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Archive for August, 2014

Monday Muse August 26th – just after New Moon

Posted by jackiepope on August 26, 2014

Monday Muse On Tuesday.

Warning… sickly sweet nostalgia

This muse is dedicated to Tanya Gill and her daughter; something she posted on Facebook that I responded to, and it took me back to one of the times in my life where everything was so simple. I was lying on my stomach on warm grass under an oak tree in my wrangler jeans  footy jersey and netball boots (there is nothing like a pair of traditional netball boots all nicely worn in), and an old lady (but if I think back she was probably only about 55) was teaching me ‘stuff’. I liked this particular lady, some of the others wanted me to take notes and pay attention at their kitchen tables. Not Brenda (Yes her name was Brenda!), she said to me ‘you don’t have to listen, because I know you will hear me’. I never forgot anything she taught me, and yet I don’t remember one single word she said. I was always lost in the way the oak trees made patterns on the ground, or thinking about why a dragon fly would race around chaotically in its short life, or wondering if Jeff would be at the pub. I have food, shelter and the price of a pint… what more did I need?

And yet that simple time was the catalyst for great change in my life; it changed my life, not that I was particularly aware of it at the time.

I find it interesting that when life becomes simple, things change. When we are like the dragonfly buzzing around in chaos, trying to find something that is unfindable and wasting precious seconds of a limited life there can be no change. There is no room for change.

Thinking back when I had to go back to basics, things changed. I was fired from my job, I had a family to feed –   my daughter, two stepsons, a husband who kept threatening to leave his job, a father-in-law who was cantankerous and demanding. It was going to take weeks to get a job. I had to have money. And everyone knows the story – Wyrdsisters was born, and has been supporting me ever since. I had to have shelter and food – the basics. How I got those basics changed my life once again.

Leaving Australia, again it bringing life back to simplicity. When I returned and had very little money I had to fall back on the simple things to bring some light and enjoyment. Discovering the oak trees at Cornwall park; filching Oak branches from the Domain, rediscovering the pleasure of a stack of DVDs, junk food and good friends. That first year was simple, but I changed my life, got on with rebuilding the business here in New Zealand.

And now… well yes, back to simplicity in a very different way. Life has to be simple once again. It is only temporary, I know that. However, when it is over I think I will keep many elements of this simple life. The simplicity this time is still about food and shelter as it is for all of us; but it is about time and using time. I simply cannot go out and about; and I now have the currency of time. I am finding that my life is changing again; creative stuff is streaming through my head; I dream all sorts of wonderful patterns, designs and ideas – my ipad is full of scratchings, drawings and notes. I am writing; and I have never considered myself a writer and never will; but stories seem to appear in my head and will not go away until I have written them down.

When I started the 18 weeks of chemo I saw it as limiting, as my freedom being taken away, not having control and having the perception it would be like ‘doing time’. Some of that is true; I don’t have control – if I need to sleep, I have to sleep; I am controlled by doctors, nurses; I am controlled with charts of when and how I pee, poo and my body temperature – and so I have no control. And yes my freedom to drive where I please, when I please is gone for the time being. But I do not see it as ‘doing time’. Within this strict framework is a certain freedom. Because I cannot do stuff – I can do other stuff. My dining table is piled with beads… ready when the mood takes me… simply because if I put them away by the time the urge takes me, and I get all the beads out I am so tired I have to have a nap. So wool, beads and paper abound in my flat. Everything is ready when the muse is upon me… and buttons and crystals arrived today…woohooo.

The beautiful thing is that although I can see very few clients personally and I am doing email, skype and recorded readings …. The words flow off the keyboard, out of my mouth; the clairvoyance is strong, clear and very direct. The simple fact that because it is difficult to read for people personally I have had to change how things happen. I am a geek – and so I am forced to use technology; and its working.
I see that simplicity is going to bring about change in my life once again. I welcome those changes. At the end of the 18 weeks (6 down and so 12 weeks to go) as things improve of course I will see personal clients again; but I also know that things will have changed once again, for the better.

