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Twin Souls

October 9th, 2022

Twin Souls


When the psychic gripped her hand and told her about the theory of twin souls it felt like when all the pieces of a puzzle fit together after struggling over it for days. The way she explained it, a twin soul or twin flame as some called it, was when some souls were created they split and became two separate souls but continued to be connected in many ways as they incarnated into the corporeal world much like physical twins. Reincarnation was involved since these souls were on a long journey to get back to each other while at the same time striving for their own unique brand of perfection. Some lifetimes they were together, some apart, but always aware of each other in some part of their psyche.

Then the woman looked across the table still gripping her hand and said, “You have been aware of him most of your life, in dreams mostly. I also sense that you have always felt his absence in your life, a loneliness that sometimes overcomes you.” She let go of her hand and put a finger on her chest, “But he is in here, you feel it, always have, like one of your organs, like one of your bones. His essence flows through your body like blood in your veins.” She closed her eyes then. ” I can see him. He is lonely too.”

Memories skipped through her mind fast like a runaway train. All the times she had begged her mother to tell her the truth; that she had a twin that either died or was given away. She’d made her mother cry a few times over these accusations finally relenting with the questions not wanting to cause her mother any more pain and realizing she must be telling the truth – there was no twin. Then she read about people who had had surgery to remove a tumor and it was found to be a twin their body had absorbed in the womb. For years she thought maybe that was the answer but no tumor ever appeared and in time she gave up on this theory as well. And then there was that constant nagging feeling that she wasn’t complete that something, someone was missing. All the men she had tried to fit into the empty place in her soul, none of them supplying the completeness she was searching for.

Then there were the dreams.

They began when she was ten years old. A little boy would be with her, playing, running, always smiling at her. As she got older so did the boy. They would be together walking, holding hands, talking quietly about things she could never remember when she awoke. Then one night when she was around fourteen he kissed her. She awoke with a start still feeling his warm lips on hers in the dark of her room, his presence in the bed beside her. But when she turned on the light no one was there. She cried for an hour, the aching loneliness eating at her brain. When she fell back to sleep he was there in the dream again just holding her for the rest of the night.

For a while in her twenties she had tried to be rid of this phantom and dated a parade of men to try to fill the place of her dream partner, even married one of them, for a time. But soon it became clear to the man that his wife was looking elsewhere for companionship and he quietly divorced her. She was on her own again and the dreams returned with a vengeance as if they were trying to make up for the years she had pushed them away. They made her feel even more alone so another parade of men entered her life only to reinforce the feeling that something was missing.

Then in her late twenties she began having sex with her dream man. It was the best sex she’d ever had and goodness knows she’d certainly had enough sex to compare it to. He was gentle and creative and she always awoke feeling loved, satisfied, exhausted but still alone in a messy bed. This went on until her early thirties when she told the dream man she’d had enough. It was too lonely living with a phantom. She wanted real and went out to find a new man. This time it lasted a year longer than the last one. But this time he was the one that went looking elsewhere telling her in the end that she was “just not there” with him. She had to admit he was right. No one could compare with her phantom man. No one could make her feel the way he did. The dreams returned.

At thirty-three she went into therapy.

Her therapist told her that she was the man in her dreams. He made her keep a diary of all her dreams and to be as detailed as she could about their content. It was during this process that she began drawing pictures of her phantom. It was then that she realized how beautiful he was. She could describe his clothing – eccentric, the jewelry he wore – a lot, the tattoos he had – many, especially the one of a honeybee on his wrist. Then one night he had a guitar with him and played and sang for her. She hummed the song all the next day. After that she was serenaded often. Her therapist told her she should get a tape recorder and sing the songs into it. She wasn’t especially musical but she could sing well and so the recordings became an a Cappella rendering of the dream songs. Some of them were ballads, some were love songs and some were wild rock n roll that really didn’t translate well in a Cappella form. She sang them all exactly as she heard them in her sleep.

Her therapist was amazed at her artistry and her singing voice and suggested that maybe the dreams were telling her that she should pursue some kind of artistic endeavors; maybe her dreams were her way of accessing her hidden talents. So she began writing poetry and trying to turn them into songs. The words came easy but she could never put them to music. But every time she would finish a poem he always came to her in a dream and sang it to her. Her therapist said she was simply collaborating with herself. Many artists relied on their dreams for inspiration.

