[[[You’re moved to full-on and intensely respond to a blog post. You do so… hey, it might not resonate with them, and they might moderate it out — and on that, puhLEEZ don’t take that personally… it’s their blog and that means Their Blog, Their Way, and reasons are wholly unreasonable in that regard. It may be that some of your best writing Or amplifications of message and/or ideas can come from this because you are out there flowing in a response like a conversation. Though, give yourself credit for believing in the substance of what you wrote as THAT is YOUR voice. Do you resonate with it? It also may be some of your worse writing if it was reactionary rather than responsive. So, before you hit Send to post on someone else’s blog when you have an impassioned or simply thoughtful comment, Select All in your comment before you hit Send. Copy it to your clipboard. Send, to post it there. Head back to your blog. New Post. Paste. Save as a Draft blog. Sometimes they don’t even need to be re-tooled — depends on your proof-reading when commenting… and AutoCorrect as I certainly know it often writes things for me that I didn’t Nintendo. It’s a great way to put your money where your mouth is in regards to valuing what you say. That is to say, I don’t write anything on someone else’s blog that I wouldn’t cotton to being on my own, And, 10 to 1, I bet it will be a wonderful heartbeat embracing your blog theme… or not, though it’s a fun technique to work with either way. And, sometimes, you come back to the draft and… WHOAH, does it go places. Or, lol, DELETE. Perspective is a funny thing, huh? In closing on the Blog By Comment Technique, it’s not only about your respect and value of your own voice, it’s also about that continual process of dialing into your own clarity of voice, and heck, if helps you engage and connect, so much the better. Enjoy the Blog By Comment Technique]]]
This post was inspired by a Blog post from The Wild Coach’s blog. It’s pretty much my comment, though edited to reflect the paragraph breaks that seemed to be lost when posting. It happens. So be it. No biggee. And, they may come back later. WordPress seems to do that sometimes… like your post naturalized in the blog garden, and then, OH, you had paragraph breaks. Here ya go. Lol. It’s a process. It’s certainly a process. Enjoy my Blog By Comment Technique. I hope you give it a go. And, by all means visit The Wild Coach.
Yes! And, I call it Covid Blessings. Not to dismiss the pain and suffering, though 2 weeks before the 3/19 shutdown I consciously made the move to emerge out of a self-imposed 5-year public radio silence and back into my alchemy of Tarot and Astrology and Poetry and Architecture and Painting and Psychology and re-opened my blog.
2 weeks later Moses basically dropped his hands and the Red Sea came crashing down on everyone, me included. Though, I stood there. I stood there Unmoved as the Rock of Gibraltar with “Trees with strong roots laugh at storms” as if I was protecting family with my fledgling re-opening in writing and NOPE, not stopping this. There’s no dafuq?? going on here, just Nope. Nope, not on the list. At least not mine. THIS is what I’m doing.
The evolution did not come from only the strong survive. In these times the superficially strong die on the vine and are washed away like chaff from wheat in the wind. And, people start to realize what they actually value and see through bs more. So, where does that leave us? It leaves us with potential Sovereignty, each of us. Perspective and experience in experience rather than poor me.
No more head chatter of nipping the poison tweet-teet of the news feed. No more smoking the narcotic of hope of just working harder. It became simple.
It’s a time in between, an interstice. To nip the Goo Goo Dolls song title, Here Is Gone, that here is gone. No new normal to come. No waiting procrastinating for it.
And, in these times A different quality of strength that may have been nascent at a large scale in each of us has the potential to emerge.
The Adaptable ones. Those who are adaptable AND actionable about it and doing what they value…. the adaptable don’t survive. We thrive.
Best to your thrival in your adaptations to make your world the best place it can be with a perspective of what your workability in any situation is. Best to YOUR Natural nature being the cornerstone you brace against for Your Life, Your Way.
Adversity doesn’t build character. It reveals it. ~ James Lane Allen
Jordan’s Shop Supports This Blog. Check out the great eStocking Stuffers to add that special flourish of visual music for the eyes and the soul to complement your gifting.
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Which music-for-your-eyes eProducts from the Shop do you give this year?
My perspective now is simply that fear is a wonderful tool of awareness, a friend, an ally, a fecund compass sentry notifier to inform navigation. Things in our surroundings, whether they’re polished or predatory, they notify us. They simply notify us.
Do you have fear, or are you afraid?
