In that strange, blank time between Christmas and New Year's, my mind is often drawn back to the past to study the patterns that might affect the future.
This year, however, something seems different. As if soon the past will not matter so much, as if our timeline is diverging into something new.
I'm not the only one who feels this either. No one is sure exactly what it means, but we hope the turning of the year will be a fortunate one.
Best wishes and a happy New Year to you and yours.
A common item in the witch's box of charms, hagstones - stones with naturally occurring holes in them - are said to cure a myriad of conditions and protect the bearer from evil. The small ones can be strung like beads on a length of twine or just kept in your pocket. Larger ones can take a place of significance in or around your home.
This one lives in the rock garden out front. It serves its purpose well, I think.
It's a day late owing to computer problems, but happy solstice to all.
Certainly, it's been an uncharacteristically sunny week for it. The clouds have only been rolling in at twilight, leading to some especially colorful skies.
At 4:23 PM, I was sitting with my little ceremonial fire (as you do) quietly waiting for a sign of what to expect in the coming season. I was just wondering if one would come when a crane flew over. At the same time, another bird dropped a heap of juniper berries on my head. A happy confluence of events.
It may seem strange, predicting good fortune at a time when the country seems to have gone mad and life expectancy is dropping (these things are not unconnected, IMO) but you see, I am determined to survive.
Someone once told me that so many people give up upon reaching an obstacle that by just refusing to quit, you end up much further ahead than you realize. This is my game plan. I am not strong, nor particularly stable, but I am exceptionally stubborn.
In that spirit, today I dragged myself from the haze of migraine and fibromyalgia torment to buy gifts for my children. My reward (aside from making the children happy, of course) was being there to see the winter sunset, this swirling configuration on the edge of town.
These moments pass, yes, but for me, the moment is enough, and for that I am extremely grateful. You forget pain, eventually, but transcendent moments can stay with you forever.
Here's wishing all of us a transcendent winter holiday.
Last Sunday, I fell asleep and dreamed that Dale - the manager of the corner store who I've mentioned here - went into business calling himself "The Nervous Psychic" and was a great success. He even had a pink neon sign over his front door, like the one above.
The dream made me laugh, not the least because Dale is, indeed, very nervous and very psychic. It's one of the things we have in common.
But the dream also made me laugh because it was just happy, a very, very good dream.It's hard to say why it was this way, but since I don't have very many good dreams, the special ones stand out.
Something about the pink neon sign flickering in the night. A good omen.
In the way of dreams, a warm light in the winter cold.
Even the palm of your hand can be a map, if you like.
It's no secret that I'm a map nerd, so on the chance that any other map loving aficionados of the strange and unusual happen to land here, I thought I'd share links to a few favorites. Enjoy.
Especially for weather watchers, a live wind and ocean current map of the globe.
Live earthquakes map. Exactly what it says on the tin.
The New York City rodent density map. Rodents, maps...what's not to love?
Map of devil place names. (I can't help noticing the trail of devil names in my state exactly follows the rather unnerving escarpment upon which I reside.)
Interactive map of Chicago area Mothman sightings, 2011 to present
Awesome.
Interactive map of ghost sightings in the UK. (Note -there's a boatload of ghosts across the pond, apparently)
I've mentioned this beauty before, but it's always worth another look - the MUFON live UFO map
This not entirely a map, but in this intriguing article, the writer searches for a rooftop where Bob Dylan was famously photographed, including the use of maps.
There are no doubt many I've missed but this is what I can find in my files on this late night. Happy hunting.
I don't know what to think about iridology, but according to the charts I've seen, it seems like this gold spot in my eye is in the section dealing with brain function.
That means my brain is super extra functional, right? Right?
After last week's grim visit to the eastward road, I found myself unsettled in a way I could not shake. The place had got into my bones, like a sickness does. The sense of dread grew and grew. Everything felt bad. I began to wonder if my life had any purpose besides fear and sorrow.
Yesterday, I realized I'd had enough. It had to stop. I longed for something, a piece of magic, some undeniable sign that a universe existed beyond this mood.
