I hear their door will be ready today. I hear a lot in my line of work and see a lot more when the quiet of darkness covers up the bright lights of day. Winter is a funny season, often so much darker than most springs or summers, there's always a lot going on underground. The beautiful little home our dear friends Sam and Sal are building tests their comfort with waiting. How long has it been? A few months. A good few months of letting the pieces of their newly forming life experience the seasons. This is a LIFE the Tall and Round one are creating and a life takes time and though our friends have not lived with the extreme visible evidence of winter for many years, each of them has weathered decades of the dark season. I have heard Sam has weathered many earth winters in his lifetimes on The Planet. For that, I am thankful. My girl Sal is a new soul to this globe with gifts that sometime scare her, and smelling her way through the daily routine of being human can wear her down. The sensitivities challenge her to speak up, come out from the shadows and ride that internal combustion engine that is her divine and sustaining soul. "How do I do this?" I have heard her pray after she has given voice to an expression of such passion she is unsure of its source. Does her voice offend, she questions herself. Will an anger spear penetrate her vulnerable self and leave her without resource? I have watched her squirm inside her skin unsure of the next moment.
Our dear Sal is experiencing her first season of winter darkness without the dual soul reality she has lived since she was a teen. Strange, you might be thinking. How does a being live with two souls at once. Well, that is the nature of this story. Humans have such an infancy of experience with their soul. The doings and goings on-ness of making a living tires most humans or amplifies their adrenals to the point of exhaustion leaving so little time to become friendly with their souls. Remember that 'fortune teller' Sal met this fall? She was really no fortune teller, rather a spirtual connecting rod trained and gifted to be of service to you human beings primed to begin or nurture an intimate relationship with your sustaining soul. What Sally Round learned through her Akashic Record Reading changes the way she hears, and maybe more importantly it is changing the way she makes use of time that surrounds her now. Like being able to function in parallel universes, Sal judges her past a little less and gets why she has 'trust issues' with those who would beguile her with promises of security. This first winter without two souls means our gal has a more direct connection to her very evolved soul who still needs practice being human. I hear their door is going to be ready this afternoon, and I heard the door splits in the middle allowing passage for the small and tall spirits. That will be convenient, you think?
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Monday, December 29, 2008
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Talking Turtle
Rain has come to wash the stacks of snow from Seattle's streets. From their cozy den Sal watched as the shape of her dumpling plump Snow Woman whittled into some thing close to a large DQ chocolate-dipped cone sans the chocolate. It's still winter in the Pacific Northwest, winter every where in the Northern Hemisphere. Snow. Rain. Winds. Cold. The Planet cycles through the seasons and all the creatures make their way through the reality of change in their way. "Wanna hear what I wrote?" Sal was on the phone with Turtle Woman. "Sure," Sal was recovering from an exposure to one of the poisonous apples and had waited a couple days before giving her friend a call. Sal adjusted her ear-piece and propped herself up the the pillow. She heard Turtle Woman ask Mr. Pellet for the journal she fills with story. "My glasses are over there." Sal lay back and listened to her friend's newest real tale. The words Turtle Woman writes are a language familiar to the ears of a friend who knows the language ... bits of common poetry, a reference to a favorite minstral hero whose lines have always pasted life together in comforting text.
And yet as Sal listened she felt the fit of a different proportion enter stage left, or was that up from the middle. Sally Round listened as Turtle Woman began using the language of a deliberately slowed version of her story. "I followed Turtle to a slippery ...."The two long-time friends have been young mothers together. The sons are grown now with long stories of their own. Christmas and Solstice have passed with mild versions of passed celebration. When Turtle Woman could not read a word she had written, she made one that fit, or not. When she got to the end of her story and could not decipher her latest 'punch line' she said, "Oh well, maybe I didn't finish it and when I do it will be a doozey." Sal loved the story and felt a warm, girly sensation come over her. "Turtle Woman," she told her friend, "I feel like I've been in a dressing room with you where we've come to get you fit with a brand new shell. You've outgrown the old one ... and wonders of wonders we have come to THE most skillful dress-maker in all Turtle Land, and she knows how to fit, tuck and gosset so you are perfection." Deliberately slowed down, Sal and her friend had learned to listen to The Turtle Talking. "Until next time," Sal said. "A hui hou," Turtle Woman said, "See yah."