Then it happened; she saw him in a YouTube video singing and playing in a band. She almost fell off her chair. When she finally closed her gaping mouth and let her eyebrows relax she watched it a second time then added the channel to her library. Then she read the short description about the video.

“Los Angeles band brings grunge back with a vengeance and Vengeance is their name.”

There was only one video and it had been uploaded the day before but she continued to check it every day and within a week another video appeared. This time there was a close up of her dream man and she could see that her drawings had captured him exactly. But he was so far away from New York, so out of her reach.

Her next therapy session was very interesting.

After showing the videos to the therapist the room went quiet for about a minute then he recovered. “You must have seen the video at some time while looking around and the image attached itself to your memory. You needed a face to fill the place of the man in your dreams so…”

She interrupted him while pushing the phone into his view and pointing at the date of the upload.

Once again the room went silent. They stared at the walls behind each other for about five minutes when he looked at his watch and announced the session over for the day.

The next day she went to see the psychic.

When the woman finally let go of her hand signaling the end of the reading she pulled out her phone and showed the video to the psychic. The woman leaned forward, looked at the phone then up into the face of her client, eyes wide, “This is him; this is the man!”

“I know.” Then she opened her sketch book and showed the drawings. “I’ve been drawing him for months now.”

She told of the dreams of music and all the crazy assumptions the therapist had come up with which made the psychic laugh. “They think they have it all wrapped up in a nice neat package but what they don’t know is that we are not just bodies with brains. We are spirits, souls living in bodies for a time in order to experience the wonders of physical life.” She sat back in her chair, closed her eyes and continued, “You will meet him soon. He will come to you without you having to do anything but keep dreaming and drawing and singing his songs.” She opened her eyes. “He is dreaming of you too. When you are together in the dreams you are actually together in the spirit.”

The woman took her hand once more, “Go home and wait. It will not be long.”

She never returned to the therapist.

A few weeks went by as she continued doing what the psychic had advised her. The drawings now turned into paintings. They littered her small apartment, leaned up against the walls, tucked into her closet, shoved under the bed. She went through her days at work thinking about her next poem, writing little snippets on napkins or the palms of her hands until she could get to a piece of paper and do them proper justice. Then one night in a dream she found herself reading one of them to him. He smiled and started singing it to her as he picked out cords that complemented the words.

The Vengeance videos increased in number. It was comforting to be able to watch him on a screen, so much clearer than in a dream. But in order to feel him sleep was required and dreams were essential so she found she was sleeping much more. The dreams of him became so frequent that she hardly ever dreamed of anything else any more. The weekends were spent napping, painting and writing poetry. Sometimes she wondered if she were going crazy. Then she would visit the psychic and was reassured that the time was getting closer. He would come to her within the year. It was September; there wasn’t much time left. Hope became her constant companion.

There were now fifty Vengeance videos on YouTube and a Face Book page as well. His band had reached a following of over ten thousand and they announced that they had been invited to play at a New York City club for New Year’s Eve. She read the words over at least ten times before she could muster up the courage to believe them. The club was in her state. He was coming to her state! Then reality hit. New York was a big state and she was so far north from the big city that it might as well be in Europe especially on a waitress’s salary. There was no way she could go to his concert. Depression hit like a wrecking ball on her heart.

The next week she dragged herself to the psychic who was fast becoming her best friend.

“Oh honey, don’t worry. He will come to you, remember?”

“But how?” She was sobbing into her tea and her friend wrapped her arms around her, “I don’t know the how. I just know that you are not going to go to him. He is going to find you. Somehow, he is going to find you.”

She was invited to a New Year’s Eve party by one of the other waitresses and tried to decline but the girl was so sweet and so insistent that she finally relented. The party lasted all night and she got drunker than she had since she was a teenager. She slept nearly all of New Year’s Day dreaming that she was riding in a bus with her lover. She watched the road ahead as they traveled through towns and woods and past barren winter fields dusted with snow. When she finally woke up and realized it was a new year and her lover had not found her she sat down on her bed and cried for a half hour.

