Click to solve the mystery. :)

Jamie of JamieRidlerStudios asks "What Do You Wish To Know?" 

I stumbled across her Wednesday Wishcasting post in the early hours of the morning. The birds were singing, so you can imagine just how early those hours were. I have been having a bit of insomnia but I think it's due to something good percolating in the nether regions of my psyche. I'm thinking about doing a full blown journey to my own underworld in the very near future. My new space is almost finished (ish – it'll never be 'finished!') and once it is, much journeying and other such spiritual activities will be going on down there in my little cave-y den of art and delicious solitude. 

Where was I?

Right…so, early hours of this a.m. found me surfing aimlessly and watching YouTube videos, chair dancing to Adam Lambert (don't laugh) and really enjoying having the main floor all to myself. I hit Jamie's "Wishcasting" in my RSS Reader (Google Reader rocks) at about 4 a.m.and *almost* answered it right then and there. And then changed my mind about that because I was having *f.u.n* and I didn't want to stop the f.u.n to go all introspect-y. It's 4:17 p.m. as I type – almost twelve hours later – the house is full of the sound of rain (and Adam Lambert – shuddup!) and it's a perfect time for introspect-y!

Because I said so!

So…

What Do I Wish To Know?

I know the answer because it's been on my mind for days and days (weeks, even) and I while I wouldn't say I've been struggling with it, I have certainly been doing some kind of hot tango with it in my attempts to seduce an answer out of my recalcitrant subconscious. 

My morning pages are filled with this question lately:

Hello, various selves! Please tell me this: Who are we? I mean, really? What is it we are supposed to be doing with this one wild and precious life we've got here on this planet, in this time, in this succulent fleshly body? What is supposed to happen next? Hello? Selves? Are you there? *Taps fingers on arm of chair*

I wish to know who I am, really. Not the labels I apply liberally (mother, pagan (ish), mystic, poet (ish), writer (ish), artsy fartsy so and so, mystic, seeker) but the essential self. The self that watches all the other selves with tenderness and compassion and wisdom. Who is that? What does *she* want to do with this life of ours?

I intend to spend as much time as I need to figure it out. At 41, it is time. Time to shuck the husk of what I think I'm supposed to be and get to the juicy kernels of who really lives in this skin. 

Gawd. Terrible metaphor. Time to stop typing now. :D

Earlier this month, Deepak Chopra appeared as a featured guest on our virtual seminar, The Evolutionary Worldview. Speaking with EnlightenNext founder Andrew Cohen about what it takes to be a true evolutionary leader, Chopra challenged our thousands of listeners from around the world to answer four questions about their visions for the future:

via magazine.enlightennext.org

Remind me to do this…:)

I recently decided to incorporate a one card tarot draw into my morning routine, which includes morning pages and meditation, and because my inner voices tend to have a negative slant and interpret everything catastrophically (thank you shitty childhood for that lovely holdover), I use a very gentle and lovely book to assist me in turning my readings toward the lighter side of things. 

It's called "Tarot: Mirror of the Soul and it's by Gerd Ziegler. Some people complain that it doesn't go 'deep enough' into the Thoth tarot, which is the focus deck for this book. I use it with the commorative edition of the Waite Smith deck that was released recently and it works just fine for me. The card meanings as described by Mr. Ziegler have a positive slant, and there are suggestions, questions and affirmations provided. This allows me to go much deeper with the cards than I normally would. The affirmations stand in for mantras these days. I used to have catch phrases that operated kind of like mantras, and they would change as my process changed. For a long time, my mantra was "be here now". Then it was "what is beautiful today?" Recently I've noticed that without an affirmation or catchphrase of some kind, nasty voices take over and have their way with me, my mood, and my entire day. 

The affirmations are wonderful. They're simple, easy to remember, and tailored to the energetic quality of the day. I pulled the page of swords this morning, which is about rebellion for the sake of clarity and truth – something I'm definitely engaged in at the moment. The affirmation was perfect and helped me get through the work of creating the artsy side of my new room. I was balking at the thought of spending actual money on making the space workable for me, and I had to very purposefully and willfully rebel against the old tape that said "You shouldn't want things. You shouldn't have things. You don't deserve it."

The idea of destroying the holy altars of old ideas in order to make new altars to truth and clarity is a powerful one for me, especially as I go through the process of creating what amounts to an altar dedicated to my own self-worth. Creating sacred and playful space is as spiritual an act as I've ever engaged in, and without the use of mantra-like affirmations, I would probably fail to follow through.

