Toxic Algae

As summer was winding down, large signs appeared at the nearby lake where I walk most mornings..."Caution: Toxic Algae May Be Present." The sign went on to urge us to not drink the lake water and to protect children, pets and ourselves from contact with it. 

I'm no scientist, and so have only a vague understanding of how toxic algae might take over a lake. I surmise it's some combination of environmental pollution and warmer than normal temps that together corrupt the inherent balance an ecosystem needs to maintain optimal health. Regardless of the specific details, I saw immediately a perfect metaphor for our times, as well as the germ of a future column. Well, future has become present as it is wont to do, and the column originally conceived three months ago has landed before you this day. 

Things have certainly heated up in the larger cultural climate, and we are exposed daily to that which is harmful to the human psyche and to our communities. Figurative toxic algae are running rampant in our shared waters. As we all know, this is not a good situation. To apply the famous phrase coined in the mid~sixties by artist, anti~war activist and young mother Lorraine Schneider, our shared emotional weather "is not good for children and other living things." 

Venom has been given unfettered passage into our world, and as a result we seem to be in reactive, rather than proactive mode. Just as in the small, sweet body of water that orients me to my day, balance has been lost. Children and other living things demand that we find it once again. And yet that wording is off. We will not find balance. It is not hiding under the sofa or lost in the clutter of that closet or storage unit we've never gotten around to cleaning out. No, we must actively create balance. 

But how? The lake signs give us clear guidance. 

As already noted, they urge us to avoid contact with toxicity when possible. A no~brainer, right? We certainly need to keep ourselves informed of the greater goings~on in our country and the world, but we must also set appropriate limits on what and how much we allow into our lives. 

Several years ago, I heard Thich Nhat Hanh's teachings on the Buddha's Fifth Precept. Though it traveled down the centuries to us as "refrain from intoxicants", Hanh and others have expanded it to include refraining from imbibing anything that is harmful. This includes not just substances that "cloud the mind," but those intangible ones that dim the spirit. Buddhism urges us toward "mindful consumption" in all areas, including being quite conscious of what we allow into our experience. However, we cannot go through life ever vigilant. The drinking of this water cannot always be avoided. What then? 

Again the lake signs offer assistance. "If exposed," they tell us, "shower immediately." Sound advice, though it requires some work from us when applied to cultural toxins. Though it will be different for each of us according to temperament and spiritual beliefs, we must find ways to wash ourselves clean of harmful influences. Whether through meditation or prayer, physical exercise to release the pent~up and chronic stress, or by engaging our creativity to visualize and welcome the healing we need, when toxins have infiltrated our barriers, we must indeed 'shower immediately'. 

Refraining from drinking toxins and cleansing when we do are only the first steps. We next need to reorient ourselves to the good, consciously imbibing what is wholesome. We must bring ourselves back into harmony with that which is life~enhancing and life~sustaining. 

The toxicity we now see played out before us shows us something about ourselves as a species. In the jargon of the sixties, it demonstrates that humanity is too often vibrating at a low frequency. The cure for low vibration is to raise that vibration in whatever way we can. As Gandhi tells us, we need to be the change we want to see in the world. If we don't like hate, we must not hate. If we want love to grow, we must ourselves love, even when~~especially when~~it is difficult. 

But there is more. Gandhi was not content to watch from the sidelines as injustice played out. Thich Nhat Hahn enacted an Engaged Buddhism in his war~torn homeland. Dr. King and other civil rights leaders dedicated their lives to the cause of securing basic human rights. As the civil liberties of women and marginalized groups continue to be eroded, as the rich gain even more wealth and the poor, working and middle classes remain pitted against one another, and as climate change accelerates, we may have no choice but to act in the larger arena. 

Perhaps that will be so, perhaps not. Our responses will be as varied as we are. Whatever we do, though, we must do from a place of love. We must commit to raising our own vibration and to following the guidance of our better angels first and foremost. When we feel hopelessness or a crazed rage, we merely fuel trouble. As Einstein famously put it, "We can't solve problems by using the same kind of thinking we used when we created them." Healing simply does not occur that way. 

Change begins at home. It starts in our spirits, and expands from there into every thought we create, each action we undertake, and every interaction we participate in, whether it seems significant or not. 

Each one of us has a part to play if our cultural ecosystem is to return to optimal health. It is time now to play that part quite consciously, to step forward wholly, to say "Yes!" to this moment that is upon us and to this opportunity that has been given us. 

Let us play true and bright, full of clear intention. And may we love. Always, may we love.

💖

Leia

It's happening once again. I woke to the coldest temperatures in months, and I needed to break out the gloves and fleece headband for my early morning walk around the lake. The path under my feet wound its way through terrain that looked much different than it did in April. Gone were the bright, fresh greens of new life just making its way into the world. The tall grasses were now primarily a mixture of yellow, beige and orange. Cottonwoods glowed golden, while scrub oak were clothed in a dusky red. 

Persephone is, indeed, making her way deep into the Underworld. For those unfamiliar with Greek myth, Persephone was the daughter of Demeter, the goddess of fertility and harvest. When Persephone was abducted by Hades, Demeter withdrew into a profound grief. Consequently, the Earth began to die off. The land grew barren. Abundance became a thing of the past, and there was nothing now to harvest. 

The despair of mortals and Demeter's own demands finally reached the ears of Zeus, who realized he needed to intervene.He then brokered a deal between Demeter and Hades in which Persephone spent half the year above ground, now our spring and summer. She was, though, required to return to the Underworld for the other six months, with Demeter's sadness producing our autumn and winter. 

Myths can be read in many ways, with these multiple layers one of their main strengths. Certainly this one can be seen as a critique of our culture's subjugation of women and acceptance of rape, as even the most powerful of all the gods, Zeus, saw this "compromise" as fair. Yet this myth contains other gems as well. Most notably it is a teaching story about the need for balance between that which is gregarious, visible, and conscious, and what is reserved, hidden, and not able to be grasped with the rational mind. 

We cannot have only fecundity, expansion and outward expression. We must give death its due, become comfortable with contraction, and hone our ability to move inside ourselves for needed rest, reflection and to devise course corrections when we realize we have strayed. 