The darkness outside was interrupted by giant flakes of snow drifting past her window as she stood leaning her forehead on the icy glass watching them pile up on the sleeping lawn. She could feel her hope being buried under the feet of snow that was accumulating before her eyes. By the second day of the year three feet of snow had fallen and her world came to a standstill as the blizzard raged outside. Her boss called and said not to come in to work that the restaurant was closed until the plows got around to digging it out.

The day dragged on like a dull nightmare filled with fog and tombstones and crying wind. She spent most of the day in bed trying and failing to sleep. The next day her boss called and said if she could get out he would appreciate it if she would come to work since everyone else had called in. The poor man sounded desperate so since the landlord had plowed the driveway that morning, like a zombie she dressed and drove to work.

There were a few regulars scattered around the dining room when she arrived but it looked like it was going to be a slow and boring day. She took orders, made coffee and waited. The lunch rush consisted of two people who ordered sandwiches to go. The day dragged on snail-like until at five-thirty her boss told her she could go home. She was putting her coat on when the door opened and a group of guys blew in on the cold wind and seated themselves at the farthest table in the dining room. She took her coat back off, grabbed some menus and headed over to the table. As she distributed the menus one of the guys looked up at her and uttered something guttural like he was about to choke. She looked down at him and froze.

It was him!

They stared at each other for what seemed like hours but in reality was only a few seconds when one of the other guys blurted out, “Holy shit, man, that’s the girl you’ve been painting for the past two years!”

Her dream man stood up then and looked down into her eyes. She audibly gasped as he took her hand in his and answered his buddy, “Yes, it is.” She could feel him trembling as he pulled her to him in an embrace that took her breath away.

Just then she heard the door bang open and a familiar voice call out, “He’s here! He’s here right now – I had a vision!” The psychic ran to the only occupied table and slammed to a halt. “Oh!” she panted trying to catch her breath as she took in the scene before her. All eyes were on her now and she looked around at them. “Yup,” she wheezed, “That’s what I saw.”

He kissed her then and the laughter and cheers ringing through the restaurant began to fade into the ether like the dreams she never had to fall asleep again to experience.

Morrigan

January 20th, 2015

Morrigan

This is a song I wrote some time ago that began as a poem written during a particularly dark and trying time in my life. I offer it here to anyone who is traveling through such a time in the hopes that it will bring courage and hope. If you have ever heard of this Goddess you probably know her as a goddess of death but if you look closely at her you will see that she is also a goddess of change and rebirth. She takes that which has reached its fullest potential and brings it into its next place on the wheel of life. When you hear that door closing behind you and see another one opening before you, look around for you will most likely see Morrigan with her hands on both doors knobs.

Morrigan
by Carrie Viscome Skinner


Falling into the blackest night
I hold my head up begin the fight
The fear grabs hold of me weighs me down
I cry out into the battle ground,

Morrigan,Morrigan
Come to me, be with me
Morrigan.

I give you courage to move ahead
Ill help you shape-shift, my Goddess said
When all seems lost, you cant find your way
Ill come to you be with you night and day.

Morrigan, Morrigan
Come to me, be with me
Morrigan.

My mind is shifting, my wings spread out
The Raven calls with a deafening shout
I pick up her sword lying at my feet
The fear lies stricken in final defeat.

Morrigan, Morrigan
Come to me be with me
Morrigan,
Morrigan, Morrigan
You came to me, you are with me
Morrigan.

Lament of a Summer Faerie

January 20th, 2015

Lament of a Summer Faerie

Lament of a Summer Faerie
By Carrie Viscome Skinner 2012


Im longing for him now
Longing in whispers spoken
Low on crystalline snowflakes,
My love, my Jack
My Jack in the Green.

With arms empty and cold
And whiteness that suffocates
I listen, closely to the wind
For his voice
His voice, warm like honey
His voice soft and velvet
Like the green of his moss
The green of his palms
Resting on my back
As I lay in his emerald arms.