What about you? Do you have mantras that you use regularly? How do you feel about mantras? Click here to play at Sunday Scribblings along with me. :)

Love to all,

Fey

P.S. Dear Universe,

I am beyond thrilled with the banquet table I picked up for $60 today. It's six feet long, and perfect for what I'm going to use it for. I'm also grateful for the pretty new lamp, the pine shelving, and the bowl of Hershey's Kisses I have sitting on my new table. The lovely little wireless fountains are perfect even the Hubs thinks they're kitschy! I love them and they make my space feel that much more like *my* space! The electric kettle and selection of teas was an inspired idea that I know came straight from you, so thank you, thank you, thank you! I realize now that there's not enough room for a daybed, so please cancel that request? You rock, Universe. You truly do.

I've been doing The Artist's Way lately – I mentioned that in my last blog, I think – and one of the things that keeps coming up is how desperately I want space of my own. As it stands, I spend a lot of time in the dining room, since that's where my computer lives. If I want to do art journaling or outright art, I have to take over the dining room table – which isn't bad in and of itself! No one really minds! But, I feel obligated to the rest of the family to clear the space up immediately after I'm finished using it – or even before, if dinner time rolls around. What this means is that I often resist doing something artsy because it's a pain in the ass to put everything away. And it's a pain in the ass to put everything away because I have several pockets of stuff scattered around the house. Painting stuff over here. Beading stuff over there. Journaling stuff in the next room. You get the picture. 

If I had my own space, I wouldn't have to worry about clearing everything away before people get home from work/school or leaving out really private art journal pages to dry after applying gel medium, or making room at the table for eating purposes. If I had my own space, I'd meditate more often. I'd do ritual more often. I'd have a place to go when the sound of various video games overwhelm me. 

Hell, I might even use my treadmill if I liked the space it was living in.

So, today I spent ten hours doing this:

BEFORE

AFTER

Squee!

I can't properly express to you just how long in coming this transformation has been. When my eldest kid moved out in January, I started to think about it. I thought it would be great, but also, it would be selfish. Sure, the youngest has a room of his own, but the Hubs doesn't. He shares our bedroom with me, and like me, he's stuck in the dining room where his computer lives. All space in this house is shared space. What gives me the right to private space of my own?

Well, how about the fact that I really *need* private space of my own? And the fact that the Hubs really doesn't mind. At all. In fact, he's stoked for me that I've made this desire of mine a reality. He's also thrilled that the basement got cleaned as a result! 

So, no. Not selfish. Self-loving. Self-nurturing. This space is the greatest gift I've *ever* given myself, and since it's space that other members of my household could have claimed, I feel like they've given it to me as well.

It's not the greatest space ever created. It's damp (must get a dehumidifier!). It's a bit leaky when it rains (must get sealant!). It's in the basement, which is freezing cold in the winter (must get a space heater/franklin stove!). It was totally trashed by the elder kidlet, so it has holes in the walls and missing ceiling tiles and filth ground in to the concrete floors. And hey, it has concrete floors!

But…

Ten hours after girding my loins, buying a bunch of heavy-duty cleaning supplies, and going in with a fiercely determined spirit, that once depressing and awful space started to look livable. More than livable. Delightful. 

I'm delighted!

Half the room is as good as it's going to get until we fix the walls and ceiling. It's got sarongs all over the walls standing in for wall hangings. It's got a comfy chair with new pillows, a home for my iPod dock, and lots of storage space for all my various projects. It's got an area rug so I can meditate, do trance posture work, and hell! Dance! I can DANCE down there in peace and quiet with no one to laugh at me (~evil children~)! I'm calling that half my 'meditation and writing space'. It has twinkling multicoloured lights in it. It has a Vanilla and Lavender scent (thank you, Glade!). It has music and a fan and *peace and quiet*.

The other half of the room is completely bare save for my treadmill. I intend to turn that into art space. I'll be putting a day bed in there for napping (and so the girl kidlet can sleep in a pretty room when she's here on weekends instead of bunking with her very messy brother), a huge table, lots of shelves, and some good lighting. The two spaces are separated by a bookshelf that I intend to paint and fill with the books I own that matter. I intend to move all my kitschy crap down, my altars (I have one for general work and one for Sisterhood work), my art supplies, my bulletin board…

The main floor will look a little less like a craft store and an occult shop got together, partied and threw up all over the place. I count this as a very good thing. :)

So….

Yay! 

I finally have a room of my own.

Maybe I'll actually write something now?

