Margot Velvet

Author: Margot Velvet

  • Dreams of Mirrors

    Dreams of Mirrors

    My last post was about mirrors and I think it’s funny that I left off with “my dreams are reserved for those I love.” I had a dream about someone I didn’t recognize, and it was a bit eerie. Obviously, it also involved mirrors and reflections.

    Last week (and I wish I had written down the day it happened) I had a dream. I lived in a house I’ve never seen before, but I knew it well. It was a log cabin, 2 stories, surrounded by tall skinny trees (like in WI or MI). I came home and was standing in the driveway (gravel) and noticed something peculiar upstairs — I couldn’t tell what was “off” but something just didn’t seem right.

    I went inside and headed upstairs. I realized quickly that there were 2 rooms hidden in the house that I had NO IDEA were there. I realize this is a common trope in dreams, but the shock and confusion seemed real. I opened up the first door. There was a skinny twin sized bed with white sheets. The frame was too simple. It reminded me of the metal bedframes you see in movies from the 30’s and 40’s – or in old abandoned hospitals *shiver* (https://i2.wp.com/my1929charmer.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/01/Crochet-Bedspread-Iron-Bed-Vintage.jpg)

    The headboard was against the outside wall, to the right of the window, directly facing me. A deep, yellow-orange light had the room glowing with warmth. I noticed that there was someone sitting at a vanity just behind the door, to the left. She sat in a black (?) lacey dress. Her hair was parted down the center cleanly, pure white, in two short braids tied with a black ribbon. I immediately took a step back, embarrassed that I had walked in on someone. “Oh, I’m sorry to disturb you,” I managed to blurt out. She stood and turned toward me and her face was blank. Just white, shapeless skin. Confused, I turned to look at what she had been doing at the vanity, sitting in front of the mirror, since she had no face (lol). When I turned back, her features were filled in. They were not particularly memorable or shocking in any way but I don’t think she looked old, so the pure-white hair seemed to be the strangest thing about her. She said something I don’t recall, but she had a very sweet and passive energy. She seemed a tinge sad but definitely unbothered by me. I excused myself and closed her bedroom door. I noticed the other mystery door just down the short hallway to the left, but instead of investigating it, I went downstairs to find my husband and tell him about the weird extra rooms and the lady. Why didn’t we notice this? And then I seemed to remember that we knew she was there all along, or was supposed to have been there, but we just never saw her around. And then I remembered I was alone, and I would not find my husband there to tell him. I remember thinking “Oh, duh, we knew she was here, we just weren’t sure where she was! I have GOT to tell J about this… oh no, I can’t.”

    All very strange.

    I’ve read that discovering a new part of your house in a dream signifies that you are ready to, or actively are, learning about a new part of yourself. It makes sense: the house is our Self and the new addition is a new aspect coming to light. This lovely white-haired lady was not sat at her vanity (altar) gazing at herself in the mirror, but using it for some other purpose. I assume magic.

    Is this symbolic of me now? Learning and reading and crafting spell jars? And what was behind the second door? Will this be a second big revelation? A second life-altering self-discovery later down the road?

    Or is this a glimpse of future me, a widow in her dream house, staring emptily into a mirror?

    After writing this out and thinking about it more, maybe I was right all along. Maybe my dreams are reserved for those I love, and perhaps I am coming to love myself.

  • On Mirrors

    On Mirrors

    When I was young, maybe 6 or 7 or 8, I watched an episode of Fact or Fiction that changed my life forever.

    If you are not familiar with the premise of the show, they tell 4 stories. Some are made up and some are real. They are frequently paranormal and deal with ghosts or UFOs or some other taboo subject. At the end of the show, they tell you which ones were based on fact, and which were complete fiction.

    In this particular episode, a woman moves into a new home. She sets up a large mirror in her hallway outside her bedroom. After a few weeks, she notices the apparition of a woman appearing in the mirror every time she walks past. Sometimes her own reflection is distorted into the image of the ghost woman. Eventually, she ends up covering the mirror because it causes her so much distress.
    One evening, a man breaks into her home through the bedroom window. There is a struggle, and she runs out into the hallway. While she is trapped in his arms, the sheet gets pulled away from the mirror and the assailant sees the ghost woman. Completely spooked, he runs off but is caught by police. He reported that the woman he saw in the mirror was one of his previous victims.
    The story turned out to be true, and the dead woman was there to protect her, not scare her.

