Grim Shit

My mother has been dead for almost seven years now, and still - still - there is one who continues to demonize her. And me, too, it now seems. This is a shard so sharp 'n' slippery I can't get myself to pick it up for closer examination. And yet, I must.

I won't be able to nurture understanding, compassion or forgiveness until I am able to handle this slimy razor-edged particle, and I must - must - work through this. Failure or delay to do so will poison me, and already I feel a hideous seething. I'm feeling a deep disgruntled disdain for the shitty, piddly-ass problems of others. Even the bigger-than-piddly-ass ones. And this is unfair. Because this challenge belongs to me, not to others. This challenge is brought to me by one, not many. And, as a Medicine person, others are my Medicine. I rely on them as much as they rely on me. ::nods::

Yet in this moment I find myself wading by degrees in grim, toxic waters. And there's no way out until I pick up this shard, poking up out of the shallow, mucoid murk.

Day one, I stoically digest, pushing away feeling as much as possible. Day two, digestion continues as I acknowledge and honor the feelings. And there's lots more feeling to do. Today, day three, I digest, feel, and begin to acknowledge the darkest of dark feelings.

And it's some grim shit.

Peace. 🕊

Shards of Love and Life

I once wrote, "We live in times that prefer to demonize the darkness, to shun the shadows. We're taught to run away from them, fear them, hide from them, lash out at them … but I say go into them, for there you will discover Love in its truest form."

::sigh::

Some 40 years ago I learned that I could love someone without trusting them. I learned the skills needed to maintain emotional distance, as well as the skills to be cordial when physical social circumstances dictated the need. I learned something I've repeated like a mantra over the years: Family is overrated. 

I reflect back on this memory today and feel sadness and gratitude for the innate wisdom that guided me all those years ago, for my actions at the time were not calculated from conscious thought, rather they were rooted in pure intuition.

Yesterday a bomb was dropped on my mental, emotional, (and then some) self. There are shards everywhere. I have a lot of work to do to tidy up this detritus

There are a few shards of love that seem to be the essence of the bomb, and I pull those in close to offer me stability, protection, and healing. Yet, it's the angry shards that beg for my attention. Anger for reckless behavior born of the source of that 40 year old realization. Reckless behavior seemingly rooted in what I can only perceive as vanity, bluster, and well, petty vengeance. Behavior that more recently conveyed a sad and, dare I say, vicious lie. To someone on their deathbed, for fucks sake. That. That is the anger that begs for attention. And it is dark.

As I stand deep in my tears from the nucleus of this experience and swivel to gaze about at the shards, I feel flooded. So many feels, as they say (whoever they are). So, so many feels. Too many.

This is a chapter I did not see coming. This is a chapter that's gonna take some time, will, heart, and extreme care to... wade through. 

Peace. 🕊

Beloved friends, With respect to the current state of knowns, unknowns, and a third confirmed case of (untraceable) COVID-19 in Connecticut, combined with the shamefully inadequate state of our current "healthcare system," I’m making a hard decision to ramp up my respect for prevention, especially in the form of social distancing. That said, I am cancelling all communal events until further notice, which include scheduled classes, workshops, and gathers. All by-appointment sessions are continuing in the virtual realm, via Zoom or FaceTime. If there is a class that’s now cancelled that you’re especially anxious for, contact me, as I am working on translating some offerings to virtual venues. I apologize for any disappointment or inconvenience, yet all my scheduled activities are discretionary in nature, and so are things that - at this time - are best put on hold.  So it is that after consulting with Nona Gaia and other assorted Mysteries, wise medical professionals, my inner wisdom chooses to err on the side of caution. At least for the moment. As always, thank you for your interest in my offerings, and thank you, too, for your patience and understanding. Be well. Stay well. ::nods::

Peace. 🕊 rose Walk in the Woods, LLC Whiting Mills, studio 310 100 Whiting Street Winsted, Connecticut 860.480.3642

Welcome March

March Arrives...

and with it, vernal anticipation.

If you're looking for me in the early days of this month, you may not find me. I'll be winnowing and weaving the last of the waning threads of winter's hibernation, to comfort me as I sit with spring's looming.