And yet as Sal listened she felt the fit of a different proportion enter stage left, or was that up from the middle. Sally Round listened as Turtle Woman began using the language of a deliberately slowed version of her story. "I followed Turtle to a slippery ...."The two long-time friends have been young mothers together. The sons are grown now with long stories of their own. Christmas and Solstice have passed with mild versions of passed celebration. When Turtle Woman could not read a word she had written, she made one that fit, or not. When she got to the end of her story and could not decipher her latest 'punch line' she said, "Oh well, maybe I didn't finish it and when I do it will be a doozey." Sal loved the story and felt a warm, girly sensation come over her. "Turtle Woman," she told her friend, "I feel like I've been in a dressing room with you where we've come to get you fit with a brand new shell. You've outgrown the old one ... and wonders of wonders we have come to THE most skillful dress-maker in all Turtle Land, and she knows how to fit, tuck and gosset so you are perfection." Deliberately slowed down, Sal and her friend had learned to listen to The Turtle Talking. "Until next time," Sal said. "A hui hou," Turtle Woman said, "See yah."
Sunday, December 21, 2008
A Frosty Rose
"Did you know VARDO means Rose?" Sally queried Sam as the snow flakes seemed to grow bigger, fattened by some wintery yeast goblin. "Hmmm...cool," Sam's low-key reply didn't hide the glint behind his glasses. Rose is Sam's mother's name and when he thinks of her there are always sweet remembrances of the days Sam spent with her long after the clan of nearly a dozen Talls had left the Wisconsin home place. Sally let her mind wander the road of serendipity, thinking about the golden home Sam was building them. A frosty golden rose now, roof covered in a tarp to keep the weather from brutalizing her uncompleted cap, there tiny home on wheels rested as Winter encased the continent. There were so many things left to be done to make the golden rose home. Time ticked, and still a door and a roof were yet to close up the front wall and cover the dome curved roof. I suppose the lesson for our friends Sam and Sal is you can't rush the bloom of a rose.
A year ago the comfort of home was as distant and unlikely as sails on tall ships were to the first people of this continent. A glimpse backward was enough for Sal, just a glimpse, no lingering rewind was necessary. Stripped of the permanence of post and pier construction, their year of nightly moves scraped away all but is essential. The simplified life she and her man Sam create here builds on all the best seasons of being at home together. There was always something Sam was building or repairing and in the kitchen Sal was making some sort of soup. On this night when the shortest day beckoned more light to come Winter Solstice soups steamed and filled every corner of home. It was always a time to celebrate ... rituals of gathering and making meals with friends. Tonight the ritual soup making continued. Round baby turnips from the Kent Valley not far from the frosty Rose, thick bits of ginger all the way from Peru where instead of Winter, Summer allows vegetables to ripen and slivers of shitake mushrooms flavor a heady chicken broth. Unlike their years of cooking soups in a kitchen contained within walls of their cozy homes, this Winter Solstice soup bubbles outside where the temperature is barely above twenty degrees.
They have danced and tromped in snow a foot high, and even after Sam headed in to warm himself, Sal went to the snow gathered on the make-shift porch on their golden frosty Rose. With one finger she traced curvy shapes into the snow. "Just so you know we are loving the way you are growing," she bid her home in the making good night, and good solstice. Of course, she had etched a snowy Rose ... a talisman of good fortune.
