Google+ What I Made Today: 2020

Friday, May 1, 2020

Welcome May, The Lusty Month

 
While I'll miss gathering around a Beltaine fire with my comrades this year, the tree-huggin', backyard farmer in me still revels in the sexy verve that swells and explodes in this springtime month. So far, the season has been chill and damp, and some buds, like dandelion and violet are just starting their blooming. And I'm grateful. In the garden proper, the garlic is thriving, the onion plants are settling in, the first batch of three varieties of potatoes are in the earth, and six plants each of Brussel sprouts, cabbage, and kale are planted. Other starts are hardening off, seedlings are being transplanted, and seeds continue to be planted in the greenhouse, and in the earth. Perennials and self seeders are delighting me as well.
garlic
That said, for my local friends, I'll have some plants available (free/PWYW) for pick-up at my home. So far there's motherwort, lemon balm, borage, calendula, and nigella potted up, and more in the works. So if you're interested, contact me and I'll be sure to leave some plants for you on the bench in my front yard. ::nods::
onion
As for studio happenings, there are none. Yet I've taken to Zoom, as so many have, with our two regular "Tea 'n'" gathers. Folks have asked about classes, yet most of what I offer doesn't translate well to a Zoom format (what with so much hands-on 'n' all), so I'm conjuring something a bit different...
lettuce patch 'n' first potato patch
Our current situation has really bubbled to the surface the fact that we all have skills. Every damned one of us. Whether we know it or not. Many of you are are playing with new experiences, developing new skills, as well as honing existing abilities. In this reality, we all, every single one of us, have something of value to share, every single one of us has the capacity to be among our Knowing Neighbors.
cabbage babes
That said, join us for our first Knowing Neighbors session this month, featuring two Connecticut fiber artists, Doreen Breen of Soul Threads, and Sarah Castrovinci of A Stitch in Time Designs - two neighbors worth knowing who know a thing or two! 
brassicas ready to plant
Moving forward, we'll feature one to two Knowing Neighbors, every other Thursday evening for the next several weeks into the unforeseeable future. Keep watch for the next one planned for May 28th! And contact me to get on the guest list! I'm truly excited about this, as it is intended to connect us in meaningful ways during this time of disconnect, it is intended to be a way to share our skills and passions, to inspire one another, and nurture forms of mutual aid. Plus, I see other potential in this activity...
second year mullein
perpetual spinach

Saint Joan's wort

Cutting celery, sweet Annie, calendula nigella, borage. 
With that, join us for a Zoom event if you can, and continue practicing social and physical distancing, stay home as much as possible, wear your mask when you venture forth into the shared world, and be well.

Peace. 🕊

Friday, April 3, 2020

Fierce

I'm still sorting through the fucking shards of March's pi bomb. Nonetheless, I can feel some resolve steeping in the murky ooze. I wrote to someone yesterday these (among other) words:

"While I've always valued forgiveness as a premier healer... not this time. [She] has taught me that some things are unforgivable. Maybe, this, too shall pass... but I'm not feeling it at present."

And I'm not. For the first time in my life I'm reevaluating the healing power of forgiveness. This, to many - if not most - of those in my healing circles would be judged unconscionable. And even with that consideration, and the possibility of being shunned by a critical support system, I'm willing.

Willing to be fierce.

The hen pictured in this post is named Salty, Salty the Straw Boss. When we first got her my spouse looked at her and said, "she's fierce." I didn't see it. Not really. Yet, in comparison with her flock members (all of whom she's outlived) I was able fathom his perception. Even with the new little flock, she is top of the pecking order. She's different in appearance, and in demeanor from her peers. She's a survivor. She's past her prime, yet still laying eggs. She is fierce.

I don't know what Salty has to do with this forgiveness journey of mine, but she's one of our flock of four layers that sustains me, entertains me, that inspires me to laugh, and that lightens a heavy heart.

And that's the Medicine I seek now: The sustaining Medicine that lightens a heavy heart. And right now that feels like Humor.

Yes.

Humor.

Dark, fierce, unforgiving humor.

I think I'm ready.

Peace. 🕊

Thursday, March 26, 2020

Beyond

Anyone who knows me in any meaningful way, in the physical or virtual realms, knows that I'm adopted. It comes up and out in the most usual of conversations ranging from familial associations, medical history to behavioral backgrounds, genetic memory, and so on. I've always known I was adopted, and its simply always been a key defining piece of who I am. In most ways, I've been comforted by it, and have never had any inclination to seek 'n' know anything about by birth mother, or the Y chromosome contributor. 

