Never say never

It has been another surreal week in the Reyaverse, strangely hot and humid after a cool, dry summer. I've had the weirdest dreams, such as: I woke up with the thought in my head that I was compost made mostly of orange peels and leaves. I mean seriously - I dreamed that? I did. I'm certain I've never had any dream image as weird.

Fun to think about, though, as I've taken my walks and snapped my pictures. Hmmm. I'm certain the orange peels are related to my experience in Paris. When people ask, "How was your trip to Paris?" and are expecting a short answer, I say, "Enriching." It surely was. Now that enrichment is ready to be placed around the roots of something or another. What do I want to grow? What seed will I nurture, come spring? Fun to contemplate.

I also dreamed I was living in England, and so happy about it. I even dreamed I was driving a U.K. car. I can remember how cool it was to change gears with my left hand. England has been much on my mind. When I need diversion, what I tilt towards almost always these days are British TV dramas. I've watched all the Endeavors twice, most of the Morse series, and I love Foyle's War. I started reading Winston Churchill's History of the English Speaking People, a four volume set. I wonder if I'll make it all the way through? He was very thorough! I'm enjoying it, thinking if we're in for another long, cold winter, it will be just the thing to get me through.

The dreams about being in England make sense because I've been daydreaming about a trip to that green and pleasant land. I said I would never travel again after I returned from Paris, didn't I? Oh I am such a hypocrite. Yes.

I would love to see London and of course see Steve Reed, a blog friend since the Stone Age of blogging and "real life" friend for many years, as well as my shaman buddy Elizabeth, who I met when I taught witch camp in Somerset County. I'm itching to feel Hampstead Heath underfoot again. It is such an untamed place. I also want to get out of London, go south and see Avebury again, drink a pint inside the circle, meet and greet the stones and the Longbarrow. I'd also like to see the coast, and have even - am I nuts? - imagined taking the Eurostar to Paris for one day - with Steve or someone.

London and Paris - twins

Also I'm going back to the mountains in Oregon for Thanksgiving. In fact all surviving siblings will be there. It will be an epic gathering. So what was I saying about never traveling again?

It's a good thing I've developed the practice of not taking myself too seriously, otherwise I could get into a big self blaming thing right now about wanting to travel after proclaiming just the opposite. Better to laugh at myself (I am so funny!) and return to my daydreams, yes? Why not?

For heaven's sake.

Happy Saturday, y'all. Shalom.

B Movie

Summer is officially over in DC. Almost everyone is back in town, the roar of traffic is almost as loud as the cicadas. It is September - except - all of a sudden we're in a little heat wave. After a blissfully cool summer of abundant rain, clean skies, dry air (which was really weird) now all of a sudden it's hot and humid like it was supposed to be a month ago.

It's September for sure. The angle of Brother Sun has changed dramatically in the last few weeks. But now - only now - are we getting typical summer weather. My body is so confused. I've solved that problem by way of a trip to the acupuncturist. Also I bought some super high quality tonic water. The gin I mix with it doesn't hurt either.

In the movie of my life, though I can remember far more traumatic years, I can't remember a year as surreal as 2014. It has been a B movie epic for me, no more, no less than that.

Every chapter has been bizarrely magnified. Simple tasks, such as buying a birthday cake, getting a new pair of glasses, humdrum events in the past, became epic stories. Weird!

Yes, I guess it had to snow on my birthday, a sleety, slushy snow that was no fun to walk in which is what stopped me from picking up the holy grail of birthday cakes from Baked and Wired in Georgetown, not to mention the cake slices from the Watergate Bakery on the day the health department shut them down.

The holy grail of eyeglasses was my plan to buy frames from Warby Parker, get a real eye exam from a doctor not as interested in the fashion of it, thereby being fashionable while still having top notch vision. I believed I could successfully buy a pair of glasses that didn't end up costing $1,000. (The lenses are always by far the most expensive part, should say.) It was my quest. Queue the music. Music sputters out.

I'm still wearing my old glasses. Yeah.

The longing to go to Paris was definitely a call to seek the holy grail. Paris was the holy of holies! Something important happened to me there that is bigger than the sum of the stories, though I did accumulate some very surreal stories indeed, such as the day I tried to go to Notre Dame and got spun around in the rain and the wind, totally lost even with my google maps, crossing back to the left bank no matter how hard I tried to go to the Marais. Finally I gave up, returned to the Hotel du Dragon where I lay in bed watching the Simpsons dubbed in French, and drank wine from the bottle.

