Margot Velvet

Tag: Meditation

  • 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:

  • 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

  • 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. 🙂

  • 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.