    Immediately after watching that, I took down the mirror in my bedroom.
    When staying in hotels, I will cover the mirror.
    When I spend the night at my parents’, I cover the mirror.
    At home, I make sure the mirror on my vanity is turned away from the bed before I go to sleep.
    Two weeks ago I rearranged the living room and had to move the TV just so I would not catch my reflection in it. I have no other mirrors in my house other than the necessary one in the bathroom. (As a 32 year old adult, I still freak out a little when I go into the bathroom and the light is off; I constantly imagine Bloody Mary waiting for me when I flip on the switch.) Mirrors in general just plain give me the creeps.

    I understand that, in the case of the Fact or Fiction show, the spirit was there to protect someone. But couple the fear of seeing the unexpected with the horror tropes from Hollywood — it’s just a burnt in phobia for me now.

    Anyway… getting back to the point of all of this: I dreamt of my grandma again today. In my dream, I saw her reflection in a TV screen. I won’t go into detail about the dream just now, but I find it interesting that that was how I saw her. As a reflection.

    I wonder if the MODE of how I saw her means anything. Mirrors. Reflections. Images. Imprints. Suggestions. Scrying. Gazing.

    I wonder if I would be good at scrying. Perhaps I avoid it because I am not ready to utilize it. I have to get over my irrational fear first.

    I feel my spirit strengthening. I feel like I am coming in closer to being in tune with the universe. Am I learning the language? Interpreting the signs correctly? When I am ready, I will find the perfect obsidian bowl to use for water scrying. I’m not sure I will ever be ready for a straight up mirror.

    —edited to add, briefly: I used to have a ghost companion (a story for another day) and the only time I could see him was through my rear view mirror. And again, I saw the ghost of Mr. Wysock at my grandparent’s house also from my car in the side-view mirror. At my cabin, I took a photo of my family and captured a silhouette of a deceased family member in the sliding glass door – a reflection. This confirms it. And it seems so obvious. If I want to communicate with the dead, I personally will need to use something reflective. A mirror. Water. Crystal ball. A TV. (My dreams are reserved for those I love.)—

  • On Ancestors

    On Ancestors

    Hello, internet! It has been a LONG time since I have written here. I think this is because I was making so much progress and doing so much learning and it was all clicking that I didn’t feel the need to pause. To stop. To digest by writing it out.

    Now I am thinking about ancestry work. This is not unfamiliar to me. Growing up Mormon (blech), there was a strong focus on genealogical work. We were taught to trace our heritage and honor our ancestors and to do “work” for them on this earth – performing baptisms and marriage rituals through the church on their behalf, so they had an to opportunity to join the religion posthumously. Absurd. It always seemed wrong to me. Intrusive. Arrogant. Disrespectful. I stayed away from it and tried not to participate.

    Now, on the coming days before Samhain, a lot of focus in the community is on ancestry work. It has a different meaning here: honor them by learning their lessons, breaking generational cycles, asking them for guidance and support, or sending messages beyond the veil. This makes sense. This is done with love, not out fear or judgement, like how it was in Mormonism.

    Today, I will be going to get some dirt for my first Ancestor Bottle.

    We take all of these things, with reverence, to utilize their magical properties; like for like.

    Graveyard Dirt // Earth (…it’s dirt.)
    Sea Salt // Air (evaporation)
    Rice // Water (grows within it)
    Glass Jar // Fire (created by heat)

    Rosemary // Ruled by the Sun (solary)
    Rose Petals // Ruled by Venus – Air and Water – love
    Tobacco // protection – divination – omitting because it is not culturally appropriate
    Lavender // Ruled by Jupiter – Air – calm
    Bay Leaf // catalyst for other magical objects
    Corn or Corn Husk // Ruled by Jupiter – Air
    Sweetgrass // cleansing – omitting because it is not culturally appropriate
    Chili pepper // protection – regeneration – omitting because it is not culturally appropriate
    Moss // Ruled by the Sun (solary) – life after death – co-existence
    Chrysanthemums // devotion – thriving in difficult times
    Personal trinkets (photos, msgs, jewelry)

    I am looking forward to posting more about this later.

    ///// e d i t /////

    Here it is:

  • Lucky

    Lucky

    She is a wave, an ocean.
    Moving, spinning in layers of chiffon clothing, soft sighs and
    wispy clouds. She is the mistress … no.. there’s a better word.