From my perspective fears notify us as subtly as cone zones on the highway. They notify us as clearly as a heaved lip on the sidewalk we don’t trip on, and sometimes as intensely as flashing lights indicate a part of the bridge ahead is out. Sensing them, feeling them, listening to them, incorporating them, I firmly feel one can use fear as an intense notification and navigation tool. One can intend to navigate, wise in time, around what would otherwise be impending danger right on the fly. And further, good boundaries further present one’s greater intentions to move forward.
Are good boundaries fundamentally applicable? I think so. I guess this would otherwise be known as, “How Do You Own it?” Heck, there’s NO Principle’s office when you adult, or are a non-pupating adult. It’s your responsibility and accountability that present as drivers. Unless of course one is in Sales. Then, oftentimes there is no reverse gear, as they simply opt for solutions-oriented responses. “Great. What are you going to do about it?” Watch out for implied delegation, It’s often a question without a question mark. No reason to say, Yes” when “No, do it/resolve it yourself,” is the answer. No prob. People in Sales often leave accountability and responsibility in the dust with their lack of a reversed gear in their unaddressed past (detect a bent and a Rantra there? Thanks Karen Sealey for you. Rantra. SUCH a great word!). For them, is it then all about, “Ok, what do you propose we do?” Is it all about workability? Don’t know, seems so, seems dead on. Of course certainty can certainly have its own trappings. What do You think/feel?
Digression broached, it seems simple. Simple. The simple of you’re not in trouble. Can you own that? Can you connect with fear, and dispense with the anxiety terrorist trying its best to hijack it? Have you already done so in your wonderfully unique way? Whichever or whatever it is, it’s yours. Can you stand up to that, or HOW do you already stand up to that? Do you stand up to you? Can you give examples? Please comment. I’m certainly not the effin Principal of anyone but myself. This stuff interests me. Understood if no.
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The 5th Ace: Death & My Greatest CruxLike the Frog Grown Wings Alchemical painting expressing the process of transformation of the tadpole through to the flier where at every step the caterpillar’s concept of…
And, it was retitled by the Owner to be Flying Frog. I dig that. It’s more resonant with it’s NOW evolved character of where it is in its current life from its original name at its creation, which was of course simply present tense par for the course for me at the time from the Place of Creation.
So, hammering the chords all over the place on the piano that resonate with me to get lost in the feeling of… fear versus anxiety… I stopped playing. Silent. Huffing exhales. I was SO ON! The mountain arose. And, Who are my current and past and historical friends on this? I kneeled to the Google Oracle 😉 lol, and …
When she transformed into a butterfly, the caterpillars spoke not of her beauty, but of her weirdness. They wanted her to change back into what she always had been. But she had wings. ~ Dean Jackson
‘You must want to fly so much that you are willing to give up being a caterpillar. ~ Trinus Paulus
The caterpillar turns to liquid before turning into a butterfly. Liquid. Thus washing away any speck of his caterpillar self as he lies completely vulnerable to his environment in his chrysalis shell. One good solid gust of wind and the caterpillar’s boned. ~ Hippie Snowflake Obsidian
A season of loneliness and isolation is when the caterpillar gets its wings. Remember that next time you feel alone. ~ Mandy Hale
If nothing ever changed, there wold be no such thing as butterflies. ~Wendy Mass
The butterfly counts not months but moments, and has time enough. ~Rabindranath Tagore
When I thought that my life was already over I became a splendid butterfly. ~ The Caterpillar, author unknown
And, my favorite…
And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom. ~ Anais Nin
Today, instead of allowing anxiety to kidnap your legitimate fear and torture it into being afraid right in front of you… how can you round your wagons so to speak and protect that sacred sentry that is fear from the constrictor that’s the Anxiety Predator?
I ask for you to entertain for just a moment that anxieties are like hyenas, 4-legged swarmers similar to hornets. One bite or sting won’t take you down, though when you’re covered… and they turn your tide the wrong way after that by continually cornering you with their false logic, when they’re just starving…
Today, how can YOU utilize your fears today as informative, wayfinding allies in the Alchemy of your life?! How can you ask your anxieties what their message is so they give rather than falling prey to their kidnapping taking of your sacred fear?
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Today, how can YOU utilize your fears today as informative, wayfinding allies in the Alchemy of your life?
Thanks much for visiting!
Pssssst. Peering out of the shadows. Yeah, psssst, over here. No, I’m not an anxiety. I’m on the lamb from them. Just wanted to tell ya there’s a treasure in the 6 of Pents link below. Oh, gotta go, they’ve sniffed me out again. No worries. I’m good. ShaZAM!
(c) 2011 Jordan Hoggard Her fully grounded out-of-body experience flying as high as her roots go deep
There forever
they shall reside
under a small lake,
immeasurably deep,
lying high up in the mountains,
where is brewed the thunder,
and in fair weather the dragon sleeps.