This March arrives - for me - with intense feelings of anticipation that are coming from many sources. It feels overwhelming. My full year tarot spread suggested that the verve of VII of Pentacles would be an anchor for this stretch of time, and what I'm feeling and perceiving with this calendar flip offers me undeniable validation, and suggests that patience may - indeed - be an ally as the days unfold.

I so appreciate when I'm able to recognize and honor such moments where my personal experience mirrors that of Nature, for surely this a time of seasonal shift when all of Nature is challenged to be patient in expressing spring's poetry of promise.

So I invite you to join me in embracing the powers of patience this month. Methinks its a vital verve for the vernal looming. 

Peace.  🕊

My White World - A Personal Perspective

For several years I've been consciously challenging myself to be a better person. Specifically, to be a better white person. And it is a challenge. I struggle with the racism that bubbles up from somewhere deep within my own entitled white genetics, my own privileged white life. I gotta own this shit if I want to add some value to this flawed world I live in. I gotta.

I realize it's always been a challenge. I just didn't realize how deep my own shit was buried. How deep my own shit was rooted. And I'm still digging. I wish more folks who look like me would do the same. I wish more folks who look like me would be willing just willing, for fuck's sake to discuss just discuss, for fucks sake race. After all, it's up to us to to make right what we've made wrong. And that truth alone is a truth that too many folks who look like me can't seem to even acknowledge just acknowledge, for fuck's sake.

Yeah. In the name of all that is sacred and holy, I swear I know two (maybe three) folks who look like me who are genuinely willing just willing, for fuck's sake to share candid words around the topic of race without getting all fragile 'n' shit.

I reflect back to the onset of the #BlackLivesMatter movement and the weird, awkward, vile 'n' vengeful exchanges that took place... an exchange expressed by a smugly smiling white woman, another exchange expressed by an indignant white woman who waxed woke, and not long after more than one exchange expressed by self satisfied blue liners who denied their own racist mantra, symbol (not to mention "flag desecration"), and their own racism. Such exchanges continue. They continue with subtly worded white arrogance of self-righteous entitlement to be racist while declaring they are not. Well, they are. As is the flag mentioned, sans the blue line, but that's a whole other disquieting deliberation.

Some of these people were acquaintances who I've since trimmed from my life. And others are folks I've considered friends, some who've been trimmed, and others who may still need trimming because they're consistently unwilling to make any acknowledgment of their own racism, let alone take any active responsibility for their own racism. They simply will not acknowledge acknowledge for fuck's sake that it's even a thing.

I want to cut them out of my life, yet I feel held by a hope that keeping a door open might yield some willingness, discussion, and acknowledgment that gives way to efforts to heal the wounds of our own making, efforts that are called for, and overdue. After all, I consider this group friends. But... maybe they're not. ::shrugs::

Yet, if we - the folks who look like me - are sincere in our desire to heal the system, we must be sincere in our desire to heal our selves as well.

In any event, it's exhausting. Even this small, personal stuff. If you have any pigmentation, I don't need to tell you that. If you look like me, I do.

I must.

And I will.

Whether you like it our not.

Because it's long overdue and there's too much at stake. Too much  for fuck's sake.

Even Nona Gaia says so.

To be continued, at my own pace, if I'm strong enough... and brave enough... 

Peace.  🕊

February Medicine and Magick

February is the shortest month in linear measure, and yet, the longest month of winter. For me, anyway. Despite this delightfully mystifying truth, with its arrival it offers the uplifting promise that spring is not far off. With it arrives the European agricultural holy day of Imbolc, a day (days, really, for me)  that I pause to recognize the midpoint between winter solstice and vernal equinox. A time to pause to be with the deep, and often dark, winter reflections that connect us to our mother earth, to our loved ones, our community, to the past/present/future, to the greater good.

Such reflections feel affably fitting with the ritual of seed starting that accelerates this month. With every little seed that is placed in the soil, the promise of spring is planted, along with my prayers of reflection... and projection. 

