Revelations

A friend and I went to Georgetown yesterday, walked around the gardens at Dumbarton Oaks. Wow. What a beautiful place!

During times of transformation, personal truths I hadn't understood previously come into consciousness. For instance, one thing I've realized lately is that I like reading thrillers. Thrillers? Yes, indeed. I read Dan Brown's books, for instance, but I used to tell myself I did that because his work speaks to the group mind of my culture. I think it's also true that I like fast paced plotlines. Wow. Just finished Timeline by Michael Crichton (may that amazing writer rest in peace). LOVED that book.

A month ago I would have told you that I never read fiction, but in fact ... I do! And when I do, I really enjoy it. The personal myth called "I Only Read Non-Fiction" has now been officially and completely unraveled. Go figure.



Perhaps not completely unraveled, but different than I thought, is the personal myth I call "I Am 100% Introverted." In fact, if I'm working on a project, I love being a part of a group. I am energized when working with a group on something - anything. That's why I enjoyed the Reclaiming Collective so much. We were always planning witch camp or a class or a public ritual together. This discovery, that I am fed by collaborative work, explains why I loved the film collective way back when, and why I really miss office culture even though I'm not exactly suited to working inside a taupe colored cubicle. Office culture is collaborative. I do miss that, I really do.

If I'm collaborating on a project, I am not so introverted as I claim to be. Hmmm.

In spite of transitional grumpiness, I am also curious to see what other personal myths will unwind themselves. What next?


Sunset on the Potomac River, on our way home.

Now what?

Isn't this great? A light mist around the crescent moon, and a not too steady hand on the shutter created a perfect man in the moon portrait. Very cool.

I don't know about you, but speaking only for myself, when I'm in the midst of a transformation, I get cranky. Grumpy. Grouchy. I turn into a few of the most ill-tempered of the 7 dwarves.

Part of that has to do with my love of routine, how safe it makes me feel when I know what's going to happen next, when the pattern of my days is laid out in a nice, neat, predictable sequence. The safety of familiarity is so nice! Fortunately or unfortunately my life's path has always spiraled around themes of potent transformation.

In my 20's, living still in Kansas City, waiting tables, if you had told me that in my 30's I would live in San Francisco and become a wiccan high priestess, I would have laughed in your face. If, in my 30's you had explained that in my late 40's I would move to Washington DC, give up the witchcraft, work as a massage therapist, and learn to love dogs, I would have thought you were nuts. For one thing, during my 30's, I could never have imagined leaving San Francisco.

Now I'm in my mid to late 50's, wondering what's around the next corner. It definitely does not feel like more of the same. I feel the transformation on a cellular level, like the breeze that comes out of the tunnel before you see or hear the subway train coming. What it feels like (always has felt this way, anyway) is a deep achey restlessness. Suddenly I feel restricted by my great and beautiful life even though I know in my heart of hearts that isn't true. Why do I suddenly like the early dusk of winter? Why am I at ease talking to a bunch of people (at NGS)? Why don't I want another dog? Why? WHY?? What does it all mean?

Maybe I'm wrong about this. Maybe I'm just in a jumpy mood, maybe I'll settle down and hang on to the stability I've created during the time I've been here on Tennessee Avenue. Maybe it's the upcoming holidays getting on my last nerve, as they have in the past, even though I was supposed to like the holidays this year. Who knows?

One thing I've learned over time is: my predictions are useless. Whatever will be, will be.


This pic, taken 2 seconds after that first shot, while still blurry is a completely different pic. Why? Don't ask me!!

I love it when I'm wrong.

Kneeling musician. What instrument was he playing? Any theories?

I watched a middle-school aged boy, dressed in a ridiculously oversized football jersey, while he sketched the standing archer. He was working hard for a considerable amount of time. Finally I went over to look at his work - it was exquisite, a true rendering of the warrior but in the style of Japanese anime. It was beautiful!

A mom acting as a chaperone for a group of younger students came up to me, after reading about the life of Qin Shihuongdi, and asked, "So what was up with that dude? Didn't his mother breast feed him?"

I sat on one of the benches next to a woman at least twenty years older than I. She looked misty-eyed and deeply moved. She told me (eventually) that she had a past lifetime during the Qin dynasty. Her friend snickered but I, of course, believed her. She was lovely.

A ceramics teacher lectured her class about the way the figures were created, her voice passionate. She told me she wanted to inspire her students, and indeed they seemed impressed.

The above vignettes took place yesterday, the opening day of the exhibit at National Geographic. Those holding tickets were the people who have very much been looking forward to it; folks who have been to China and seen the pits with their own eyes, scholars of Chinese history, and other enthusiasts of all stripes. It was so much fun!

I expected to be exhausted by all that social interaction, but I was wrong. I thought I might be overwhelmed or bored, but I was wrong about that, too. In fact the experience was refreshing in every way possible, just what the doctor ordered.

OK. I'm tired today, mostly I think because I'm processing all the unfamiliar sensory information that came in through my eyes and ears yesterday, but it's not the overwhelm of introversion I had expected. Interesting that still, at my age, I can misjudge my reactions so completely. Very cool.