Ours is not a lot to be feared.
The dragon is a necessary beast.
Whipcrack!
The older arrow flies broken,
til the hand’s firedance overrolls the lips
to lift the line.
Lifting the line
to further unwrap this cadeau,
the prescient presence of this present,
now, in the present . . .
There is Brahmana, your Priestess.
There is Brahmana, My Love
as she writhes as an empowering apocalypse,
as snow leopard sent as epiphany
to sleeping warrior.
You have your narcissists, though predatorial bliss is diff to a vampire,
is simply a pure life lived in each moment
forever resonant with ITS own way . . .
is sniffing the acrolid bodyair of this present writhing moment
opening another present across twilight,
through and into and across dusk re-awakening . . .
Predatorial bliss is knowing this small hourglass
knowing her own stopping power,
as She knows my dreaming life
better than I know my own eternity.
You see . . . I opened a moment centuries ago.
I’ll call the wrapping paper of this present in the present
a prescient cadeau of The Vampire’s Offspring . . . where . . .
The Vampire’s Offspring
juvenilis puerilis vanitas ostentatio jactatio
Feel your safety on your holy ground.
Suckle
on the myth of your goodness
in those places you hold sacred,
while I suckle
on the rest of humanity.
We do not follow you to those places
as we cannot
do those things which are conquerable,
and simply cannot bear those places where you sing.
Those places do not protect you.
Enslaved gargoyles,
traitors to us lest their unknowing feet
entrained in those prison-shoes of stone you fashioned,
and an occasional bellringer stroking them
as they drone high above your path,
where the wind is stronger than the scent of your life,
keep us circling above,
intent on your storied portals,
those lists of the best tasting among you.
Angels. You misname them.
They are simply prettier to you
than their gargoyle siblings
held down by those enslaving prisonshoes of stone
that you call cathedrals.
You should know,
there have been sly ones among you.
Those tricky Nassenes for instance,
knowing that in our vanity we will not touch our young,
as we, too, find them abominable,
stole away with nine of them,
worshipping them as they grew,
carrot-leading them:
You are perfect as you are . . .
Grow strong not beautiful . . .
Help keep us safe . . .
Up there you can see eternity. Live up there . . .
Turn to stone, it is strong . . .
Ignorant of their heritage,
of their eventual grace and stealth and eternity,
they were taught to perceive a strength and power
in your piles of stone conveniently shaped.
Behold Us!
We are strong and beautiful.
Can you resist us?
Gaze into our eyes and see inside your universe.
Touch our skin of winter,
and feel the heat of your passion
pulsing in the silence of our bodies.
Peeking through the wonder piquing,
can you resist us?,
knowing that all we want
is simply to open your entire life for just a moment?
Your silent guardians sometimes stir
inside their stony sleep
still unborn into a life
where they would eventually die into their own eternity.
They lie dormant far above you,
and nightly we circle.
Nightly the bellringer.
Nightly they stir far above you.
It is not fire or lightning
that occasionally rips the gargoyles from the towers of your cathedrals.
Keep eating your garlic.
We will help you stop sinning more quickly
if you are spiced up a bit.
Welcome to the opening of a new gift.
Welcome to your opening into a new epoch after solar system at orbital apogee with the Galactic Center.
The last glyph on the Mayan Calendar may actually translate as . . .
Time to re-order your Daytimer Baktunacus.
How do you open past this Grand & Epochal Apogee?
Presently, how will you open your own present of your Imagination Solar System across the magical twilight dusk-n-dawn at one and the same time both top and bottom of breath at one . . .
Exhaling, your shoulders dropping a bit to relax, the yin of breath.
Inhaling, the intake of life, the yang of breath.
Hmmm, can you Yin-hale? Can you Yanga-style-exhale?
Ahhh, nevermind that. Open this Grand & Epochal Apogee!
Nevermind recycling the paper.
Let the opening of your cadeau rip!
Open your prescient presence right now in the present as you open YOUR present of YOUR Imagination Solar System right now, presently!
Welcome to this Tarothoppin’ segment along your TarotBlogHop Samhain dance. The theme across the TarotBlogHop during Samhain this year is: Rather than look to outside entities this Samhain, look inside of yourself. All of your Self. The dark pieces that you think you have left behind. The parts of your Shadow that you believe you have pushed deep, deep down into a dark well . . . I look forward to meeting you.”
I savor my Shadow, always have as long as I can remember. I remember watching the shadow of a butterfly, the butterfly flying near, its shadow on the ground flying near mine. And, as it flew by over me, its shadow disappeared into mine, re-emerging on the other side . . . of my shadow . . . of my head. I was 3.