But all I hear is the harsh voice
Of his dark brother
Trying to sneak into my thoughts,
This other Jack
This Jack of the Frost
With his shrieking whistles
That blow down my shutters
And invade my cold bed
Giving me dreams of ice
And white, cold glass
Where his eyes appear
In the glacial spaces
Between the frozen teardrops
Of his hibernal hooded head.

Oh my Jack, my green love
Why must you leave me so
To crawl beneath
This cruel white blanket
While you sleep
Deeper than my poor little soul
Can delve,
I miss your heat
The touch of your breath
On my tired wings
At the end of a day
Filled with dancing in your glen
And rolling in your fields,
I miss the kiss of morning
On my dewy lips
As you waken me
To another Midsummers day.

But here in this hollow
Where I huddle with the ivy
The only promise left
Is the cold green of its fingers
Wrapping themselves
Around my naked antlers
Shivering at the sound
Of the frost one
Curling his arms above
This tree of sanctuary.

My crying is not heard
My weeping is in vain.

I am alone and wanting
Waiting to smell
The first light of Spring,
His first breath of dawn
In the sedge of meadow
In the moss of woodland
In the tall ears
Of my head,
The first sigh
Of his awakening
Will be the music of my life
The melody of my existence
The savior of my spirit,
I shall drink in
His air
As the tree drinks in
The sun
I shall sink my long toes
Into his velvet hair
And caress the length
Of his viridian expanse.
Oh Jack, my Jack
My green and lovely companion
When I finally squeeze through
The door of Beltane
Into the gift of your summer
All these frigid, bitter plates of
Soulless scraps
I have been fed
By the hoary hands
Of Jack of the Frost
Shall become so much mist
In the gleam of your
Sun drenched eyes
And we shall glide as one again
Along the lichen river banks
And fly above the heather
That dances to your pipes
And my life will be whole
As I sink into the yielding folds
Of my Jack
My Jack in the Green.

Upon Meeting a Fae in the Woods

January 20th, 2015

Upon Meeting a Fae in the Woods

Upon Meeting a Fae in the Woods
Carrie Viscome Skinner 2014

Tight
the words
that creep down my tongue
on a night
so dark as this,

The stars
cannot gage
their lost
intent
as I stammer
and stutter
in vain.

His eyes on mine
taking charge
of my sight
I see
what he beckons
I see.

In the space
that lies
between
particles of light
I am held
outside
of time,

Within his mind
I am folded
in his
moss covered arms
I am shielded
till nights
kiss
awakens
the dawn
and my sighs
return
to dust.

The Faerie Love Spell - A Poem

October 17th, 2013

The Faerie Love Spell - A Poem

The Faerie Love Spell
by Carrie Viscome Skinner

The spell it came within a book
Tucked back beyond the attic nook,
Deep within the pages told
Of secrets kept from days of old,
And then I saw it glowing bright
The answer to my lonely night.

Inside the book with pages torn
I read the words one autumn morn
But did not heed the warning there
Among the stories bright and fair
For all that caught my eye that day
A reference to a certain fey:
Hes dreaming in his treetop tower
Content to wait for the witching hour
To cast off limbs for flesh and bone
Wander through valley and standing stone
That brings him square up to the door
Where his lady waits on misty shore
With wand in hand and wreath in hair
She conjures him tween earth and air,
And when they meet neath moonlit sky
The faeries know the knot they tie
Will bring her joy and many tears
As well as magic, love and fears.
For mortal witch and faerie lover
Will join as one and soon discover
The veil is thin this Samhain night
And many partake of unearthly delight
Then wake to the cold November sky
Hang down their heads and heave a sigh
For alone they be each on their own side
The veil now dense, the distance wide.

And I am one of witches fair
That conjured earth, fire, water and air
Upon a lonely Samhain night
To bring to me one shinning bright
A love to know and keep till dawn
And caring not if right or wrong.

So dressed in green by pale moonlight
I trod the woods that fateful night
And when I came upon the tree
That every night had beckoned me
I raised my wand up to the sky
And to the stars let out a cry.
You of green within this tree,
Oh shinning one, come down to me,
Oh green one dwelling high above
Come down and bring to me your love
That we may dance until the dawn
Make love till all starlight is gone.
I cast this spell by thistle and thorn
You shall be mine until the morn.