    Embodiment of a sea I’ve never seen. But I can feel it in her,
    roiling deep, tumultuous, raging, beautiful destruction, controlled chaos,
    wielding the power of both death and new life: a theme so very
    familiar. Making waves, etching landscapes, capturing the heart
    of anyone who likes the crisp pre-dawn air.

  • Tarot Practice – Celtic Cross

    Tarot Practice – Celtic Cross

    My best friend, whom I have mentioned earlier, did a fantastic reading for me tonight. I recreated the spread at home with my own cards so I could touch and see them and glean some additional insight. Her distance reading pictures are below:

    1. The Present – Death
    2. The Challenge – 2 of Swords
    3. The Past – Queen of Wands
    4. The Future – The Empress
    5. Above – Knight of Cups
    6. Below – The Lovers
    7. Action/Advice – 4 of Swords
    8. External Forces – 3 of Wands
    9. Internal Forces/Hopes and Fears – 2 of Wands
    10. Outcome – 10 of Cups

  • Pilgrimage

    Pilgrimage

    A spiritual quest to the Illinois River Valley. TLDR; My past-life theory is substantiated and I learn about discerning sacred places.

    ** Edit // Relevant Posts ***
    This is the 4th post in a series about Past Lives, Senachwine, Lake Thunderbird and Magical Places.
    1. On Magical Places (pt. one)
    2. On Magical Places (pt. two)
    3. On Past Lives

    I drove south on I-180 in search of Broccoli Trees. These trees were the last landmark before I reached my destination. The sight did not disappoint. The road opens at the intersection of Rt. 26, just north of Rt. 29 near Tiskilwa, IL, in a breathtaking display of lush green foliage before and on either side, nourished by the rivers, creeks and lakes that make up the Illinois River Valley.

    It was literally a breath of fresh air.

    I turned to follow the signs pointing the way to Lake Thunderbird at Putnam. I came for a few reasons: to see if my childhood home was indeed a magical place (or if the sadness of my youth was to blame for my lingering pangs to return), and to hopefully find a sense of clarity in regards to my blossoming spirituality, especially regarding past-lives and my ties to the area.

    I travelled the familiar blacktop roads, winding through deep cut ravines and wilderness, and tried to absorb the vibe. To my surprise, all of Lake Thunderbird felt empty. A bit sad. Lifeless.

    Vacationers, tourists and half-timers were gathered at the beach and boat launches in throngs. I was not surprised; it is a private members-only lake and I’m sure the remoteness of it made those people feel like Covid-19 was just a bad dream. At the Lake, they are safe. Untouchable. I drove by slowly and inspected the cabins that were built up, fixed, or brand new all along the main drag. The roads and the buildings looked tired. As I took the final dip before Valley Rd, I took a breath to prepare for what was ahead: my childhood cabin. I knew it wouldn’t look the same. I was wondering if it would still feel the same.

    The house, once quaint, with pea-green paneling and a strapping redwood covered porch and back deck, now resembles an actual, literal cardboard box. It is brown and uninspired. Nothing about it seemed familiar. Two small windows stood at the front of the house where an addition closed in the deck. There was no door; it must have been relocated or perhaps they were only using the backdoor. A carport was thrown up in haste and 2 equally boring sheds stood on the side of the house. There was a boat under a tarp and several pick up trucks. It resembled a junk yard.

    I made a U-turn at the end of the street and circled back to examine it further. I wanted to see how the landscape itself changed: were the natural tiger lilies still there? The shagbark? The reliable black eyed Susans?

    Sort of. Just the red cast iron pitcher pump and some of the larger trees (including the shagbark hickory) remained. I was a bit disheartened; it felt like someone (excuse me, but I must say it) took a giant shit on a glittering gem of a cabin. The land itself seemed depressed. I couldn’t feel the Heartbeat.

    The same depressive atmosphere that I felt when entering the area carried on as I circled around the lake. Even the Chair Tree, a beautiful white oak used as a Native American trail marker, had died. It was over 200 years old when it finally gave up. It was a sun-bleached amputee, it’s once outstretched arms were sawed off completely and crude animal totems carved into it “to honor Senachwine and his people.” … Okay, then.

    At this point I circled back to Princeton to stretch my legs, grab some coffee, and check my maps for a place near Senachwine Creek to meditate. I decided to go to Miller-Anderson Woods, even though it was not clear if there was place to park or trails to roam.