If a landscape had got me into this, it made sense that a landscape might get me out. I decided to go west this time. Things had always felt a bit friendlier out there. Maybe I could have a chat with the Genius Loci while I was as it. Ask if there was any meaning left in the world.
It was nearly as cold and no less cloudy than it was on the 20th, but somehow the light in that direction looked golden and warm. Perhaps it was a good sign. It was nearly sunset, though, so whatever I'd meant to do must be done quickly. Remote country roads are not the best place to be after dark.
I took a right and headed out on my journey. I wasn't sure how far I was going, but figured I'd know when I got there.
There was a time when this road was almost as familiar as my own. Childhood friends lived here once. Old signs still marked the place of lovers' meetings. But that was long ago, and the memories of it squeezed my heart. So much time passed, so many people gone. There's a certain loneliness that comes to a tourist spot when the season is over, a sort of silence, and this road is no exception.
In all the times I'd come, there is one day that stands out in my mind. It was all autumn silence then, too, the mist, the color, the leaves and the rocks. Even the river was hushed. I was suffering a broken heart that day, the kind that never really mends. The radio was playing Peter Murphy's Cuts You Up and suddenly it all made sense. A haunted hour and a haunted song. I'd never forgotten it.
This came to mind as I was driving, that teenage heartsick ache. Time seemed to slide out from under me. I didn't intend to be maudlin, but suddenly I was desperate to hear that song again. It was the right sort of day for it. But unless I could call music from the air, it wasn't likely to happen. 30 year old alt-rock doesn't have much place on the radio.
At the fork in the road, I took another right. Here was the stone gate at the first crossing, marking where Susan used to live. There was the winding drive that once lead to Melissa's home. We used to hang out there, Missy and Teal and me. We'd sit on the river bank, the canyon echoing laughter.
I was beginning to feel overwhelmed. The whole point in coming here had been to quietly listen to the landscape, but the further I drove, the more I was stricken with old memories - this house, that cliff, that bend in the road. I was losing the thread.
The sun was going down. I pulled into a gravel lay-by to park and walked down to the water. As I did, the red leaf of a sycamore floated down and seemed to hover motionless in front of me far longer than it should have. I thought, well, then, this must be the place.
I sat and listened, and watched the sunset colors on the water. All was peaceful. I saw no visions nor heard any voices, only the sound of the river. Still, I did not feel alone. Then somehow I knew it was time to go, so I got up and -somewhat regretful to leave - went back to the car.
When I got in, I don't have to tell you what song was playing on the radio, do I? That it was Cuts You Up by Peter Murphy? Because of course it was, and you may have seen it coming but it was an complete and utter shock to me. And that's how I knew, with absolute certainty, that my strange, silent prayer for meaning had been heard.
Maybe it seems like a little thing, but it was much more than enough.
Sometimes it's enough to know that someone is listening.
It's that time of year when the horrors begin to creep. Not the thrill of Halloween or the romance of falling leaves, but the cold landscape sleeping.
If you can call it sleep.
You can feel trouble gathering out here in the country, between the lowering skies and the rocks that jut out like bones. It's not personal, it's just November, and the Goddess of Thorns will not make it easy.
In the cities, it's safer. All those people and the lights and the shops. You can ignore the hostility that seethes beneath the surface, the landscape that wants rid of you.
It's tired. It's had enough. If you listen closely, you can almost hear it moan. It's not personal. You mustn't think I haven't tried to be friends. But I was born here - I know it like my the back of my hand.
The bleached grass, the bone chill, the grim specter of the sleeping earth.
It always makes me sick to my stomach, this feeling. It gives me the cold grue and no mistake. Yet I tried not to fight it today, tried to see what it would teach me.
In my mind, I could see miles of limestone and windblown earth, swept by overwhelming dread.
I never did like the sight of those hills in the distance.
There are certain cold days when the clouds are low and the atmosphere wraps you like a blanket, safe from the landscape's uneasy dreams. But not today. Most definitely not today.
