Tag: personal life

The Wheel of Fortune

Last time I sat down to write here, I was welcoming eclipse season. I was desperate for change, and boy, did I get it. The last month has been … revealing. I’ve experienced great loss and tumbled into a sticky depression.

My sweet Maddie passed away on May 18th. She was 21 and a half. She was the oldest dog I’ve ever known.
The grief feels unbearable at times. She told us she was ready and we honored her and gave her a dignified death. She was in pain for a long time (kidney disease, arthritis and dementia), but we were able to control it with all sorts of treatments and adjustments and kept her happy and pain-free until it just became too much for her little old body. And so we said our goodbyes and cried hysterically in the parking lot at the ER vet afterward. It happened so fast; I’ve never had to put a dog down before. It was surreal and felt so very … sick. Not sick. There is a better word… profane?

And now, we who were three are just two. The world has opened up to us since we no longer have to stay home with her. We can go places together. We can travel, spend the night out, do simple things like shop together or go out to dinner, all which are very new to us despite being together for 16 years.
16 years we spent at home, our lives revolving around loving this little furry muppet. Suddenly, the world is huge and there are so many opportunities to live differently. I keep thinking: “At what cost?” And I honor that thought and just try to move through it with grace.

So here I am, starting Again-again.

We also experienced another great loss in the family, but I will not go into those details.

In the wake (pun intended?) of all this loss and grief, I have come to the realization that I need to help people. I want to help others. My soul is being called, there is a stirring within, a deep yearning to go the way of the Wild Woman.
In my previous career, I spent all day helping people feel better and allowing them to see their beauty. In my current career, I stare at numbers and logs and decode patterns and help other businesses. I love the security of this path but the work is hollow.
So with all this dis-ease and upheaval, I have decided that I will continue my professional path but also branch out into a more actualized version of my helper-self.

I am going to attend TheosoFest this year for the first time as Margot Velvet (formerly Twin Sight) and offer tarot readings and grounded guidance.
I am not a psychic or a guru—I am a warm-hearted intuitive who wants to create space for others to reflect, explore, and feel seen.

I’d like to start by offering readings by donation. More info soon. Thanks for being here.

❤️

MV

June 16, 2025
I love eclipse season

Can you feel the change in the air? (protests and anger and “for-the-good-of-all”s)

A pulsing, magnetic hum (vibrating in my chest)

Inescapable (heat in every breath)

Unavoidable (in every room)

Uncomfortable (like nothing fits right)

This is what Beginnings feel like.

______________________

I LOVE eclipse season. Perhaps its because I was born during the shadow of a total solar eclipse. I was born into the waves of change; I learned to walk in the pulling of the tide.

I turned 37 this week.

March 29, 2025
On Growth and Getting what I want out of Life

It’s been … a few years … since I have written here. My Hero’s Journey has had some unexpected twists and turns and SO much has happened that I simply cannot describe the scope of it all.

I have decided, however, that I am going to sell off some of my crystal collection. And with that, I’d like to offer some enchanted items, handcrafted with so much love, for sale to the world.

CurvyOrange was born just before the pandemic struck and evolved into a coping mechanism: an alter ego, a spiritual safe haven where I could explore and try new things and expand my mind. Now it is more of a anti-ego: a semi-anonymous and true expression of my inner self.

I am choosing to leave up the old blog posts because they are now a part of my spiritual history. I hope they help someone out there.

All that I have learned, I want to share.

So stay tuned. 🙂

xoxo.

March 6, 2025
Post It Notes on Cancer-Cancer

journaling in retrograde

January 8th, 2022

Sometimes you need to write out your thoughts so they stop taking up all your brain space. And I have scared thoughts that I would like to write so they no longer live in my head. But if I write them, they’ll be real and I don’t want that. Conundrum.

January 14th, 2022

I have dark, mean thoughts today. I acknowledge them. I don’t indulge them.

January 15th, 2022

Okay so, it is cancer. But it’s not like, CANCER-cancer, right?? Like the bad kind..? It’s the easy just-cut-it-out-and-you’re-fine kind?

January 17th, 2022

CT scans were today. Repeating this mantra while I do laundry obsessively: stage zero. Stage zero. Stage zero.

January 19th, 2022

“Do our best” is not a good plan, but it’s the only one we can muster.

I’m trying to think of a lighthearted way to explain what we’ve been going through today and all I can imagine is a TV static vortex with someone’s muffled screaming panning from ear to ear.

February 14th, 2022

It’s Valentine’s Day and I’m sad.. Only because I love you so much and I’m scared and I want to make you feel good,
as good as you make me feel,
And I can’t because I am broken somehow,
when I say things they just don’t stick,
and I want to make you feel as good and as valid as your friends do but I can’t not cry without saying it so instead I just don’t say anything…
I’m laying in bed alone and my head hurts and all I want is you.

When you were Sad in the Beforetime I could always make you feel better because I was outside and different and not even remotely close to the cause of your pain.
But now we’re married, tangled, and your pain is mine and I just cry your tears and secure the burden, tying it a little tighter

and I don’t know why I can’t help you
when the only thing I want to do is love you.

February 18th, 2022 (surgery day)

The living room is pink from the sunset (I’m grounded) and I am SO anxious to actually talk to him (I’m flying away).

This is a primal, human feeling. The urge, the call to care for someone you love. It’s fiery and assertive and anxious and I can’t answer it fast enough.