    To my delight, there was a tiny gravel parking lot with room for 3 cars at most. I pulled in and positioned my car so I could drive straight back out onto the road easily and also so I was not in clear view of passersby. There were no trails that I could see, nor any maps or signs other than one that read “NO MUSHROOM HUNTING.”

    I turned off the car and rolled down all my windows. I brought a journal with me and an assortment of items of power: obsidian, rainbow moonstone, bloodstone, selenite and a tiny vial of holy dirt from Santuario de Chimayo, NM. I placed the obsidian chunk before me on the dashboard and closed my eyes to still myself and just listen.

    Birds. Bugs. The rustling of ground critters. The sounds were quiet but they were everywhere.

    I felt weepy but not because I was sad. I felt … touched. Pleasant. At peace. I asked the Universe, god, the Great Spirit for wisdom. Why this place? Why do I feel called to return here, year after year? What am I supposed to be doing?

    A thought occurred – “You can’t do this here.” Here, in the car. I needed to venture deeper into the woods. I needed to abandon the road and get away from the areas disturbed by humans. Without a trail or a path, I was worried about getting lost or that the woods may be impassable. So I asked again and listened.

    Suddenly I heard a great gust of wind approaching. I could actually see the breeze coming as it moved the tree tops in the distance. I heard it and I saw it before I could feel it. Incredible. This is it, I thought. My message is coming on the wind. I closed my eyes and turned my face into the breeze, as big, grateful tears spilled down my cheeks. Before I could even finish tasting the moment, I became aware of an approaching car. It was slowing down. Someone was coming. A Jeep carrying two white men pulled haphazardly into the lot beside me. They smiled and nodded over at me and proceeded to exit their vehicle… to urinate. Both of these men walked into the preserve and peed on the ground in full view.

    I immediately turned my engine and rolled the windows up and locked the door. I drove straight out into the street and left.

    … What just happened? I was about to receive some divine message and it was ruined by these random dudes! What the hell! I was upset. Angry. Here I was, in a beautiful sacred space trying to commune with nature and these guys come in and defile it shamelessly.

    Wait a second… was that the message?

    I thought of my last post on past lives:

    In a past life (and I think probably my only past life) I was a guardian spirit. An old Sentinel of the land. Custodian of the sacred woodlands, I kept the land wild and healthy and in balance. I blanketed the forest in love and light. I respected the indigenous peoples who respected me. I was likely fascinated by them. I brought the rain that replenished the earth. I fed the worms, the birds, the bats, the flowering trees and the deer who marked their antlers against them. I was the Heartbeat, the invisible Divine force charged with ensuring balance of the lush ecosystem. I watched. (Echoing the prophecy of my husband, “You saw it.“) I felt proud of it’s perfect purity.

    …

    I wonder if I gave up my duties because, as time went on, protecting the land and the innocent creatures within it became futile. Man encroaches, destroys, manipulates, abuses the land and its resources. We litter, pollute, without a second thought. I wonder if, after so many years of watching, I said — Fuck it. I wonder if I failed. Perhaps this is why I grieve needlessly for little chipmunks or get weepy and incensed by the sight of roadkill. Perhaps this is why I pause to admire and praise the old, fat trees whose roots disrupt the foundation of my own home. Perhaps this is why I am driven to research Senachwine and the forested Illinois Valley. Perhaps I abandoned my post and am now living a life of a destructive human. Maybe I wanted to understand the other side.

    It seems impossible to argue anything other than that this whole situation reinforces my pondering of last week. What could be more obvious than 2 bros actually peeing on protected land?

    Perhaps I failed and gave up, I said.
    Perhaps I abandoned by post and am being punished to live as a human. No, no… too dramatic.
    Perhaps I wanted to understand the other side – perhaps, indeed.
    Perhaps this is all in my head and it was all random coincidence.
    Perhaps I am being blocked from truly connecting and understanding by some other force.

    When I got home today, I pulled out some PDFs and historical maps. Not even a mile away from where I meditated today at Miller-Anderson Woods lies the L. Thompson Mounds – a Native burial site of at least 6 mounds dating back to the Woodland era.

    Sacred land. Untouched, preserved land. Proof that the Heartbeat exists – and maybe this is my tiny superpower.