Yet we don't need to learn these things all on our own. The natural world is a teaching story unto itself. Demeter offers us the cycle of the seasons, in which we are given a ringside seat to observe and, more importantly, internalize this dance of balance and harmony. Seeds burst forth in spring, growing into their fullness with the long days of summer. Yet just as they—and we with them—become weary of the hubbub of rampant growth, the brakes are applied, things begin to slow down, and we are turned toward the quieter time of the year. 

Another Greek god, Helios, educates as well. As the personification of the Sun, each day he drives his chariot across the sky, giving us daytime's exuberance. At sunset, though, we are offered a time of rest, as Helios is carried in a golden cup across the ocean for a new day's rising. 

In a more collaborative vein appropriate to her feminine qualities, there are several Moon goddesses. Whether Selene, Artemis, Hekate or others, the Moon teaches about balance through her monthly journey, as she waxes from new to full before waning back to dark again. 

Same teaching, many teachers. As is so beautifully written in Ecclesiastes, "To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven." It is for us to learn this lesson and to enact its wisdom within our own lives. 

The time to travel into the Underworld is upon us. As the trees demonstrate, we need to let the leaves of our past drop away as we pull our sap deep into our roots. It is time to rest, to incubate and nurture the seeds that will become our new growth some day. 

Now, though, we hush ourselves, move inward, take time for quieter pursuits. A rich life requires us to live now on this side of the scale, to allow for an overall and long-term balance. Our culture may not encourage this or model it well at all, but ultimately that is irrelevant. Body, mind, heart and soul all whisper this message to us. "Let us be still now," they murmur. "Give us this season of repose. Trust us, and in time we shall rise up to carry you forward once again. But not yet. First this. Please this." 

Embrace quietude, my friends. Reflect. Discover what cannot be known amid unbridled busyness. Trust in the cycles of life. To everything there is, indeed, a season. This is the season that is ours now.

Much love, 

Leia

Dancing With Life

It seems that I arrive on this page often to report that things have been wild and spinning fast. This month is no exception. Life and my own choices have conspired to propel me out of my comfort zone. Not a bad thing, to be sure. 

I'm teaching a class on Tarot as a powerful means for personal and spiritual transformation, recording short online guided meditations at New and Full Moons, and continue to do signings of my book, Enchanted, A Tale of Remembrance: Inspiration For Soulful Living.Visitors galore have seen our wee house bursting at the seams. That house has also developed two issues with its heating system—not the best timing, though I suppose better than were it January—and we've met with three contractors to explore options. As a backdrop, day~to~day life continues as well: my psychotherapy work, cooking and cleaning, spending time with loved ones, workouts to keep my aging body fit, and continuing to attend to the daily personal and spiritual practices that keep me whole. 

Truly, nothing to complain about. In fact, it all feels exactly right, as though I'm expanding into a new form...or more accurately, as though I'm being expanded into a new form, one that will carry me into my last years on the planet. With my 69th birthday arriving later in the month, the question "If not now, when?" often occupies a place of honor in my awareness. Thankfully, that question is not accompanied by intense anxiety. Rather, it evokes a steadfast resolve. It is time. I don't know how the future will unfold or where it will take me. I realize, too, that I don't need to know. I need only tend and befriend what is current, intuit the next best steps, and when those are taken, move on to whatever's next in line. 

Which brings me to what had been the seed of this column. One August evening, I stopped by a local contradance to make sure our grandchild knew the way to the Airbnb we'd rented to accommodate the influx of family that our own home couldn't comfortably hold. A dance was underway as I arrived, and I found myself swept up in the frivolity. First, the fast steps in response to the caller's guidance, paired with spinning motions that led us each to a new partner. 

A brief pause then as the couple at the top of our parallel line formation danced their way down the center aisle, amid our clapping and our cheering. More quick movements, more twirling, a new partner, and applause as another pair strutted their stuff between the rows. Finally, having progressed to the top of the line, my partner and I boogied our own way down the center aisle, amid hooted accolades from our fellow dancers. And the caller called on, and we danced on, and cheered and were cheered in turn. 

What a perfect metaphor for a busy, fast~moving, whirling life! We do our steps in concert with the one in front of us, whether that be a human, a task, an emotion, a decision, a question, a conundrum, or anything else we find ourselves facing. When that segment of steps is complete—at least for the time being—we spin on to greet what faces us next across the floor of our lives. At various pause points, we relish a sense of completion as we dance our way down the line, witnessed and cheered by our fellows and our wisest self. 

And all the while, the music of life plays on, its steady, thrumming beat guiding our steps and linking us one to the other. There's even a caller if we listen, directing us, reminding us of the steps when we forget, and encouraging us to dance as skillfully and as elegantly as we know how. 

In the contradance I attended, there was no particular instruction to enjoy ourselves. Pleasure arose naturally from engaging with the dance itself. This is where the metaphor strains a bit, for the real~life things we face are not always pleasurable. For example, we are faced now with spending gobs of money on a new heating system. Not a pleasantry, to be sure. And yet, I can relish that we have the financial means to make it work, that we have a home and one we've loved for over 30 years, that the system will be greener. The contractors have been knowledgeable, the process not quick but smooth. Hopefully, it will continue that way as we progress forward. And if not? Well, it's just a new dancer I face across the line. 

Though my particular steps may not always be as I would like, my dance is nonetheless my own. How I comport myself down the line, the gracefulness or crudeness of my individual movements, and the attitude I bring to them are all mine. I also have a caller to remind me of what matters. It may speak with a human voice, as friends and family keep me steady. Often, though, its messages arrive in other forms, through meditation, when immersed in nature, when I consciously open to guidance. Then I feel the beat that carries me forward. 

I know that you, dear reader, are dancing your own dance. And yet perhaps you also feel that life is spinning so quickly it's hard to catch your breath. As you explore your inner experience, you might share my sense that something is shifting deep in your core. May it be a shift for the better, opening you to a larger version of yourself and who you can be in the world and in your own heart and soul. I wish you the most transformative dance possible. And I cheer you on, applauding your efforts and your courage to dance as only you can. 

