Tag Archives: Empty Next

This is My Beginning

I've Got the Magic In MeI woke up feeling magic all around me today. It’s as if my body opened up to take in all of the mystical energy I know is buzzing around me every minute, but that I can’t always feel. Maybe a better imagery is that of my body dissolving and melding into the magic until there is no physical boundary—I am the magic. I love when this happens.

Usually when this sense strikes I am out and about in nature, walking through the woods, wading in a stream or looking up into a black sky studded with stars that dance round Luna in her many phases.

Waking to the magic of nature, indoors, with no preparation or intent was a surprise. Perhaps it was the particular angle of the sunlight peeking into my room, the gust of wind that brought a rain of swirling, autumn leaves past my window, and the utter stillness of the house.

I padded outside to the deck in my robe and slippers. All but the last of the leaves have fallen, laying a carpet of red and gold over the land; they are quickly turning brown. The southwest wind blew across my skin. Warm for November, it is pushing winter’s chilling bite further north than my borderland realm.

I wanted to stay outside. It was warm enough, tucked up into a corner of the deck with the direct rays of the sun beating against the siding, but the magic was calling me back to the house. I returned inside, started my morning coffee to brew, and went to the box where I keep my tarot cards while I waited.

It’s been a while since I’ve used my deck so I wasn’t expecting much. I decided to just shuffle the cards, recharging them with the energy of the movement. I didn’t plan to do a reading, I was sitting in my easy chair with only my lap for a surface.

I’ll turn just one card, I thought, or maybe a simple three-card spread.

The cards practically turned themselves and in seconds I had a full ten-card reading, squished together and overlapping. The guidance from the cards was almost immediately clear to me—again a sensation of the cards and myself being one and the same. I knew, without question the meaning of the magic I’d felt, why I awoke with a sense that something was different, something big was happening. I’d gone to sleep and the world, my world at least, changed overnight.

I had to think what the date was. I’ve been a bit busy and wondered if I’d missed Hecate’s night, but no, I have eight more moon rises—a time that will mark the transition from waning to waxing with the dark moon right in the center. It was beginning to make sense.

Hecate is the Goddess of the crossroads, giver of life and death, protectress of everything newly born, seer into the past, present and future. Hecate reminds us that change is constant. She helps us to release the past, and with her torch she lights the way into the dark unknown of new beginnings.

I have too long nursed resentment and wished for the fates to dispense justice, but my justice is in my own hands. It’s time to stop letting others reopen my wound, believing that they will feel the depth of the cut and have pity or take up my cause. It’s time for me to stop mourning the life that was taken from me and start living the life I’ve been given. It’s time to stop carrying the burden of regret, time to bury my victimhood.

I am where I am supposed to be in this life, how I got here is secondary to what I will do from this point forward. This is my beginning.


This Is What I Want, What I Really, Really Want

Here we are, creeping up on a full week in January already and I have not yet made a single resolution for the new year. I’ve thought of plenty, mind you—lofty, idealistic goals stirred up by the bold declarations of those answering the call of self-improvement and good deeds. It’s a contagion, I tell you, one I do my best to ward off.

It’s sort of the same for me as Black Friday—everybody in a panic, crushing into the stores, snatching up bargains all in lather, sacrificing Christmas spirit to the idle worship of the solid gold beast that is consumerism. I like to wait until the fever pitch cools, the excitement dwindles and the competition all goes home. I’m good with paying a few dollars more to avoid the triathlon of jogging in place at 3-a.m. to keep warm while waiting for the store to open, sprinting through the aisles, and then playing tug of war over the last Samsung Galaxy SII 4G—which will be obsolete before I can wrap it and tuck it under the tree.

With resolutions it’s not as much a competition as it is joining in the fray, tossing your intentions into the ring to see whose lasts the longest. I’d rather sit back and watch the perennial, early contenders—exercise more, eat less, get in shape, lose weight—all going down for the count.

It’s never wise to be rash about these things. Setting goals is a careful consideration, best based in reality—the reality that the harder they are, the less likely you will succeed.

Well that’s just wonderful advice coming from a midlife mentor isn’t it? Harsh even. Here’s the thing, if you start out working toward what you want, instead of setting goals for what you should be doing, the chance of success is way better—and you might just get a bonus to boot.