I've never asked to know. I've never wanted to know.

Who I am in this veil of mystery has always resonated with me, has consistently been a comfort to me, has always felt Just and Right.

So when someone - She - shared unwanted, unsolicited birth mother detail with me, without even checking in, my world rocked. Fucking rOcKeD. What's worse is that the teller - She - did not own the story, and to my knowledge, the owner of the story - the birth mother - took the story with her into the big mystery. And that was her choice. As was the adoption. As a woman who respects women in an actual meaningful way, and their choices, I respect my birth mother's choices. Period. Bottom line. End of sentence. I respect any woman's choices in any such situations, no matter what the choices are. 

So sharing the birth mother story with me, without the slightest bit of check-in, is nothing short of cruel - to both of us.

What's quite possibly worse is that this rather personal detail was shared with others before it was shared with me. How fucking weird is that? And worse still is that it was shared to me in a letter that was sprinkled with passive aggressive poison. And the worst bit of cruelty, from my view, is that my birth mother was told - by She - on her death bed, along with other other venomous fictions, that I knew and that I was angry, and that it was the reason I chose distance from a family that - clearly, now more than ever - needs no reason for said distance.

That last bit rips my heart out. Fucking rips it out.

I'm still sorting through the shards of this bomb. As a Medicine person, I take this work seriously. As a Medicine person, I've always placed premier value on the Medicine of forgiveness... but now... that may shift. And if so, it would shift a deeply rooted aspect of me. And that truth leads me to wonder: Is that selfish? 

So there's more work. And the heaviest query, it seems, at least in this moment, rests on She, and the puzzle of how anyone can be so mean. To so many. Dead, dying, and living. 

It's beyond sad. And quite possibly beyond forgiveness.


Peace. 🕊

Monday, March 23, 2020

Spew

Nine days after the pi bomb and I'm realizing just how frustrated and angry I am. It ain't pretty. I haven't responded to life with this much tearful anger, methinks, since my young 20s. This is not good. And yet, there it is. I'm angry at COVID-19 because I can't confide in a healing syster as I would like, face to face, side by side, heart to heart, to be heard so that the next phase of healing may commence. And that's bratty. I'm angry that I can't shove this fucking genie, that I was perfectly fine without, back into its fucking bottle so that I might shove it down the odious, lying throat of She.

See? It ain't pretty. I'm not liking it. In fact, I don't think I've every really hated anything in my life, but I'm pretty sure it's hate I'm feeling for this. And to process it all alone is not resonating. But at least I can vomit up the poison here. I just hope I discover forgiveness in the spew.


Peace. 🕊

Saturday, March 21, 2020

Valuable Relationships

I give thanks to my relationship with Nona Gaia, my beloved mother earth, and to the spirit of all her rooted and ethereal kin. Today, and every day. Yet recently, my gratitude has intensified. My tap root has sunk deeper. My stem, however, has wilted.

Nonetheless, I am grateful for that sinking tap root. I am beyond grateful. Beyond.

Over the past week I've witnessed in undeniable ways the potent holistic value of my relationship with Nona Gaia and her kin, and I honor with increasing valor their steadfast willingness to support me. And all of us.

A lot has happened over the past week. A fucking lot. For all of us.

Nine days ago I made the decision to cancel all classes and gathers. A week ago, that personal pi day bomb dropped.

And I'm still sorting the shards.

It's a strange, unnerving, unsettling experience to learn something about oneself in one's 61st year of life. Something that was never sought. Something that was never requested. A story conveyed by one who owned not the story. A story conveyed in written word, peppered with (typical) passive aggressive judgement to boot. I almost didn't open that letter. But it wouldn't have mattered, because the poison was shared with others and would have made its way to me anyway. On day six. Because it did. Anyway. This remarkably personal bomb was dropped on others before it was dropped on me.

It's so fucked up.

Eight days ago my personal life had deep roots and footing. I was a grounded person. My stem was strong and straight. Seven days ago that all changed.

I didn't ask for this.

I understand that life happens. Heck, I say it all the time. Life happens. We all receive unrequested gifts. That's how it rolls.

Yet this was not She's story to tell.

This is hard, hard work.

And it's come at a time when I'm unable to sit with friends to share it, hash it, heal it.