Whatever comes our way, may we all dance our best dance. And may we enjoy the process and the gift we have been given, the gift of being unique dancers in the dance of life.

Blessings always,

Leia

Liminal Space

Do you feel it? Can you see it? While daytime temps remain quite warm, the nights are cooling off and there is a distinctive nip to the air come dawn. The Sun's arc across the sky is dropping now to the south, with the very angle of sunlight different than it was mere weeks ago. Our local Farmers Market is full to overflowing with the harvest of summer, yet it is this very bounty that reminds us that we're being carried ever closer to fall. 

I, for one, couldn't be more delighted. Autumn is in my bones. While it's hard not to feel an almost giddy boost with the expansiveness of summer, as a fall baby and an introvert to boot, I begin longing for the relative quietude of autumn somewhere around the middle of June! An exaggeration perhaps, but I'm sure glad a shift is underway. 

The Sun has entered Virgo, the astrological sign that signals this liminal time. After the boldness of Leo, a sign ruled by the very Sun itself, Virgo's energy is not quite summer and not quite fall, but a bit of both. Virgo encourages reflection, a metaphoric harvest of all we have gained from these last few months, and a coming back to center after the wild ride most of us have been on since spring sprang and summer claimed us as its own. Virgo also helps us prepare for what is to come. 

My morning walks around the lake are usually taken at a clip fast enough to make any cardiologist proud. This morning, though, I feel the need for a more leisurely pace. I slow my steps, but still they are too quick for the cravings of body and soul. I soon veer a short distance off the path to climb a tumble of small boulders to a perch with a gorgeous view of the lake below, solid and sturdy mountains stretching into the distance. A flurry of swallows soar and dip below, evidence of a recent hatch of delectable flying insects. 

As swallows dine on those wee morsels, I feast on stillness. This summer has felt more raucous than usual, and I treasure these moments away from my loved ones with nothing clamoring for my attention but this expanse of beauty. Sitting upon my own solid and sturdy mountain of boulders, I feel breeze on my face and smell its freshness. A sound to my right makes me turn my head, making eye contact with a fawn only a yard or two away. She pauses for a few breaths before stotting off again. 

Yes, I feast on all of this. With each and every breath, I settle into the peace of this place, and feel it soaking into my very cell tissue. 

Back at my computer now, I am thinking again about transitional times and find myself curious about the etymological origins of a word I used a few paragraphs back. I discover that liminal comes from the Latin limen, meaning threshold or sill. It is also linked to the Latin limitem from which stems our English word limit. As I search out the roots of that word, I find myself tunneling ever further down a warren of etymological rabbit burrows as I recognize I have only been viewing limit from one side. 

While limits often do imply a door firmly closed, they do not mean only that. Etymology online, tells me that limit is related to the Latin limus, which means to traverse, while traverse, from the Latin trans, meaning across, and vertere, meaning to turn, means literally to turn across. Just as a liminal space is a threshold to elsewhere, the limits of what we know and have experienced up until now need not be seen as end points. They can be bridges inviting us to cross over into what has never been before...and to become what we have never before been. 

So where does all this wordplay leave me? This liminal time of Virgo season can be a pause point, one in which we look back, reflecting on where we've been, and absorbing the gifts and metabolizing the challenges that have come with summertime. Virgo also encourages us to look ahead, and to make any needed adjustments to step forward in the most wholesome way possible. Virgo is the healer of the Zodiac, the sign that can help us find practices that sustain, so essential as we consider our next steps. 

We stand at a threshold, our feet on the sill of a doorway that is not closed or locked up tight, but opens wide. It beckons us to traverse into the unknown, promising novel experiences, new learnings, and the opportunity for fresh versions of ourselves to come into being. Our lives open outward from here. They call to us, encouraging us forward across the threshold into what has never before been, through autumn and winter and the spring and summer to come. 

I am ready. I'll see you there.

Leia

Gifts of August

Ah, a time of reflection is upon us! Several astronomical events occur in early August that, each in its own way, offer an opportunity to pause, check in with ourselves, and both celebrate what we have accomplished and engage in any course corrections we feel are due. 

The Sun has swept us through the height of summer, depositing us at a cross~quarter time. Solstices and equinoxes are known as quarter days, as they divide the year into four segments. Cross~quarter days fall at the midpoint within these quarters and further refine them. We are now roughly halfway between the Summer Solstice and the Fall Equinox. The ancient Gaelic festival of Lammas was observed on August 1st. Other cultures, such as Japan's Risshū festival on August 8th, also mark the first harvest and our progression toward autumn. 

As human beings with busy, demanding lives, it is helpful to pause at regular intervals to note where we are on our life trajectory and assess any needed modifications to keep us in harmony with our soul's purpose. Seasonal observances are perfect opportunities for this. We don't, though, only have the cycles of the Sun to guide us. We have the Moon as well. 

The New Moon occurs just before sunrise on Sunday, August 4th, affording us another pause point and an ideal time for turning inward. We won't see the Moon because its orbit has placed it directly between Earth and Sun. Her reflected light is invisible to us, as she has turned her face away. Sun in Spanish is sol, a homonym for the English word soul and a clue to the gifts of the New Moon. Metaphorically, the times when the Moon turns toward her Sol are encouragement for us to turn to face our own soul, to listen for its guidance, and to move into better alignment with it. Cultures throughout the world and across the ages have placed value in practices such as this. 

The impact of Sun and Moon cycles upon us Earthlings is well~documented. We are affected by the changes in the strength and angle of sunlight, and by the path of the Moon through its waxing and its waning. This next event, though, is solely for the woo~woo inclined. 

The Lionsgate Portal opens yearly on July 28th, peaks on August 8th, with its effects felt through August 12th. It marks our own Sun's alignment with the brightest star in the night sky, Sirius, also known as Alpha Canis Majoris, Greater Dog, or simply the Dog Star. It is also known as our spiritual sun, and has figured prominently in both ancient and esoteric faith traditions. When the Sun of our solar system comes into alignment with Sirius, an energetic gateway for spiritual healing, transformation and manifestation is believed to open. 