I choose to leverage February's winter pace, still unhurried and hushed, to indulge in some February Medicine and magick. To indulge in meaningful reflection and projection, before the pace quickens with the expanding daylight of the season's spiral.

I invite you to join my in this experience, this practice, this ritual.
Peace.  🕊

Greeting 2020

January. The month named for the god, Janus. The god who looks forward and looks back. The god of comings and goings. The god of portals and choices. A month that offers us collective consideration of this linear measure of time that we've all embraced to some degree or another. A month - and year - that opens with Nona Gaia whispering with weight. May we all Listen.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~ 

I pulled a card this morning, as I often do. I requested guidance not only for the day, but for this thing we call 2020. The card I pulled suggested that I root myself in balance of action, and harmonic choices... that I consider the partnership of give 'n' take... that I consider the verve of offering and receiving aid... that I elevate the practice of relinquishing and requesting support. Elevate it. Expand it. Nurture it. For all.

Good advices, as a friend of mine might say. And seemingly lofty. As I give consideration to all that this year seems to have bundled within, I shall do my best to heed this counsel, for it is a year rich in shared potential upon which collective foundations may be raised. There is vital gravity that holds, supports, nurtures and nourishes all life. And it feels that this year may be relying on us - all of us - to return the embrace... return the generous verve.

May we - all of us - step up to the challenge - together. For it is vital, Nona Gaia whispers with weight. May we all Listen.

Peace.  🕊

I Will Miss Her

Peacekeeper, Margaret Jean Maville Derwitsch, my mother-in-law and friend, passed into the Big Mystery a week ago, on the cusp of midnight between November and December. I will miss her.

So many years ago she welcomed me into her family with an open, yet reluctant heart. A reluctance that I judge not one whit. A heart that warmed and never stopped opening to me as the years progressed. We became friends. Good friends. We shared confidences. I will miss her.

In the early days of our relationship she shared her garden with me, giving me a small patch. A patch that grew each year. Some things never change. My mulching methods befuddled her, I'm sure. She never directly said so, but I got that sense. She inspired me to preserve my harvests, and later she taught me to make a proper jelly after years of hit-or-miss. She taught me not to fear that hard boil. And not just for jelly. ::nods:: For a time we lived downstairs from her and her spouse, my beloved fishing buddy, Franz, where we shared the washing machine in the basement. I'd hang out her laundry, and she'd hang out mine. We went grocery shopping together. I will miss her.

We shared many an apricot brandy cocktail back in the day. Most every Friday evening (and then some) Franz would set 'em up and we'd knock 'em back. And Sunday dinners were a thing we shared, with other family members, sharing cooking, clean-up, and conversation. My mom would remark for years about Jean's giant Thanksgiving leftover pot pie. And I'll always recall - with humble pride - when she said of a wild blueberry pie I made for her, "that's what pie is supposed to taste like." I will miss her.

In later years she'd join Rick 'n' me with her youngest, Frankie, for Christmas dinner. And when my mom passed, we added Thanksgiving to the mix. She enjoyed these "civilized" holiday meals together. I laughed the first time she used that phrasing, and continue to chuckle at its recall. I will miss her.

She was rather serious, yet she inspired laughter in me, not always on purpose. Serious 'n' not, we shared a good bit of laughter between us. There's a number of Jeanisms, as I call them, that I've collected and assimilated for my own expressive use. A favored, and often used Jeanism is, "he thinks everything's funny," which at the time originally spoken, was expressed with a rather sharp annoyance... directed at her son... my spouse, Rick. It cracked me up then, and it cracks me up still. I will miss her.

Near the end, we spoke of death and dying. She said that if she saw the light she would go to it. I told that that is as it should be. We agreed that no one - no one - should have to suffer. In life. Or in death. I will miss her.

For me, from a personal perspective, her passing marks a major life change. All my parental relationships have moved on, leaving me to become the elder I'm meant to be. This feels like a mighty shift, a mighty responsibility, a mighty loss. And, indeed, it is. I will hold her memory deep in my heart like the precious gem that it is. And I will miss her.

Indeed, I miss her now.

Peace. 🕊