That's a pretty funny story, especially the end. How about my soul retrieval at the Eiffel Tower? That was just like a B-movie, not elegant but lyrical nonetheless. Actually it was more like a student produced art film. The guy next to me was playing the theme to Titanic on one of those south American flutes, someone was renting time on his trampoline to passersby. There were other buskers about. That's why I felt no would notice me dancing around, rattling my glow-in-the-dark skull rattle, Eduardo. And then the sky cleared all of a sudden. Brother Sun was high above the tower. Sunlight streamed down the tower into me. A woman walked up and handed me a Euro.

A student produced art film, indeed.

This summer, too, has been surreal even though I have no dramatic stories to tell. I decided to abandon all ambitions for the duration of 2014, a wise decision I think. I've just been living out my life: seeing clients, walking around, taking pictures, cooking, hanging out with friends, going to the Matchbox bar, that sort of thing.

What was surreal this summer was the crazy cool, not humid summer. We had a Lake Tahoe summer with relatively dry air and highs in the 80s almost every day, lows in the 60s at night. That is unheard of here. It was a struggle not to take it for granted. It was surreal, a boring B-movie shot in lurid Technicolor.

Now it's September and hot, humid. Completely bizarre.

And the world seems aflame: Ebola, IS, Gaza, Ukraine, Ferguson, the children at the border, grisly beheadings, etc. Meanwhile, here on East Capitol Street, all is well. Today I'll walk, shoot pictures, sip a gin and tonic out on the terrace after I see clients. Then I'll cook a nutritious dinner and watch a British detective tv show. Peace is the prevailing energy at the chateau. The disconnect is bizarre.

2014: What a WEIRD year. I'm not complaining. I'm confused, also grateful for my good fortune in the midst of it.

Onwards to autumn. Shalom.

I nominated George Washington for the ice bucket challenge

Yesterday I remembered all of a sudden that back in the early 2000s, after 9/11 ... maybe 2003 or 2004? ... I offered the ice bucket challenge to George Washington. Yes, I did. It had nothing to do with ALS.

We were in the Iraqi/Afghanistani wars by then. I was still doing a lot of magic, especially at that time with the geometrical layout of DC. I was reading voraciously about our founding fathers, and the Masons.

I invoked the wisdom of the founding fathers all the time back then. Seems funny to remember since the founding fathers were a bunch of cantankerous, argumentative trouble makers. They had high ideals and were all, each in his own way, intractable. Why in the world was I invoking that? Now I can't remember - I think it came from a feeling of desperation.

During that period I spent a lot of time at the Lincoln Memorial, also the Washington Monument. I went down to Mount Vernon a number of times, stood at the new tomb to see if I could have a conversation with George. I never connected with the new tomb where he and Martha's bones are laid to rest. I was drawn, time and again, to the old tomb.

Washington's old tomb.

Attempts to have a conversation were fruitless. I sensed a presence but was unable to forge a connection back through time to it. In my mind, George and Martha were sleeping a little too peacefully. One day I climbed on top of the tomb, where I stood up and poured a liter of ice cold water from an Evian bottle on the top of the tomb. I held the bottle high so the water splashed and crashed. There were a few ice cubes too that hit the ground on top of the tomb with a thud. I was not asked to leave, which is even more surprising when I remember I was chanting WAKE UP, WAKE UP, WAKE UP!!

After that I got off the roof of the tomb and listened. My sense was of grogginess, thick, uncoordinated lips that can not articulate. You know how your eyes burn when you have to get up in the middle of the night to catch a plane or something? It felt like that. What I believe he was trying to say was, "Go away. I gave my sword to Congress. I was done then and I'm done now."

Well, ok then.

After the total disaster of trying to wake up George Washington, I decided to have a go with Lincoln. At the monument I couldn't get anywhere near close enough to his enormous statue to spill ice water on him. Besides, I wanted the ice water on his head. I briefly considered using a squirt gun but then I remembered how he died. That was the end of that.

I was going to pour ice water over the head of Thomas Jefferson's bust in the gift shop/restroom area underneath the memorial but as I gazed at his face and remembered how complicated he was, I thought better of the wake up call. May he rest in peace.

It wasn't the last time I would involve myself with the sudden collision of human head and ice water. In fact this slapstick performance art piece is something I used to great advantage when I was emerging from the world of witchery.  The effect I was going for is similar to what happens in movies when someone is hysterical or in some kind of doze, fainting after an injury or from hearing bad news. In the old black and white movies, someone else gives the hysterical person a sharp slap across the face. They immediately snap out of it. Slapping myself in the face did not appeal. I remembered that sometimes, in movies, drinks are tossed in faces. It always has the same sobering, awakening impact.