No matter how these three events sit with you, it's hard for even a committed skeptic to argue against the benefit of taking a timeout from the hubbub of summer's busyness to reflect on one's life, determine if it is progressing as intended and, if not, to make needed adjustments. It's human nature to become unbalanced, to not live always in accordance with our values, to be so carried away by the demands of life that we forget what truly matters. Having practices in place can help us stay on track and return more easily when we become derailed. If we can accept the possibility that we could be affected by what goes on in the skies above, then syncing our own efforts and intentions with those greater forces might offer an energetic assist, so to speak. 

And we arrive back where this column began. In these dog days of summer, so called because the Dog Star is visible in the east just before dawn, we have a superb opportunity. Poised halfway between Solstice and Equinox, we can make like the Moon, turn toward our own soul, and open ourselves to guidance and renewal. Let's do that now. 

Take a few deep breaths, as you come into this moment, just as it is. Feel the rise and fall of chest or belly as the breath moves into and out of your lungs. As you do so, settle into the truth of how things stand in both your outer life and your inner world. Ask yourself any or all of the following questions... 

In what ways is my life working well? Am I effectively greeting the challenges presented? What shifts are available to me that might help me better meet those challenges? 

Am I living in accordance with my values? Am I living wholeheartedly, and being the change I'd like to see in the world? Am I a voice of kindness or am I lending my precious energy to negativity? 

Is there some new facet of my being that wants now to be expressed? Am I ready to honor that impulse, and if so, what one or two small actions can I commit to that will offer it safe passage into the world. 

Sit quietly for a few moments, opening yourself to any additional questions that come. Consider exploring these further through journaling, artwork, or speaking with a trusted companion. Be open to additional insights that may come over the next few hours and days. 

One more thing before we say goodbye. The energy of summer naturally lends itself to exuberance, so rejoice in the harvest of all you've accomplished. Give yourself credit for showing up in the world as yourself, doing your very best, and persevering when things get tough. 

Thank you for all that you are and all that you do. Blessed be, my friend, blessed be.

Much love,

Leia

The Robin, The Book and The Dream

I had a delightful experience on my early morning walk today. I was on the gravel road leading from our house to the lake when a robin landed atop what just yesterday had been tall grasses on the verge, mowed now to lay flat and feathery upon the earth. As I drew near, the bird flew a few yards ahead and landed on the edge of the road once more. As I came close, he flew ahead again...and again, and again for nearly a minute of my footfalls. For all the world, it felt as though he were leading me forward. 

That made me think of two things simultaneously. One was a passage I read yesterday from the third book of Juliet Marillier's Sevenwaters Trilogy, in which an owl led Fainne's horse in much the same way. The second was a dimly remembered dream from the night before, in which I was part of a large indoor circle of people engaged in discussion of how best to make the many choices necessary as we move through our lives. The last two speakers had shared their sense that, if only we pay attention, we will be guided forward. 

The thing most fascinating about all of this is that, just before the robin touched down the first time, I had been wondering what this blog post would be about. Usually I have at least a germ of an idea, but this morning I had bupkis. The robin, the book and the dream, though, turned that nothing into a something. A theme that has called to me throughout both my personal and professional lives flew from the verge of my awareness and landed at the center of the road. 

After the message had been received, the real~life bird's job was apparently complete. Having helped me find this essay's focus, he flew off to resume his personal trajectory through the day. So with a nod of thanks to Mr. Robin, let's see where this might go. 

As a psychotherapist, I have sat with hundreds of individuals in moments of great change. Significant pain was often part of their experience, but not always. Sometimes it was just a niggly sense that something was not quite right or that an aspect of their lives needed to shift. No matter the particulars, there was always something in their felt experience that offered a clue, some robin leading them on. It was for us to search for that messenger and, in finding it, let it lead us where it would. 

Just as my dream companions suggested, I am convinced that if we listen carefully, a direction will always call us to it, guiding our next steps down the road. How we express that guidance in our lives, though, is more complex and not always clear. Such choices are part of the art of being human, and it is through interacting consciously with life that we become more fully ourselves. 

It's largely accepted now that we don't arrive in the world unformed. Anyone who's raised a child knows they do not begin life as a blank slate waiting to be written upon, but appear with their own personalities, inclinations, and opinions as to how to move through the world. And yet, those bare bones we began with need to be fleshed out. This happens as we meet and make sense of the experiences we encounter. Our innate capacities interact with what life dishes out and between the two, we gather a sense of how to proceed. We also grow in awareness of who we are, an identity that is continually formed and reformed. Each experience we have and choice we make in response shapes us, creating the self we are ever in the process of becoming. 

The eminent psychoanalyst Carl Jung explored and elucidated this process in his work on the archetype of the Self. Jung saw the development of Self as the essential psychological task of our lifetimes. He described Self as encompassing all parts of us: our personalities, egos, histories, personal unconscious, disowned components of our psyches, and aspects of the Collective Unconscious as well. This Self must become intimately familiar with each of these disparate elements and find a way, always hard~won, to hold them in a unified harmony. Quite a mission, one Jung described as highly creative and never complete. 

The development of Self is the work of a lifetime. It is an endeavor requiring great courage, as we must ultimately do it alone. And yet, there are cairns on the path, companions and guides that can assist. 

I wish you a whole flock of robins to grace your way, my friend. And I wish you, too, a deep and unwavering faith in your ability to hear their avian wisdom and let it guide you on down the road. Blessed be.

💜 💜 💜

Leia

Light Within

I know I'm in for it when I step off the driveway. I'd heard the wind when I woke, howling like a wild thing outside the window, but as I walk into the street I realize it is much worse than I'd thought. It isn't just blowing like crazy. The air has a decidedly yellow cast from flying dust. Suddenly the wind rises in a whirling, twirling dervish to lift gravel from our unpaved road and throw it against the exposed skin of my hands and the back of my neck. 

I consider turning around, but I have always loved walking at dawn in any kind of weather...soft rain or icy, light snow or full-on blizzard, and when cold temperatures make fine movements impossible given the many layers I wear. Naw, today's wind isn't gonna stop me. Still, when I get to the lake I choose the path that takes me into the trees for the protection they offer. I soon step off the trail, walk a few yards, and settle on the eastern side of a copse of scrub oak. 

