Feed the day dreamer

This is what I call an Aunty Lily sky ... "God taking his sheep home" she'd say to me.

Before and awhile ago ...

"There's not much to a sparrow is there dad?" The young boy whispered in his best quiet voice cupping his hands into a tiny megaphone to empty his words into his father's right ear.

Setting the binoculars aside David Courtney considered the best way to answer, "See for yourself. See how they spend time. Let's say a minute. Start with one minute." The boy with hair the color of wheat nearly-ready for harvest loved looking through the glasses. Small enough to fit his boy sized face the field glasses brought the tiny birds within reach. Though he knew -- through countless spying adventures with his father--never to get too close or move too fast the urge to do both itched the way mosquitoes bit.

Sandy Courtney waited til he heard the CLICK from his father's silver stop watch. When the man nodded the boy adjusted the lenses until the blur of a scene became four small brown sparrows.

What Sandy Courtney at age five-and-a-half was very, very good at was remembering what he saw by rendering. His depictions were skillful and included shadow and elements of proportion and perspective. He delighted in drawing! Whispering in bird chatter as the pencil stroked the page images coming as if from a prescribed map his small hand was privy to.

He narrated the sketches, "This sparrow has face feathers like mine. My face feathers -- under this face -- of course!" The boy giggled as he stopped for a moment to poke gently at toasty freckles splattered across his cheeks, under his nose, across his nose, above his pink-brown lips and cube of a chin." - A snip from the medicine story Ariel and I

The Silver-haired Raven from the original medicine of  The Safety Pin Cafe 

Pinning the wild and beautiful self

"Dressed for the season with her red hibiscus over her left ear, tea cozy hat, paisley wool shawl." - describing Pale the Border Witch

A rendering of the Gypsy Woman ... a gift sent to the wild patience within a dear friend
 who inspired the mythic characterization

Pete and I were awake early, grateful for good and restful sleep. My dreams were bold, startling me away as Pete stirred beside me in the futon. Recuperative is sleep. Pete is back in the vardo enjoying another serving of that medicine, sleep. I have fed myself breakfast and was given a rare and beautiful early morning (4 AMish) sighting of Mahina the Moon setting in the west. Through the trees I spied her light, waved to her, and prayed I see her again.

Terri Windling's blog Myth and Moor is a regular place of inspiration and discovery for me. Her gifts for words and story, and the storytellers who listen for the wildness of tales is a consistent one. This morning she offered food for the wild things. I was especially appreciative of this quote

"Storytellers ought not to be too tame,"  Ben Okri advises in his inspiring essay collection A Way of Being Free. "They ought to be wild creatures who function adequately in society, They are best in disguise.  If they lose all their wildness, they cannot give us the truest joys."

It got me to thinking and appreciating the wildness and the disguises that make for a border-crossing witch's regular, or irregular, feeding schedules. I remember one of my first teachers and guides to the wild, my Aunty, who made the skies a living and movable being with many faces.

On the table here in the Quonset a sketchbook fills with the pencil notes and renderings of a Moon Watcher. Inside the first page "Welcome Mahina Lovers" . My husband's moon observation journal. He said the images from the story Ariel and I, the snippet that begins this post, were so powerful and visual for him. I see how those wild words of a small boy and his father noticing sparrows has fed my moon-ruled Cancerian partner.

Some days I'm not sure how I manage to function in society. Surely, I am not facile with the process. Oh well, maybe it's that I function adequately and that is good enough. When the Moon rises later today it will be a Hua moon. The moon fattens. There's empty space in Pete's journal for the Hua moon. He sleeps and perchance he dreams.

Reflections on the moon

Cafe Astrology 

"There is a crisis theme surrounding any quarter Moon phase, as we feel compelled to take action. Shortly after, we are made aware of how our actions affect those close to us, perhaps through trial and error. Whatever project or initiative we began around the New Moon is now off the ground, and it may face its first obstacles." 

