That rare moment of simple easy communion. So much laughter and ease between us that it seems perfectly natural to say, Okay, so now let’s read your cards. And this steadfastly rational young man says, Fine. (For the first time.) Maybe it was that crazy Enigma deck that intrigued him, or maybe he too was caught in the joy of the moment, when the sparring of logical argument dies down in a gentle breeze of openness, affection, love. Continue reading
It is coming on the hollow of the year here in the Northern hemisphere. New resolutions, a clean slate. For some, the chance to experience pure snow (however fleeting the unbroken white blanket once it touches down). A good time to clean out, clean up inside and out. To reboot the mind and the spirit. To wash oneself.
There are many traditions of cleansing.
I can’t say that I, as a small Catholic girl, felt new and clean after our weekly confession ritual. More like guilty, since I did not really understand the process of sinning and reporting on same. After all, this was long before habit-tracking and bullet journaling, and who knows exactly how many times I disobeyed my parents in a given week? I made up a number that seemed reasonable, without the recursive self-awareness to report that I’d just lied, having no idea of how many times I did anything, good or bad. Well, the bad anyway. (There was no place to report on being good, so no need to keep track.) Continue reading
Manhattan in February. It’s pleasantly gray, misting off and on. I had scheduled just three hours between LaGuardia airport and my destination when I impulsively made a crazy overture that was crazily accepted. But now the rain has whittled those three hours down to barely more than one. Messages back and forth in the taxi, then at last–I arrive! I’m at the cafe we agreed on, one just a few blocks from my journey’s end. We have exactly one hour before I need to move on to the main purpose of my trip. One stolen hour for this delightful addition to my itinerary–to look at cards on a rainy late-afternoon with my teacher Enrique. Continue reading
It’s the time of year when the veil is thin. I think of my parents. I don’t pretend to know where they are now. I don’t pretend to know what I still need from my parents, much less what they need from me.
Although sometimes for an instant or two, I have a feeling. Continue reading
This post is about the state of the world, and a song.
I’m the daughter of a singer. I used to sing rather well, I’m told, even earned money for doing so. I don’t sing much anymore. (It’s complicated.) But that’s not actually what I want to write about. I want to write about being struck dumb by Pandora’s ever-emptying box, and about how to express what’s basically inexpressible in any honest way. Continue reading
My daily to-do lists this summer have been wild, and wildly unrealistic: Reorganize finances. Work on three poems. Chauffeur son. Post daily Tarot cards. Research 15th century woodcuts and college financial aid. Finish mixed media painting. Make all reservations for our trip to four different cities. (Yes, that was one day’s list and no, I didn’t check off every item that day.)
It’s all good stuff, stuff I’m longing to do during those long months when my day job swells up like expanding foam insulation in the hands of the unwary. But to be honest, I’ve got more exciting, disparate threads than my small mind can handle (or maybe too much foam expanding inside my own brain). Frankly, I need a break from myself. Continue reading
Heard a bit of discussion in the cartomantic world lately: 1) What good are daily draws? and 2) What good are two cards together, as opposed to three? If you’re not card-crazed, it sounds like minutiae, I agree. But as sometimes happens with tiny, seemingly- loose threads, pulling on this one led to a tapestry of interlocking insights. Continue reading