And that adds to the hurt.

Forgiveness will come hard. Yet, sweet Nona Gaia, in the name of all that is sacred and holy, it must come. And you will help me. And I am grateful. Grateful for this sinking tap root.

Peace. 🕊

Thursday, March 19, 2020

Stung, Skewed, Settled


I'm so grateful to be perched at the cusp of spring. I see the earth waking, even earlier than the earlier years past. We wandered our little acre yesterday, and harvested bits of wild things to add to our dinner. The nettles are still too wee to harvest. I had to sweep aside some of its leaf mulch to even see them. But they're on their way. As always, blessed Nettle is intuitive and generous. They reminded me, among other things, that stings pass, and most often offer Good Medicine in the bargain.

Thank you Nettle.

This morning I journaled that my world felt a bit more settled. Still skewed, but less volatile. So I'm going to relax with that today, give myself a break from "the work" and focus on some utilitarian tasks and deadlines that have taken a back seat to my pi day distractions.

That said, if anyone happens to be reading these personal entries, I wish you well during these challenging times. I'm isolating as much as possible, and when engaged with the greater world, it's at a minimum 10 feet distance.


Peace. 🕊

Wednesday, March 18, 2020

Damage Done


This morning I sit in the chill, damp, slimy wreckage of these recent days, handling that most vicious shard with relative ease. I reconcile with the damage done. It's done, and can't be undone. A beloved left this realm unnecessarily wounded; with a wound so deep that I can feel it. A wound so deep that others in this realm and in the big mystery feel it as well. A wound so broad and deep, forgiveness may be hard to find. Yet, that's the challenge of healing work. Like it or not.

So now I set that shard to the side (I'm not done with it yet), and pick up others to explore.

If the Medicine of heART journaling has taught me nothing else, it has taught me that something healing, forgiving, beautiful even, can be made manifest from waste, cruelty and damage.

Peace. 🕊

Tuesday, March 17, 2020

I See She


The recent correspondence with She of Some 40 Years of Questionable Trust began back in August 2019. I kept copies of my letters, notes and the single postcard I sent to her. Because I knew.

I Knew.

Thankfully, I knew.

One short phone conversation on bomb-drop pi day has her saying to me, "You're wrong."

Of course I am. I speak the truth, then my truth, and I'm wrong. Fucking rich. Fucking predictable.

Lying has - apparently - taken on a new respectability in these days we live in. All we have to do is look to the US president, his administration, not to mention the current so-called front runner of the Democratic (hah!) Primary to bear witness to this sad, regrettable truth. Not to mention cable news. And then some. But all that foolishness aside...

For She to share a lie, an especially vicious lie, with someone who's life is fading, who has little or no recourse to seek truth on their own, and to do it knowingly - knowingly - is beyond me. Beyond beyond. This slimy shard is so hard to hold. I want to crush and crumble it to oblivion, but it would slip from my grasp, or cut me, or both. A part of me would love to throw it in the face of She, but that would be cruel, and that cruelty belongs to her, not to me.

So I hold this slick, piercing shard, gingerly, as I seek the goodness, the Medicine, and the love that it holds. Or, perhaps, I'm mistaken, and this darkness will be the exception that proves the rule?

It's got me wondering what is truth and what is not, and if such... concepts actually matter.

::sigh::

Peace. 🕊

Monday, March 16, 2020

Grim Shit

My mother has been dead for almost seven years now, and still - still - there is one who continues to demonize her. And me, too, it now seems. This is a shard so sharp 'n' slippery I can't get myself to pick it up for closer examination. And yet, I must.

I won't be able to nurture understanding, compassion or forgiveness until I am able to handle this slimy razor-edged particle, and I must - must - work through this. Failure or delay to do so will poison me, and already I feel a hideous seething. I'm feeling a deep disgruntled disdain for the shitty, piddly-ass problems of others. Even the bigger-than-piddly-ass ones. And this is unfair. Because this challenge belongs to me, not to others. This challenge is brought to me by one, not many. And, as a Medicine person, others are my Medicine. I rely on them as much as they rely on me. ::nods::

Yet in this moment I find myself wading by degrees in grim, toxic waters. And there's no way out until I pick up this shard, poking up out of the shallow, mucoid murk.

Day one, I stoically digest, pushing away feeling as much as possible. Day two, digestion continues as I acknowledge and honor the feelings. And there's lots more feeling to do. Today, day three, I digest, feel, and begin to acknowledge the darkest of dark feelings.