- CafeAstrology

Heavy rain last night emptied the healing waters of Kane all over us. The sun is bright, and strong through the rippling wall of clear plastic that is our Quonset's North East facing side. By Kaulana Mahina's tracking, these are the 'Ole Moons the quarter Moon phases. During these moon phases I have learned through practice and experience not to begin new projects and to attend to what has already begun. The commentary from Cafe Astrology was a bit of calling for help on my part. We are in the middle of another 'crisis theme' as described and I am sorting through the 'how our actions affect those close to us' bit. A new awareness lit for me as I read the commentary (as depicted in the glyphs). In a First Quarter Moon the Sun squares the Moon. 'Squares create tension like legs on a table square the table top to hold it up.

Astrology is one of my primary sources for deconstructing and reconstructing my world. I have come to see it as a de- and re-construction process thanks to my connections with Hawaiian practitioners like Kalei Nu'uhiwa and Dr. Pualani Kanahele. Through their scholarship and the accessibility of the Internet's cyberlibrary I source the legacy of my ancient Hawaiian creation myth and learn (through these practitioners' translations). Nu'uhiwa aptly describes these translations in her presentation "Papaku Makawalu."  Astrology is my regular observational practice of the natural re-occurrences in the sky, or in Hawaiian, Papa Huli Lani

If you look closely three thin and snaking Bracken ferns are unfurling, makawalu-ing.
 I took this photo the other day, during the 'ole moons. 

In this close-up shot the imagery speaks loudly to the action of each fern leaflet being a universe of its own ... potential to become more over this season (and the long season over the backbone of time)

In the process of unfurling, or living the life that is mine here in the woods I see that our tiny homes arrangement was the unfolding dream bred from survivors of seafarers and land-based farmers. Pete and I have the DNA of very different beginnings. When we experience the seasonal shifts, as we are now with the Equinox unfurling spring, we adapt to our environment with an inherent difference. To survive our ancestors did different things; they in turn have passed those behaviors down the string of heredity.

This post will ramble and buckle as I attempt to make sense of it even as I am going through it. If I will maintain my focus on the original quote about the quality of a Quarter Moon phase, I find this clue: "Whatever project or initiative we began around the New Moon is now off the ground, and it may face its first obstacles." 

The clue offers me this insight ... the raging pollens' early unset during the New Moon on March 20th and the need for me to have unexpected dental surgery delayed a planned event. I made a choice to cancel a storytelling and teaching gathering. I slowed things down. Pete does not slow down. Spring is literally his choice of action. He can't wait to be more active, and be active with as many people as possible. The challenge is to be aware of how our very different native survival techniques are addressed.

The clash happens. Pete's Libra Moon needs company and many people to be satisfied. My Capricorn Moon is conservative and finds satisfaction from digging, alone. I need to remember this, these Quarter Moon/'Ole Phases give me a chance to understand how to keep my soul close without turning black when Pete's very different needs overshadow.

How to make sense of it: Lawe i ka ma'alea a ku'ono'ono Take wisdom and make it deep. Between us we love to explore the deep and far-reaching potential found in the practices like Papaku Makawalu. Somewhere between the differences of styles we have there is room for understanding. I find ways to breathe the deep breaths to clear my mind, and feed it oxygen. Flushing the pollens with snorts of salt water the memories of my sea-faring ancestors make room for adaptation today. Out and about as he is today the many contacts (makawalu) Pete makes will feed him as needed.

Reflecting on the moon, I remember that she dances and moves regularly around Earth giving light and darkness equal time. Her body affects mine. I observe and notice. I employ the potential to forgive myself when I explode in anger; and be compassionate as I slip on those banana peels of judgment and impatience.

Today and tonight the Moon is in her own sign, Cancer. Settle in. 

Notice ... not to plan, only to respect

Notice: the first of the makua o'o's tools

a handful of blueberry leaves captured my attention: i noticed and appreciate a year of magic

Keep a keen sense of observation … NOTICE

Summer has found itself comfortable here on The Ledge. Simple things take place at the moment, appreciating the cycles of life through the observation of the Moon Calendar I take time to notice. The past four days of the Hawaiian Moon Calendar (check out the sidebar for more on the Hawaiian Moon Calendar) were the 'ole days ... times when Pete and I restore and slow even more. Living on the Ledge in the Woods is priming us for a life more in sync with natural patterns. Pete and our friend "Anna Paint" who shares her land with us are playing Scrabble. It's a routine the two old dears engage in to pass time companionably, and in the process something happens with the synapses in their brains. Across the strawberry fields I hear them in Scrabble conversation ... not hearing them exactly I simply notice they are engaged.