    Lessons learned:

    • The soul of Lake Thunderbird has been diminished.
    • My attachment belongs to the area in general, not solely our former property at the lake.
    • I have a gift for places. I can tell what land is special and should be respected. I can feel what the land is feeling. I now have a boundary map for that area of where the Heartbeat lives on in the land.
    • White men are still the worst.
    • I should probably bring someone with me next time I want to explore the woods.

    Until next time,

    MV

  • Moon in Scorpio – Mars in Aries

    Moon in Scorpio – Mars in Aries

    I am sad that the moon moves on today into Sagittarius.

    I have a lot of feelings about this particular transit but I don’t have the energy at present to explain in detail. In a nutshell, I felt alive and more like my true self: which is very sexual in nature.

    Vibrant. Radiant. Slinky. Powerful. Wanted. Greedy. Indulgent. Amorous. Erotic. Dominant. Masterful. Deserving.

    I felt like I could conquer any obstacle with the flutter of eyelashes or a saucy smirk.

    The problem is that I missed out on fulfilling my needs when the time felt so right, and now I can already feel Scorpio’s influence slipping away as he unbinds himself from me.

    Farewell. Until next time.

  • On Past Lives

    On Past Lives

    ** Edit // Relevant Posts ***
    This is the 3rd post in a series about Past Lives, Senachwine, Lake Thunderbird and Magical Places.
    1. On Magical Places (pt. one)
    2. On Magical Places (pt. two)
    4. Pilgrimage

    Today I cried in my car twice. First because I crossed paths with a little one-eyed chipmunk. He sat still as I approached my car and I noticed right away he seemed odd. Not so much because he was acting funny or looked unusual – he looked like any ordinary chipmunk at first glance. I felt that he was different and stopped to examine him while he was vibing me out, assessing my level of threat. His right eye was missing, scarred over in light gray fur. He scampered away and seemed to be quite fine and I briefly marveled at the resiliency of animals before I was filled with anger and grief.

    Who did this to you, little baby?! Who can I punish? Fiery anger subsided to grief and I was sorrowful for him. Such a sweet, innocent and harmless creature… Surely he endured great pain and I was mournful on his behalf.

    Moments later, as I turned the engine of my car, I watched a Mama duck and her 5 babies toddle through the parking lot on the way to the lake. It’s June 26th – much too late for ducklings. I worried that they wouldn’t grow up strong and healthy. I worried that there wasn’t enough time for them to fatten up and become wise before the first wave of winter. But what could I do?

    I sniffled and wiped the tears from my cheeks, thinking that I was so emotional and being dramatic because my menstrual cycle started today. I shrugged off the heaviness like rolling a boulder from my conscience and then I remembered a “quarantine conversation” between my husband and I.

    We wondered if it could be possible to be a ~something else~ in a past life.
    Not human, not an animal, but a spirit. It’s something we’ve pondered together, and it’s an idea that strikes a chord rooted somewhere within my chest, resonating deeply like a far-away thunder. It sits in my stomach like the shadow of an ache, a dark and empty feeling that speaks of a truth that is too old and ancient, sunken under ages of earth, a living fossil too tired and forgotten to come to light. It’s a feeling most abstract and hard to fathom.

    Can you be a guardian angel in a past life? Would that qualify as a “life”? Could you have lived, died, and roamed the earth as a lost soul for so long that that very afterlife became a memory of another lifetime of its own? What about mythical spirits – could someone have a past life as a god or some other deity or totem?

    While I was wiping my silly tears away, the thought stirred my belly and I said aloud, “A protector… I want to protect them. And I will never be able to do enough.”

    In this human life, we replicate experiences that bring us joy. For me, it is being in the woods. Being quiet in the forest. Seeing the happy critters. I have formative memories involving The Forest, especially the trees in particular. I have written about my fondness of birds. I find direction in land formations – not street signs. I am connected to the earth and the plants and the animals. Grounded. Rooted. Green and yellow and blue.

    Perhaps I was a Protector.

    In a past life (and I think probably my only past life) I was a guardian spirit. An old Sentinel of the land. Custodian of the sacred woodlands, I kept the land wild and healthy and in balance. I blanketed the forest in love and light. I respected the indigenous peoples who respected me. I was likely fascinated by them. I brought the rain that replenished the earth. I fed the worms, the birds, the bats, the flowering trees and the deer who marked their antlers against them. I was the Heartbeat, the invisible Divine force charged with ensuring balance of the lush ecosystem. I watched. (Echoing the prophecy of my husband, “You saw it.“) I felt proud of it’s perfect purity.