While I was extricating myself from my witchiness, I needed the bracing effect of icy beverages in my face, apparently. I wanted to wake up, and lighten up. Indeed a drink tossed in one's own face is funny. It was also sometimes sticky, depending on what I was drinking when I got in a mood to douse myself. I worked hard to become a Muggle, I surely did. Never quite got all the way there, but I'm close enough for jazz these days.

I remembered this yesterday, at the Washington Monument. Now I understand exactly why I have been so enthused about the ice bucket challenge, also why I've been insistent it's about much more than ALS. That an enormous number of people have suddenly begun doing what I was up to all those years ago is rather thrilling.

When I did the bucket challenge last week, this was my prayer:

May we awaken
May cooler heads prevail in 
Gaza, Israel, Ukraine, Russia, Iraq
May Ebola Hemorrhagic Fever subside
May we awaken
May I awaken

May the founding fathers rest in peace. Those of us still living? May we wake up! May it be so!

Get back to work, you.

Summertime and the livin' has been easy. So easy. What a summer. The weather has been great, my work schedule has been light, the streets have been empty. What a peaceful summer. I can't remember a summer this relaxed in a long, long time.

Of course all that will change after the big Labor Day weekend, coming right up. Every student who isn't already back at school will start in again, people will return from their holidays at the lakes, mountains, rivers and ocean beaches. Once the summer vacation stuff is back in the basement or attic, they will put on their suits and tilt into their work again.

When Congress goes back into session, I swear the ambient noise level across the entire city increases, as if there is a low-level static ongoing. It's like a huge underground turbine is switched on. I can feel the vibration and almost hear the low humdrum of the energy. My guess is I'm not the only one who can feel it.

I'm ready for the end of summer. Even a lovely, gentle summer, as this one has been, is not my favorite season. I have appreciated deeply the pleasures of this summer - and - I will bid it a fond farewell as soon as possible.

Some people live in the past. I live in the future. Onward and upwards.

Don't give up until you drink from the silver cup

At last, a fairly non blurry picture of Abbott Suger's chalice. Exciting. I've taken dozens of shots, with the "real" camera as well as the iPhone. At last I am becoming steady enough to focus on the cup itself, not the plastic box in which it is encased.

I love this thing! It is so old. And its history is colorful. Here's a link to an article about it. Time bestows magnificence, a good thing to remember as I grow old. You could make a copy of this, get it accurate to the last detail. You could recreate it with a 3-D printer. But it wouldn't feel the same.

The last time I was at the National Gallery, there were other people in the room where the chalice is displayed - an out of the way gallery that most of the hordes avoid. The girl in the photo below was as entranced with the holy grail as I am. We had one of those fabulous encounters in which we connected rather deeply for a few minutes, then parted company without the slightest desire or expectation we would ever see each other again. While we both looked at the cup, we oooo'd and ahhhhhh'd about its beauty, how old it is. Her family got bored and went into the next room, but she stayed. We kept smiling at each other in wonder.

I suggested she try to take a pic from above, because the stone cup itself is incredible. The way the museum has it displayed is great for seeing the light radiating from the cup, but you can't see inside from the top, unless you're a giant.

I've learned a lot while gazing at this cup. It came to me the last time I saw it that any cup can be the holy grail. It's not about the vessel. If you seek the holy grail, when you drink - even conceivably from a paper cup full of Starbuck's coffee - you may take a sip from the sacred chalice.

If you do not seek the grail, which by the way seems perfectly fine to me, you can drink your coffee and get on with your day. No problem!

I am a life long seeker of the grail. Just like in the story, I get distracted, side-tracked, lost. I surely do. Also there are many days when I really want only the most mundane experience of thirst quenching.

Some days I yearn for a sip of the holy - just a sip. Those who get drunk on divine energy never manage it well. When I need a sip these days, I become conscious of what's happening. I pick up my water glass or coffee mug or wine glass and take a delicious sip. I remember my interconnection with the biosphere of this beautiful planet, also with the mysteries that can not be explained or grasped while in this form.

Oh those sips from the holy grail. They are healing, quenching at a soul level. They lend perspective, bring calm, hope and peace to my heart, much needed right now with the world aflame, or so it seems if you listen to the news.

Last time I was at the National Gallery I imagined I could breathe love into Abbott Suger's chalice. It felt like my breath swirled into the cup and filled it, even overflowing a little bit, or so I imagined. My breath seemed full of stars. Please don't ask me to explain how I knew that.

Feeling calmish in the midst of madness in the world at the moment. This historical period feels just like the 60s. I'm finding ways to be with the energy without freaking out. I am grateful. Shalom.

