Cosmic Spring

Today is a very special Vernal Equinox, because this year it falls on a full moon.  That's a double dose of natural magic to lighten my spirits.  I could really use a break from "real" life.  That's not to say that vernal equinoxes and full moons aren't a part of real life, but they're integral to living a magical life as well. 
Although I've had more than my fair share of magic recently, not all of it's been good.  I've had a few experiences lately that were in-my-face bummers.  (See previous post.)  But the confluence of two celestial events is a very powerful, positive distraction from the mind-stuff that's been dragging me down.  Planet Earth and the Universe trump the petty concerns of a solitary human being any day of the millennium.  Sometimes it feels great to be so small.  
I don't want to insult my vast readership's intelligence with explanations of why spring equinoxes and full moons are festive occasions for those of us who are magically inclined, but please forgive me for citing a few reasons anyway...  The two aforementioned events, especially when they happen together, represent beginnings, growth, fertility, abundance, maturity, activity and opportunity. 

So today I'm celebrating natural magic and cosmic connection.  That's another way of saying I celebrate science.*  (*from Latin scientia, meaning "knowledge.")  Let the materialist scientists scoff.  They're missing out on the poetry of the connections and patterns woven into the Universe.  It's more than simply an "interesting coincidence" to me.  Although I can explain how these events happen on a purely  physical level, I'm also able to see the magic of it all.  And if that makes me some sort of misguided flake, then so be it.  At least it lifts me out of morbid self-absorption.  It's a relatively benign way to self-medicate.
I don't identify with any organised religion, and prefer not to express overt nationalist feelings.  I like to think of myself as a citizen of the Cosmos, which makes me Cosmopolitan* in the truest sense of the word.  (*from the Greek cosmos, for "order, beauty." )  Today I cheerfully ponder the beauty and poetry inherent in all of Creation. 
Ancient peoples were adept at reading the patterns and movements of the earth and the sky.  They learned how to live in harmony with Nature, and flow with the cycle of the seasons.  It was a reciprocal relationship.  As long as they obeyed her laws, she agreed to do their bidding.  This knowledge (science) has been long forgotten and humankind is now paying a heavy price.

I feel fortunate and privileged to be a bearer of this knowledge.  Such is my faith.  I revere the Universe and care for Nature as best I can.  Spring is my favourite season and I'm grateful that it's finally and officially here.  This time of year, more than any other, gives me hope that warmer, brighter, better days are coming.  That's science.  The healing effects of sun and burgeoning life can't be overstated.  That's science, too.  I can hardly wait to sit outside and feel the healing rays of the sun shine upon my upturned face.  Nature is the best healer of all.
It's been a very long, hard winter.  I've never been more ready for the miracle of new life to begin.  That's why I welcome and honour this first day of Spring and the full moon that presides.  It doesn't matter if you're a follower of the Old Ways or not, it's a cosmic coincidence that bodes well for us all. 
So mote it be.
- g.p.

Grandma and the Night Visitors

I found a small, green, plastic frog smack in middle of the sidewalk as I was leaving work a while ago.  Although I had no use for a child's plaything, I picked it up anyway, because something about it called out to me.  In other words, I felt I was supposed to find it because it had a message meant especially for me.  No surprise there.  I'm always seeing signs in the most mundane of circumstances.  But that, of course, is what signs are all about - no one but the person they're intended for understands their significance.