And it's some grim shit.

Peace. 🕊

Sunday, March 15, 2020

Shards of Love and Life


I once wrote, "We live in times that prefer to demonize the darkness, to shun the shadows. We're taught to run away from them, fear them, hide from them, lash out at them … but I say go into them, for there you will discover Love in its truest form."

::sigh::

Some 40 years ago I learned that I could love someone without trusting them. I learned the skills needed to maintain emotional distance, as well as the skills to be cordial when physical social circumstances dictated the need. I learned something I've repeated like a mantra over the years: Family is overrated. 

I reflect back on this memory today and feel sadness and gratitude for the innate wisdom that guided me all those years ago, for my actions at the time were not calculated from conscious thought, rather they were rooted in pure intuition.

Yesterday a bomb was dropped on my mental, emotional, (and then some) self. There are shards everywhere. I have a lot of work to do to tidy up this detritus

There are a few shards of love that seem to be the essence of the bomb, and I pull those in close to offer me stability, protection, and healing. Yet, it's the angry shards that beg for my attention. Anger for reckless behavior born of the source of that 40 year old realization. Reckless behavior seemingly rooted in what I can only perceive as vanity, bluster, and well, petty vengeance. Behavior that more recently conveyed a sad and, dare I say, vicious lie. To someone on their deathbed, for fucks sake. That. That is the anger that begs for attention. And it is dark.

As I stand deep in my tears from the nucleus of this experience and swivel to gaze about at the shards, I feel flooded. So many feels, as they say (whoever they are). So, so many feels. Too many.

This is a chapter I did not see coming. This is a chapter that's gonna take some time, will, heart, and extreme care to... wade through. 

Peace. 🕊

Thursday, March 12, 2020

No photo description available.

Beloved friends,

With respect to the current state of knowns, unknowns, and a third confirmed case of (untraceable) COVID-19 in Connecticut, combined with the shamefully inadequate state of our current "healthcare system," I’m making a
hard decision to ramp up my respect for prevention, especially in the form of social distancing. That said, I
am cancelling all communal events until further notice,
which include scheduled classes, workshops, and
gathers.


All by-appointment sessions are continuing in
the virtual realm, via Zoom or FaceTime.

If there is a class that’s now cancelled that you’re
especially anxious for, contact me, as I am working on
translating some offerings to virtual venues.

I apologize for any disappointment or inconvenience, yet all my scheduled activities are discretionary in nature,
and so are things that - at this time - are best put on hold. 
So it is that after consulting with Nona Gaia and other assorted Mysteries, wise medical professionals, my inner wisdom chooses to err on the side of caution. At least for the moment.

As always, thank you for your interest in my offerings, and thank you, too, for your patience and understanding.

Be well. Stay well. ::nods::

Peace. 🕊

rose
Walk in the Woods, LLC
Whiting Mills, studio 310
100 Whiting Street
Winsted, Connecticut
860.480.3642

Monday, March 2, 2020

Welcome March

March Arrives...

and with it, vernal anticipation.

If you're looking for me in the early days of this month, you may not find me. I'll be winnowing and weaving the last of the waning threads of winter's hibernation, to comfort me as I sit with spring's looming.

This March arrives - for me - with intense feelings of anticipation that are coming from many sources. It feels overwhelming. My full year tarot spread suggested that the verve of VII of Pentacles would be an anchor for this stretch of time, and what I'm feeling and perceiving with this calendar flip offers me undeniable validation, and suggests that patience may - indeed - be an ally as the days unfold.

I so appreciate when I'm able to recognize and honor such moments where my personal experience mirrors that of Nature, for surely this a time of seasonal shift when all of Nature is challenged to be patient in expressing spring's poetry of promise.

So I invite you to join me in embracing the powers of patience this month. Methinks its a vital verve for the vernal looming. 


Peace.  ðŸ•Š

Wednesday, February 5, 2020

My White World - A Personal Perspective

For several years I've been consciously challenging myself to be a better person. Specifically, to be a better white person. And it is a challenge. I struggle with the racism that bubbles up from somewhere deep within my own entitled white genetics, my own privileged white life. I gotta own this shit if I want to add some value to this flawed world I live in. I gotta.