    In real life, I am a 5 year old girl, galloping around the yard pretending to be a fawn. I am an 8 year old watching Pocahontas, excited by Grandmother Willow and the spirits moving on the wind. I am a 10 year old, running through the brambles and labeling animal paw prints in the clay dirt. I am a 12 year old, writing fantasy about growing up alone in the woods. I am a 16 year old, driving, driving, as far out as I could until finally there were no buildings and the Broccoli Trees were all I could see in the distance, welcoming me in a warm-fuzzy sigh of relief. I am an 18 year old, sitting in an idle car, trying to be cool with my friends at a local decrepit “haunted house” or abandoned hospital, instead secretly admiring the way that nature inevitably reclaims the earth through vines and tree branches – slow natural destruction. A take-back of power. I am a 20-something, lost in thought wondering why I love the forest so much when everyone else wants to vacation at the beach. I am a 30-something, finally putting the pieces together with an open mind.

    ***

    I watch The Dead Files pretty religiously. It features Amy Allan, a proclaimed medium who can see and speak to the Dead. She investigates property that is supposedly haunted. I tend to think she is honest and has a gift. In many episodes, she tells home-owners that the land is “sick” or “gone bad.” She speaks of old, ancient beings – not ghosts – who inhabit the land and have been there since the earth was formed. They are described as huge, black masses, as tall and as thick as trees that often lurk on the edge of the property lines. She frequently attributes these spirits to the Native peoples who lived there before the White Man came. Native Americans blessed the land, and the land blessed them. Now the land is “bad”, the land is angry, the Protectors are actively working to restore nature’s balance (hence, the hauntings, they say). I wonder… is this me? Was that me? If so, will I get to be that again?

    I wonder if I gave up my duties because, as time went on, protecting the land and the innocent creatures within it became futile. Man encroaches, destroys, manipulates, abuses the land and its resources. We litter, pollute, without a second thought. I wonder if, after so many years of watching, I said — Fuck it. I wonder if I failed. Perhaps this is why I grieve needlessly for little chipmunks or get weepy and incensed by the sight of roadkill. Perhaps this is why I pause to admire and praise the old, fat trees whose roots disrupt the foundation of my own home. Perhaps this is why I am driven to research Senachwine and the forested Illinois Valley. Perhaps I abandoned my post and am now living a life of a destructive human. Maybe I wanted to understand the other side.

    Maybe.

  • New Moon in Cancer

    New Moon in Cancer

    New Moon Solar Eclipse ::: 6/21/2020

    “I am grateful for this new cycle.
    As I heal and cleanse myself of the past,
    I grow by the new light that shines
    upon me. I am one with the Moon.
    I trust my path. All my dreams now
    come true.”

    ~ Carrie Marie Bush

    I had every intention of participating in the Live Global Meditation with MoonOmens, but I missed it.

    I was deeply engaged in ArtBrain, working tirelessly. I was inspired by another artist, unknown and uncredited, who lent their image to some (likely) wholesaler. It was a foam-backed pendulum board showcasing a gorgeous four-eyed woman with her hands held in prayer, eyes closed, titled Astral Woman. Above her head were mandalas and sacred geometry, crescent moons and glittering stars. At around 11pm on the 20th, I went to work digitally painting my own version. I labored until 5am, then resumed around 10am. After finishing up the painting, I submitted it to OfficeDepot for print and a very polite man (in mask and gloves! thumbs up!) brought out the finished copies to me curbside.

    I worked until midnight creating the final pieces and did not even hear the ping of my phone in the distance through my fervor.

    She is not my own creation, but there’s a touch of me in it. She is so lovely and beautiful.

    The art I make brings joy and wonder. I’ve been told it’s immature and undeveloped. It’s true that I often create works inspired by others. I know their art is valid, so if I create my own version of something, or a spin off of something else, it is also likely to be successful. I make it different enough that it becomes it’s own thing with it’s own spirit, but it’s creation was driven by imitation-labelled-inspiration. Perhaps the end result is not true to the Divine inside me… but it is fun and exciting. Kind of like reading a gossip magazine (when you know there are “real” things to read) or indulging in a sweet treat (when you know something more nutritious is on hand).

    I need to do the REAL work – the heavy lifting. What does MY art look like?