Although I felt drawn to the toy frog, it was a while before I knew why.  In the meantime I left it lying around my bedroom, occasionally moving it from one place to another, all the while talking to it as if it were a living, breathing creature - just like a beloved pet.  I knew I was being ridiculous for speaking sweetly to a piece of plastic, but I couldn't help myself.  The baby talk just kept coming out of my mouth.  This went on for about a week until I finally stashed it out of sight to prevent any more flaky behaviour.
I couldn't forget its effect on me, however.  I already knew that frogs  are spirit guides that represent cleansing, transformation, renewal and rebirth; attributes they've earned because they live in and around water, and change from tadpole to full grown frog during their life cycle.  I found the little guy just a few days before I quit my long-time job at a large format bookstore, so I thought perhaps my sudden unemployed status was the renewal and transformation symbolised by the frog.
I didn't know I'd be quitting my job as abruptly as I did.  I was miserable at work, so I gave my two weeks notice, as any responsible employee should.  But I just couldn't stick it out, and ended up leaving before the two weeks were up.  Maybe accepting defeat as I did was the "cleansing" that froggy signified.
But the little green guy's message was deeper than that.  While I was grappling with suddenly being unemployed and talking to a toy, I couldn't let go of the thought that Grandmother Ayahuasca had something to do with the fake frog that had crossed my path.
I've written about Grandmother and her profound influence on my life a number of times, and how she speaks to me through signs and synchronicities.  It's been many months since I've visited her in the Amazon rainforest, but occasionally she still talks to me in her magical way.  And lately it seems, it happens more than ever.  One of the clearest ways she communicates with me is through animal helpers.  I think of them as her teaching assistants.
Seven years ago in Peru, after my very first nauseating, vomit-inducing ceremony, a large, black German shepherd "spoke" to me about my experience.  While I was sitting on a swing the morning after the ceremony, musing on the night before, he loped right up to me, looked me squarely in the eye, and then vomited on the grass.  He then trotted all away round the swing I sat on, stopped in front of me again, and spewed some more before taking his leave.  That was his way of telling me that tea time with Grandma wasn't about my naive hopes that I'd commune with plants and animals of the rainforest, or receive mystical insights into the Cosmos.  The ayahuasca ceremony is first and foremost about healing, and always has been.  In my case it was about healing my long history of depression. 
I recognised that large, black German Shepherd as a symbol for depression. Winston Churchill famously referred to his bouts with the mental illness as visits from the "black dog."  (Stories of Churchill's depression have been recently refuted by historian Andrew Roberts.  However, I learned of Churchill's black dog several decades ago, so I'm sticking with that metaphor.  It works for me.)

The last time I had tea with Grandma was on my second visit to Peru 16 months ago. By then I had no more illusions about what to expect, even though you're not supposed to expect anything.  I was there for more healing and to establish a solid foundation for myself.  While there I bonded with a six week old chicken and called her my Little Lame Chick, because she hobbled due to a deformed foot.  I wanted balance and stability, and my little lame chick reminded me of it every time I saw her endearing, lopsided gait. 
The significance of her limp wasn't lost on me, but it's only been in the last few weeks that I've remembered something else that somehow escaped my notice until now. 
One of the funniest, most memorable cartoons I've ever read, and which I've included here, is from The Far Side, by Gary Larson.  He has a twisted sense of humour that has always appealed to me, and many of his hilarious observations are deep lessons in life.  Many years ago it made me laugh at a time when I hadn't laughed or felt joy for a long while, because I was experiencing another depressive episode.  (It's okay if you roll your eyes.  I'm tired of it, too.)  Anyway, it was so spot-on funny that a number of years later I sent it to my Goddess Mother, Gita Tante, to pass unto her daughter/my cousin, Laura, who was in the throes of deep, bipolar depression.  Not only is it hilarious and poignant, but as I look at it now, I wonder why it took me so long to make the connection between that meaningful cartoon and my little lame chick. 