One thing I will not change back is my control over the mobile phone; I control it – it does not control me. Unfortunately my ipad now is my Mistress especially Pinterest, which I vowed I would never look at – but the ideas, the creativity…. I am enthralled… until I need a nap.

I think about myself today at 60 and look at the girl in the oak grove at 17; I love my Converse boots – black with little hearts – I’ve had them three years, all broken in; I have on jeans, and an old jersey and I am waiting for the oak tree at the Greek Orthodox Church to come into leaf… so I can go filch oak.

Monday Muse 11 August 2014 – Full Moon

Posted by jackiepope on August 11, 2014

Monday Muse …

Good morning soul searchers, soul snatchers and soul connections….

When is the price too high? It is often said (by myself) that the price of love can be too high. That for all we love someone dearly; their actions, their way of being is just too difficult to live with and we realise that to be with that person wholly and totally would damage our soul, our being.

So when is the price of love too high? When the other person expects so much more than we can give and is never satisfied; a person who manipulates and always looks to their own wellbeing before their lover. The price is different for each person; and we each know when the price is too high for us. That is when we take that step, take a deep breath and walk away. It does not mean we have stopped loving that person, it means that we recognize that in loving them we are compromising our own lives.

The price of friendship can also be too high. The friend whom we sit with night after night while she rails against those who have betrayed her; the friend whom asks our advice and never takes it but still wants us to sit with her night after night. The friend who we put back together time after time with unconditional love… and the night we need her to howl at the moon and tear our clothes in grief with is too busy. In that moment we realise the price we pay for her friendship is too high.

The price of our work.  We go to work for a fair day’s pay for a fair day’s work. But the value we place on our time and the value that those who are buying our time place on it is sometimes vast. If we are fortunate enough to have a fair measure of a day’s pay for a day’s work. We are blessed. If there is a disparity we feel under valued, and that seems to affect our self-worth; which is something we all need to work on in this day and age.

What we are paid for our ‘work’ is not a measure of self-worth. The measure of self-worth is how you walk in this world; that you can go to sleep with an untroubled mind; with no guilt; and knowing that you did the very best you could with the day you just experienced.

The price of your soul; the Christian who is taunted by his devil; the Druid who wishes she had more than her keep; the Hindu who is tempted to swat an annoying fly; a vegan who craves the taste of beef. Everyone one of us is tempted, every one of us has wants beyond our needs. Every one of us has our philosophy or belief challenged at some time. Every one of us craves something that would compromise us if we gave in.

We each know the price of our soul; the difficulty in life is making sure that we do not sell it at a discounted price.

Monday Muse August 1st

Posted by jackiepope on August 4, 2014

Good morning hunters and gatherers and those who go to the Supermarket.

I had some muses all lined up. In fact I told one of them to Sarah, and she loved it. But today it does not seem quite the right muse… and I am not sure where in my toxic brain this is all going.

It has been an odd week, ending with wishing my friend Happy July 4th, not once, but twice during the evening, and we are not even sure where that came from. Except I do want to visit Martha’s Backyard and get some cheesey fish.
Good start huh? I can see what you are all thinking… …

Anyway, one muse was language. This morning lying in my bed, winding through the newsfeed was a paragraph that caught my attention; about dams and stuff. Oh… I want to read this. So I read it twice; I did not understand it. So I thought… don’t just scroll over it – say something. If you don’t understand it, perhaps others don’t. Let me quantify that – I think I understood it, but the language used was so complicated it kind of lost the meaning. Like Masterchef, too much garnish on the plate and the steak was not the star.

So I wrote on it… words to the effect that if the two paragraphs could be written in language that a Westie Chick who lives in Mt Eden could understand that would be a bonus.

Now… layer this with another muse about politics and politic-speak. We have corporate speak, we have spiritual language; we all know that everything part of life has its own language. You work in a hospital and you get used to the language; you work in advertising; you are a reader… you all know exactly what I mean. And if you are not in that particular world, then the language is foreign. Politicians should not have that luxury; or at the very least they should hire good translators so that we the public get the message free of any additives and chemicals.

