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.