A year ago the comfort of home was as distant and unlikely as sails on tall ships were to the first people of this continent. A glimpse backward was enough for Sal, just a glimpse, no lingering rewind was necessary. Stripped of the permanence of post and pier construction, their year of nightly moves scraped away all but is essential. The simplified life she and her man Sam create here builds on all the best seasons of being at home together. There was always something Sam was building or repairing and in the kitchen Sal was making some sort of soup. On this night when the shortest day beckoned more light to come Winter Solstice soups steamed and filled every corner of home. It was always a time to celebrate ... rituals of gathering and making meals with friends. Tonight the ritual soup making continued. Round baby turnips from the Kent Valley not far from the frosty Rose, thick bits of ginger all the way from Peru where instead of Winter, Summer allows vegetables to ripen and slivers of shitake mushrooms flavor a heady chicken broth. Unlike their years of cooking soups in a kitchen contained within walls of their cozy homes, this Winter Solstice soup bubbles outside where the temperature is barely above twenty degrees.
They have danced and tromped in snow a foot high, and even after Sam headed in to warm himself, Sal went to the snow gathered on the make-shift porch on their golden frosty Rose. With one finger she traced curvy shapes into the snow. "Just so you know we are loving the way you are growing," she bid her home in the making good night, and good solstice. Of course, she had etched a snowy Rose ... a talisman of good fortune.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Laughing with the gods
Time has passed. A winter has come to the Pacific Northwest and unlike other years our friends Sam and Sally were not among the snow birds heading west and south to tropical warmth. Instead I watch the dance of layering clothes that work for the Tall, and Round one. Sam's white hair which Sally had cropped close to the neck in early Summer now curls out from under his favorite brown wool cap warming that same neck in December. Soft cotton gloves that he can buy for cheap at the hardware store encase his large hands. The gloves are subtle, and keep up with the traffic of activity from staple gun to paint brush to drill bits and tarp coverings. The long johns Sally ordered in late summer are in constant use under the thrift store jeans that have been washed, washed and washed to clean it of heavy fragranced soaps.
I hear Sal's winter coat, secured early on in their journey, tumbling in the washer. It 'worked' for several weeks, but an innocent act -- tossing it into the drier to remove the damp chill in the sateen lining, stirred up buried scents. Sal is a committed learner, not easily led from a lesson she's determined to master. And yet the loss of the heavy coat closed her down. Her legs are the first to get cold and though every layer of clothes she owns covered her from shoulder to ankle the wet 45 degrees turned her weak. The warmth and safety of their tiny kitchen-home became safe refuge the solid ceramic heater radiated therapeutic rays. Sally soaked in the heat. Then Sam after a week of seeing Sal's walking stick untouched, finally said, "Aren't you gonna try washing that coat again?" And of course she did, knowing this was an option that was close at hand with potential to be a real solution. How many washings will it take to shake the old stink from the old coat? We'll see and if the gods laugh at the sound of the toggles as the coat goes for one more go round in a bath of baking soda, we'll join in. When I was very new at this I judged the laughter of the gods as cruel. History and patient teachers have taught me different. You see, when the gods laugh and you humans join in the combined effect is like one cosmic tickle that loosens the agony and turns it into exquisite ecstacy.
I hear Sal's winter coat, secured early on in their journey, tumbling in the washer. It 'worked' for several weeks, but an innocent act -- tossing it into the drier to remove the damp chill in the sateen lining, stirred up buried scents. Sal is a committed learner, not easily led from a lesson she's determined to master. And yet the loss of the heavy coat closed her down. Her legs are the first to get cold and though every layer of clothes she owns covered her from shoulder to ankle the wet 45 degrees turned her weak. The warmth and safety of their tiny kitchen-home became safe refuge the solid ceramic heater radiated therapeutic rays. Sally soaked in the heat. Then Sam after a week of seeing Sal's walking stick untouched, finally said, "Aren't you gonna try washing that coat again?" And of course she did, knowing this was an option that was close at hand with potential to be a real solution. How many washings will it take to shake the old stink from the old coat? We'll see and if the gods laugh at the sound of the toggles as the coat goes for one more go round in a bath of baking soda, we'll join in. When I was very new at this I judged the laughter of the gods as cruel. History and patient teachers have taught me different. You see, when the gods laugh and you humans join in the combined effect is like one cosmic tickle that loosens the agony and turns it into exquisite ecstacy.
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