The layer this with my thoughts on how I am going to vote – because I am. I have been wondering what my Key Performance Indicators will be for my vote processing situation. I am going to vote for the party that lays everything out in a language that I can understand. No long words, no extra words. Just simple, on the plate, no garnish, beautifully seared words.

So do you say what you mean? Do you consider your words before they come out of your mouth? Sometimes words do just fall out, I am the prime example of that; suddenly there is a splash and gurgle and a huge trout of sentence has fallen on the plate and everyone is all rather surprised. And then there are the horrid moments where you think something… and realise you did not just think it – you said it – out loud – for everyone to hear.

I love words, I love language, I love all that goes with it. I am taking up poetry again, and yes now I am on the other side of my relationship with Mr Sucky and recovering I am writing that book!

The thing I do recognise is I have been perhaps a little bit over the top with what I say – and I do tend to throw the trout on the plate, or cough up a furball that everyone screeches at – but in saying that when I do write something quite controversial you all comment! I evoke a response – I do like that. I do like evoking that magic. But… that does not mean I cannot craft my words more precisely.

My challenge to myself this week is to think before I speak and write. Not so much those every day exchanges, although I think we are far too casual with all of that. I would like to be a little more sincere. This all sounds rather psychobabble doesn’t it? Because I am breaking my challenge right now – because I am just writing words…. My fingers type, I have no idea what the next word is – it is as if I am doing a reading – where I look at the cards and either my voice starts talking to the client or the fingers start typing the message. Is it any less sincere? It is more sincere because it comes from a place that is unfiltered; a place that generates its own identity, its own energy. Every reading is like that.

And so I muse on – the art of tarot is one that has been with us since time immemorial in some shape or form. Tarot is a divinatory art. Divining has many tools from scrying to charms, chicken entrails, rocks and seawood. Anything can be used to divine. Anything! The tool – be it a card; a rune; a bowl of water triggers off something in the diviner. For every one it is different. Many have asked how do I do it?

My answer has always been I do not know – it is like the kettle boiling. You plug it in, the electricity comes from a damn and makes the plug work and the kettle boils. I know it works, I don’t know how. Over the last few months that has changed. I do know how it works for me. There has been some self discovery – about language. I love words, I love stories, I adore reading them, telling them; being a word smith; and I have come to an understanding that the written word is a passion. I knew I liked words and writing, I did not know I had a passion for it.

So how does this happen. I have discerned it, and followed the labyrinth of it – because that is what it is… so picture inside of my soul being… which is quite colourful, very pink and purple at present. In the centre of it there is a labyrinth. It is quite traditional, because I am a traditional gal at heart, and in the centre of the labyrinth is this tiny, pulsing heart. Not my physical heart.

This is a soul heart.
It sits and waits, and I sit down at the keyboard, having looked at an email from a client; shuffled the cards and laid them out in front of me. A little thrill goes down my back, and my fingers start to twitch ever so slightly. I flex them. A thin stream of bright silver light travels into my soul…. It hits the start of the labyrinth and as the energy finds its way through the labyrinth my mind fills with pictures, and video clips, and words start to form in my mouth. I see what I have to say. My mind knows that this is not to be spoken, but this is a written reading. So instead of the pictures forming words in my mouth they travel to my fingers – and just as the silver light hits that heart at the centre of the labyrinth I start to type…. The heart pulsating the energy to the pictures, the pictures into words, the words into actions on a key board, and in front of me words on a page.

I never read over what I have written. Once it is on the page – it is for you. I do not edit, I do not re-think; what I type comes exactly from the little heart, pulsating in the middle of the labyrinth. It is unfiltered. It is not touched by my thoughts, my ideas, my morals, standards or ethics.

If it is a verbal reading, it is the same process except the energy forms words that come from my mouth, unfiltered, unfettered.

If I have an ordinary conversation with you, it comes from my heart and soul, absolutely. But it will be tempered with etiquette, thought, my views, my beliefs – as your conversation is filtered by those very things.

But reading for you; creating a shamanic journey; any of those soul gifts come from the little heart in the centre of the labyrinth in the centre of my soul; unfettered and untainted.
So mote it be.