Days like today are the thorns and spines and psychic wounds that come with the dying of the year.
The other morning, I dreamt the town was covered in spiderwebs, including a massive one in the sky. This was a good dream, which is a bit of a surprise. I'm not the biggest fan of spiders.
After reading up on it, I understood a bit better. A spiderweb can be a sign of creation and self-determination. After all, the spider creates the web under its own power. Which is something I'd been thinking about, one way or another. How much I act versus how much I'm simply reacting to others.
Spoiler alert: not enough and way too much.
And of course there is also Indra's Web. Or maybe there is only Indra's Web. Who knows?
The months of November and December are always difficult ones, and this autumn is determined to be nothing but rain and fog. The only thing to do is keep walking.
In the meantime, I think about making my own web, weaving thoughts and actions into something useful.
Autumn, 1990. Not long before Halloween. I dreamed that I was walking to the mailbox at the end of our road. It was after 6 and the air was violet. Night was about to fall.
A fierce wind kicked up and blew my hair all around. I paused at the corner where our street met the main road and looked out toward the horizon. A storm was approaching from the west. I shivered. The wind was cold.
The sky was darkening by the second, but I didn't move. There was an ominous feeling, and as I looked at the clouds I knew that there were things in them, strange and otherworldly things moving in with the weather.
"The phantom arrives upon the storm" I said, to no one in particular. The wind began to howl.
When I woke up, a cold wind was battering my windows. I wondered (still wonder, really) if the phantom hadn't arrived after all.
It's October now, but the Summer of Ill Luck refuses to give up its bony grasp. My brother is in the hospital, in intensive care. Despite seeming perfectly fine on Saturday, by Monday he was on a ventilator, suffering multiple serious conditions. There's no knowing at this point if he will recover.
This of course has been distressing to the family, my youngest not the least, and it's causing him to act out. And then there is my mother, whose state of mind is not good. And there's my spouse's health, and my teenager's moods, and the bills to pay and those other fears I never talk about. This leaves me in the position where I often find myself - having to prioritize my worries.
It's a crappy state of affairs when you have to decide what scary thing to focus on first.
Crappy, but hardly new.
In times like these, I find myself I find myself running the same old internet search - how to find solace in times of trouble. The results are always the same, too - references to Bible verses or comfort food. Being a chronic dieter who went to Christian school, these things leave me more than cold. They leave me feeling hopeless and alone.
So the internet having let me down, I turn back the way I always have, to the small, seemingly meaningless things that tie me to the material world.
The sound of a branch tapping in the wind. The red light on the radio tower that blinks all night. The hum of the power lines, or scratch of dry leaves on the ground.
I'm not the only one who finds comfort in such things. My friend and I used to intone "the strawberries, the bowl of milk" ala the Seventh Seal, knowing that it wasn't about the strawberries or the milk, but the solace of simple objects during the dark night of the soul. The focus on the thing that is not your despair.
We all have our ways, I suppose. My cousin watches the original Planet of the Apes whenever she feels desperate. I prefer that episode of Doctor Who, Partners in Crime. Grandpa Wilf at his allotment, always watching the sky. But to each their own.
There are things I like to think about.
I like that the Vatican has an observatory, and that the time and date website thinks, for some reasons, that I am in a town 20 miles away. The sight of moths fluttering in the lamplight, and hot tea after midnight. Taillights receding into the distance. Weather reports for small towns. Articles about gardening. The knowledge that the road stretches beyond the horizon.
All together, it makes a sort of sacred space, albeit it a strange one, full of the most ordinary things. The strawberries. The bowl of milk.
Ordinary, but still sacred. The small solace, the respite, however brief, from the suffering of existence.
update - In the several days it's taken to write this post, my brother's condition has improved and it looks like he will live, though he will need major surgery. He's able to communicate enough to complain now, so that at least is normal.
As per local tradition, on the heels of the harvest moon comes the carnival. Aliens seemed to be a theme this year. You know times are tough when people are volunteering to be abducted.