An Embarrassment

If there had been just one other blogger present at the photo preview of the Terra Cotta Warrior show last night, just one other person taking pics with a small point and shoot or from their phone, I could have made common cause, I could have relaxed and enjoyed doing what I do every day. Or so I'm telling myself this morning.

Sadly that was not the case. I was among a bunch of Professional Photographers, all of them with 2 or three cameras slung around their necks, carrying huge tripods and other equipment.

I doubt seriously I would ever find myself intimidated in the treatment room. I know there are better bodyworkers, lots of them, but I'm so comfortable with the way I practice my art. I am confident.

Not so with photography. Even my little camera seemed to have a freak out, reverting as if by magic to all its original settings, so I couldn' find the menu to switch the light meter and such. Instead of calmly modifying the settings, I was so frantic to get out of there I just snapped at random. All my pics are sadly orange-ish and blurry.

I was back out on 17th Street after 10 minutes, giggling in spite of how intimidated I was, while the real photographers were just getting settled in. Oh well. If you want to see good pics of the show I'm certain they will be available in many locations. I think National Geographic even has a flikr site. Here you will see only the fruits of my humiliation. Mea culpa!

Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of my life.

The Express got it wrong by one day. Tomorrow, Thursday is the opening of the Terra Cotta Warrior show at National Geographic. Opening day is sold out; I'll be there from 10:00 to 6:00. It's possible someone will have to buy me a drink after that.

I live such a quiet life, spending most of my time either alone or with one other person. My work is one-on-one, I tend to hang out with my friends one at a time, and I have, over the last year or so, stuck pretty close to home. Part of that had to do with the fact that I now work 1/2 block away from where I live. The other factor, of course, was because Jake was so old and feeble during his last year. I really needed to be close to him as much as possible.



I'm 100% introverted, always have been. Being around people, as much as I love my species in general, no matter how I adore friends, family and clients, is exhausting for me, just part of the territory of introversion. So, I asked myself in the mirror this morning, tell me why the hell did I sign up to do this show at National Geographic? What was I thinking? Please expain. My face gazed back at me, confused.

It's a mystery, it is. My intuition and all my spirit guides tell me this is right and proper, and that the experience will be transformative. The rational bit of my mind says it's not harmful, I can quit if overwhelmed and exhausted. And it's completely different than bodywork, also very different than the rhythms of life on Capitol Hill.

Jake is long gone now. It's time for me to get back into the world, stir things up. I'm diving into it headfirst, people. Geronimo!!

Is it that obvious?

Lafayette Park, in front of the White House.

Yesterday after the volunteer tour of the Terra Cotta Warrior show at National Geographic, I sat on one of the benches gazing at those beautiful figures made of clay and crushed quartz, constructed more than 2,200 years ago. I was just sitting there, really I was.

OK yeah there was more to it than just sitting. I was doing my shaman thing, inviting the figures to speak to me, specifically the infantry guy and the chariot driver. They seemed weary, careworn, not just from their age but maybe because they've been shipped all over the place for the last three years, from museum to museum. That can't be very much fun, I was thinking, like being an animal in a traveling circus or something. No wonder they were ignoring me.

But I persevered in my attempts to make contact. I "told" them that I'm going to be around every Thursday until the end of the show. I explained that I am genuinely interested in listening to anything they want to share, and that I can listen. Well, at least I have practiced listening to the oversouls of supposedly inanimate objects. (According to the cosmology of Reya, the world is utterly and completely animated. There is life, movement, and soul in everything. It's true of course that some things vibrate quite slowly, so it's harder for we impatient human beings to pay attention. But they do vibrate. They do!)

One of the other volunteers walked up to me and said, "What are you doing Reya? Are you gazing into their eyes, trying to connect with their souls?" I was so surprised that I answered honestly. I said, "Yes, actually that's exactly what I'm doing."

Busted! Wow.

Tomorrow I get to go to the blogger and photographer tour. Can't wait to snap some pics of these dudes. They are magnificent!

All hail the power of the relaxed brain

I can't believe I never tried taking pics at night until now. Both pics in this post were taken on Tennessee Avenue. Otherworldly, aren't they?

Thinking is good, but relaxing the brain and not thinking is just as good. Are you ever awakened in the middle of the night with the solution to a problem or some kind of revelation fresh in your mind? I am - often. I also receive excellent ideas while standing in the shower, hot water cascading down the back of my head.

It's not just me, of course. Neurologists have mapped the way in which insights arrive more readily when the brain relaxes.

Last night at approximately 3:30 a.m. I woke up from a peaceful sleep to this thought: Hammer's blog was a work of art. The Gold Puppy most certainly is not! My blog is an ongoing narrative of thoughts, illustrated with images of what I encounter while I'm walking around thinking. Since my internal narrative is relentless (even when I'm allegedly meditating), by its very nature it doesn't have an endpoint the way Throwing Hammers did. Eureka! The urge to quit suddenly has subsided. Ahhh ... I do have impulse control after all! Cool!