The tree's botanical name is Quercus gambelii or Gambel Oak, named after William Gambel, a naturalist of the early 1800s. The Colorado Native Plant Society describes the tree as "small but mighty, able to tolerate rocky soil, high winds, heavy snow, fire, and drought." They also tend to grow in colonies, and today I am welcomed into their community where they provide a spot of relative calm from which to gaze down upon the turbulent waters of the lake, a stormy-gray this morning rather than their usual reflection of cobalt sky. 

Whitecaps run rapidly across the surface, and I am reminded of childhood views of Assawoman Bay on Maryland's eastern shore. Its waves were softer than the Atlantic's, but would roll in endless succession across the lagoon, just as these below me do now. As the wind roars through the branches of the grove beside me, it flattens the wild grasses of the meadow at the bottom of the hill. I know those plants reach nearly waist-high, but today they lie down, modeling flexibility in the face of a force stronger than they. 

Birds, though, continue to fly. I like to think they're enjoying themselves, testing their mettle against the elements, perfecting an inborn ability to use the wind's currents to creatively get where they need to go despite its bluster. A small, yellow bird lands on a branch nearby where I can hear its song despite the yowling of the wind. Listening to these sounds, I wonder how I'm going to work into this writing the simple quotation that has stayed with me from Daughter of the Forest by Juliet Marillier. 

Two brothers are parting, knowing they will likely never again lay eyes upon each other in this world. Finbar looks at Conor and says, "Sometimes the way is dark." Conor replies, "There is light within." He then reaches out to gently touch Finbar's brow, and walks off. 

Both of these young men speak true. Darkness, shape shifter that it is, can take many forms. Each one of us can recount tale after tale of hardships we've encountered throughout our days. This is simply the way of things. A full experience of living does not come through denying the truth of adversity or the wounds it may impart. It can also never arrive by giving suffering full sway. Light exists too. In this world of opposites, we need to allow space for both. 

Fierce winds howl and small birds sing. We are harmed and we are helped. We despair and we rejoice. And sometimes we need to surrender in the face of a formidable force, just as do tall grasses in a field. At other times, we must find a way to fly onward as the birds do on this tumultuous morning, testing our resolve and perfecting our innate capacity to creatively fashion a path to our heart's desire. 

To determine how best do this, we must figuratively touch our own brow, as Connor did for Finbar. This is the place of the third eye, the metaphoric seat of wisdom, intuition, clear vision and discernment. We will need all of these to negotiate our flight through this world. 

Life is a mixture of darkness and light, it is true. We must make peace with that fact, as we strengthen our ability to meet well the vicissitudes of this world. We may be small, but we are mighty too, like the Gambel Oak, with an inborn capacity to find the wisdom to see us through. 

When it is called for, I wish you safe surrender, my friend. And may you also creatively fly on to that which calls, shining your inner light while gracing the world with your true and magnificent song.

Much love, sturdy bird!

Leia

Tending and Befriending the Sacrament

The sacrament of the mundane. That phrase from a recent writing by the Benedictine nun and theologian Joan Chittister was shared with me last week by a dear soul who found it particularly powerful. I did as well. This morning, I searched for the writing online and found the full phrasing even more affecting. Sister Joan wrote about the challenge of not "allowing the muddle of life to smother the sacrament of the mundane." 

I have intimate experience with both segments of that sentiment, as I suspect we all do. When I am in a space of simple, open-hearted presence, I open to life just as it is, recognizing it as a gift, a holy thing. Yet I also often become ensnared by life's messiness and lose sight of that truth. 

This human existence is such a whirlwind, a wild swirl of emotions, longings and needs that ricochet off the emotions, longings and needs of others. And the demands of those to-do lists just keep coming. Yep, that's a whole lotta muddle to contend with. No wonder we lose perspective. What's a person to do? How can we extricate ourselves from the muddle, so we can see something valuable, even holy, in the day-to-day ordinariness of it all? 

Spiritual traditions offer suggestions, even direction, and though the specifics vary, they are not so different at their core. On the most basic level, they all remind us that we have a say as to where we place our energy and our focus. We need not see ourselves as hapless victims of life, helpless in the face of what comes our way. We can choose our response. 

My husband and I have begun listening to online guided meditations, with psychologist and Buddhist practitioner Tara Brach having become a favorite. Though her orientation is different than Sister Joan's, they do have much in common. 

"Whatever we practice will get stronger," Tara's Tend and Befriend meditation begins, "so if we keep on living out our survival brain habits of judgement, resentment, blame, (and) othering, it just strengthens the circuitry of the limbic system. It locks us in." That certainly captures the muddle of life and what happens to us when we give it full sway. We become entangled, lending our own energy to further what is harmful. The beauty of this phenomenon, though, is that we have a choice. We can choose differently. 

We know all too well the limbic system's response of fight-flight-freeze. It is one of the main expressions of our brain's mission to keep us alive. While immensely important, it is a primitive reply to life's challenges, not best suited to the nuanced world most of us inhabit. The research is clear that it is also not suited to an optimal experience of life. The fight-flight-freeze response that comes with chronic stress is bad for our bodies, bad for problem-solving and brain function, bad for relationships, and bad for our overall quality of life. 

In place of fight-flight-freeze, we can practice something different. We can cultivate our tend-and-befriend capacities. This response is also part of our brain's apparatus, one that soothes the nervous system and strengthens our ability to engage positively with the world. 

Tara's meditation takes us through ever expanding circles of tending and befriending. Beginning with ourselves, we greet whatever is occurring inside us without judgement or critique. We simply hold what we notice—perhaps anger, hopelessness, or fear—with a friendly compassion. We next extend this same acceptance toward others in our lives, before looking further afield to strangers or groups that appear to be much different from ourselves. We practice looking beyond those surface appearances to the commonality of our shared human experience. 

