Turning the Corner

Whatever it was, the moon or the aftermath of Prince Charming's visit, or some internal fluxuation - whatever that mood was, just like the moon, it has turned. I'm back to my usual frame of mind, i.e. philosophical (as opposed to recent themes of depression and grumpiness). What a relief.

There really is no such thing as stuckness, is there? Everything moves, even the foulest of moods. Stuckness is a perception that accompanies discomfort and the resulting impatience. I felt stuck over the weekend, but it was just another phase after all. Go figure.

When I'm unhappy or in pain or feeling depressed I want to DO something to "make" it change. I breathe and OMMM, pray, walk hard until I break a sweat, or pour myself into a task that guarantees instant gratification, like cleaning my room or doing the very best massage I possibly can.

So there's a way in which I benefit from my periodic bouts of moodiness, and frankly, so do my clients. When I'm depressed, I double up on good deeds and self care. Of course it's never helpful when I act out my mood in relationships with others, but I think I mostly avoided bad behavior this time around. I was snarky but avoided picking a fight, so no harm done.

When looked at from this perspective, I must admit that a freaky full moon that kicks my ass is a "good" thing after all. I wonder if I'll be able to remember this the next time? Hmmmm.

Mama said there'd be moons like this.

This full moon (just fully full yesterday) was supposed to be a great full moon, especially for we Aquarians. But it was a terrible full moon for me. During the last few days, I have been, by turns, depressed or cranky, unable to contact my usual good humor. Either I couldn't sleep or I had terrible nightmares from which there was no escape. Even if I was able to wake from the dreams, when I fell back asleep I found myself right where I'd left off. Oh yeah I have been in a foul mood!

The power of the full moon is something people everywhere, throughout history, have remarked upon. Just ask anyone who works in a hospital emergency room if you doubt its impact. This moon, in particular, has made its mark. Janelle of Ngorobob Hill House, Willow of Willow's Manor, and Cynthia at Oasis wrote about it. I bet there are more posts out there about the moon. I just haven't found them yet.

We are definitely affected by natural phenomena and by extremely subtle shifts in the energy swirls around us. That much I know for sure. What it all means, though, is harder to figure out. Interpretation of subtle phenomena is where we humans get confused, though we have to try to understand what we're feeling, don't we?

If I'd thought more in terms of "potent" than "good" about this moon, maybe I could have hunkered down in resistance to my silvery sister, instead of hoping - and waiting - for the "good" stuff. Well, maybe. Maybe I was doomed to thrash through the full moon this time around. Who knows?

My great intuition teacher used to remind us, on a regular basis, to let go of interpretation. Rather, when sensing the subtle energies, we were asked to simply describe what we were sensing. Value judgments in particular obfuscate (thanks for the word, Miss Searcy) rather than reveal the meaning behind the complexity of the world we live in.

My fault, this time around, was to believe all my favorite astrologers when they promised me a "great" full moon. I should know better. My disappointment is not their fault, or the fault of dear Luna. Lesson learned! (Again!)


These are the three faces on my ultra cool new shamanic tool, the purbha, sent to me by the amazing Butternut Squash. Wicked cool, isn't it?

I don't have to like it, though.

Grass on the edge of the pool at Pershing Park.

Because of the rain, (no matter how much I complained about it) everything looks fresh and sparkling. The greens are greener, the colors of the blooming flowers more intense. The birdsong is more vivid, the sky seems bluer and the air is soft and clean. OK. Just because I complain about it doesn't mean rain isn't a Very Good Thing.

Sleeping and Waking

In medieval Europe, sleep was often described as a "binding of the senses." Some people thought the senses had to be bound in order to digest food, an idea that makes sense when you think about what those people ate. For most Europeans of that time, there was no such thing as a balanced diet. Too much or way too little of every food group was the way of things. Can you imagine the indigestion? Yikes.

Dreams were not considered a part of sleep, though everyone understood that only by going to sleep could you access that state of consciousness. How true is that? I'm not saying I know what dreams are, but I agree, they are not the same thing as sleep. Sometimes when I watch Jake "running" and "barking" in his dreams, I think Jake is taking a shamanic journey to another world.

I love the idea of waking up as an unbinding of the senses. Especially when I'm in a deep sleep, struggling to come up to the surface to turn off the damn alarm clock, it does feel like I'm working free of a full length straitjacket.

In medieval Europe there were specific rituals meant to bring the senses back after sleep, including rinsing the mouth, splashing the face with water, singing and praying. Add soap to the rinse and splash, followed by a cup of black tea, and you've pretty much described my personal waking up rituals.

