Constant Craving

Something went wrong.  It happened yesterday, and changed the course of what is today, and what I had hoped it would be.

Today is the 14th anniversary of my mother's death.  She died on a full moon - a blue moon, in fact.  There's no full moon today, but it's Easter Sunday - an equivalent of sorts.
I wanted to resurrect my mother by feeling her near.   But that's not how it is.  Far from it.
The mirror cracked.  I'm hurting from the curse of a thin grin.  I wanted to feel my mother with me today.  Instead I feel only the distance between us.  I'm paying the price for all the magic I've conjured lately.  There's always a price.  There has to be.  Magic is not a middle path.  Balance needs to be restored. 
I've been looking forward to this day for weeks, and all for nothing.  Thank goddess it's only one day.  One dismal day is a small price to pay for months on solid ground and the last few days of airy anticipation.  And all because I was greedy for magic.  I've had more than my fair share lately, so now I sting because I tipped the scales by craving more.
I forgot to be grateful for all that I have.  That's why I'm hurting.  And that's why I'm making medicine out of my misery.
Today I'm hurt.  Tomorrow I'm healed.
- G.P.

The Magic of Silence

Keeping silent.  I write about it on this little web of mine all the time because it matters to me.  To be truly silent is to be quiet without struggling to suppress your deepest urges to speak or be noticed.  Genuine silence comes from deep stillness, not the effort of restraint.  "To keep silent" is one of the four corner-stones in the practise of magic.  (Google it if you want to know the other three.) 

There are things happening in my life right now, matters of my own creation, that I would love to talk about with my friends.  But I choose not to because it gives away the power of materialization - bringing creative energy into form.  Talk dissipates that energy.
There are many people, however, for whom speaking openly about their plans and ideas is helpful and energizing.  But that's not true for the person who practises magic.  Magic is about focussed action - using the pent-up energy of unspoken words and plans to manifest them in the material world.
Lately I've been spending a lot of time being creative and productive.  I'm paying attention to the process, but not the outcome, which is a good thing, because so far there aren't any quantifiable results.  Yet my projects and plans excite me, and I want oh-so-badly to share them with my friends.  But I've noticed that prattling on about my dreams, desires, goals and wishes causes people to grind their teeth or roll their eyes.  I've been making up stories and filling in the blanks with empty rhetoric all my life, and then end up feeling like a failure when it all comes to naught.
So now I'm keeping quiet about what I'm doing and planning.  The bonus of this strategy is that it forces me to talk about topics other than myself, which makes me stop and think before I speak.  And if I can't improve upon silence, I shouldn't speak at all.
Thank goddess for this little web of mine.  I can share my thoughts - well, some of them - in complete silence.
Blessed be.
- G.P.

The Promise of Spring

I'm here to wish you a joyous and meaningful Vernal Equinox, and to set the tone for Spring, 2013.  As today goes, so will the entire season, which is why I'm posting something here, even though I haven't anything worldly-wise to impart to my legion of followers.  The content of this boring blurb does not portend banal babble for the entire spring season, it simply means that I will be publishing blurbs with a little more regularity.  I'm planting a seed.
Now I'm going to find a lovely picture to illustrate this little bit of nothing.  Enjoy.
- G. P.

Memory as Medicine

Being quiet keeps me out of trouble, but it also exposes me to sensitive people who can see through my silence.  Stripped of the emotional clutter that comes with talk, laughter, tears, or anger, a quiet person is more transparent to eyes that can see beyond the surface.  That was demonstrated to me quite vividly when I was in Nepal last fall and met a goddess face to face.  (see "Oh My Goddess," 12/12/12)  The fact that a living goddess is able to see into a person's soul is no great surprise, but it can come as a bit of a shock when a seemingly ordinary human being does it.  Many years ago, when I was going through a very dark period in my life, I met just such a person.
She was a child of no more than five.  I was at a pleasant, intimate patio party on a sultry summer's eve.  Despite my despair, I had mustered the courage to get out of the house and try to come out of myself for a few hours.  The group of us sat in a circle, enjoying conversation and wine.  Beneath my loose, cotton frock I was hiding long, red, angry cuts on my inner left thigh, which I had inscribed there with a razor earlier that day.  I was emotional mincemeat, but I kept my mouth shut and watched quietly from the sidelines.  I was doing my best to disappear, and succeeding, because no one paid any attention to me. 
A little girl, who was the daughter of a young couple at the party, ran excitedly around the gathered adults, being cute and winsome all the while.  On one of her rounds she stopped directly in front of me.  Without addressing anyone in particular, she pointed straight at me and blurted out "I like her," and then quickly resumed her party circuit.
It happened so fast I thought I might have imagined it.  Suddenly my mood changed from despondent to bewildered.  What was that all about?  And what did she see?  When I finally ceased puzzling over the incident - because I knew my questions weren't going to be readily answered - I felt brief but intense elation.  An innocent child had seen something in me that she liked, and announced it for everyone to hear.
Like the Devi I met in Nepal, the little girl saw through the thin veil of my silence.  I was quiet and completely at peace when I met Kusali Devi, but she recognized my years of pain and emotional upheaval.  I was meek and withdrawn when the little girl noticed me, but she could see a light shine.  I can't imagine what motivated her to speak out like that, but I'm glad she did.  It's a memory I cherish, and makes me feel good all these years later.
The very young and the very old are more attuned to the unseen world, probably because they're on the way in or out; crossing the bridge between the world of the spirit and the world of matter.  The little girl spoke to me from that place.  She was an angel in disguise.
This meaningful memory came back to me just recently, after many years of being filed away in the recesses of my mind.  I won't let that happen again, especially now that I've written about it.  But the remembrance of it is enough, and is salve for my soul.
- G. P.

