Beach Magic

A very short picture story filled with medicine

by

Yvonne Mokihana Calizar

I was in need of a vacation yesterday. Some very very VERY big adult stuff had passed through the dreams, and out into the Precession. The New Moon in gogogo Aries was defining my mood, offering up, 'Boring' as a description. I felt the irritation, the tightened skin ness the itching feet ness. I shouted to him "I need a vacation." He tried to soothe her, "Your life is a vacation!" 

Explanation wouldn't help, I knew that. When he went out to play in the dirt, I went back to sleep, woke at near noon, and started my day over. I took myself to the water's edge, and later -- while truly 'on vacation' -- me and the little one had a time like this ...

The picture tucks into the cold steel beam, silent as the night, trying to be quiet. But, of course, some nights are meant for magical journeys, vacation time with all the right pay a yearning to be where the child can really play.

 A bit of sand came home with her, evidence. Out from the clam shells they sprinkled onto the stilled beach. "Remember your roots!" the glittery grains could not contain their jolliness.

 The girl in the photograph had come to play and that was the pleasure of Beach-ness maximized. 

The Others crept closer, wondering how they could join in the silliness. Story messages imagined the path, considered how to become part of both sides of the world. How to slip through the slot between definitions, between time and solidness?

"Ah, clever Beach Stones! Your secret is safe with us. We will return again and again to play at all ages, all stages." Until next time. 

Being with sparrows

"Grief does flow."

"Eventually."

"Yes, the measure of time is done differently between the beings. The different ways we do the same things."

"It is just so."

The small private conversations that is the language of writers, and storytellers, is often the place that opens when we are not trying. I have been out in my night shirt, playing with the pieces of my life, in company with the hen and the sparrows, and their kin. We don't dress up much here in the orchard and the woods. As the roll of Destiny's dice have brought us here, we are grateful. Night shirts are day shirts, and it truly does make no never mind.

I've been tending to a pain that settled, lodged in my lower left quadrant. All the normal lights have lit themselves: red, yellow, red, yellow ... As is so often the case with me (Scorpio ... water sign not usually known for going with the flow) I create big and little dams so quickly. But, 'grief does flow.' What happens with storytellers with the genetics to gather healing stories is what is happening as I write to you (anonymous reader, dear curiosity seeker, ...) I have been out in the orchard in my night shirt and its near noon in the day. Playing with the bits and possibilities while the morning is still cool I can lose myself, and the pains, with my safety pins, straight pins and hand-stitched letters made from many times used favorite cloth.

The sparrows' song is something beautiful.  

As the time passed unclocked, the hen, the sparrows and finches, the other feathered beings who have names I don't know they come close and share in the hen's food. Robins rustle the raspberries eating the ripe berries. I think, for a split second, "Leave some for me!" and then remember, the pain in me and consider I might not need to feed on more just yet.

It is summer. It is not winter, when so many medicine stories come. Like this one, about sparrows and bears. Ariel and I (Click & scroll down to read the sweet sparrow story). When I sit to pour off a little of the mending that takes place inside my head, sometimes it helps me to jump back and remember. Remember what medicine came another time, a time not tooooo long passed. Remedy in story. I'm in need for something to eat now, upon asking, it wasn't watermelon my body wants. "How about a fresh poached hen egg?" The answer was yes. I've reread the winter tale written just this February, and the short conversation that began this post might have been something sparrows say to bears, or perhaps something a woman in her nightshirt needs.

The poaching water is boiling. That is all. Thank you.