The crystal sparked the tree was lit
With tiny lights from root to tip.
I saw his face atop the tree
His glowing eyes stared down at me,
His voice it floated to the ground
And settled on the mossy mound,
The night is long my pretty bird,
So take my hand, dont say a word.
Into the night Ill hold your hand
Across the green well walk the land,
And you will know such wondrous things
That cause mere mortal hearts to sing.

My feet were bare and so was he
His luminous wings did flutter free.
Our hands were clasped beneath the stars
Wee hours of night becoming ours.
As we walked through hills of silken green
And circles of stone with moonlit sheen
My faerie lover showed me things
That dwell within the mushroom rings,
Where dancing in a moonlit glen
He kissed my lips again and again,
Till lips and legs began to tingle
His breath and mine as one did mingle.
And then beneath the starry night
I saw the often told of sight
A doorway opened in the ground
Among the mushrooms gathered round.
And pulled along a lustrous hall
I felt myself begin to fall
Then caught within green arms so strong
I whispered low, this cant be wrong.

The night stretched out before our eyes
Pushed longingly within our cries
As we made love beneath the earth
Both solemnly and filled with mirth.
Upon his bed of leaves and moss
He left me breathless, at a loss,
For soon I knew the sun would rise
And wipe the stars from out the skies
And he would leave me in a mess
To search the hills for my green dress.

Now my life is different it seems
My hair has turned a brownish-green
Everyone that passes me by
Can see the silver in my eyes,
And like the sky that shown that night
My skin now shimmers in pale moonlight.

So guard your hearts, oh witches fair
When moon is full love fills the air
But cast you not that faerie spell
For in its wake the tale youll tell
Is one of love and then of sorrow
Of time suspended till the morrow,
When autumns frost lay on the ground
And winter breathes its mournful sound
Youll speak about the lovely things
That one can do with faerie wings
And then your breath will catch in time
With memories of faerie rhyme
That fill your nights and clutter your days
And make you walk around in a haze,
And all because the spell you cast
Brought faerie love that could not last.

Imagination

July 21st, 2013

Imagination




Many people dont believe in faeries because they say they have never seen any. These are the people that say they need to have scientific proof in order to believe in anything. I love scientific proof, it always makes things seem more real and believable. But if we are truly honest we all have to admit to believing in something that has no science to back it up. Whether it be a deity, love, ghosts, or that feeling you are being watched only to turn around and find that you are, believing in the unexplained and invisible is just part of being human. It is primal and ancient and has given us much to ponder and also has led to many new discoveries that were once considered to be in the realm of the superstitious or ridiculous. And it has given us some fantastic art, music and theater.

The world of Faerie does not exist in the same physical world we inhabit. It is in another dimension that we as humans cannot enter with our physical bodies. But those unseen spirits who dwell within these bodies, the part of us that make us who we truly are, can visit that dimension while still residing in these bodies. This is accomplished through a technique that is well known to many people, especially those who practice any of the arts whether it be music, theater, writing or the visual arts. These people are, while in a state of creating, in contact with a mythically real being commonly known as the Muse. The technique that is used, even if they are not consciously aware of it, is called simply, Imagination.

Children actually live in the state of imagination most of the time Watch and listen to a child playing. What seems to an adult to be pretend is actually a reality to the child. That is why they are firm believers in faeries and stay that way right up to the time in their lives that adults start convincing them otherwise. Many artists and writers dont actually believe in faeries but will tell you that something happens when they are creating, that it is like being transported to another place. Many think it is a lovely escape and some become so enraptured with this state of being that a kind of withdrawal is experienced when they go too long without creating. I myself have this problem and it has made me think about how it relates to the faerie world since I now create mostly faerie images. I have come to believe that imagination is the vehicle that transports me to this other dimension where the beings there, that I choose to call faeries, inspire the images and other creations that I make in the physical world. I believe these beings are semi-spiritual in nature. I say semi because I and many others have actually been able to see them at timesin the physical. Just as some people have claimed to see ghosts and aliens, those of us who have claimed to see faeries are mostly looked upon as being a bit off in the head. Well maybe we are a bit off in the head, but maybe that is not a bad thing or even an abnormal thing. Maybe we are simply able to use a part of said off head that others are not able to use.