Getting up or getting ready for work sounds so much more tedious than performing waking up rituals, doesn't it? The Age of Reason swept away our ability to see the world with a magical eye. What a shame!

When it Rains

I must have seasonal affective disorder. After two solid days of rain, the stories that are running through my head are all about doom, gloom and hopelessness. What my head is telling me is that I'm going to hell in a handbasket, as we used to say in the midwest.

I know better than to believe the content of my stories. The "truth" is: there's always something to be worried about, always something to be joyful about, too. It's my mind's job to continually devise storylines as a way to explain my emotional situation. My cerebral cortex wants to make sense of my emotions. Silly cerebral cortex! Emotions are not rational! In a certain way I admire the storytelling aspect of being a human. Though futile (in terms of finding reasons for emotional fluctuations), it is so creative.

Because I meditate, I know that the stories are fleeting, ever changing to fit the mood of the moment. It's the framework beneath the story that's significant. A quick examination of the framework beneath my emotions reveals that it is, as you might imagine, completely soggy. No wonder, then, that my mental soundtrack is woeful, a sad tune played in a minor key. On days like this it's clear why I had such a hard time when I lived in the Pacific Northwest. Whoa.

Even in the midst of my emotional slog, (because I meditate) I can remember that this, too, shall pass. It's supposed to clear up tomorrow. A visual infusion of bright blue sky and some gold rays from Brother Sun should pop me out of this foul mood straightaway. I can't wait!


Part of a Ralph Waldo Emerson quote carved into the stone at Freedom Plaza. "Amid the swamps ..." Oh yeah.

Remembering the Tao of Goldilocks

The Capitol from Freedom Plaza, fourteen long city blocks up Pennsylvania Ave. Love that super zoom.

I was looking at some mockingbirds sitting way up in the highest branches of the tall trees in Lincoln Park, wondering if they really get, if they can possibly understand, what a great view they have from up there. Surely they can see everything: the capitol, of course or if they face east, I'm sure they can see the Anacostia River snaking its way towards its confluence with the Potomac. I bet they can see George Washington's pyramidal masonic temple across the river in Alexandria. Maybe they can even see the White House from there. If they bother to look, that is. They're birds after all. Do they care about their fabulous view?

Two seconds later it occured to me that compared to Jake, my eyes, gazing out at the world from a modest 5'6" above sea level, have a view to die for. My guess is that Jake never feels any jealousy about my view. Why would he?

There I was, longing for what I don't have, forgetting the blessings of my life just as it is right now, right here. Life is good, and whenever I remember that, I am grateful. Oh yeah!


Jake's eye view.

The good and bad news about being a psychic

The good news is, I am truly psychic. The bad news? I don't get to decide how that works. For instance, I can not intuit winning lottery numbers or "see" clearly whether or not a relationship is meant to be. I don't know who will win the Academy Awards or the presidency or a football game and I am terrible at predicting the weather.

But I am psychic, really I am. For instance: one day many years ago in San Francisco I suddenly developed a serious jones for a yo-yo. I needed a yo-yo bad. Unable to resist the impulse, I got myself to a toy store and bought a lovely, shiny, brand new yo-yo, after which I spent the rest of that afternoon baffled about the intensity of the urge, since, once I got to yo-yoing, I remembered that I had never really liked it much as a kid.

The next day, I watched a report on TV about some people in Michigan who had celebrated "National Yo-Yo Day" with a marathon of yo-yoing. Ah! So I am psychic, I thought to myself. But ... who cares about tuning in to National Yo-Yo Day?

Yesterday I was contemplating the end of my dog's long life. I was asking myself, Will I miss having to step over napping dog bodies all the time? (There are three dogs in this house, all of whom are fond of napping in doorways and other areas of heavy traffic.) I decided I would not miss that bit of being a dog owner, not at all.

An hour later, rushing through the foyer with a basket full of clean laundry, I tripped over the sleeping body of Shadow, the other venerable old dog in the house. Flew through the air (so did the laundry), banged my knee and shoulder, cursed myself for not paying more attention. Poor Shadow was gasping for air, she was so upset.

She's OK and I'm OK and yes yes, I'm psychic, but ... couldn't this talent be put to better use? Honestly!


From the southwest corner of Lincoln Park, a lovely winding diagonal path has been carved out of the lawn by those of us going back and forth to Eastern Market. This is a "walking tour" from the corner to the weird Lincoln statue in the center of the park.