It's a Strawberry (Saturn) Full Moon in Sagittarius

Elsa P wrote this last July (2014) when Saturn was in Scorpio, before he headed into Sagittarius. The planet of long-suffering lessons, or as I see him, the planet who can and will bring a body to her knees, leaving strawberries where needed, led to my favorite astrologer's advice:

"If you’ve not seen any magic lately or if you’ve forgotten how to cultivate it in your life, here are some ideas…
You’ve got  to work things out with people, rather then failing to work them out. And for Godsakes, no excuses. Blame yourself.
Are you alone, because you pushed everyone away?
Are you depressed because you’re holding on to a corpse? Are you clinging to something dead, be it an idea, an addiction, an ex, or an ideology?
Do you absolutely refuse to do anything new, think anything new, open you mind?
When was the last time you sacrificed, purely to serve another person’s need?
I do see people coming together at this time. They have certain things in common. First and foremost, they’re humble..."

In a few days, transiting Saturn will return to Scorpio for the summer. The issues and questions Elsa posed last summer are in the foreground again. I'm paying close attention with the Full Moon in Sagittarius opposing the Sun in Gemini: the big picture (Sag) is lit thanks to the details of the Gemini Sun's position. I'm muddling through another period of suffering, and all those questions above make for solutions other than more of the same.

Though the moon is low in the sky position and hidden from us, with the cloudy skies in the west, I access the look of celestial things and use the Internet to clear things for me. I'm focused on 'cultivating magic'. My body's worn down from the pollens, but, there's nothing I can do about eradicating the Scotch Broom. A test drive out and into town in the June sprinkle of rain humbles me. I am still harshly affected. I munch some lunch, and write. More patience! Soon, but not now, there will be time to connect with friends, and community. Missing others I get the message that my isolationist genes truly do need, and want, the company of others. (Antares, the fixed star in the image above is both in the sky at dusk, and, is the celestial set-point for 'what grounds a person to the things of this Earth.' Antares is in Sagitarrius now, and it in my 11th House at birth. That's the house of friendships, hopes, and dreams.)

As I muddle through this period remembering what it takes to cultivate magic fits my needs now. I have a great cheat sheet of questions to prepare myself (soften the ground of my being) for beds of magic. To help with the cultivating I asked an old and trusted friend, "More medicine stories?" She said, "Yes to the stories." So that's what I'm doing. I've opened up more space for this batch of muddling. Curious and wandering old women? Crones, witches, or sympathetic warlocks? Read the newest sign making and cultivations. Mend, meddle, MUDdle, magic.

The week ahead:JACKPOT! next stop of my personal Route 66

"Wednesday and Thursday, we have a grand trine in the water signs. The Moon and Jupiter in Cancer are part of this - it's quite upbeat. Many will feel (Moon) hopeful (Jupiter). Optimism can go a long way! This is great for Cancer, Scorpio and Pisces. The earth signs will benefit too, but there's also great news for Virgo, Gemini and other thinkers out there. Next Monday, Mercury will conjunct Saturn in Scorpio.  It's possible you get some scary news, but I doubt it. The conjunction is incredibly well aspected, receiving support from the Moon, Venus, Mars, Chiron Jupiter, Neptune and Pluto.

I don't see how a person can complain about a situation like this. People willing to think deeply about the hard stuff are likely to hit the jackpot.

I mention this early so you can set your eye on the horizon and snag the prize that I know is out there. Why waste an opportunity" - from ElsaElsa's Newsletter (click on the link to sign up for it)

Astrology seems to be the hot button for my regular readers here, and my favorite source for sky navigation is Elsa Panizzon author and creator of ElsaElsa.com. I consult her regularly and have ever since Pete and I began our lives as Sam and Sally. Elsa's taking a break from her near-constant blogging until the end of the year but she is sending out her newsletter once a week so I opened up my email and found the scoop I've quoted above.