Imagination is a very powerful tool that we in the arts have learned to harness. Most of us cannot remember a time when we did not live in the alternate world that gives us our inspiration and all of us never want to lose the ability to go there. When we are blocked from entering that place we are in absolute misery and do some pretty wild things to try and find our way back. But when it comes right down to it we know that the best way to find our way back is through mental and spiritual means because even if we are not aware of it that is where imagination resides. It is a place where science cannot go. It is a magical place where anything can happen and the sky or farther is the limit. Imagination is the one place anyone can enter by simply allowing it to be there. I believe it is an actual place in another dimension that is just a blink of an eye away and every time I pick up a brush, pen or other creative instrument it sends a signal to my brain which sends a signal to my spirit that it is time to soar.

The wonderful thing about this place is that it is available to everyone. I think most people lose their ability to go there because they have been convinced by this physical world that it doesn't exist. They tell themselves that mature adults dont believe in such things. I am here to invite you to take a walk on the magical side. Do something imaginative. Write a short story or poem, draw a picture, sing a song, pretend" with a child, go for a walk and see the trees as living beings. Dont over think it, just do it and see what your imagination can come up with. Have fun with it and dont be critical of yourself. This is just between you and the faeries. No one else has to know.

Faerie Blessings!

New Fairy Tales

July 5th, 2013

New Fairy Tales

New Faerie Tales

Once upon a timeOh those words were so magical to my ears as a child! The sparkle and the darkness both enticed me then and I have to admit still do. As Ive grown older I also have to admit that I seem to be rooting more for the darker characters in the stories as well as the usual heroes and heroines. Ive come to realize that they may be the ones responsible for the lessons learned in most of those tales. How would Snow White ever have found her freedom from the treachery of her stepmother queen if said lady had not tossed her out in the first place (not to mention finding the man of her dreams!). And Cinderella never would have met her Fairy Godmother if her wicked stepmother hadnt forbidden her to go to the ball (not to mention meeting the man of her dreams!). Then there is Gretel, who discovered that she was a much stronger person than she ever dreamed she could be all because the old woman pushed her until she was forced to do something about it (not to mentionoh, she only saved her brothers life!). And the list goes on. Im starting to get the feeling that these older women were almost sacrificing themselves in order to teach the younger (usually women) how to survive in a very harsh world.

Something wonderful has happened to these tales in the past few years. Writers and Hollywood have been taking these beloved tales and started turning them into lavish and frightening works of art that continue the originals leaning toward moral teaching while at the same time giving us sheer entertainment. Some of them have taken the fantasy of these tales and turned them into highly believable stories of the plight of humanity crawling toward a goal of equality for the downtrodden. On the other hand some of them have been made even more magical, even spiritual, by means of CGI and some very original retellings of the old favorites. I just love the fact that a good story never really dies. Sometimes it might seem to but then someone will pick it up and twist it and tweak it and come up with something old that is really quite new.

The thing I like the best about the new old fairy tales is that the women and girls in them are no longer the helpless-weak-have-to-be-rescued-by-a-man kind of characters. These modern day fairy tale females are tough and strong and can take care of themselves but are not afraid to ask a man for help either. They are starting to be more like real women while still holding on to all the enchantment of the originals.

There is also a whole new genre of slightly dark retelling where it becomes difficult to tell who is the bad guy. The lines get crossed and tangled and sometimes there is not only no happy ending but a kind of endless cliff hanger that you are left to figure out on your own. In other words, these kinds of fairy tales make you think, step out of your comfy little world and do some wondering (and wandering). These are not childrens tales, but full blown adult adventures into the kinds of worlds where the brothers Grimm would have loved to have traveled.

So the next time youre in the mood for a good story with some magic and moral or just plain entertainment look for a good retelling of one of your favorite childhood fairy tales. A good place to start is the web site www.enchantedconversations.com . There you will find the titles to some great books to get you started on your fresh journey into the dark and glistening world of the new fairy tale. Happy reading and dont forget to leave the light on.