I don’t want to give up sugar, chocolate, wine or delicious fatty foods like cheesecake and maple nut ice cream. But I do want to feel better, and feeling better means eating more whole fruits and vegetables, drinking two liters of water, and getting my butt out of the chair for a walk in the brisk air every day. When I do those things consistently I feel better—physically and emotionally. Success!

I also have fewer cravings, and when I do indulge in chocolate, cheesecake, ice cream, cookies, potato chips, French fries . . . some body stop me!  When I do eat those taste-tempting treats, I’m satisfied with smaller portions because I’ve filled up on wholesome, fresh foods.

I also want to write more of what I want to write and less of what I think I need to write to get paid. If I write what I like to read and enough other people like to read it too, maybe there will be some money in it down the road. If nobody likes it but me I’ll still have enjoyed writing it.

I want to treat myself well—really well. I’ve done it for other people for most of my life, and I don’t regret it nor will I quit doing it, but I’m ready to stop denying my own special treatment of myself.

I want to worry less. I think that one is going to take some practice, or training in meditation, or maybe drugs. Whatever, it’s something I want so I think I can achieve it.

Finally, I would like to avoid selfish, negative, aggressive, ignorant people, but short of becoming a hermit (yes, I know that’s not a long walk for me), I don’t think I have much chance of success there. So I will say instead that I want to deflect the energy of selfishness, aggression and ignorance with my own super power cloaking shield.

Okay, that one might be a little unrealistic.


All Work and No Play Is Just Too Exhausting

Yesterday I attended what is popularly known as a Psychic Fair. There were a lot of psychics there. Also several, very talented artisans offering hand crafted jewelry, clothing and accessories. I chatted with vendors over crystals and gemstones, herbals and essential oils, organic honey and beeswax, and singing bowls.

Today marks the midpoint of National Novel Writers Month, or NaNoWriMo. Before midnight, I should have 25,000 words of 50k for the first draft of my novel completed if I’m going to stay on par. I’m a bit behind, and I have two deadlines coming up on freelance pieces; the freelance work takes priority because it brings in the checks. More so, I’ve made a commitment to the editors. I have never left an editor hanging, and I never will – short of my own flat-line being the cause.

It didn’t make sense to take the day off to meet up with a bunch of girlfriends, talk off things metaphysical, sit in on some interesting mini-seminars and shop.

Or did it?

The day before, I struggled with the chapter I was working on, though struggle doesn’t seem to convey the experience. It was more liked I’d spent the day wrestling with a much younger, much stronger opponent, fighting for the pin. I was exhausted, I ached, my eyes burned and my brain hurt, but I wasn’t going to shut my computer off until I’d finished the chapter and at least gotten close to the word count for the day.

I went to sleep, trying to work out plot turns in my head. I didn’t sleep very well. I didn’t resolve any of my novels scenes either, so that was a waste. I remember thinking I needed a good neck and shoulder massage.

Well, what do you know? At the psychic fair a local mind and body wellness center was offering chair massages at a bargain. I signed up for fifteen minutes. The second the practitioner laid hands on my shoulder blades, I felt the heat penetrating through the light vest and shirt I was wearing. I thought maybe he’d warmed them first, but the heat lasted through the entire massage and it wasn’t just a surface warmth; I could feel it, like a pleasant electric charge, going deep into my muscles. It was the best massage I’ve ever had and maybe the most needed. I felt lightened, unburdened, when I walked away.

Usually I buy handfuls of crystals and gemstone when I go to these fairs. Sometimes I buy jewelry. I bought my singing bowl at a similar fair five years ago. I have never purchased clothing, and if I did, I’d expect it would be some  renaissance wear like a cape or puffy blouse.

This time, I bought a pair of socks. I paid more than three times for this single pair of socks than I have paid for any socks ever to warm my feet. And that was the point. Two days earlier, I’d told my husband I had to find a pair of soft, thick wool socks to wear with my slipper clogs to keep my feet warm in the studio (the floor is always so cold).

It occurs to me now, that the two things I asked the universe for were put before me yesterday. Say what you will about psychic fairs, metaphysical mysteries and the unknown workings of the universe. I’m sitting here today with relaxed shoulders and warm feet.

I also have a rested body and brain, ready to bring my word count up to par and reach the halfway point of a completed novel (first draft) written in one month. So while wasting the day when I should have been writing maybe didn’t seem like such a good plan, it was what I needed after all.

All work and no play is just too exhausting these days.

. mid Get a  ^  life!

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