Just Breathe

I've been waiting a long while for inspiration.  That's why I haven't written anything here for so long - I haven't been inspired to do so.  Nothing that seemed worth sharing has come to mind.  My reasons for having this little web include imparting at least a little wisdom from what I've lived and learned.  But just because I haven't blurbed for a while doesn't mean I haven't been living and learning.  It's just that nothing I've learned has amused me enough to write about it.

At least that's what I thought.  But it finally occurred to me a short while ago, just before sitting down to write this, that as long as I live and breathe I'm inspired.  That's right - to live is to breathe, and to breathe means to be inspired, literally.  The word inspire is derived from the Latin word inspirare, which means "to breathe in."  And the English word spirit comes from the Latin spiritus, meaning "breath."  So as long as I'm breathing I'm being inspired.  I'm filling myself up with the breath of life.
The first breath we ever take is an inhalation, and our very last breath is an exhalation.  When we die we release our last breath.  We let go of our spirit.
Whenever I'm bored or my muse seems to be napping, I take a few slow, deep breaths and appreciate the mere act of breathing.  In my books that's pretty much the same as appreciating life. Now that's inspiring.
- G. P.

Vocal Training

My friend was regaling me with another anecdote from her many-storied life.  My storytelling friend's enthusiasm knew no bounds, and it was contagious.  I found myself responding in kind - loudly and louder still.  When I finally noticed how much noise the two of us were making, I shut up completely, but my friend was still on a roll.  My body shook with the vibrations that rolled over me like a tsunami.  If we'd been in public, I would have been embarrassed.  Hey, who am I kidding?  I was embarrassed, and there was no one else around except for my boisterous friend, who was enjoying herself too much to notice.

I've always had a strong voice, and it's served me well as an actress.  But that's not necessarily true for the rest of the time, which is most of the time.  If I get excited about something I automatically shift into high gear.  My forceful voice is largely due to the fact that all my life I've wanted to be noticed and heard.  (A recurring theme on this little web of mine.)  The unconscious, attention-seeking habit of talking too loudly, which is usually concurrent with talking too much, doesn't always attract the kind of attention it's meant to do.  It frequently does just the opposite.
I caught myself in just such a situation not long ago, and just shortly after the aforementioned incident with my vociferous friend.  I had invited another friend over for lunch at my place.  Margaret and I were chatting and once again I realised I was showing my enthusiasm by talking at at least 4 times the volume as she was.  Although I made a point of talking and listening equally, I couldn't help noticing I took up more time and space by sheer volume alone.  I lowered the decibels before Margaret noticed.  Or maybe she did, but was too polite to say anything.  I was also aware that I had to lean forward to hear everything Margaret was saying, not just because I'm a little hard of hearing, but because she's soft-spoken.  As I leaned into her words it occurred to me that her hushed tones were more powerful than my rambunctious ramblings.  Now that's true power.  To quote Starhawk, a major magical influence in my life, it's power from within, rather than power over. 
Margaret's ability to fully engage me in her subdued tones reminded me of something I'd heard in an interview with the Great Goddess of Acting, Meryl Streep, as she spoke about her performance in The Devil Wears Prada.  She chose to voice the role of a bitchy fashion editor very quietly, because she'd observed that the most powerful people she'd worked with  - mostly men, heavy sigh - never raised their voices.  That was a profound revelation for me, but it obviously didn't stick.  Maybe now it will.
And whilst we're on the subject of great actors and voices, I recently saw another interview with Daniel Day-Lewis about his role as Lincoln in the film of the same name.  He spoke at length about his choice of voice for the legendary president, observing that "the voice is such a deep, personal reflection of character."  As an actress I've known this for a very long time, and in light of my recent epiphany regarding my own voice, I felt as if I'd had personal vocal coaching and life lessons from the great actor himself.

A while ago I  was complaining to another soft-spoken friend of mine, Gael, about  mousy, timid people who speak so quietly and inaudibly that I want to slap them.  She remarked that "maybe they don't want to be heard."  Ding!  Gael struck another chord.  Her astute comment helped me to finally understand what Meryl and Daniel were talking about.
I've strung it all together and figured out that I can't make other people listen to me by being loud and obnoxious.  That only turns them off.  I'm still talking less and listening more, and sure, that's a good thing, but I must learn to listen to myself as much as I do to other people.  Paying attention to how I speak is as important as what I say.  It's all about intention, and delivery.  So I'll just pretend there's a movie camera following me around wherever I go.  It'll keep me on my toes.  Reality t.v. - here I come.
- G. P.

Post Haste

I always post my blurbs too soon. I get really excited about finishing a blurb and then I publish it right away because I want to see what it looks like and when I check it out a little while later I'll notice all kinds of little typos and editing errors scattered nilly-willy and thither and yon and then I feel like some sort of illiterate boob and of course I'm mortified and so I spend the next few days constantly revisiting my most recent blurb and frantically fixing & tweaking & hoping & praying that none of my followers - ha! that's a laugh - have read it yet but someone always has and then I want to die of embarrassment.  That's why I'm writing this particular little bit of blurbishness because I really couldn't bear the thought that some people only read my blurbs when I first  post them because I worry that oh my goddess people must think I can't write worth a poop but of course if anyone really thought that they wouldn't keep coming back to my little web so I guess I'm okay.  So I'm probably making a big fuss for nothing but I just wanted everyone to know that I'm on top of it and know what I'm doing most of the time.  Whew that's all as you were.
-G.P.