Once again, Grandma had an animal teaching assistant remind me that drinking her tea is meant for healing.  In fact, the last time I drank her tea I didn't receive the highly welcome euphoria that comes after the effects have worn off.  After reeling for hours from nausea, instead of the usual post-ceremonial bliss,  I plunged into despair and wept aloud.  And boy, was I pissed about that.  I couldn't understand what had gone wrong, especially because I'd prayed at the beginning of the ceremony for Grandma to show me the ways of the Wise Woman. 
It wasn't until I saw my little lame chick the next morning that I realised my journey through  depression was the path I must take to achieve wisdom.  But what I didn't understand was that the unhappy ending to the ceremony also meant that I still had more healing to do. 
Wisdom denotes being able to maintain equanimity in good times and bad.  It took me 16 months of a lot of up-and-downing to finally figure that out.  As I look back on Grandma's lesson now, it seems so obvious.  But hindsight is 20-20.  And that brings me back to my toy frog... 
I needed to know why I kept thinking of Grandmother when I looked at that silly, green thing.  So after some googling I discovered that there's a tree frog secretion called kambo that a few indigenous cultures in the Amazon use to treat chronic pain and drug dependence.  And - drum roll, please - it's sometimes used in conjunction with Grandmother's jungle juice, ayahuasca!  Although the frog isn't hurt while the poison is extracted, and is released supposedly unharmed afterwards, the hapless creature must endure what looks like a cruel and demeaning procedure.  That's not my cup of tea, and Grandma knows it. 
I'm sure she doesn't expect me to avail myself of the frog's powerful and potentially lethal substance.  She just needed to catch my attention by dropping a facsimile of an Amazonian tree frog on a northern city sidewalk in the winter.  So there it was.  The fake frog I found was surely a sign from Grandma. 
When I first gave notice that I'd be going on sick leave, I devised a plan I thought would make things easier for me until I officially left the job.  I decided to take just a few days off and fly far, far away where I didn't know anyone, and no one knew me.  And it had to be some place I'd never been before. 
So I picked Amsterdam, known to be a tourist-friendly, very walkable city.  It may have been a financially ill-advised decision, but I figured my mental health was worth the expense.  I booked it a scant three weeks before I was to leave, with only two weeks of employment left after I got back.  I wanted something to look forward to and take my mind off anything that aggravated me at work.  I find that much of the pleasure of travel is anticipating the forthcoming adventure.  I reasoned that when something threw me off balance while on the job, and that happened daily, I'd just think about my mini-vacation in Amsterdam and I'd be able to get through the day. 
By now you know that plan didn't work.  I just up and quit before my scheduled trip.  Since I didn't want to lose any money for late travel cancellation, I went anyway. 
The city of Amsterdam itself didn't disappoint - lots of  museums, art, architecture, canals, cafes (both the coffee and cannabis kind), friendly people who all speak English, and all the other stuff that beautiful, European cities are known to offer.  Although I'd gone to Amsterdam to escape my spiritual malaise, I quickly learned that the woes I was hoping to flee followed me there. Or perhaps it's more accurate to say that my troubles had emissaries waiting  to greet me upon my arrival.
I landed in Amsterdam in a perfectly fine frame of mind.  I felt certain I would have three fun-filled,  care-free days to myself.  But that was not to be.  After my first night in a lovely, reasonably priced hotel, which included a scrumptious breakfast, I woke up to find several large, red, angry bites on my right knee.  I recognised them right away as the work of bed bugs.  And need I say, that in order to have recognised them for what they were, I've encountered those creepy critters before? 
Yes, it's true.  It doesn't make me proud to admit that my life experience now includes not one, not two, but five - count 'em - five separate incidents with those blasted buggers.  So when I saw those wretched bites on my knee after one night in a city where I was hoping to escape the nightmares that assailed me at home, I went into denial - big time.   A frantic voice in my head kept screaming no no no no no!  It's not bed bugs!  It's spiders! It's allergies!  Anything but bed bugs!  Aargh!!!
I spent the next two days doing what a typical spinster/writer who travels alone does.  I walked, took lots of pictures, and frequented cafes where I nursed wine as I wrote copious notes in my journal, all the while ignoring the fact that my hotel room was infested with b.b.s.  And yet - surprise! surprise! - each morning I awoke with more bites.  Those creepy crawlers hit pay dirt with me because I couldn't, or wouldn't, believe they'd found me again.  It didn't seem fair.  Was I just plain unlucky?  Or was the Universe telling me I shouldn't travel? 
I know a lot of people who've travelled much more than I have, and they've never had the slightest problem with insect infestation.  So instead of going into why me mode, I pretended like hell there was nothing wrong.  And believe me, every time I've had extended run-ins with b.b.s, I have to do a lot of pretending.  Even though they constantly prey on my mind and various parts of my body, it's  something I just can't mention in polite company, lest I be regarded as some kind of latter day Typhoid Mary.
On my last morning before the airport shuttle came to pick me up, I very discreetly informed the lovely hotel receptionist of the situation.  She emailed me a few days later to tell me that the hotel had professional exterminators come in to check it out, and they confirmed that my room did, in fact, have bed bugs.  No kidding.  I guess I should have mentioned I had expertise in bed bug infestation myself. 
Two out of the five times I've encountered those friggin' pests has been overseas in perfectly nice hotels.  The first time was in Venice, also known for its canals.  (And what the f*#k do cities with canals and b.b.s. have to do with each other?)  Anyway, thrice more (sorry - I just love an excuse to use a word like "thrice"), I've had to cope with six-legged vermin setting up camp in my home-sweet- home.  I know for sure that neither of the incidents abroad were the reason the buggers showed up in my bed and on my body at home.  When they were on my turf they'd arrived through domestic channels.  Yeah.  Like that makes it better.   
Being an autodidact in b.b. infestation, I was fairly certain I hadn't brought them back from Amsterdam.  But to make sure no bugs had hitched a ride back with me, I took all the necessary precautions and procedures before I left Amsterdam, and especially when I got home.  I sure as hell didn't want to end up dealing with all the onerous work, expense, and conflict to exterminate the creepy critters. 
The good news is there weren't any b.b.s.  The bad news is that the numerous bites I bore took more than a week to fade from sight, reminding me of the  creepy welcoming committee I encountered in Amsterdam.  They were there to tell me I can't run away from the crap I keep in my head. 
That being said, let's make it perfectly clear that bed bugs are not spirit guides.  Just try to find them described as spirit animals anywhere on the web.  You'll find all kinds of insects mentioned as animal guides, but not so b.b.s.  Gee.  I wonder why.

