Gaian Tarot Artist's Journal

PSG: Unplugged

Photo found here.
Craig and I returned home in the wee hours this morning from Camp Zoe, Missouri in the Ozark Mountains, where we spent nine days at Pagan Spirit Gathering. It was a true “time out of time,” a time between the worlds. Even though some people had access to the internet (though not cell phone coverage), not much news from the world beyond us trickled down. And that was just fine with me.

I discovered that I love being unplugged, both from the internet and the phone.  Nine whole days. What happens when you unplug?  It’s all about slow time, natural time, as my friend Waverly Fitzgerald so often writes about. The days at Camp Zoe were divided into sections that reminded me of medieval Hours:  Waking; Morning Meeting; Noontime Meal; Noontime Concert; Workshop 1, Workshop 2 (or, River Play Time); Evening Meal; Evening Concert; Evening Ritual; Drum/Fire Circle; Bedtime.

Ten of Water: the Salmon Cycle

This isn’t exactly our familiar cheery RWS 10 of Cups, is it? It’s always so nice to see the happy family standing under a rainbow turn up in a reading.  This one is more in line with my concept of the Tens as transitional/transformational cards.  Each one, in fact, is a mini Life/Death/Rebirth card.  This one in particular reminds me of the traditional shout when the king has died: “The King is dead!  Long live the King!” (Or maybe I just have the events of the past few days still on my mind.)

Here in the Northwest, the salmon cycle of descent and return is one of the most inspiring stories we have, whether you approach it as pure science or as a spiritual metaphor. 

Embodying the Ace of Cups

Offering to the Queen of Summer

"Trapped in Paradise!"

Some faraway, online friends have recently asked me why we decided to move off the island.  "But you loved it so much," they say.  Yup, we did. 

Well, I could say it's because Craig's Pluto in Virgo is conjunct my own South Node.  An astrologer told me many years ago that he'll always be dropping bombs on my comfort zones . . . with the corollary, of course, of pushing me — kicking and screaming at times — towards growth and my destiny (North Node in Pisces in the 10th).

Or I could say that our decision to move last August coincided with the onset of Saturn in Virgo squaring my Moon in Taurus (translation:  complete restructuring of one's home life).  And that transit ends in May, when we'll be nice and settled in at Cedar Hills House.

But astrology, like Tarot, only points out the timing of opportunities and challenges in our lives.  It's up to us what we do with the bundle of energy that's available to us during those transits and progressions. 

Movin' on, movin' in . . .

All of our sorting, purging and packing is beginning to pay off.  We moved into a cycle of loading, unloading and unpacking boxes at Cedar Hills House (our new home) and doing a bit of nesting.   (Yes, all those boxes you see in the photo are the after-purge boxes!)   

Nora and I did a cleansing too, with a cauldron lit with native sage and a pocketful of island lavender for blessing.   We cleansed and blessed each doorway and window and room in the entire house, releasing the old and bringing in the new.  We especially blessed Craig and his hard work (he has turned the master bedroom into a righteous studio for me, with new paint and wooden floors.)  We ended our ceremony on the back deck (which you can see through the French doors), in front of Grandmother Cedar, undoubtedly the guardian spirit of this home.   She seemed pretty happy that we were moving in and was definitely pleased with the offerings of sage smoke and dried lavender. 

We'll be moving the furniture next week or the week after.  So, for now, we are between and betwixt, neither here nor there, or rather both at once.  Blessed be!

The Fabled Land of Now

(Postcard from my parents' honeymoon, 1948)

We are in between winter and spring here on my little island.  We have nothing like the piles of snow at Cate's place, or at my grandbaby Grace's house in Maine.  Here the mornings have been bringing us frost as thick as fur that melts by mid morning.

I step outside and think, "It smells like spring!" — that rich, fecund, earthy smell.  Is it the earthworms stirring things up in the soil that makes everything smell so . . . alive?   My neighbor Colleen and I walk in the bright sunshine by the bay, alternately taking our jackets off and putting them back on.  The red-flowering currant (one of the first native plants to bloom each spring) is in fine, fine form.  We spot the white heads of two bald eagles roosting in their favorite Doug fir out on the point.  Sister Great Blue Heron wades in the shallows.   Five black cormorants stand on old pier pilings, spreading their wings to dry.   Sunlight sparkles on pale blue water and I sigh with the deep satisfaction of such sheer beauty.

I notice a thought flit by:  "Shouldn't you be sad that you'll be leaving this so soon?" — followed by another:  "No, I think I'm done with that drama . . ." and I come into Presence, as Eckhart Tolle would say (or is that Wendell Berry?).

A Winter Retreat

My days here in Maine have taken on a pattern, a pattern of service to my family and of spiritual retreat.  I've been influenced, no doubt, by rereading the section on India in Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat Pray Love. But just as Liz scrubbed the ashram floors each day with grace and goodwill, so do I gladly serve my family. 

Star of Wonder

Beth Owlsdaughter has a lovely post about the Halcyon Days. (So does Waverly!) These are the days before and after Winter Solstice when winds and waves stay calm so that Mother Kingfisher can breed in a nest that floats upon the sea.  It's become a phrase that describes a time of idyllic warmth, happiness and peace that's over before we know it, that we long for through a haze of nostalgia.  (Of course kingfishers don't really lay their eggs upon the water, but they do build their nests in cliffs and bluffs nearby, so I guess there's a bit of natural history to the myth.)

If I were Empress of the World, I'd institute the Halcyon Days every December.  I'd proclaim that during the week before and the week after Winter Solstice, no one is encouraged to do "regular" work or "normal" activities.  Instead, the time would be spent partly in self-reflection, musing on the year gone by and the year to come.  The rest of the time, we'd gather with family and tribe, in small groups and large, to revel and rejoice, make music and tell stories, and drive the dark away.   (Hecate has a great post about why we need to do this at Winter Solstice.)

But alas, such is not to be in our modern lives. Instead, we have Halcyon Moments and Halcyon Evenings and — if we're lucky — Halcyon Weekends.

Gifts of Song, Story & Art (Recycled!)

In the spirit of "Modern Magick: Reduce - Reuse - Recycle!" — I thought I'd offer you a few gifts from Yuletide seasons past. 

At our Santa Lucia party Saturday night, Craig brought down the house with his rendition of "In the Bleak Midwinter" with his revised Gaian lyrics.  I posted a link last year to an MP3 file of the song, and here it is again.  We hope it blesses your heart.

About a thousand years ago (okay, only 7 or 8 years ago, but it seems much longer) . . . I designed some free Solstice ecards, which have been very popular on my old website.  The JPC Artworks site is in dire need of an overhaul; I haven't posted anything new on it for years.  But the Solstice ecards?  They're holding up pretty well.  Please visit and enjoy.

Then there's an article I wrote, The Magical Giftbringers of Yule:  St. Lucia and the Holly King, which was published in PanGaia magazine back in the Winter 2000/2001 issue.   I'm still quite fond of this article and hope it illuminates the season for you. 

We walk between the worlds during the season of Yuletide, especially during the Thirteen Nights of Solstice. If we keep our senses sharp and our imaginations lively, we may encounter many strange and wonderful beings during this liminal time instead of a tired old department store Santa . . . (keep reading . . .)

Cheers!

Artwork: Holly King by Joanna Powell Colbert