Life as I thought I (k)new it with my big, bright eyes curious and intrepidly traveling was about to end . . . actually, one day, 3 miles down the highway to Funland it was soon to end, though didn’t. Heck, I asked my Mom if we could go to Funland. She expressed now wasn’t the time. Sauntered over and asked my Dad . . . after picking up a volume of Faulkner and dropping it in the trash. “Dad. Funland?” “Oh no, Jordy, go explore” as he motioned smilingly to the back yard which was pretty expansive. Heck, I had asked them if they wanted to go. I really wasn’t asking them to drive me there. I was just trying to be inclusive. They were my parents, and that was the only polite thing to do, right? So, I shrugged my shoulders, it was out the back door I went . . . and out the side gate, and down the street with a friend I happened to see, and was on my way stylin’ with no shirt on. He was a year older from up the street, but I used my deep and lightly gruff voice to make sure I knew what I was doing and make sure he thought this was a pretty good idea, too. It was ONLY 3+ miles down a highway, and there was only ONE highway . . . the highway just happened to be the majority of getting there. Geez, there was a shoulder, and after all . . . I was this many (3). LOL
Life as I (k)new it with my big, bright eyes curious and intrepidly traveling was soon to end. Or, was my life’s shadow simply flying in to my head to seed my continual transformation? . . . that had already concretely begun?
Let’s take a step back from 3. Yes, a step back from 3. This is not a specific memory other than the car smashing against the driveway when I dropped it ( 😉 ) but I had had a hernia when I was 2. My abdominal wall just flew open and my intestines POOF-bulged out. It’s more common than you know for boys. I don’t remember the pain as I evidently made quite the noises, though off to the hospital and Dr. Crump gently and masterfully pop-pressed my intestines back in with a masterful palm, and then sliced me open, and sewed me up good as new . . . or, so I thought.
You see, that hernia in the lower side of my abdomen. . . that’s the sacral region. A child of 2 won’t conceptualize the violation, only the no-pain-after. Frankly, it’s very natural. Sounds like blacking something out? Nah, my experience was fully experiencing and moving on, not tieing myself to every little experiential knick-knack. Didn’t really matter, though . . . Life as I thought I new it was about to end.
Age 4 1/2. Off to Mayo Clinic for 2 weeks. Reconstructive surgery on a portion of my insides. Evidently, I was still a bun in the oven, huh? They gave the final, physical formation pushes a boost. Oops, there was an overshadowing snag. All of the surgery went brilliantly, though I started the sniffles after a 16 hour surgery began. Came out with pneumonia — that happens if you go into a surgery with a cold — and lived 10 of the remaining 12 days in an oxygen tent. OOPS. oxygen tent. PURE environment. Can you say Initiation? Can you say high octane air? I’m betting those 10 days dosing me with that much oxygen activated some things a little early? Seratonin? HeLLO, How long till I get to be a man? lol. Balancing brain chemicals may have begun flowing as naturally as a child plays? . . . if they already weren’t. Couple the surgery trauma with the purity of an oxygen environment . . . . prelude to Chthonic Numinosity?
Age 5 1/2. Back to Mayo Clinic for Act II and doing the final touches inside after the rest of the surgery had had a year to take and get things going on their own.
Why am I going into this biography when the topic is about the Shadow? Because somewhere between 4 1/2 and 5 1/2 my childhood ended. Exile. All I could feel was exile, and my big, bright-eyed smile at the same time. Rumplestiltskin was my fave fave fave story. Heck! What little boy wouldn’t find the Gold-spinning Queen guessing Rumplestiltskin’s name on the 3rd try “in his rage drove his right foot so far into the ground that it sank in up to his waist; then in a passion he seized the left foot with both hands and tore himself in two.” THRILLING! RIVETING! Almost better than blowing things up. Almost. Yet, think of a boy learning his own name, opened up at 2. Nope. Not the name. Opened up at 4 1/2. Nope, Not the name again. And, BAM at 5 1/2 BOOM. “Close, suchre, and let all heal as he takes it easy for a while. He’s a real trooper.“
Scroll forward where we skip the summers in Central Mexico, divorce and consequent MULTIPLE CHRISTMASES AND BIRTHDAYS WHOO HOO! (Oh, don’t go there. I was 6 then. Safe to say that’s as processed and cooked as ground beef). Skip the discovery of Alan Watts and Eastern Philosophy and Architecture at 14. Skip the Black Belt at 17. Skip a whole 5 years of individual death marches of projects through architecture school.
