Margot Velvet

Category: Meditation

  • When you don’t know how to pray, hum

    When you don’t know how to pray, hum

    I went to the Winfield Mounds today. It was my second trip. On my first trek, I couldn’t find the mounds but I did come across a lovely hidden grove where some other woodsy witch hung dried orange slices in a tree.

    This time I found the mounds. It was more emotional than I was expecting. Actually, I had no idea what to expect, but I didn’t think I would cry. I wrote some stream of consciousness stuff as soon as I got back to the car, which I will clean up for the sake of preserving the moment in a way that will make more sense:

    The messages are in the wind. The wind speaks in body language, forcing the plants into action. It’s a feeling. It’s purposeful. It’s important: The universe is naked, right here exposed before us. Learn to see it.
    The Great Spirit is here. The Universe is ready for us to breathe it in. To come home. Awaken.

    My muscles twitch. I can smell my sweat. I can smell something else, something delicious. I stop in the path and take several long sniffs, turning from side to side, snuffling like the mother wolf. I don’t know what the scent is, but I suspect a fragrant tender bud of tree leaves is opening somewhere close by. My goodness. It’s so good.

    I reach the mounds. I… I don’t know what to do. I am overwhelmed. My eyes water. The wind is fierce and powerful.
    I don’t know how to pray so I hum. I would sing something, but words are failing me. I feel sorrow. White guilt. I hum quietly, treading softly.
    I say thanks. So many thanks.
    I leave an offering: a pair of waxed pinecones and an intention on parchment sealed in wax. Where there was death, let there always be life. For the Fool, The Empress, and the spirit that connects us even now: the Magician.
    I hear a loud caw from a tree just before me and I am startled, I actually jump back, but I can’t see what made the noise.

    “I can hear you; what are you?” Three times I asked (once on the path, once in the mound grove, and once in the mowed prairie).

    I trace my steps back in a blissful daze. I wish I could talk to the trees. They know what happened here. They witnessed it, they nourished the ancestors then and are still here now.. Can they tell the tale? Share the old wisdom? How can I speak to the trees?

    More delicious smells. All my senses engage. I listen with my soul. I minimize my vibrations. I descend softly, closer to the Spirit.

    I reach the end of the pathway and emerge from soft earth to manmade gravel, exiting the covered trees in what feels very much like a portal: a whipping, swirling wind. It SHOULD feel like I am snapping back into reality, but it’s more of the opposite. I am shoved back into humanity (an un-reality), rushing cars go past, oblivious to the sacred site just beyond the wall of trees.

  • 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

  • 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. 🙂

  • Full Moon in Sagittarius

    Full Moon in Sagittarius

    A MoonOmens live Global Meditation ::: 6/5/2020

    “I am allowed to believe
    in myself. I am allowed
    to be proud of myself.
    It is my duty to shine.”

    -Tricia Huffman

    The past couple of weeks have been rough. I am dealing with a new body; not quite so different and yet radically changed.

    I am lighter in form, but struggling. I have been changing my daily rituals, routines, and habits to become healthier in many ways but bettering myself in some ways is wrecking havoc in others.

    Initially I was 322 lbs and constantly menstruating, losing so much blood in such large quantities that it was disrupting every aspect of my life. My uterine lining was nearly triple normal thickness. I was physically and emotionally drained. I was spending huge amounts of money on feminine products. I missed work due to uncontrollable blood clots and ruining my clothes midday. I stopped having sex with my husband. Everywhere I went, I needed to know where the bathroom was in case of the inevitable emergency. My hands were raw from washing them all day long. I became inhuman in the eyes of doctors and was instead a diagnosis: morbidly obese with endometrial hyperplasia. Doctors ran tests to determine the cause. I had painful procedures done to my most intimate parts that still scare me to think of. All of this and the answer was: you’re just too fat. Fat stores estrogen. Estrogen promotes uterine lining growth. I bled almost every single day from March 2019 – February 2020. I became a shadow of who I once was.

    I lost 55 pounds in three and a half months which has put an end to that problem. At first it was a miracle. Daily life resumed. The burden on my wallet ended. I could go out and have a normal social life without worrying that I’d need to leave early with a jacket wrapped around my waist. No more emergency trips to Walgreens. No more awkward bathroom trips. But something else was stirring and I knew for a while this was not sustainable.

    I ended up in the emergency room on June 7th. The events leading up to that are uncomfortable to speak of and I’m not sure I want to divulge the details anyway. All of the inner turmoil served as background noise to my life over the last several weeks. It was hard to meditate and reflect on anything in particular. My body was so out of balance that meditation could not be a tool for introspection, only relief from the present.

