic, and pollution. My sister friend Arabella, a beautiful black mermaid lives in the pond in the community next to yours." I am happy knowing that and hope that Arabella has found connection. Not a gossip of mermaids perhaps, but surely a circle of beings. Sybylla swims back to the pond's bottom. Everyone speaks about the longing to return to normal. The normal is resilient. Even now it is plotting it's return. The Herbcrafter's Tarot---Madre of Earth---Creosote Bush---Build circles of women.  |
| Nurse's Day 2020 I am a nurse with no wish to be a hero. I will retire this spring away from this throb of virus and mobs with guns. I will wear my mask and dream of fields of children and no mean streets. I will help to sing the dying to their sleep somewhere in more expansive light as they unravel all the tangled knots. Pholarchos Tarot--13--Death--What you know turns inside out |
| To Mask, or not to Mask? This mask of mine, a mitzvah, to Jesus, Buddha, Allah. To a God without a name, Are we not all one, all same? Form: Tanaga--a quatrain of 7 syllables in each line, it asks a question seeking an answer. Author's Note: In Judaism a mitzvah is a commandment, more than a good deed. The HerbCrafter's Tarot:--2--The High Priestess--Awaken ancient memory.  |
| Beltane 2020--Believe VII There are blessings enough this May Day morning. I wash my face in rose-petal dew hoping to keep my three score and eight face smooth. I hang a May Day basket on my neighbor's door. My panic about this virus lifts a little. Shadow and resistance play side by side. I don't know why all the workers aren't striking today in solidarity demanding health care, fair wages, safe working environments. Sad that this is still a continuing fight. But the workers at Amazon, Target and Instacart are striking. I will not cross their virtual picket lines. I come to the pond and hope that Sybylla, the veiled mermaid that lives here will come this morning. She perhaps may be an oracle of hope this day of Beltane. Beltane, for those that follow this old Pagan path ushers in the second half of the Wheel of the Year. It promises sunshine, growth, fecundity. The pond frogs this morning are loud and whirring like waldteufels, but I hear a faint subterranean murmur and Sybylla surfaces. She has come to this man-made retention pond in our community she has told me to escape the toxic algea in our rivers and Gulf. Though I am in quarantine because I have had a Covid exposure I do not mask and keep a safe distance. Sybylla is veiled as she usually is. I scatter rose petals in the water as an offering to her, to all the goddesses ancient, and modern. Mother Mary, Ishtar, Gaia. Sybylla"s voice moves across the face of the waters, "You are the Holy Ones," she says. I put my palms together in a greetting of Namaste. I turn to go. I have soup to make. The Cook's Tarot--Page of Wands--Time to stir something up.  |
| Witches Night Walpugisnacht not in clock time we stalk old gods. Walpurgisnacht is the eve of May Day.. Traditionally witches are said to gather, celebrate, cast spells for health and prosperity. I will be celebrating virtually on Facebook tonight. This is a Than-Bauk poem. 3 lines of 4 syllables. The 3rd syllable of the 2nd line rhymes with the 4th syllable of the 1st line, and the 2nd syllable of 3rd line rhymes with the initial rhyme. It is a sublimely grey and stormy day as if Mother Earth is saying----Not yet time to open the beaches. Cook's Tarot--3 of Cups---Water is life. |
| The World is Your Oyster You only think you are alone. The world is full of oracles. Wings, stones, fin and fur dance together. 4 lines--25 syllables Pholarchos Tarot-21--World--All our dreaming has been aligning a new birth. |
| Believe VI I never call Sybylla, my veiled mermaid, directly. I wait till she approaches me. But tonight I am tired and broken and I go the pond and softly call her name. I want to scream but don't want to disturb the neighbors, or the bear that has been roaming our community and rummaging our trash cans. I have my rosary made of Job's tears and I pray and cry as silently as I can. I am crying for the dead caused by this virus, and for their loved ones. I am praying for the front-line doctors and nurses. I am crying for myself because I am selfish and scared. Sybylla says nothing. But she is singing, in a voice reaching to the farthest stars. "Ave Maria", she sings, "gratia plenar." Her voice encircles me, the neighbors, the wandering bear. A community of beings. She finishes and returns back to the depths of the pond. I finish my rosary, still silently weeping. I believe.... Pholarchos Tarot--20-Judgement--The eye of every species is on you now.   |
| Easter 2020 Easter is cancelled The wheel-of-the year continues to turn. I watch the sun rise, leave treats of seed for the rabbits and ducks. A retired minister walks our community blessing bread and wine left on our driveways. The roots of plants dig deeper seeking water that is harder to find. The Earth's ley lines bleed, tectonic seams shift. We ask: What's next? The sun shines. Pholarchos Tarot--19--Sun--Whatever you do in life, find your essence and be true to it. |
| Believe V It was just a day in April, but it is the night of the pink full moon. In Naples, the tababouia trees are blossoming with their golden flowers and, as always, the neon bougainvillea, splashy with amethyst and ruby blooms. As the full moon rises I go to the pond's edge, this man-made retention pond, and I am serenaded by frog song and bathed in the glow of reflected television light. I fall deeply into this night, in this time of pandemic, and think that Death is just a fall into the Great Night. Sybylla, my mermaid, my psychopomp surfaces. I am masked as she is veiled. She came to this pond to escape the Gulf's toxic algae and now there is this air-borne virus. She does not know if creatures like her are vulnerable to this new threat. She doesn't speak tonight but circles and circles, creating labyrinths within labyrinths on the water's surface. I enter the spirals and sense land mass changes through the ages and see teachers that work with the Other Side. How many turnings and patterns can I float in at once? Deep in my heart I hear and feel the pull of the sea. I place palm fronds at the water's edge, an homage to a deferred Palm Sunday. Sybylla lifts the fronds and swims back to the depths. May resurrection come to us all. The Cook's Tarot--18--We are our choices.   |
| Out Damn Spot Lady Macbeth's hands couldn't lave the ugly blood of an innocent. Can our useless hands scrub away the dank remains of kleptocracy? I didn't lick the stamp. Prompt: a historical or theatrical prop A chained haiku--sort of. |
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