I realize it's always been a challenge. I just didn't realize how deep my own shit was buried. How deep my own shit was rooted. And I'm still digging. I wish more folks who look like me would do the same. I wish more folks who look like me would be willing just willing, for fuck's sake to discuss just discuss, for fucks sake race. After all, it's up to us to to make right what we've made wrong. And that truth alone is a truth that too many folks who look like me can't seem to even acknowledge just acknowledge, for fuck's sake.

Yeah. In the name of all that is sacred and holy, I swear I know two (maybe three) folks who look like me who are genuinely willing just willing, for fuck's sake to share candid words around the topic of race without getting all fragile 'n' shit.

I reflect back to the onset of the #BlackLivesMatter movement and the weird, awkward, vile 'n' vengeful exchanges that took place... an exchange expressed by a smugly smiling white woman, another exchange expressed by an indignant white woman who waxed woke, and not long after more than one exchange expressed by self satisfied blue liners who denied their own racist mantra, symbol (not to mention "flag desecration"), and their own racism. Such exchanges continue. They continue with subtly worded white arrogance of self-righteous entitlement to be racist while declaring they are not. Well, they are. As is the flag mentioned, sans the blue line, but that's a whole other disquieting deliberation.

Some of these people were acquaintances who I've since trimmed from my life. And others are folks I've considered friends, some who've been trimmed, and others who may still need trimming because they're consistently unwilling to make any acknowledgment of their own racism, let alone take any active responsibility for their own racism. They simply will not acknowledge acknowledge for fuck's sake that it's even a thing.

I want to cut them out of my life, yet I feel held by a hope that keeping a door open might yield some willingness, discussion, and acknowledgment that gives way to efforts to heal the wounds of our own making, efforts that are called for, and overdue. After all, I consider this group friends. But... maybe they're not. ::shrugs::

Yet, if we - the folks who look like me - are sincere in our desire to heal the system, we must be sincere in our desire to heal our selves as well.

In any event, it's exhausting. Even this small, personal stuff. If you have any pigmentation, I don't need to tell you that. If you look like me, I do.

I must.

And I will.

Whether you like it our not.

Because it's long overdue and there's too much at stake. Too much  for fuck's sake.

Even Nona Gaia says so.

To be continued, at my own pace, if I'm strong enough... and brave enough... 

Peace.  ðŸ•Š

Sunday, February 2, 2020

February Medicine and Magick

February is the shortest month in linear measure, and yet, the longest month of winter. For me, anyway. Despite this delightfully mystifying truth, with its arrival it offers the uplifting promise that spring is not far off. With it arrives the European agricultural holy day of Imbolc, a day (days, really, for me)  that I pause to recognize the midpoint between winter solstice and vernal equinox. A time to pause to be with the deep, and often dark, winter reflections that connect us to our mother earth, to our loved ones, our community, to the past/present/future, to the greater good.

Such reflections feel affably fitting with the ritual of seed starting that accelerates this month. With every little seed that is placed in the soil, the promise of spring is planted, along with my prayers of reflection... and projection. 

I choose to leverage February's winter pace, still unhurried and hushed, to indulge in some February Medicine and magick. To indulge in meaningful reflection and projection, before the pace quickens with the expanding daylight of the season's spiral.

I invite you to join my in this experience, this practice, this ritual.
Peace.  ðŸ•Š

Wednesday, January 1, 2020

Greeting 2020


January. The month named for the god, Janus. The god who looks forward and looks back. The god of comings and goings. The god of portals and choices. A month that offers us collective consideration of this linear measure of time that we've all embraced to some degree or another. A month - and year - that opens with Nona Gaia whispering with weight. May we all Listen.

~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~   ~ 

I pulled a card this morning, as I often do. I requested guidance not only for the day, but for this thing we call 2020. The card I pulled suggested that I root myself in balance of action, and harmonic choices... that I consider the partnership of give 'n' take... that I consider the verve of offering and receiving aid... that I elevate the practice of relinquishing and requesting support. Elevate it. Expand it. Nurture it. For all.

Good advices, as a friend of mine might say. And seemingly lofty. As I give consideration to all that this year seems to have bundled within, I shall do my best to heed this counsel, for it is a year rich in shared potential upon which collective foundations may be raised. There is vital gravity that holds, supports, nurtures and nourishes all life. And it feels that this year may be relying on us - all of us - to return the embrace... return the generous verve.

May we - all of us - step up to the challenge - together. For it is vital, Nona Gaia whispers with weight. May we all Listen.

Peace.  ðŸ•Š