"When we learn to pause and deepen attention," Tara concludes, "...there's a shift and we open out of the survival brain trance and reinhabit more wholeness." Awakening in this way allows us to approach the world very differently. The muddle may still be there, but we are not quite as captured by it. The beauty is smothered no more, and we are no longer a stranger to it. The sacred is freed up to shine through, and we can perceive the sacrament once more. 

Our attention is the key, and we can learn to use it to unlock what is life-enhancing, what is good for our bodies, good for problem-solving and brain function, good for relationships, and good for our overall quality of life. We can unlock love, again and again and yet again. 

On a recent drive to the hot springs, Beautiful Boy (Darling Boy) came on my Spotify station. That's the song in which John Lennon sings the famous line, "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans." 

Life happens within the muddle of the mundane, but we don't need to smother its sacrament. We can choose to return to the moment-by-moment, open-hearted awareness that allows us to know the mundane as holy. And in perceiving it as holy, we make it so. 

Happy tending, my friends!

Leia

Tara Brach's free Tend and Befriend meditation can be found here, and a quick google can find many others. 

A Picture's Worth A Thousand Words

Life is a crazy thing, isn't it? We never quite know what will come our way or what will be required of us. And it certainly doesn't take long to learn that we're not totally in control of our path through this world. 

Yet, neither are we passive participants in the process. Whether life offers a delight or an anguish, our response is ours alone. Each moment asks something of us, and we get to choose our answer to its question. And with that reply in hand, we step forward into the unknown. 

What courage it takes to be human! The willingness to engage life in this way, to craft a response to the various elements presented us, and to do so without any guarantee of outcome, is not for the faint of heart. Rather, it is an integral part of the valiant art of being human. 

And yet, we are not on our own in this. We have life experience to draw upon. We have our logic and our good minds. Loved ones can offer helpful perspectives. We may have spiritual traditions that offer guidance. We also have something more. We have intuition. Merriam~Webster defines intuition as "immediate apprehension...without evident rational thought or inference." Intuition is a felt sense of things, a hunch, a gut feeling, a sixth sense. But it's not all airy~fairy. Intuition is a powerful tool for sound decision~making. 

Laura Huang praises intuition in The Harvard Business Review, "especially in highly uncertain circumstances where further data gathering and analysis won’t sway you one way or another." Chess master Gary Kasparov claims "intuition is the defining quality of a great chess player." Much research is currently underway, notably by psychologist Gary Klein, on the role of intuition in high~pressured and unpredictable occupations, such as first responders and Marines. And in the scientific realm, author Bob Samples reports that Albert Einstein characterized the intuitive mind as a sacred gift, with the rational mind its faithful servant. He then notes "we have created a society that honors the servant and has forgotten the gift." 

So how do we reclaim that gift? First, by recognizing it as such, by not belittling its virtue, and by rooting out any hidden or not so hidden vestiges that live within us of our society's denigration of the suprarational, in favor of the solely rational. 

Second, we can listen to our hunches. It is a fact that whatever we give attention to grows, which means we can grow our intuition by listening to it and acting upon it. We needn't forgo logic, but we do need to give intuition a place at the table, perhaps even a favored one. 

Third, we can engage in practices that enhance intuition. For over 50 years now, I have regularly consulted Oracle decks, primarily the Tarot, for assistance in determining my answer to the questions life offers me. 

What can be learned from this situation? What should I keep in mind as I choose my response? What am I missing, or what do I need to bring to the fore? What are the inner and outer forces I am likely to encounter in the next day, week, month or year? 

With one of these or a similar question in mind, I choose a layout that matches what I wish to explore. I then shuffle the cards, lay them face down and let my hand be drawn to the cards that call to me. I turn them over, and look at the images presented. I then give my intuition free rein. 

One of the many things I love about the Tarot and the various other Oracle cards that have recently exploded on the scene is that one doesn't need any prior knowledge to benefit from them. The images say it all. They awaken an awareness of what we already know, but may not know we know. As we move more deeply into a particular card, we find nuances that we may not have seen from the start. Engaging in this way, we arrive at insights to guide us forward. 

But is there more to this than 'simple' intuition? Some say not, believing Oracles stimulate an inner wisdom, with guidance arising from our own spirit. Others believe guidance comes from a source beyond ourselves, like God or spirit guides. My own sense is that it comes from both. The cards are often uncannily accurate in capturing so beautifully the truth of our situation, too accurate to be explained by chance alone. And yet, intuition and a willing heart are needed to apply the wisdom gained to everyday life. But the truth is, I don't think it really matters. Whether you feel insights come from beyond or stem solely from intuition, Oracles can offer a fresh perspective or perhaps simple confirmation of what you already know. 

I am delighted to be joining the healers, vendors and other readers at next weekend's Pueblo Holistic Fair. I will be offering Oracles readings, likely consisting of a 3~card Tarot spread accented by an Oracle card from another deck. As I completely trust you to be the expert on your own life, my readings are collaborative. I won't tell you what to do or make predictions. I will instead assist you in sparking your own intuition and wisdom as you unlock the messages held within the cards. 

Whether you're curious to find out more, or are already convinced of the value of Oracles and ready for another deep dive, please consider stopping by. And if Southern Colorado is just too far away, details will follow shortly about an online Tarot class I'll be offering in May and June. Stay tuned!

Intuition is a part of the apparatus given us at birth. It is, indeed, a sacred gift. The insights gained can then be handed off to our rational minds~~faithful servants they were ever intended to be~~to determine how best and most effectively to enact that wisdom in our lives. 

The Pueblo Holistic Fair will be held at the Pueblo Convention Center, Saturday, April 6th from 10~6 and Sunday, April 7th from 10~5. Yes, that's a mere week away!!! Admission is $5, with additional fees charged by readers and healers. Mine will be $30. I will also have a few copies of Enchanted, A Tale of Remembrance: Inspiration For Soulful Living available, with PHF discounts of 15% to 25%. Contact me for more info or check the Holistic Fair's Facebook page.

Intuition ever whispers its guidance. What say we listen?!!

Leia

Do Spring Bold!!!