Love to all,

Fey

P.S. I am putting the Universe on notice that I wish for the following things for my new room:

~Dry wall (at some future point – walls and ceiling)
~Heat source. Electric heater for this coming winter. Franklin stove in future?
~More area rugs to cover the concrete floor. (four or five – used is great!)
~Shelving – lots. That rough pine type would be *perfect* (done!)
~Lighting – desk lamps would be fine & also white twinkly lights to string around the room
~Silk plants – at least one tree type and a few others. 
~A huge table. Utility type would be fine. Something I can get paint on (done!)
~A good chair to sit in while doing artsy fartsy stuff
~An ottoman – preferably with storage. Smallish in size
~Folding privacy screen – I like the kind that has picture frames in it, but any kind will do
~Day bed! Must have comfy place to nap!! (retracted – there is not enough room in there for a daybed, alas!)

Dear Universe, that's about it for now. I'll be in touch as things come up. :)

 I love the weekend. 

It's a beautiful day here in Feithland. The sky is blue. It's just the right temperature. I have nothing planned but puttering around with art supplies. I woke up late (slept 'till just after 11), which was blissful, and despite some work-out induced stiffness (thank you Biggest Loser DVD), I'm feeling fine.

The quit goes ahead full steam. So far, I have not managed to stay quit on the weekends. I'll not smoke one cigarette all week, but weekends are a weird animal for me. They whisper "have a smoke" and then, when I don't comply, they scream. I've learned that my real addiction to the stuff is not physical (as in, I can go without nicotine altogether) but psychological (certain triggers, habitual smoking, oral fulfillment – which sounds dirty, but it's not! I swear!). Since this journey began, I've gained ten pounds despite eating fairly well (fairly meaning I occasionally scarf down an entire round of brie in desperation) but progress is being made. That's good enough for me. (Just thought those of you who are rooting for me deserved an update!)

I'm doing The Artist's Way again. Week two finds me giggling over glitter and glue. I'm not so much interested in writing these days, but I'm crazy over art journaling and have started to dip my toes into multimedia stuff, too. I'll never be an 'artist' perse, but I am creative, and I love having ways to express that – ways that don't result in my dissolving into a puddle of frustrated tears because I can't find just the right word…

It's been a long break. I write for school now, and pretty much only for school. I'm discovering a talent for the very writing I used to fear the most – essays. I can write essays like nobodies business. Not only can I write them, but they're easy for me. This came as a huge surprise – one I'm delighted by.

This post has zero purpose except to tell you all I'm alive and still working on quitting smoking, doing The Artist's Way and getting messy with paint and glitter and such. I hope you're all having a beautiful weekend!

Love to you and yours!

Fey

We are off to the beach!

One of our favourite ways to party in this family is around a fire with marshmallows and meat on a stick of some variety. We've passed this on to the Kidlet, who is having his annual 'friends + fire + food' celebration of his birthday. In preparation, the yard got mowed and cleaned up a bit, which makes me happy. We're about to head out to pick up everything we need so Kidlet can entertain. He turned 17 on the 13th of May. This is the third celebration we've hosted here in honour of his birthday in the last two weeks. *laffs* 

Tomorrow, we are heading out to Long Point to celebrate May 2-4. We will not be bringing beer, but may, upon arrival home, have beer and a fire (because that's how we party!). We will be bringing egg & tuna salad sandwiches, bottled water, cheese and fruit, and, as is our usual tradition, an enormous watermelon. I'll probably make the sandwiches tonight so we can leave early tomorrow.I'm really sad that the dogs can't come with us. The puppies have become such a part of my daily life that I feel like I'm missing a limb when they're not around.

UPDATE

Just unpacked all the groceries. Found cute beach towels with built in pillows for tomorrow. I'm about to relax with a beer in hand. I hope you have a beautiful long weekend. <3

I have identified as ‘pagan’ for a very, very long time. So long, that it became something I didn’t think much about. I just assumed that whatever direction I grew in, it would have a pagan flavour. I am currently enrolled in an apprenticeship with Christopher Penczak (level 1) that is challenging and fun. I’m a member of the Sisterhood of Avalon, and the work involved in that is very intense and frankly, awesome, and I am finishing up my bardic grade in OBOD. Witchcraft, Avalonian mysteries, druidry. Yup. All pagan. All right up my alley.

Sort of.