It's a sad irony, however, that I'm actually rather fond of bugs.  Many of those six-legged creatures add grace and beauty to gardens and forests, and play an important role in maintaining the delicate balance of nature.  On my last visit to Peru I found a very large, jungle-size  grasshopper in the hut where I slept.  She was a beautiful, vivid green colour, and missing a hind leg.  When I mentioned the gorgeous creature to Jessica, the ayahuascera at the retreat, she informed me that grasshoppers are  manifestations of Grandmother Ayahuasca.  Oh wow!  It made perfect sense, especially because she was crippled, just like my little lame chick.  When it comes to receiving messages from the spirit world, I'll take a large, lame grasshopper over a bed bug anytime.
But I'm pretty sure Grandmother didn't have anything to do with the b.b.s in Amsterdam.  Sure, they were the perfect trope for what I was going through, but that's not Grandmother's style when it comes to sending me signs.  She can be tough, but she's not cruel.  Those bugs turning up as they did was my doing, and I take full responsibility for it.  The negative energy I'd been sending out for weeks happened as a result of frequent nightmares and sleeplessness.  I was hoping all that would just magically disappear for a few nights if I flew far away.  I should have known better. 
Although b.b.s  aren't spirit animals, and for good reason, they've come to have very deep, personal significance to me.  When my fears and doubts are on the wane and I'm finally enjoying some genuine slumber (and yes, there are moments), b.b.s and rats - that's right, rats - decide to show up.  And so another cycle of fitful, sleepless nights begins.  I defy anyone to get a decent night's sleep with rats partying down an arm's length from your bed with only a thin wall to separate you, or bed bugs chowing down on your flesh in the few moments you finally get some sleep.

I suppose all this makes it sound as if I live in some grotty hell-hole in a tough, seedy neighbourhood.  But that's just not the case.  I live in a lovely, leafy part of the city, and my personal space in the house I call home is reasonably clean and orderly.  I make sure of that.
So how can I not conclude that there's more going on than random misfortune?  Of course there is.  That's the universe I live in.  It's the one I've created - what with my love of signs and magical messages.  So yeah, my unwelcome expertise with pestilence serves a larger purpose.  It proves to me that magical happenstance isn't always rainbows and unicorns.  There's some pretty heavy mojo to contend with out there.
My history with rats isn't a happy story, either. Of course a lot of folks might think there's no way a rat story could possibly be happy. Fair enough, but rats have ambivalent symbolism as power animals throughout various cultures and traditions.  They have some good points, too.  But it was the sad and sorry tales of my life in rat-land that Grandma called upon the last time I participated in a ceremony.  On that occasion I hadn't drunk any tea, so I fell asleep sooner than I normally would have.
The ceremonial hut had a fairly large gap between the top of the walls and the roof.  The gap allows breezes to blow through and supply much needed ventilation.  That's where the rat appeared, skittering across the top ledge of the wall directly above me while I slept.  He could have turned up anywhere on that ledge, but of course he chose to do his little dance right over me.  Since I'd slept through the incident, I didn't find out about his visit until the next morning at breakfast, when a retreat mate made a joke about it.  Although I prefer to be fully present when synchronicity shows up, I'm glad to have heard about that one second-hand.  Still, it figures - even when I don't drink her tea, Grandmother knows how to play with my head.
It hasn't been easy since I came back from Amsterdam, which is an understatement if there ever was one. Instead of being plagued with  household vermin, I'm bothered by the bugs in my brain, which are a lot more difficult to eradicate.  Unfortunately, my inner "stuff" recently busted out of me in a most unseemly manner.  I felt as if I'd been struck by lighting and then crumbled into a heap of ash.  I like to think that there's a redbird  somewhere in the rubble that's left behind, waiting to rise up and fly free of all the psychic crap in my head.  Good riddance to bad rubbish and all that.  That redbird hasn't shown up yet, but in my stronger moments I have faith she will.  Otherwise, what would be the point of such an ignominious fall? 
As for Grandmother, I'm going back to the Amazon rainforest to have tea with her soon.  The hard lesson she taught me 16 months ago has finally sunk in, thanks to a tiny toy frog she put on my path.  Finding that frog has sent me on a journey to the jungle to continue my transformation and healing.  And I know it won't be easy. 
But I'm ready.
Or not. 
Anyway, Grandma - here I come...
- g.p.