CP: Earth Day

I didn’t quite finish in time for Earth Day, but I came close. I’m really happy with how this came out. We won’t get into the number of blue words I said while I was getting the green lettering right. It’s much easier to read in person, and is the opening lines of this song:

I really wanted to get the third line in, but there just wasn’t space on the cloth.

The leaves are the ones from the chart, with a little bit of modification.

And to Her we shall return

I decided I’m comfortable enough with Mark the Shoulder Torturer to tell him how I got hurt. I’ve avoided the question, both with him and with my doctor (I know, I know, but come on, seriously….).

I told him over breakfast smoothies what happened as far as I know; I still don’t know when exactly I got hurt. I needed some help from Google to explain shibari, and where my limits in it were, but he understood when I was through. Adorably, he promptly worried about it entirely from a rehab perspective — that I can’t be doing that until I’m recovered, and maybe after, depending on how it goes.

I did know that; I knew it when I moved, nothing to do with the injury. I can’t imagine I’ll find someone to do that with me, not here.

I miss what shibari does for me, all the more now that sex isn’t taking up any of the slack. Reiki helps, but it doesn’t provide the huge release of energy shibari does. It’s like I’m a pot of boiling water with a tight-fitting lid. Reiki cracks the lid enough to let off some steam and heat and just keep the pot from boiling over; then the lid goes back on and it starts to boil over again almost right away. Suspension takes the lid completely off for a while (and so does some kink in the sex mix, or a session with floggers or tawses), so it takes a lot longer for the boil-over to start again. That’s what I need; I just have to figure out how to have it.

I do have baseball. As frivolous as that sounds, it isn’t; it’s one of the joys of my life even when my team sucks. And just for variety this season, they don’t so far. Win or lose, the rhythms of the game comfort me; I see many ways in which at its best, it follows the Tao. It’s no accident that there are multiple books of baseball haiku in print. I stitch my way through the season like a fiend. Baseball even finds its way into my poetry now and again. Not frivolous at all.

I had an experience this week I’m not sure what to make of yet. I was doing my nightly reiki session, which I usually do meditation-style, with music. I was using this:

At about 10 minutes in, the reiki shut off. I was feeling relaxed, so I went on with the meditation. The sensations that came, I recognized well: I was leaving my body in the first stage of a shamanic journey. The spirits around me now have been firm about not wanting me to do that, so I reached out to them and said if they didn’t want me to go, they should help keep me in my body. Shortly after that, I found myself at my journey entry point.

I followed the levee that’s part of that place, first parallel to and then down to the spillway bed. There was a huge white stone statue of Kuan Yin, which I’ve never seen there before. I walked down to the river and scooped up some water in the ballcap I was wearing and brought it back to pour at the base of the statue. Then I walked into the trees along the river, my usual path to the Middleworld. I walked a long way, but met no spirits and went no deeper into the Otherworlds. Eventually I turned back and returned to this world.

I have no idea why I went, unless the message is that I should still use that way to communicate with Kuan Yin, which I’ve done before. I’m hoping to get clarification soon.

I’m making progress with my plants. I’ve gathered all the ones that I have medicines for and are allowed here; the collection is woefully thin — five plants — and excludes most of my important medicines, but I can have some of them in the house with me, which makes it a happier place in a lot of ways. I have aloe in the kitchen, and fiu and lau mafiafia in the sitting room. If both of those bloom, it’s going to smell heavenly in there. I have more of all of those, as well as makerita and polo feu, in the greenhouse. I am hilariously over-prepared for if I cut myself or catch a cold, and for very little else.

WIP: Earth Day

New start!

The chart is “Earth Day” by Serenitas Designs. But of course that’s obvious from my massive progress. 🙂

It’s going to be really pretty; all six colors are already in even this soon:

I don’t like the lettering charted at the bottom; I’ll be leaving that off. If I can find an alphabet small and nice looking enough, I’ll put in the opening lines of a song that I like (and that’s very appropriate to the piece) instead.

Spellbound, there was someone calling

It’s taken me a while to remember that the rules are different. I’m used to waiting for shamanic allies to reach out when I’m turning a problem over in my hands, for them to tell me they have a solution and are ready to share it. But my ancestors aren’t allies in that sense, especially not in the way I’m engaging with them, which is much more Vodou than shamanism. If I don’t ask them to intervene, they won’t. So I told them that I needed their help with recovering the soul fragments that have scattered, to complete my healing. I dreamed that night, a kind of halfway point between how they work and how I did for so long.