    Things are already improving now and for that, I am exceedingly grateful. I am not sure how much littler I can become. I set a goal of 220lbs. I am currently 40lbs shy of my end goal and I don’t know if I can reach it. It saddens me to think that it might just be impossible. It’s something I need to reevaluate and get comfortable with.

    I did participate in the Global Meditation… but I fell asleep. I needed it.

    The full moon in Sagittarius released some burdens for me and has made things clearer in its beautiful light. Thank you.

    I am looking forward to the next meditation on the 21st. A lot has happened in a short amount of time and I am ready (and capable!) to jump back in.

  • New Moon in Gemini

    New Moon in Gemini

    a MoonOmens live Global Meditation ::: 5/22/2020

    “I am here in this moment filled
    with emotions and feelings. A lot
    has unfolded this month, and as
    I make sense of it all, I surrender
    and trust that all is well and
    divine timing is at work.”

    ~ Shawn Fontaine

    I am not aware of any presence beyond my own. I have arrived at my garden to find myself transported, trapped, entangled in the wild and unkempt wilderness. It is dark and purple and I am bound by ropes of plant material – not ivy, but strands of thick green vegetation. Like a maze of pumpkin vines, they are wrapped around my body, strapping me to the earth as I lie on my back, looking helplessly up at the swirl of the sky.

    I am not breathing normally. My lungs are struggling to take in breaths that are satisfying. I pant. I am distracted. It’s not even nighttime. I don’t like this – this doesn’t feel right. Why am I alone? Where is Gemini? I am fluttering between the garden and real life, blipping in and out of each.

    Of course… I am Gemini. I am both Twins.

    I take a moment to concentrate on breathing and bring the me in real life to the me in the garden. I am disjointed, disconnected. I need to actually pull myself together. Bring the physical to the spiritual. In real life, I have brought a selenite tower. It is crude as a wand, but it will work. My left palm is open, facing up and open to the stream of universal truth and knowledge. My right hand holds the tower, pointing inwards at an angle. I am swirling the crystal, stirring the energy that holds the vines in place. I am twirling the vines up and away with the crystal, like spaghetti around a metaphysical fork. I fling it off and away, and go back for more. I release this energy, this symbolic impediment, this stagnation, back into the universe.

    I feel … simultaneously embarrassed for myself, because I am so sure this looks dumb. I am also confused, because it seems to be actually working. In the garden, I am free of the earthen prison. In real life, I am calm and breathing and relaxed. My brow has softened, and I feel … lighter!

    I am One Gemini, both Twins, body and spirit, and I put the garden visualization aside. I snap back to real life and zone into what the speaker is saying. My eyes are closed and I am crying, though just a tiny bit. This session confuses me. I am feeling too human; I am stupidly incapable and unable to grasp the true lesson today. I did not even get to check in on my Light Plant. I tell myself that it is okay to be imperfect; just go with it. Listen to your body this time. Quietly I sit, watching the blackness behind my eyelids churn slowly like a lava lamp. I feel the familiar tingle in my extremities. I relax. I breathe. I listen.

    The speaker says something along the lines of,

    “My past self would be so grateful to see where I am now. All they wanted was to know that I would make it through and be okay. Here I am.

    So here I am.”

    And there is the truth. How quickly I have forgotten how recently it was I was searching for reassurance. I got it. I made it. I was saved. I moved on. And so soon after, I lost sight of my own struggle – almost immediately!! I apologized to the Universe for being a brat. I thanked the selenite for the role it played – as a symbol or an actual item of power, I am not certain.

    Now, it is back to work.

  • Full Moon in Scorpio

    Full Moon in Scorpio

    a MoonOmens live Global Meditation ::: 5/7/2020

    “Everything I am experiencing
    right now is guiding me to the
    next level of my spiritual awakening.
    I’m becoming better, well rounded,
    and capable of anything
    I set my mind to.”

    ~ Lukas Notes

    My garden is dark and murky. Last time it was comfortable black and green and glowing teal, with seaweed-like plants waving gently in an un-felt breeze. Today the atmosphere is a muted burgundy red, like old brick. It is welcoming, just different. Still, the landscape is a soft dreamy sage. Glittering something, particulates of stardust hang like miniature cottonwood seeds, twirling just above head.

