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.