I find myself sitting by the firth. A Samoan man of considerable but unguessable age and carrying a drawstring bag of tapa cloth comes and sits beside me. He looks enough like my adoptive family that I know I’ve come face-to-face with one of my non-blood ancestors. He smiles and says he’s been waiting for me to get off my tail and seek his help; he went out collecting every day for a week, and then I didn’t ask.

He opens the bag and takes out a canning jar. It looks like it’s full of fireflies, but when I look closer, I see it’s actually full of soul fragments. I tell him I’ve never done it this way before, so I’m not sure how to take them back to me. He says to close my eyes and wait.

I hear the lid of the jar being taken off, then feel something like raindrops in my hair. The fragments settle into me, into the spaces finding my strength has opened up. They’re welcomed now, not stuffed away somewhere dark to be ignored any longer.

I thank him for his help. He thanks me for finally asking so he could offer it, then smiles and gets up and walks off along the shore.

So that’s it; some time and some reiki to make sure the returned fragments are seated, and I’m all put back together after 30 years of work on it. Just in time to wonder why I bothered, but that’s how it goes.

I have my cats; that makes me happiest of all. They’re so used to moving that they’ve settled right in, staked out their favorite windows, and act like they’ve been here for years. Tycho’s my fat orange shadow, but he always has been; he’s a third velcro, and another third reikicat, so he’s delighted I’ve started that work again. (The other third is snore, if you wondered. He could knock satellites out of orbit.)

I have healing of my own to do, on the physical for a change. I finally gave in and went to see my new doctor about the shoulder pain I’ve been having since before I left New Orleans. At some point I strained my rotator cuff; I have a pretty good idea how, too. She sent me to a physical therapist, and I’m seeing him once a week so he can torture me back to health. Okay, it actually isn’t that bad; it isn’t painful, but it’s constantly appalling and amazing to me how weak that arm is and how quickly it’s exhausted and I’m unable to lift a 1/2 kg weight any more. He’s a nice kid. I get to call him that; he can’t be more than 25. He’s also genuinely curious about my reiki additions to my therapy. Curiosity combined with my being his first appointment in the morning means we’ve been talking over a breakfast smoothie after our sessions. Yeah, I really am a terrible hermit. But it gives me a reason to look forward to Wednesday morning misery. And the misery gives me a use for my reawakened reiki.

Maybe that’s what this is all for — just me now. The expanded chart Mari’s friend did for me underscores how important it is for my home to be my sanctuary. Most of my healing skills are also tools I can use to make it that. Maybe I don’t need to worry about some big What Else for the time being. I’m turning 49 this week, and this is the first time I’ve really felt my age. Maybe that’s the point: Time to slow down a little. Or a lot.

The new chart also has a lot to say about the kind of person I am where relationships are concerned. I need my own space so much that even someone I love being in it permanently is an unbearable intrusion. After five paragraphs of letting me know what a dumpster fire I am as a wife or a live-in girlfriend, the summing up:

Put together all these influences, and the best possible relationship for you might well be a long-term ‘friends with benefits’ one — someone you genuinely like and enjoy being around, who’s good in bed, but doesn’t have any kind of domestic arrangement with you. This way, the sanctuary of your home isn’t breached; the distance you need even in an intimate relationship is maintained; you’re not around each other enough for you to get bored; and as long as you keep your expectations realistic (which, granted, you may have to work at), you don’t end up being used, disappointed or betrayed. You will maintain your independence and individuality; and by having certain boundaries automatically set by the arrangement itself, you’ll be protected from being sapped dry by constant demands on your energy and time. It might also be the only way to manage to simultaneously have the two most conflicting things in your relationship matrix, both of which you crave — a long-term relationship, and a partner as strong, unusual, and freedom-demanding as you are. As unlikely as it sounds, the ideal partner for you will probably have as many problematic Uranus aspects as you do, and likely many of the same ones.

That seems so not possible for so many reasons. All I can do is leave the impossible in the hands of the spirits. I do know this: I’ve been having dreams again — a man I catch only glimpses of, but I’m drawn, almost unbearably. Vision, or galloping horniness? Time will tell, I guess.