    I reflect on my quarantine projects:
    1. Yoshi Tarot (obviously 2 borrowed ideas morphed into something playful and fun)
    2. My Lapis Lazuli wall hanging: slightly truer because I had all the materials on hand, but it was still loosely based on the beautiful crafted wreaths and crystal wall art on Instagram and Etsy
    3. Astral Woman pendulum board: based on a witchy reseller’s pendulum board, with some major improvements and embellishments.

    When I sit down to make something, I think:
    1. I saw this thing I wanted but I can’t afford it/justify it, etc.
    2. I think this would be a cool thing to have, does it exist? Can I buy it? Oh no, no one’s made it yet?

    And then I just sit down and make the thing. It’s always about my own wants. It does not speak to any truth besides “gimme gimme gimme!”

    I know I am capable of creating many more beautiful, wonderful works of art. My next project is to come up with something original that speaks to my inner truth, that conveys a deeper meaning or is thoughtfully planned – not just something pretty to look at with wow-factor.

    The New Moon in Cancer was sending me all the energy and tools I needed to really learn this hard truth about myself. (To be fair, Scorpio Husband has been telling me this for a long time, trying to encourage me to be more thoughtful and I have responded poorly. I am embracing it now!)

    Universe, thank you for your wisdom.
    Moon, thank you for showing me that what I mustn’t fear my “dark side”; that examining it with an open mind is a necessary step in my personal growth. I learn from it, love myself through it, and continue evolving.

    Update: I just sold the pink/yellow/gold version to a friend for $40. 🙂

  • Tarot Practice

    Tarot Practice

    (This page contains columns which I know do not display well on mobile. For ease of reading, switch to desktop view or read on a computer.)

    My best friend is learning tarot and I jumped on the opportunity to get a simple three card spread from her. While I was waiting for my reading, my husband and I decided to pull cards for each other. Our results are as follows:

    My Spread: Three of Cups, Four of Swords, Knight of Pentacles

    My Past was bright, with fun relationships, celebration, partying and joyousness. I interpret this as a reference to living with my previously mentioned bestie – my soulmate.

    My Present is all about resting and taking a breath. Meditation. Rejuvenation. I am centrally focused on becoming balanced. This needs no interpretation: it is straight truth.

    My Future indicates progress. A strong work ethic and drive to push ahead will reap reward. I must keep doing the work, put my shoulder to the wheel. Keep on keeping on.

    His Spread: Three of Pentacles Reversed, Page of Cups Reversed with Ace of Cups Crossed, King of Wands Reversed

    I should specify that his Present card was actually crossed with a secondary card, as he felt the need to pull the top one and overlay it. I drew his three cards and he drew the top cross.

    His Past was rife with disharmony. He was alone, shouldering the burden and feeling woefully unsupported. This is evident without needing interpretation.

    His Present is at a standstill. He is stuck, avoiding responsibility. He deflects with immature responses. He is doubting his inner nature. The cross card tells us the solution lies in paying attention to those who love him most and taking their advice. He must lean on his spouse and practice self-love. The way forward is by deepening his relationships.

    His Future reads of a stark warning: don’t be hasty. He must not lose his temper. He must let people love him and he must shed his ego.

    I think, in particular, our Presents are most interesting. Both sets of cards play off of each other wonderfully. My head has been deep in the clouds of learning, reflection and practicing intuition. A few weeks ago he asked me if I would start helping him learn to do the same. (We call this “working on his Purple Light” as we both agree he is an Indigo Star Seed.) He has been learning about his higher self, his intuitive gifts and his connection to the Universe along with me.

    Shortly after this, I received this spread from my best friend:

    My Bestie’s Spread: Two of Cups, Temperance, Eight of Cups

    Cups, cups, cups and more cups!

    My Past, once again, references a happy and peaceful relationship. This time in particular, with just one person. A soulmate (*ahem* enter bestie, again!). This aligns perfectly with my previous reading. There is an emphasis on spiritual love, mutual support and intimacy.

    My Present is, again, centered on finding peace and balance. It’s about crafting better situations. “You’re finding ways to renew yourself, filling your own cup.” This card was initially reversed, but righted itself as it hit the table, indicating that I have been struggling to find that balance and, for the most part, overcoming those issues.

    My Future suggests a need to walk away from difficult or painful situations. At first I am tempted to draw interpretation from my husband’s scary Future card, but deep down I feel this one is about my blood family. This card makes me nervous. Do I have the strength to stand up for myself and move away from the familiar?