Find new fairy tales here

Mothers

May 13th, 2013

Mothers

Yesterday was Mother's Day here in the US and after the festivities of having children and grandchildren fill my day, I took the time to contemplate just what it means to be a mother. Being an environmentalist my opinion on most matters usually lean in that direction, and motherhood is no exception. I automatically think of the great Mother Earth as a supreme example of motherhood. If you think of the earth as a living, breathing being as I do then you know what I'm talking about. If you don't think of her that way then here are some things to ponder.

I have always thought of the earth the same way I think of my own body. As a child I would imagine the trees, grasses and all plants as her hair, the water as her blood and the mountains her breasts. In my childlike mind she was a perfect, loving being that held me in her arms. She always made me feel safe when things in my life threatened to destroy my sanity. I knew there was that larger than anything Being that would protect me from the dangerous world that surrounded me. I took comfort in the wildness of her forests, was soothed by the coolness of her waters and made lifelong friends with many of the creatures that live upon her body. As I grew older I began to realize that not everyone shared this concept of the earth. In fact I eventually learned that many don't even think of her as alive. That puzzles me. How can something that supports so much life not be alive itself? That is like saying that our hair and nails and all the microscopic creatures that live upon our own bodies are alive but we are not. It makes absolutely no sense to me. How unappreciative of us to receive all our life support from a being that we don't even acknowledge as being alive. Making the matter even more inconceivable is the fact that some treat her with little or no respect. It has led me to think of we humans like as pimples on her skin. Sometimes I wonder why she doesn't just simply pop us all and be done with it.

Then I remember what it means to be a mother and it all makes sense why she keeps allowing us to live on her. As a mother I know that I don't always agree with what my children are doing but that doesn't make me love them any less. Sometimes I need to set them straight on some things, whether they listen or not is up to them. Our relationship with the earth is the same. Even when we mistreat her she still gives us her love in the form of all the beauty that surrounds us; warm summer nights, the sounds of spring peepers, the scent of sun warmed pines, cool ocean waters on hot days, freshly fallen snow sparkling in the sunlight, and the list goes on. She sends us little hints when we are going astray and forget to treat her with respect. One small example of this can be seen in the present plight of the honey bee. If we don't stop poisoning them with our chemicals then she may have to discipline us by taking away not only our honey but all of the food we depend on that they pollinate.

Being a mother is a tough job. It takes a lot of determination and patience as well as much love to raise happy healthy children. But when those children grow up to be responsible well adjusted beings it is all worth the effort. I try to treat the earth as I want to be treated as a mother and hope that my children will treat me as I treat her and the circle of life spins like this. Whatever we put out will come back to us. If we put out poison and pollution in any form, it will come back to haunt us. But if we choose to put out respect and care for each other as well as our Mother the Earth than we will reap health and joy and contentment. The choice is ours. How will you choose to treat your Mother?

The witching hour

May 4th, 2013

The witching hour

It's past midnight and like a lot of artists, I am still awake, my head filled with visions of creations yet to be created. It is still and quiet now, the dog is in her bed, the cat curled up on the couch and the husband snoring away in his dreams. And here I am unable to step into that world of soma. It's like my mind wakes up when everyone else's shuts down. It is at night that I have always been my most creative but it has always been a struggle living in a morning centered world. I have always been made to feel that there was something wrong with me because I preferred to be up at night and sleep well into the morning hours. It was very difficult when the children were at home and in school, having to get them up and out the door by 7:00 am when I had just gotten to bed a few hours before. All that has changed in the past few years. They all have families of their own now, though they still pick on me for my sleeping habits. But the other day I had a conversation with my son and was making the old excuses for my late night habit when he surprisingly took my side saying," Mom, don't worry about it so much. You are simply on second shift. A lot of people work second shift. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

That conversation has given me a whole new slant on things. It made me realize that I had truly been ashamed of being a night person all of my life which basically means that I have been ashamed of who I truly am. I'm not sure my middle child realizes what he's done for me by that one simple statement but the next time he calls and asks if I can watch his kids at 7:00 am I may get to fill him in on it. "Son", I'll say, "I won't be up then. I'm working second shift now. But the kids can hang out and watch TV till I get up. Lock the door on your way out."