The sort of is where my present identity crisis comes from. The truth I’m noticing lately is that while I love studying this stuff, and while I enjoy having beautiful altars, and marking the passage of the seasons, I have a problem with matters of belief. I don’t really believe in magick, and aside from devotional work that involves acknowledging my part in the flow and co-creation of my life, I don’t do any – unless my studies require me to. I don’t really believe in the Gods, perse, except as psychological constructs that are handy when trying to assign credit (or blame) in ways I find kind of self-abandoning (which is something I say with great trepidation, not because I’m worried about how the ‘gods’ will react, but because I’m not in the mood to be flamed for what I’m thinking and feeling, and some pagans are no less guilty of damning the nonbeliever as any other religious believer is.) I don’t have a matron or patron deity. I don’t feel I really need one. I actively dislike a lot of the pagan community these days for a variety of reasons I won’t go into here. The best pagans, I’ve found, are the solitary or quiet ones. Or the shaky ones who aren’t sure of anything, but like dancing to drums and lighting candles. Them, I grok. The zealous lot who absolutely know for certain that their way is the right way? I don’t grok them. I don’t get how they are any better than zealots of any religious stripe. In fact, considering that every damned thing pagan under the sun is a haphazard reconstruction of something that *might* have been practiced by ancient ancestors, but that has been, for the most part, *invented*, I find way too much dogma in paganism these days, and it has left an extremely bad taste in my mouth.

I am sick of paganism.

There. I said it.

I am sick of the promise of inclusivity that gets broken time after time when someone claims that you have to be of this lineage or that you have to be doing it this way, or believe in this particular article of faith, or you are not *really pagan*. I am sick of the dysfunction that gets swept under the rug because we are all supposed to be better than *insert religion we’re sneering at today here*. I’m sick of those who use paganism as a crutch or an escape route. I’m sick of people who swear up and down that they can levitate or otherwise break the laws of physics. I’m sick of people who claim to have been initiated by their great grandmother, who then go on to share something out of Scott Cunningham’s books and claim it’s from the Real Olde Bok Magical of Yore. I’m sick of women who say that they are being beaten because of some past life karma they need to work out with their partners. I’m sick of people who play the victim because they are being persecuted for their Wiccian (sic) beliefs. I’m sick to death of the whole fucking thing.

I want out.

I want to forget I ever identified as pagan. I want to go back to the late eighties when I discovered paganism and snort derisively and opt for atheism or Sufism or hell, Catholicism! instead.

But there’s a problem. I have the God gene. I believe there’s something to all of it. ALL of it. Every damned thing humans believe in has some thread of golden truth running through it, and I can’t abandon that belief. It insists. It lives and breathes in me as certainly as I live and breathe. I am a believer.

I’m just not sure what, exactly, I believe in beyond “Something benevolent and true and loving and wonderful that really couldn’t give a rats ass what I call it or how often I call upon it or in what season or at what time of the month or with what colour candle or what incense.”

Yeah, that.

So, I think this makes me a generic and boring mystic of some ineffable description, I guess. And that’s going to have to be good enough for now. I don’t personally feel that my apprenticeship or my membership in the Sisterhood or even my bardic grade need to be abandoned over this. I’m, in fact, absolutely certain that I should absolutely *not* abandon anything I’m doing right now. I should continue. I should continue seeking. I should continue loving witchcraft and druidry and Avalonian mysteries and all the things that turn my crank and make me happy. Because when I relax and have fun with these things, I am happy. When, however, I am all serious and studious and invested in community and trying hard to be a Good Pagan, I am miserable. Because I’m not really convinced that any of these paths are right for me, and until I know for sure, I am not going to let them go. Why should I?

It’s a crisis of sorts, but it’s exciting, isn’t it? I don’t know jack shit about anything, and I’m willing to find out what really works for me in a fundamental way without thinking for a second that I already know. I don’t know. I don’t know!!! I love not knowing because there is so much room to find out.

*Nods Emphatically*

I have identified as 'pagan' for a very, very long time. So long, that it became something I didn't think much about. I just assumed that whatever direction I grew in, it would have a pagan flavour. I am currently enrolled in an apprenticeship with Christopher Penczak (level 1) that is challenging and fun. I'm a member of the Sisterhood of Avalon, and the work involved in that is very intense and frankly, awesome, and I am finishing up my bardic grade in OBOD. Witchcraft, Avalonian mysteries, druidry. Yup. All pagan. All right up my alley.

Sort of.