Together Pete and I are Cancer and Scorpio (sun signs). "Many will feel (Moon) hopeful (Jupiter). Optimism can go a long way! This is great for Cancer, Scorpio and Pisces." This is particularly good news for us. We can use the optimism as much as a dose of Vitamin D at just the right time. With less sun (a frequent occasion in the woods of the Pacific Northwest) optimism in all forms is the sort of infusion we welcome. Pete is off for his morning of volunteering at The Food Bank. On his way out the door he looked over my shoulder as I read my Elsa newsletter, "Alright, we're gonna hit the jackpot," he cheered. He has to speak a lot louder this week. Ear wax! I am learning to appreciate what hard-of-hearing means. It's not a new experience, but it feels like a deeper learning is happening with this episode. From head to toe life as Sam and Sally is a life of healing from the wounds that are inflicted from the outside as well as those I inflict upon myself. (When a gal has ear wax and can hear only what is going on inside her, it's a formidable jackpot! The ringing and the sounds are all mine.)
Onward from the ear wax ...

Here's the jackpot potential: I wrote this to describe our lives six birthdays ago. "By the time our friends joined the small birthday celebrators for food and drink our brave Sam and Sal were living in their car as a last solution. Safe places alluded and offending smells had become life-threatening poisonous apples."

Since then Earth has revolved and rotated and Sam and Sally have safety pinned themselves to places and people who offer jackpot after jackpot of joy. The life-threatening poisonous apple disease still persists; many people still love Monsanto and refuse to make different decisions about tending to and living with 'weeds.' I, can do very little to make Monsanto change. But, my life? My life rings with potential to be fully present (ear wax or not) and I have a partner who cares fervently ... that's the Cancer sun for you. What I do with what we learned since Sam and Sally lived in the car becomes the daily experience of magic and myth-making and the creation of stories like "The Safety Pin Cafe" where protocol and respect for all places and creators is the practice. From the Introduction of that medicine story, is this:

"We cross borders without regard, ignorant or arrogant of the protocol native to the transitional spaces that take us from this place to that place. Traditions remembered and practiced would maintain and pass along the right things to do, at the right time, and in the right frame of mind. Have we all become wanderers with passports unstamped with the memory of teachings from the Ancestors and Nature? There are rituals to remember and common magic to induce respect for the beings and places that share this planet.

Funny how Nature and Those-Who-Watch time the magic and adjustments for setting things right."

Turning wounds and amputations into a body and life that sees JACKPOT on the next exit is just the sort of journey I have begun. The personal Route 66 is one that conjures up magic within the frame of my reality. Like Elsa wrote in her newsletter, "People willing to think deeply about the hard stuff are likely to hit the jackpot." What a life!

Can you spot your jackpot?
 





 

Raven and Dragon: myth and magic at home

Long ago, near the beginning of the world, Gray Eagle was the guardian of the Sun, Moon and Stars, of fresh water, and of fire. Gray Eagle hated people so much that he kept these things hidden. People lived in darkness, without fire and without fresh water.
Gray Eagle had a beautiful daughter, and Raven fell in love with her. In the beginning, Raven was a snow-white bird, and as a such, he pleased Gray Eagle's daughter. She invited him to her father's longhouse.
When Raven saw the Sun, Moon and stars, and fresh water hanging on the sides of Eagle's lodge, he knew what he should do. He watched for his chance to seize them when no one was looking. He stole all of them, and a brand of fire also, and flew out of the longhouse through the smoke hole. As soon as Raven got outside he hung the Sun up in the sky. It made so much light that he was able to fly far out to an island in the middle of the ocean. When the Sun set, he fastened the Moon up in the sky and hung the stars around in different places. By this new light he kept on flying, carrying with him the fresh water and the brand of fire he had stolen...(link to the Wiki article "Cultural Depictions of Raven" to read the rest of the Raven's tale and the reason Raven is now coal black rather than snow-white. The Wiki link will also site photo credit for the exquisite Tlingit Raven art above.)

AN UPDATE TO THIS POST: This 2011 YouTube caught my attention as I came back to correct the spelling of "Tlingit" ... A project of language preservation, "Persuasive Raven" is a book to book for in the coming years.