The mid-morning sky is delicious ... clear, and exquisite a background to the tall rising firs growing slowly around the Vardo. Our lives include many journeys; some extensive and repetitive others tiny and almost unnoticed. With the challenges of living with a long-term and surprising illness like chemical sensitivities and environment illness the quiet moments and still times need a different sort of attention. Without the cloak of defensiveness I notice my body is disoriented: like at night when the light of sun, street lights that are completely void here, and the empty night sky. It is so completely dark within the walls of our Vardo I seek the flannel curtain and draw it back just a bit to give me perspective. Claustrophophia? Perhaps, or maybe a bread crumb ... simply reaching for the bread crumb in my familiar fairy tale of a transforming life.

An update and seven-day report on Bounce and Shaking. It really works wonders. It's fun, moves lymph like the massages that I've not been able to have for years and I had a chance to share the simple jirations with our MCS Seattle friends. So, early this week in a North Seattle Park three friends and I did the Bounce and Shake moves. Two minutes of movement and goofiness. And then stillness, notice the tingling. "That's the lymph moving!" "That's amazing. That's all it takes?" "I believe so." "Wow." The 'ole days of the moon happen approximately ever 2-3 weeks and are a perfect time to restore and attend to the maintainence I lose track of for any number of reasons. I notice the small routine fits gently into my day without extreme, adds a quality of goodness that I can feel and is easily shared with friends.

Lovely morning.

Keep a keen sense of observation … NOTICE

Our beautiful compost is home for the organic acorn and butternut squash seeds.

There they are in the warm dark dirt, getting a gentle pat as they get cozy and set healthy roots.
Grow strong and sweet, darlin's.

If we need to we will build a cold frame to keep the starts growing waiting for enough sunshine to set them into the garden spots.

Tonight the Mahealani (Full Moon) is in the sign of Virgo. Full Moon is an excellent time for fishing and planting. This morning I planted our first seeds for the new gardens that will grow just outside the VARDOFORTWO over in the foothills of the Olympic Mountains. We've saved the organic squash seeds from the sweet, orange acorn and butternut squash. We noticed which ones were especially tasty and kept those seeds. Pete has been keeping track of the moon phases and timing them with our hitch-up the trailer schedule. He's been paying attention, too.

Life can get very complicated, and yet like our friend and fellow trailer builder Tom Riddle from Toronto reminded me yesterday ... in spite of the complication he feels blessed. If I'm paying attention I notice the blessings. There you go ~ Thanks for that Tom.

Cheers! Mokihana

Keep a keen sense of observation … NOTICE

What is catching your attention?

Today is Friday and tonight I turns the comments back on and look to see if any one has something to share.

1. Today I wonder what you are noticing?
2. Are there changes to the plants around you that catches your attention?
3. Is your body asking for your attention? How does it ask?
4. Are thoughts or images popping up more than once in a day/in the week?
5. What are your dreams like?
6. Who are you thinking about lately? Have you been in touch with these folk recently?
7. Do you give yourself the gift of a few minutes or more minutes to be attentive?

Just wondering. Care to share?

Keep a keen sense of observation … NOTICE

Two young friends from Hawaii are here in Washington. We are planning to drive north to Whidbey Island where they are staying, and visit. Pete and I enjoy being with young people. When I spoke with Becky this morning she sounded fresh and excited to be here. "Cold?" Yes, and it's the pine trees that are getting to her ... in a very good way. Like my young friend, the trees were the folk that totally overwhelmed me when I arrived in Washington as a young woman fresh from the valley of Kuli`ou`ou. Christmas Land! So her excitement is familiar and I notice how the feeling grows in me, too.

This morning as we enjoyed a slow and delicious wake-up Pete and I consciously noticed how different it is to be present for Spring. The bulbs are poking their tips through the ground, tree limbs are sending feelers out and the days are lengthening. Living on the Islands in the Pacific, the seasons change in a more subtle, though nontheless real, way. The sun rises at 7 am and sets at 6:30 pm this month. There's a fifty-fifty exposure to both light and dark. The body rises and sets with that same rhythm as well ... that is if you're not on the clock, the alarm clock. In tropical climates like Hawaii, plants grow all the time or at least it seems that way. Until you notice the plumeria looses all its leaves in the fall and comes back in the spring. I love how I noticed that for the first time when we lived on our family land again, more than twenty-five years later. It takes what it takes doesn't it?

