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Conversations, karma calls, creating art ... and making Juk

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Draco, with Ursa Minor or the Little Dipper, as depicted in Urania’s Mirror, a set of constellation cards published in London c. 1825. I sit to write after waking just before (or was it after) midnight. It is newly 2020, two days old, a baby year. There was a dream needing to be washed with light, different images and nourishment; a bowl of nettles and oatmeal porridge with butter and maple syrup did the trick. And a new post makes the magic happen. 2019 was cleared and unplugged for us here in the Pacific Northwest with unexpected snow in Seattle; and wind, rain and power outages on Whidbey Island. Metaphoric and mythically, New Year's Eve was for us a necessary conclusion to a very intense year. Pete and I fled a year of betrayals, shuns and sadness at the start of 2019, and though we were blessed with kind welcomes, as an antidote , a final, and elemental cleanse was necessary ... and Lono the elemental god of Earth's atmosphere, did his work. As metaphor, unplug...
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Fasten your safety pins!

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"It was a day a duck could love. For that matter the week was a duck's paradise. Dressed for the season in my long skirt, paisley wool shawl, and tea cozy hat with the red hibiscus over my left ear my feet splashed in puddles... The wind began to dance with me as I lifted my nose and sniffed from beneath the felt hat now much soaked through with rain. No fairies. But, a large copper pin about the size of a butterfly dropped from the cherry red awning above me and landed on my right shoe. A pin. A safety pin. "My Ma, "I said to myself. Besides being famous for carrying a flashlight my mother always wore at least one but more often a couple safety pins. Just in case. Long before it was punk fashion, safety pins are a talisman of security hard-wired in my DNA like knowing how to make something out of nothing. I fondled the pin and felt the distance of time between us compress... The Safety Pin Cafe Years ago, and not far away, we lived in the woods at t...
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"Like myths, symbols are thus ambiguous; they resist certainty."

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Life is one crazy cake! Confined in our tiny home space the shuffle of cards (tiny) blends with what is around me and in me. The cut grass outside is discomforting to me. I have allergies. For a while the windows and doors are sealed shut. A big riding lawn mower cut the campground lawn on an otherwise quiet Sunday stirred up my aura, and Pete's. Stirred to craziness by noise and the conflict of differences in priorities sleep and calm were difficult to access. It's not the first time a big riding lawn mower has stirred me to craziness. It's not the first time for turning the fuzzy edges into cake. My mojo. My magic was tampered with. To reconnect I went to the metaphor of cooking, and cooked up flan. I was supposed to be taking a break from blogging ... and I did. And then, I felt the edges of my subtle body touched by the finger tip of aloha; someone had left her calling card and I could make space for change.  The card spoke in myth, woven with my Mother's ton...
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