Glittering neon gears competed with the brilliant sky.
And while we weren't quite lost in the funhouse...
...we were quite lost in the mirror maze.
We had corn dogs and funnel cake, and bought a space hopper for the youngin. And then at last we walked back, through the dark streets, past the silent school and the glowing lamps and the dry leaves skidding along the pavement.
And with that we mark another ritual of the turning of the year.
Last Monday, as I was standing on the corner waiting for the harvest moon to rise, an otherworldly feeling began to settle over our street. You know the kind of thing. A sense of whispers just out of the range of hearing, the feeling that a door has opened somewhere.
Ah, I thought, the spirit of Autumn moves across the land.
Before long, my spouse drove past on his way to an errand. He rolled down his window and asked - looking very puzzled - if here had been a dog with me just a moment before. I said "no, why do you ask?" He said, "because I could have sworn I saw Bambi standing right next to you."
Bambi, our dog who passed away in August.
I like to think she had come through the doorway to Autumn and stayed with me to watch the moonrise.
The season is coming to an end, and while I try to count my blessings, there's no denying it's been a summer of ill luck. One of those times when things are just wrong.
It started in the spring, really, or maybe even in winter, but it was the summer when this oppressive atmosphere - a sort of emotional miasma, you might call it - reached its fullness and refused to budge. Perhaps it began as early as last year, when the hurricanes hit and so many were left to suffer. In a way, it's felt like hurricane weather ever since.
Whatever the reason, I can sense the stirrings of desperation beneath the roiling uncertainty. The hippies have a term for it - bad vibes.
Which isn't to say there was no beauty, or nothing good. Even hard times offer their moments of softness, if you look closely enough.
Here are a few pictures to (hopefully) prove my point.
There is a quote from Yoko Ono - "The sky is always there for me, while my life has been going through many, many changes.When I look up at the sky, it gives me a nice feeling, like looking at an old friend."
This is how I'm trying to think of things. No matter what happens, the sky - one way or another - will always be with us.
Being that today is the anniversary of Marc Bolan's death, I was reminded of this odd little T.Rex related synchronicity between my friend Heinrich and me, circa 2004.
For reasons unknown, I'd had the song Cosmic Dancer stuck in my head all day. It's not exactly a radio staple, and it was more than 30 years old by then, but nevertheless there it was.
Later that day, Heinrich came by and we went for a walk. Suddenly he burst out singing Cosmic Dancer - and what's more it was the exact line that had kept running through my mind. I asked him about it and he said "oh, I was listening to that album this morning. Isn't it great?"
It was just a small thing, but a coincidence so vanishingly unlikely that it reminds me that such things may truly be cosmic after all.
September third, oh so many years ago. My cousin and me, after my sister's wedding, running and sliding around the polished floors of the reception hall while this song was playing. We've never forgotten it.
Our formal dresses were as tacky as the decor in this video. Such were the ways of the 70's.
I'm still despondent over the loss of my dog, so this week's post is simply a list of the best* Led Zeppelin songs.
1. Four Sticks
2. When the Levee Breaks
3. The Immigrant Song
4. Achilles Last Stand
5. Hots On For Nowhere
6. Ramble On
7. The Wanton Song
8. In My Time Of Dying
9. In The Evening
10. Gallows Pole
*Subject to change at a whim
Feel free to argue amongst yourselves.
Rumor has it that my Internet will be returning next week, so Goddess willing, I will be back here, being weird and creepy again before too long.
...and to celebrate the most blog posts I've ever made in a single year, here's a picture of the abandoned McCabe-Carruth Funeral home in Victoria, Texas, circa 2003.
It's since been restored and made into offices, which - last I heard - no one will rent for long, because, well...you know.
You may not want to look too closely at those windows, by the way. No telling what might be looking back.
Due to cable problems, I've been without internet service for a while. In the meantime, I've kept myself busy taking pictures of my nightgown flapping forlornly on the line. Of course. What else would I be doing?
At the very least it gives the neighbors something to gossip about.