One of the luxuries of this life we are living, and the one for which I give many thanks for on this sweatshirt and socks day, is the luxury of waking when my body is rested. The tiny kitchenette that is our living and sleeping space is easily shaded from the lights of the city in the distance. The heavy glass door seals most of the air and auto traffic, and the Austin Healthmate Jr. creates a white noise as it filters the air. When the nights pass disruptedly, I know I am blessed with sleeping-in until my body can make the move.

I notice the changes that take place in me here in Washington because my eyes and skin aren't getting much sunlight. My skin pales to a shade not much browner than Pete's and I don't look for sunglasses when the clouds clear. After living with sunshine and salt air, we Island transplants need to pay attention to the body in transition. Spring promises the uncoverings. Wherever we are on The Earth, the seasons affect us and if we notice, the seasons will embrace us more than shock. Thank you for wool and the wooly lambs who give us their fleece. I have never appreciated you more than I do now ... between winter and spring, wool is wonderful. I notice this.

Keep a keen sense of observation … NOTICE

Late yesterday afternoon after a full day of writing I bundled myself in all the clothes I have to keep me warm and dry. "I'm going to the water, honey," I told Pete. It was a blustery day, the air filled with damp, the rain thick. There are two different beach walks I love to take. Both of them edge the same shore of Puget Sound, and yet the seascapes and exposure to the elements are different. The beach walk along Lincoln Park offers three paths: an asphalt road, a grassy path and the gray sand-pebble/rock shore line if the tide is not at full flood. My other favorite walk is just slightly north of Lincoln Park and is a much shorter walk. Like Lincoln Park though, it offers options to a walker or beach comber. The sidewalk stretches along a railed bulkhead on the south end of Alkai Beach in West Seattle. Below the bulkhead though is the rocky shore and shelf of tide pools where the crows, shore birds and wintering ducks, geese and resident sea gulls hang out. That is a place where water life happens with abandon.

I reached the railed bulkhead shortly before 3pm in the afternoon. The wind was blowing in from the south. The water churned dull ... a color I'm not sure of: green-blue-gray? The heavens were emptying and the air was fresh. I wore two hats, long underwear, a sweat shirt, tights, my winter coat, gloves, wool socks and my trusty boots. Once out of Scout, I felt the sharp wind, which I had to admit and appreciate, was not icy. After 20 degree December, the nearly 50 degrees was almost comfortable. Is this acclimating? Probably. As soon as I stepped onto the sidewalk I hear it. A low constant tone sang in the wind. Adjusting to the outside air I simply noticed the tone, and felt the tone change, the sound was constant and yet it had a melody. As I walked I looked out across the rain-blown water. Ferry horn? My head was clearing from the muddle it accumulates when I am not able to exchange inside-only air with the ions of a fresh outing. As I stretched my legs, I lost myself in the breathing of that glorious, rich fresh air.

There was a little bit of rock beach shoreline below I considered going down to be with it, walk it. Decades earlier when I lived along the water in Mukilteo, the shoreline of Puget Sound was home. I made the adjustment away from Hawaiian Island life living along Puget Sound. One of the sea truths reinforced by living near ocean is to respect her power. There was not enough shoreline to walk without danger of a rogue wave. I wasn't so much concerned a wave would pull me into the water, as much as knowing the floating logs and debris was more dangerous if churned up. The sidewalk was close enough to inhale beautiful air, and the mournful melody of those tones kept me company. Finally I connected with the source of that strangely beautiful sound. The railings stretched along the sidewalk are pipe, small holes allow the wind to play the pipes like so many giant tin whistles. It was a Gaelic concert free for the noticing, and I had a front seat. Blessed with the opportunity to notice the gods gave me time to clear my head, and refresh body and soul.

Malama pono, Mokihana

Here is a link to a wonderful post on the barometic character of the body. It's a lovely way to ponder the exquisite knowledge our body always knows. Kerry from Lemon-aide, thank you for this.