Ya can feel it, can't ya? Spring is on its way, right around the corner, really. That daylight just keeps on lengthening, the sun reaches higher on its course across the sky, and the temps are beginning to rise. The Spring Equinox is just a couple of weeks away, arriving this year on the 19th of March. And though historically my place on the planet sees its highest snowfall in March and April, the brighter light and warmer days melt in record time whatever lies upon the ground. 

Yes, spring is on our doorstep and it calls us to come out and play. Seeds in the ground stir, and the seeds within our ground begin to activate as well. Our sap rises and leaves begin to bud. We are ready to leave our hibernation and expand into the world. This is not, though, a post about the delights of spring. Its focus is not on the enthusiasm for all the good things to come, or a celebration of the excitement that can wash over us as we step into something new. 

No. This post is about fear. It is about how we often approach the unknown with trepidation precisely because it is unknown. If we have made it through adolescence and early adulthood, our belief in our own invincibility likely was ripped away long ago. To quote dear Will, most of us have suffered "the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune," with the scars to show for our troubles. We have erred and misjudged, sometimes hugely so. Love we thought we could count on has let us down. Plans have gone haywire. Our own hubris likely led to a few slap~downs from the cosmos or our fellow humans doing its bidding. We have learned that we are fallible. 

All of that's enough to dampen one's enthusiasm for stepping into something new. We know how much is unforeseen. As Robert Burns put it, we have learned that "the best laid schemes o' Mice an' Men gang aft agley, an' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain for promise'd joy." For those of you who don't speak 18th century Scottish, that translates for the purposes of this column as "the best laid plans of mice and men~~and ourselves~~often go awry, and leave us nothing but grief and pain rather than the joy promised." 

Okay, so maybe that's a bit over the top, but you get my point. Sometimes it's hard to move in a direction that is untried, into activities in which we are untried, particularly once we've seen a bit of what life can do to a person. Fear and a certain timidity can often be the result. Not necessarily a bad thing if we use them well. You know that sentiment that, whatever our challenges, we have what it takes to meet them? It seems relevant here. 

Wounds can bring wisdom, failure the ability to reflect, and fear appropriate caution. We may be humbled, but true humility does not immobilize us. It inspires us to move forward with greater discernment to present a more nuanced and balanced offering of our talents to the world. Still, we'll likely spend the rest of our lives learning to do so consistently. Perfection will escape us, but our skill can certainly increase. Our stepping forward can become more fitting to the situation at hand than when helter~skelter was our modus operandi. 

I recently found Christy Wright's online video, The Most Important Thing I've Learned About Fear. She began by reminding us that fear is a normal part of doing anything new, that we're all scared of the unknown. Christy suggests, though, that we often misinterpret fear. Rather than seeing it as an expected reaction to the unfamiliar, we can see it as a sign we should not take the risk. We may conclude that fear is telling us the direction is a bad one. 

"No," she says, "it's not a sign you're doing something bad. It's a sign you're doing something bold." She then encourages us to do it anyway, as "nothing will silence your fear of doing the thing like doing the thing. So go do the thing!" She continues, "You need to embrace the fact that you're gonna feel fear and you're gonna do it anyway...You don't have to wait until you're not scared to do the thing you want to do. You do it scared." 

I do, though, think we need to do it kindly. I'm not big on white~knuckling it. We need to ask for support, and use that wisdom we've gained over a lifetime to come up with a viable and safe plan...and call upon that same wisdom to pivot when things don't go exactly as we imagined. Because they won't. Still, we need to do the thing, and depending on how far we're stepping out of our comfort zone, we may need to do it frightened. But we can't let that fear stop us. 

Case in point, I have recently joined Toastmasters to face the performance anxiety that has been one of my oldest companions. It hasn't been easy stepping out in this way, but it has been good. Energizing, really. Still scary, but what's the alternative? If we let fear stop us, we live a life smaller than we could, and we remain smaller than we truly are. Or, as Dawna Markova tells us in her beautiful poem, we will "die an unlived life." 

On that note, this post ends with the words of gonzo journalist Hunter S. Thompson. "Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming 'Wow!'" 

This spring and beyond, I wish you all the best in doing the thing that calls to you...and not letting fear turn you away.

Much spring love,

Leia

You can find Christy's video by clicking here.

In The Belly Of The Mother

As I sit to write this column, a few days before you lay eyes upon it, vivid sun is lighting up a dazzling winter scene beyond my window. Not only are the mountains draped in white, but our own little piece of heaven is piled high with the season's unique form of moisture. 

I forwent (odd word that!) my usual dawn walk this morning to begin shoveling out from the foot of snow that fell on us yesterday. Not only was my lake path most likely buried, but there was a lotta shoveling that needed doin'. No time like the present, eh? When my back warned that it had had enough for now, I came inside, peeled off my shoveling attire, and replaced it with what I refer to as my fuzzy clothes, in layers that will gradually be removed as the sun warms the house. 

I love the contrasts the seasons bring. The 14 degrees that met me as I stepped outside this morning screamed winter, and yet the increasing day length promises spring is already on its way. To prove the point, we've gained nearly an hour of daytime since the Winter Solstice. And what is more, today is Imbolc! 

Imbolc, celebrated from sunset to sunset on the first and second of February, is an ancient Celtic observance, though in the cross~pollination that occurs when spiritual traditions intermingle, it became Candlemas and St. Brigid's Day as well. No matter the name or the particular form the festivities take, they all encourage us to rejoice in the increasing light. Falling roughly halfway between Solstice and Spring Equinox, we are reminded that the cold won't last forever, that the Earth is already turning us to brighter days. 

 

Imbolc is translated as "in the belly of the Mother." It refers to the advent of lambing season, as well as the recognition that seeds buried and unseen are readying themselves to poke through the soil for their own season in the sun. On a symbolic level, both references offer us something. 

Hopefully, despite all the busyness that often comes with the December holidays, we've found time to rest and reflect on where we are in our life's trajectory. This chance to pause and take stock is winter's gift. Spring's blessing is its invitation to welcome something new to come to us and to come from within us. Imbolc, as the bridge connecting the two, is a chance to begin to sense what seeds or metaphoric lambs might be wanting to move out into the world with the longer days. 