    I can see Taurus leaving, his lavender tail swishing with each step like a strap of willow leaves. I sit beside my Intention plant – what was just my Light Seed 2 weeks ago. It is small; it is only 6 inches high. It is a brighter green compared to the other smoked out grass and foliage nearby. There are no blossoms but it has long, thin leaves that stretch out and they are strong, similar to those on a corn stalk. I don’t touch it, but I put my hands in the wet, dark earth beside it and I can tell the plant is happy. It is not ready.

    Scorpio is in the garden. He is small and black and shining, reflecting the great light of the full moon. He is about 10 inches long, 5 inches wide. I was wondering when he would appear… I am filled with fear. Dread. Anxiety. Motionless, unblinking, he remains. Menacing. He chitters closer, with a pitter patter snapping tap dance of spines and claws. Danger alarms are going off within me and I want to flee but I know he is there with a purpose and he has a lesson for me. I close my eyes for a moment and a take a deep breath, taking in the sweet cleansing air of my burgundy-mauve garden, and the apprehension pours out as my body sinks into acceptance and readiness. So, then. A lesson. I am ready.

    I reach out to Scorpio and place him upon the skin of my bare thigh. I sit cross-legged in the dirt. He is prickly. His eyes are deepest black. We are quiet together and I slowly become more and more at ease with this creature that instilled such fear. And I can hear the lesson already, echoing in my own voice in my mind, “When you aren’t afraid to feel fear, there cannot be any fear at all.”

    … And I chuckle. Was that it?! All of that drama, little Scorpio? For a lesson so simple and obvious… but so needed. He almost seems to smile… for a bug.
    Relieved, I lay back in the garden and look up at the fullness of the sky and the Super Flower Moon is pink and lovely above us. Scorpio settles in my lap and we are napping before I even realize it.

    I awake back in reality. I did not get to water my Intention plant nor say goodbye to Scorpio, but I will be back soon. I need to learn more. Scorpio has always intrigued and mystified me. Knowing Scorpio is like trying to remember a dream while waking from it (I guess that explains why I married one).

  • New Moon in Taurus

    New Moon in Taurus

    a MoonOmens live Global Meditation ::: 4/22/2020


    “I welcome the unexpected,
    and I am ready for the unknown.
    May what’s meant for me
    enter my life effortlessly.”
    ~Shawn Fontaine 


    I am in a garden, glowing dark like Blackreach. Grass waving in the breeze like seaweed underwater. The dirt is black and damp and rich. I pull out a piece of my light and plant it, bury it. I will come back here and water it, check on it, grow my light until I can harvest it, eat it, delight in it, share it’s abundance. 

    Suddenly a shadowy bull is there, Taurus. I lay on his back on my stomach and we are going somewhere important. A slow, relaxed pace. He is happiness. He is safety. Everything is glittering, luminescent, floating. Pink and purple Spanish moss hang low around us and graze my bare arms.  They are folded beneath my chin like a pillow tangled in his dark lavender gray mane. When we stop, I open my eyes and see swirling nothing, like glitter in a shaken cocktail.
     
    In real life, my arms are cold. I notice it and lift my hands to feel what seems to be a cold current of air. Curious. Is this my link to the Universe? I open my eyes. My finger tips are gently pulsing. I think of a memory: Grandma. We are sitting at her kitchen table with coffee and potato chips. I am 7 or 8. She is wearing blue and touching only her fingertips to mine and I feel them pulsing; a heartbeat, but just one beat. She smiles her jolly grin and says, “This is our heartbeat. When we touch our fingertips to each other’s, we are connected. Cool, huh?” And in bed, I am silently weeping. The world is scary and I think, “What is happening, Grandma? What is going on here on Earth? Are we going to be okay? Please tell me this will be okay…” and the cool air slowly fades… and my fingertips are void of anything extra. It’s just me. Nothing. I am worried for a moment, thinking Nothing means Something Bad and then in anger I demand, “But I need reassurance!!” 

    And it’s clear now. That’s the point. You don’t just get reassurance. You just need to go with it and trust you will somehow be okay. Or maybe you won’t be okay. But you don’t always get to know; there’s no guarantee. So I recall the mantra of the day: I am going into the unknown and I am ready. I am strong and brave like the bull. I am peaceful, like the bull. 

    I close my eyes and return to Taurus. I pat him on the shoulder and hold him lightly by the horn. We travel back from the Nothing to the garden. I inspect my plot to ensure the seeds are firmly planted. I am ready to go. I’ll come back to my garden soon. The lightseeds I plant and tend to will help me become the best version of myself and that excites me.