April 6th, 2022 (first chemo day)

It’s Chemo Day #1, 1/3. While I don’t think any of this is fair, it seems particularly cruel to slowly administer poison to someone over 3 days through a hole in their chest. “It’s discreet, you can do normal things, you wear it in a fanny pack!” It’s undoubtedly NOT normal.

May 2nd, 2022

New things: FB support groups, caregiver Zoom meditations, doing “yoga for cancer” with hubs in the living room every night (w/o mocking it), friends moving to Sweden forever in 8 days (bittersweet goodbyes), cherishing the good days between, and clumps of hair in the shower.

May 12th, 2022

Today was really hard. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to scrub his sad, contorted expression out of my brain. He asked me to put it behind us. He is embarrassed. “Can’t we both be sad and still love each other?” I begged him.

I cleaned the kitchen spotless, trying not to cry. He fell asleep on the couch. I did yoga. Now I am pathetically trying to sleep on the couch with him, just completely jonesing for a crumb of affection. A cuddle. A squeeze. Literally anything to make it seem okay.

But it’s not okay because cancer just takes and takes and takes.

Tomorrow will be better so … I hope I can sleep.

Undated

He is screaming in his sleep, his disturbance undisturbed.

May 24th, 2022

He falls asleep early every night. His hands are changing, they look shriveled and tight like a mummy. His fingertips are turning gray. His stomach hurts all the time. He feels like he’s vibrating on the inside. 23 days until chemo is over.

PMS makes this worse for me. Most of the time I can deal. Grieve, process, heal, repeat. But today I just keep wanting to cry. I don’t want this for him. I don’t want this for anyone.

I can’t believe the cure for cancer is to kill a person just a little bit for long enough that it gives up. It’s bullshit. We need a better way.

June 13th, 2022

TIL candles are the best thing for chemo farts bc it will burn off the methane in the air.
Today I put candles everywhere.

June 14th, 2022

Full Moon in Sag and the End of Chemo Thoughts:

We play many roles in life. We cannot define ourselves as just one role (mom, daughter, wife) because it causes us to lose a sense of fullness and completeness. We are beautifully unique humans.

For me, this means I need to let go of the “caregiver” and “perfect wife” roles. I was clasping onto them so tightly (sure, out of necessity.. survival, even) that the rest of Me was falling away.

For a while, I was so depressed and scared that I felt paralyzed. Doing anything felt impossible but I found a tiny seed of motivation in the idea of using this experience to become a better Wife. I wanted to be a “pillar of strength” for my husband. I wanted to Do All The Things so he needn’t worry. I went all 1950’s Wife. Perfectly domestic and subservient. Serve your Husband, gladly. I imagined handling things with more grace, preempting his needs so nothing even needed to be asked. To make it as easy as possible for him to heal and rest and recover. That limiting mindset allowed both of us to survive the worst parts of chemo, but it’s completely unsustainable.

I have learned that it is not in my nature to be nurturing. I am not clean or orderly or exact. I am not a warm, mothering person. It doesn’t come to me easily. I can be a good caregiver when it’s obvious that he is unwell. But on the days where he starts to seem better I relax and have to remind myself over and over that he actually ISN’T better (he’s just handling it better).

But at the same time, I also learned that I am not as selfish as I thought I was. The last 5 months of my life haven’t been my own. I’ve dedicated all of it to caregiving, doing all the domestic and emotional labor, planning and preparing, etc and it’s gone really well. I packed our entire apartment, planned a move, set up our new home, worked 40 hours a week, got a promotion all while planning the logistics of his drs appointments and surgeries and treatments (with one car and a dog that can’t be alone), coordinating care, keeping up with chores and laundry, and tending to him physically, emotionally and spiritually. I don’t resent a minute of it. Not a moment. There is no bitterness there. The only emotion there is celebration – because I fucking did that.

June 15th, 2022

Chemo #6, day 1 of 3 is a go. 💗 So many emotions. I am making “chemo fried rice” while he is at the cancer clinic. I’m glad we figured out what food works best for him while he infuses but I really hope this is the last batch I ever make!

June 29th, 2022

I’d just like to document that things got super dark and scary and weird and both of us wanted to die (at different times and for different reasons .. sorta) and while I still don’t trust the badness is over, this is well deserved anyway and I feel like celebrating.

July 18th, 2022

14 hours until J gets his port removed. He’s getting de-ported. Last cancer surgery!!!!!

July 21, 2022
Stressed

My husband has cancer.

The doctor partially removed a “large polyp/mass”.
3 cm. Too big to safely remove.
Cancer markers in his blood are elevated.

I am scared. I love him.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////

This post was a draft from January 14th 2022. Today is July 21st 2022.
My husband has been: poked, prodded, examined, disemboweled, eviscerated, implanted, sedated, poisoned and poisoned and poisoned, bloodied, sliced, medicated.. healed, loved, supported, nurtured, and carried along.

He doesn’t have cancer anymore.

Stage 3 to “No evidence of disease” in 196 days.

Science is amazing and uncaring, indiscriminate, traumatizing and brutal.

(I’m not scared anymore. I love him more than ever.)

July 21, 2022
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.)—

November 7, 2020
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
July 4, 2020
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.

June 26, 2020
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. 🙂

June 22, 2020
Tarot Practice

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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?

June 11, 2020