As I've written before, I'm not a big fan of New Year's Resolutions. The darkest time of the year is simply not a good time to decide anything, which I think is why we not only dread making those resolutions, but so often don't stick with them or craft them wisely. Seasonal cycles have much in common with daily ones. Midnight is a lousy time to make plans, but things change as dawn nears. We begin to stir in our sleep and cortisol levels rise until we wake in the quiet of early morn. Then thoughts of the day opening before us come naturally. 

Imbolc is the early morn of the seasonal cycle. It is not the time to move full steam ahead, but it is the perfect time to turn toward, to begin to stir ourselves to greet~~and to have a say in~~the new growth that will soon be midwifed into existence. 

As I craft this current paragraph, I realize that I not only dislike resolutions in the dark of winter, but I'm not fond of them in general. I much prefer the word intention, which feels a bit softer to me, less written in stone, appropriate when looking into a future we cannot see. I am not alone. Googling "resolution vs intention", I found my aversion seconded by many others. Sites as varied as The Institute for Integrative Nutrition and the AARP, all suggest intention might be the kinder~~and ultimately more effective~~approach. 

Resolutions, writes Gillian Florence Sanger on the blog at Insight Timer, "view things as 'this' or 'that', often quietly judging behaviors to be either 'good' or 'bad'. Intentions, on the other hand, are soft, qualitative, and compassionate." According to AARP, Diane Rabb views an intention is "something you want to manifest in your life or some guiding principle that you want to live by." While resolutions are discreet goals that are easily abandoned, intentions are the "beginning of a dream or desire." Who wouldn't wanna get behind that? And what better time than this month. It's still too cold and dark to actually do much, but it is an ideal time for discerning and clarifying a dream or desire. 

Intentions are gifts. They are orientations we can come back to again and again, modifying them as life brings its unknowns our way. If we do that, if we show up and honor our hopes and dreams as valuable, we have the best chance of living into them. I invite you, therefore, to take some time today, in honor of Imbolc, Candlemas, St. Brigid's Day~~or heck, even the totally secular and goofy Groundhog Day~~to feel your way into an intention that will guide you forward. 

I will share my own~~To shine more brightly and in new ways, taking risks to do things I have never done before, and finding joy in the process, no matter the outcome. 

Dreams have a staying power that resolutions may not. The former keep coming back around or showing up in various guises. It is for us to welcome them. They are ours to honor and bring forth. After all, if not now, when? And, really, why not now? What are we waiting for? 

Happy festival of increasing light to you, whatever you call it and however you choose to honor it. Shine, my friend, shine on.

Much love,

Leia

A Door Left Ajar

Amid the flurry of end~of~the~year sacred observances, celebrations, and frivolities, someone sent me the following excerpt from the poem Shapechangers in Winter by Margaret Atwood... 

"This is the solstice, the still point of the sun, its cusp and midnight, the year's threshold and unlocking, where the past lets go of and becomes the future; the place of caught breath, the door of a vanished house left ajar." 

Speaking of caught breath, I found that last image especially luscious. It claimed me for a time and has stayed with me since. Another year has indeed vanished, but as all years do, it has left behind its gifts, a door ajar one among many. 

Before we step through that door, though, it is wise to pause on its threshold to take stock of all that brought us here. To paraphrase Maya Angelou, we cannot know where we're going until we know where we've been. Whether we experienced 2023 as spacious or constricting, joyous or sorrow~filled, life~altering or humdrum—or more likely a swirling mix of these and other contrasts—it joined with us to create who we are today on the cusp of this new year. 

Winter is a pause point, a time of rest. As the trees beyond our window tell us, this is not the time for bursting forth. It is time to hunker down, to drop into root. And for humans, it is also an ideal opportunity for reflection. The stillness of the season can assist us in metabolizing all we've experienced. It can help us recognize, too, the ways in which we used what came to us to grow our souls, for good or ill as free will ever allows. This is our birthright, the sacred art open to all conscious beings. 

So drift back with me now. Rewind the tape that was 2023 until you stand once again in the winter of that year. See who you were then, what you knew or thought you knew, what was going well in your life and what challenged you, the hopes you carried and your fears. Now watch as time moves forward and the tape that was your life these past 12 months unfurls. See all you lived through as winter gave way to spring, as days lengthened into summer, as summer fell away into autumn, with days shortening and temperatures cooling to year's end. 

Begin with your successes. What joys did you experience and how did you work skillfully with the difficulties or heartaches that came your way, turning them toward the good, using them to grow and to heal? Please be kind. Sometimes just keeping on is success enough. 

Consider now the places you seemed to fall short, times you may not have lived your values as you would have liked. Be kind here as well. A human life is ever a process of becoming, often a two~steps~forward~one~back sort of thing, making self~forgiveness a necessary skill. 

Over the next few hours or days, allow yourself the gift of further reflection. Recognize how you fared overall, but also note what may feel unfinished from the year just passed, sensing the ways available to you to reach further completion. This type of attention to what has been allows us to move forward less encumbered, able to engage more fully with what is yet to be. As any jogger will tell you, it is not wise to run on a full stomach. Nourishment needs to be digested in order to proceed with skill and with grace. 

And yet... 

In the realm of soulcraft, there are seldom discreet divisions between this and that. Assimilating and stepping forward usually occur in tandem. Even as we contemplate the past year, the next one has already begun and calls us to fully inhabit it. We return now to Atwood's metaphor. The walls of last year's house have grown porous. They are dissolving before our eyes. The past is letting go, unlocking itself in favor of the future that awaits. 

Such is the way of life. It offers itself to us, but only for a moment. Some of its offerings may be ones we'd rather not have been given, but we can still see them as gifts, part of the raw material from which to craft ourselves. We take life's offerings, apply whatever wisdom we've accumulated over the course of a human life, reach deeply to summon the courage that every living thing is given in ample supply at birth, and add a dollop of ingenuity to meet what will come. And then we step forward. 

The door of last year's vanishing house has indeed been left ajar. It is time now to step over that threshold and fully enter this new year. Step well, my friend, step well. I'll meet you on the other side. 

With love and good wishes streaming your way, 

Leia

For Atwood's full poem, Shapechangers in Winter, click here.