The sort of is where my present identity crisis comes from. The truth I'm noticing lately is that while I love studying this stuff, and while I enjoy having beautiful altars, and marking the passage of the seasons, I have a problem with matters of belief. I don't really believe in magick, and aside from devotional work that involves acknowledging my part in the flow and co-creation of my life, I don't do any – unless my studies require me to. I don't really believe in the Gods, perse, except as psychological constructs that are handy when trying to assign credit (or blame) in ways I find kind of self-abandoning (which is something I say with great trepidation, not because I'm worried about how the 'gods' will react, but because I'm not in the mood to be flamed for what I'm thinking and feeling, and some pagans are no less guilty of damning the nonbeliever as any other religious believer is.) I don't have a matron or patron deity. I don't feel I really need one. I actively dislike a lot of the pagan community these days for a variety of reasons I won't go into here. The best pagans, I've found, are the solitary or quiet ones. Or the shaky ones who aren't sure of anything, but like dancing to drums and lighting candles. Them, I grok. The zealous lot who absolutely know for certain that their way is the right way? I don't grok them. I don't get how they are any better than zealots of any religious stripe. In fact, considering that every damned thing pagan under the sun is a haphazard reconstruction of something that *might* have been practiced by ancient ancestors, but that has been, for the most part, *invented*, I find way too much dogma in paganism these days, and it has left an extremely bad taste in my mouth.

I am sick of paganism. 

There. I said it.

I am sick of the promise of inclusivity that gets broken time after time when someone claims that you have to be of this lineage or that you have to be doing it this way, or believe in this particular article of faith, or you are not *really pagan*. I am sick of the dysfunction that gets swept under the rug because we are all supposed to be better than *insert religion we're sneering at today here*. I'm sick of those who use paganism as a crutch or an escape route. I'm sick of people who swear up and down that they can levitate or otherwise break the laws of physics. I'm sick of people who claim to have been initiated by their great grandmother, who then go on to share something out of Scott Cunningham's books and claim it's from the Real Olde Bok Magical of Yore. I'm sick of women who say that they are being beaten because of some past life karma they need to work out with their partners. I'm sick of people who play the victim because they are being persecuted for their Wiccian (sic) beliefs. I'm sick to death of the whole fucking thing.

I want out. 

I want to forget I ever identified as pagan. I want to go back to the late eighties when I discovered paganism and snort derisively and opt for atheism or Sufism or hell, Catholicism! instead.

But there's a problem. I have the God gene. I believe there's something to all of it. ALL of it. Every damned thing humans believe in has some thread of golden truth running through it, and I can't abandon that belief. It insists. It lives and breathes in me as certainly as I live and breathe. I am a believer.

I'm just not sure what, exactly, I believe in beyond "Something benevolent and true and loving and wonderful that really couldn't give a rats ass what I call it or how often I call upon it or in what season or at what time of the month or with what colour candle or what incense."

Yeah, that.

So, I think this makes me a generic and boring mystic of some ineffable description, I guess. And that's going to have to be good enough for now. I don't personally feel that my apprenticeship or my membership in the Sisterhood or even my bardic grade need to be abandoned over this. I'm, in fact, absolutely certain that I should absolutely *not* abandon anything I'm doing right now. I should continue. I should continue seeking. I should continue loving witchcraft and druidry and Avalonian mysteries and all the things that turn my crank and make me happy. Because when I relax and have fun with these things, I am happy. When, however, I am all serious and studious and invested in community and trying hard to be a Good Pagan, I am miserable. Because I'm not really convinced that any of these paths are right for me, and until I know for sure, I am not going to let them go. Why should I? 

It's a crisis of sorts, but it's exciting, isn't it? I don't know jack shit about anything, and I'm willing to find out what really works for me in a fundamental way without thinking for a second that I already know. I don't know. I don't know!!! I love not knowing because there is so much room to find out.

*Nods Emphatically*

This attempt at quitting smoking is attempt number  bazillion and one in my very long history of smoking.I have what they call in the medical parlance a "20 plus pack year history" which means my lungs are fried and I'm well on my way to dead. Also, lung disease. And wrinkles. And stinking to high heaven and being slave to a craving that LIES and tells me I'll feel better if I just have one puff.

So, this is day three, and I feel hella strong in a way I do not remember feeling before. I feel like I could wander around the planet with a wad of cash and walk through crowds of puffing people without caving in. I feel like I have kicked the living shit out of this addiction because I really really want to live. And, hello. iPhone if I quit for 30 days. 

Hell yeah.

I'm not kidding myself, however. I have gone two months without smoking only to pick up a pack and burn them down in an evening. It isn't easy, what I'm proposing here. I can't think about any day but this one day in front of me or I panic, and I start to wonder how I will ever live without EVER EVER SMOKING AGAIN IN MY LIFE OMG I CAN'T POSSIBLY DO THIS CAN I HAVE A SMOKE NOW PLEASE?

So, we're not thinking in those terms. We're thinking today, we are not smoking and it feels good. Tomorrow might be a different story, but today? Today we are stronger than the nicotine and we do not even want to smoke.

*Nods Emphatically*

We want chocolate though. Just saying. Perfection is not attainable so why even try? ;)