Saturday, September 6, 2014

Beat the drum, shake the rattle, lather the tales

The moon has me stirred up with the watery Pisces energy approaching full on Monday. Rather than sleep here I am at the keys drawing from the inner well "that has been nurtured in private." This summer of grieving blossomed with emotions deep and overflowing with sorrow and loss. The sadness wears many names and lifts from hiding the old grief that for whatever reason is left until something shakes it loose. A girlfriend and I were talking the other day. We share the experience of losing our only brothers. "How's it going now?" She asked. I said, "The feelings move." Her response was "You're through that part of it, ha." The cycle moves just as she said. I still miss my phone conversations with my brother, and miss hearing his laughter. I miss how he made my belly laugh. And yet, nearly four months later the sadness lessens ... a little. I beat the drum to clear my heart, shake my rattles and call on my true nature and prepare to tell some stories that hold life together.

On Sunday, September 21st Pete and I will raise our storytelling tent and I will share some stories. Last Fall I shared stories in a face-to-face performance venue for the first time in many years. Healing and recovering confidence enough to be in a public setting takes time. For me, it's been seven years. The path to healing is one that tests my agility with valuing The Borders. Through my art, the writing and the telling of medicine stories I craft a way to cross those borders re-enter society at large and sense my personal safety with more clarity. My favorite astrologer posted a provocative piece yesterday on PTSD. I commented on her post. Some of what I experience living with MCS (multiple chemical sensitivities) include the affects of PTSD. Other aspects of MCS are treated differently, I learn to trust my instincts and use art -- the medicine of stories-- to create safe pathways. When the first of three stories began in a winter 'only a duck could love' the character of Pale Wawae (Hawaiian for Joy Weed) fed me the life of a border witch. There was somewhere to safely navigate the everyday normal and discover the common magic that simply needs the efficient application of tools. The safety pin. Over the past two years, that safety pin has grown into a world of myth and magic efficient and embracing. I write to express the inner world that feeds me where the public one cannot. I find the border and the words help me cross. There. There. Over there. "Just down the road a little bit, and turn left" (Angles Arrien)

To learn more about my Story Story Sunday "Telling stories that hold life together" September 21st storytelling event link here.

Soon my latest medicine story, tentatively called Water Something will open up, and you can read along as the story writes through my fingers. Carlos Castaneda said, "to be young and vital is nothing. To be old and vital is sorcery." (The Wheel of Time) He's right it takes a heart of magic to be vital in the second-half of life. But, if it weren't for the young's vitality who would cheer me across the monkey bars saying "You can do it Aunty!"


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Speak from the heart