Pyx in the form of a dove. Also French. In the room with the chalice.

The Path of Least Resistance

It has been a very quiet time in the Reyaverse of late. Once I calmed myself down - or - was calmed down by the heart and the chalice, I've not had a lot to write about. No news is good news!

The smoothest parts of 2014 so far have been the moments when I didn't try to accomplish anything significant. I have been seeing clients, cooking, walking, taking pictures, spending time with people I adore, running into neighbors and trading news, sleeping pretty well and having lots of dreams. This is the good life.

Summer in DC has been unlike anything I've ever experienced in my many years here. There have been a few hot days - not too hot, though, a few bad air days - but not too toxic. Mostly there has been abundant rain and cool, not too humid weather. We have had a Lake Tahoe summer in Washington DC. Will wonders never cease?

A spectacular summer, now drawing to a close. That's OK, too. I love fall!

One thing that has been on my mind is relationship, specifically how hard it is for me to figure out who my people are. I attempted, unsuccessfully, to mesh my energy with local spiritual communities last spring. I tried the very inclusive St. Mark's church, also went to the Hill Havurah seder, and briefly joined a group that meets to talk about God. None of these was a good fit. In fact when I sent the notice to the God group saying I didn't think it was a good fit for me, they couldn't wait to say BYE BYE GOOD LUCK. I think it was a relief for these nice Christian people to be rid of me and my heathen, shamanic ways. It kind of hurt my feelings, to be honest, but it was the right decision.

For now the local community of spirit idea has been placed once again on the back burner. It's OK.

Recently I was invited to join a group of massage therapists for happy hour. Oh man I am so not a happy hour kind of person. I sent out an email to the list of about 2 dozen people, fishing to see if any of them would like to meet to discuss the soul of healing, technique, and to share stories, seek support and feedback. I love being part of working groups. One person replied.

Alright. Never mind!

Next weekend I'm taking this class, about connecting with others. I will receive CEU credits for it, also I'm curious. When the words "life coach" show up anywhere I am cautious. That field is such a pyramid scheme! But if this class can help me tune my community antennae, that would be great. As the Mother Superior in the treatment room, I know exactly how to connect. I also have a wealth of good friends here and elsewhere with whom I can interact successfully, one to one. It's the group relationship I struggle with. I look forward to the class.

I'm going to take a long walk today, check out the chalice at the National Gallery. I will take pictures and seek refreshment. Tonight I'll cook a nice dinner and watch a movie.

The world is aflame but my personal life is smooth as silk. It's disconcerting and I am grateful!

Shalom.

In my cups

When the sheets come out of the dryer, I fold them and stack them in the closet.
There are no heart shaped items in the closet. Oh I love small miracles like this.

Beauty is curative. I took in a lot of beauty yesterday. Subsequently, I am much calmer. Thank you, God.

The pic above is of a sheet I put on the treatment table. I saw the heart, inadvertently folded into the sheet, just before my client arrived. What an encouraging sign for my client, a woman who has been through hell and high water. It didn't hurt me to notice this small miracle, either, considering how worked up I've been.

Later, I walked down to the National Gallery to look in particular at a medieval chalice. Here's a description of the cup. It is splendid and brought cheer to my anxious heart and mind. I saw it the other day but at the very end of a long wander through the galleries. I can only take in so much beauty at a time. I'd been staring at landscape paintings for almost an hour; by the time I saw the cup, I was overfull of visions. I couldn't take it in at that moment, even though the words, You have found the holy grail ran through my mind as I glanced at it. One should not turn one's back on the holy grail! So, I went back.

It's beautiful. The cup is carved from stone, was made around 100 B.C., maybe in Alexandria, Egypt. You can see the light shining through the stone in the top picture. A french abbott in the 12th century had his goldsmiths fashion the setting for the cup. My, my ... it is powerful, beautiful, and healing - and so old!

I'm sad no one drinks from this cup anymore. It's just there, in a plastic box. I would love to have a sip of wine from this cup. I surely would!

Hearts and cups; they're the same thing in the tarot. I believe some angel swooped in yesterday morning, applied a balm to my anxious heart, left a trace of it on the sheet, whispered in my ear, too, encouraged me to go take a few visual sips of that beautiful cup.

On my way home I walked through the Summerhouse on the grounds of the Capitol. The structure and the running water within generate a tremendous amount of healing energy.

Yes I get anxious, I always have. It's part of me. But it passes. And often I am guided in the direction of healing by mysterious ones who have my best interests at heart. Yesterday was a healing day. I am grateful!

The Summerhouse