Damp and cool partner today. I am sure this is our Pacific Northwest home. Home of Raven. The bowl of green grape tomatoes on our Quonset table ripen above the Radiant heater and when I sit to eat my lunch I reach for the yellow-peach fruit and say, "Yum this is good." Thankful to have the curved shelter and warm space I spent a little time between writing and connecting with an old pal crafting small pockets of warmth into the crevices in the Quonset. Wads of wool weren't enough to keep the damp and cool out. The journey of discovering how to turn a green house frame into a home has led Pete and me back and forth between time adapting skills learned very early on. A builder of bridges, a brick layer--a laborer; a seamstress, daughter of a mother who valued clothespins and safety pins and ironed other peoples' clothes for money we glean the essence of skills over time and adapt what we know. So the pockets of warmth are fashioned from a length of bubble foil insulation taped with Shur-tape two materials we have found useful in our reassembled lifestyle.

In the past few nights ago we watched a couple movies about women's work; one depicts an event in Women's History we'd not know of till we watched Made in Dagenham.Women machinist seamstresses who stitched together the car seats of the Ford Escort in the 1960's stage and carry off a successful strike. During the time of beehive hair dos and mini skirts which I remember first hand, the seamstresses shut down the old boys and laid the basis for equal pay for women in the UK, and beyond. The other was an older (1998)Meryl Streep film One True Thing . The plot of the film, an adaptation of Anna Quinlen's novel, is about a young woman (Ellen) at the rise of her journalistic career forced to return home to care for her mother. Her mother has cancer. From Wikipedia this excerpt of the film:

"As Ellen helps her mother with domestic chores while her father goes about his usual business without helping much, Ellen begins to reassess her views of her parents. She realizes she always brushed her mother aside and idealized her father...

The combined affect of both those movies played at the strings of my experience with the continuum of women's work, a continuum and a collage of roles lived. Not one position over time, but a series of roles and awareness pave the road to equal rights and equal pay is better appraised over a very long time. 

Our pods of living space lifestyle crisscrosses myth and magic everyday and in the process the standards for normalcy change one episode at a time. The bubble wrap insulation packets seal the corner of our Quonset. Vapor and cold stay outside and to add a pinch of luck and magic, I nod to Raven and Dragon and position stickers and stencils with their shapes where they're needed: on the front door, in the corner of fortune, over the holes in the clear, wavy plastic window-wall, in front of the push out window above the sink. Talismans, magic, company, protection. When we chatted this morning, my old pal and I, the conversation led to the place where Crones who are old friends can speak candidly about the angles we get now that we are aging. Changeable? Yes, we are capable of it, and though it embarrasses us to say it we know what a waste of energy it (has been) is to resist change when it's just the thing to do.

Unembarrassed I put dragon stickers on my windows and call on the mana of Mo'o ... "Be with us Goddess!"

Unembarrassed I tell stories about stones -- POHAKU, who birth their babies in a bowl. I water them, and care for them. They grow before my eyes.

 Unembarrassed I decide to choose my affiliations with more discernment; "No, I'll not tell my stories to this group, this person ... they don't deserve this medicine." Saturn in Scorpio is a two point five year stretch of cutting to the chase sooner than later. I take the clue, and apply the skill.

Unembarrased we make room for Raven, for his clan has surely made room for us.

While I opened and explored a way to gather my thoughts and awareness for myth and magic at home I knew Mo'o needed to be part of this piece. Maui Theatre in Lahaina continues a theatrical depiction of Hawaii's people that includes Mo'o.  Ulalena began it's early showing while Pete and I still lived on Maui. There on the stage of the Lahaina theatre was myth and magic at home. I recall watching the production in Lahaina, transfixed and can still hear the clapping of my hand as we participated in the making of rain part of the mythic and inseparable from the magic.

Unlike the other gods in our story, the Mo'o is not a single character; there were many Mo'o who were often worshiped as aumakua (ow-ma-koo-ah), family gods who were more approachable than the great gods and could warn, advise and assist a clan in time of trouble. - from the Ulalena website

Clapping my hands the rain falls and all time is made my present.