Scroll forward to 1991, where the last day or two of thesis in college I had discovered Rainer Maria Rilke and Carl Jung and William Blake and Pablo Neruda almost simultaneously. Ohhh, the duality present. Oops, so I thought. How did I have such an immediate handle on these figures’ works? Yes yes, I resonated with them which certainly helps, though there was something of an almost direct memory quality to their work. Wasn’t some previous lifetime or concepts like that. Felt like as easy as remembering a fave birthday present or time from years back. Hmmm, I just graduated, and really had just begun my own education in earnest free of school. . . .
Please DO notice the archetypal sun in this card seen up close with deep space all around. Your bright identity can nestle in your shadow to highlight your brightness. Let it. May I suggest you ask it for a dance?
Scroll-dial up one year now to 1992 and I defined Self as “Chthonic Numinosity.” I painted “The Dive” and “Ichthusa” and “Chthonic Numinosity: Self” in the short span of several weeks after continuous Big Dreams each night, and POOF “Chthonic Numinosity: Self” was accepted into a show and featured in the front window of Alpha Gallery’s Art By Architects Show in Denver at 110 Broadway. I found Jung in earnest and devoured 22 Bollingen series volumes in 6 months. My painting “Ichthusa” disappeared when a woman said, “SO erotic” as she slipped a check in my hand, quietly took it off the wall as I watched, and walked out the door of a brewery’s gallery several months later. After her car disappeared out of sight, I had fun being fakely low-key with, “Has anyone seen the painting I had in this spot? Did one of you sell it?” Thing is . . . how did she hide in plain sight so stealthily as she carried a 20″ x 90″ painting right out the front door? One of the people I asked had actually helped her with the door.
She set the anima free back in the wild. I could forget about consciously mining those Melusina depths in earnest. Earnestly forget mining them, and earnestly forget and move on. Note to all you Girruls out there: Hell, if a guy ever even MENTIONS his anima to you, that faceless female onto which anything can project, RUN LIKE HELL. It’s important to know about it, but geez, no, nope . . . talk to the hand . . . don’t bring that up catharting in public unless you have just as big of an ‘excuse me’ ready when you cathart in public.
Think about that whole thing. She took the painting. It resonated, and I simply smile out from the depthful place and had a little fun as I saw the sun through the opening door. Cave metaphor? Yep. Long ‘parting is such sweet sorrow goodbyes?” Hell no. It was time. My Shadow then opened me up with forgetting being for getting. Forgetting, is for getting . . . for making more room for the good stuff with something I had made.
And, I had defined self as Chthonic Numinosity. ‘Nuff said as I loved yet forgot Carl Jung’s “Mysterium Coniunctionis: A Phenomenology of Self” into my own two words in that painting. Forgetting is for getting. Makes more room for YOUR OWN good stuff. What happened to that painting? I had THAT relationship in my early 30’s, and I let the Shadow lead one day. SO glad I did. I cut up and destroyed that painting after taking enough Glass Hook Venom from her to kill an elephant. Call it the Shadow Initiating me by trial and by fire from naivete so I’d keep my refreshed freshness and sense of humor with depthful, almost scuba gear for the psyche . . . yet as well my Shadow led me to step out of there pretty immediately, and get the rest of the backstocked paintings to be adopted by a friend and his storage area PRONTO before they suffered the same fate as Chthonic Numinosity’s shamanic dismemberment mirroring my own in the “Das Panzer” relationship. And, shadows stretch out long at certain times of the day. It was one of those ultra-mundane Tarot readings of my shadow long on the highway shoulder of ground in traffic, in a car, that pointed me . . . reading the visual . . . to GET OUT OF HERE! YOU ARE IN DANGER my Shadow felt to say when I traced its outline on the highway offramp. My Shadow literally pointed the way on the shoulder. Hmmm, sound familiar?
And, The Dive, my natural way, soonafter disappeared as a gift to a friend. You see, that exile I mentioned? I had and still have a wonderful family. Very very supportive. But, I was Rumplestitskin ripped open at 2, 4 1/2, and 5 1/2. Duality came early, and soonafter felt very amatuer or bush-league. Jung. Alchemy. Antinomy. Chthonic Numinosity is a statement of antinomy. Not antimony, antinomy — integrated inner opposites that in a small way each work together AS each supporting side of every Psychic Synapse Bridge in the magical twilight of a thought. Antinomy became the higher octave of duality, an interesting identity with shadow rather than Jeckyl and Hyde.
My sense of exile while being IN a supportive family environment can only be penned as a natural, self-exile, and at one and the same time it needs no impetus or direction or reasoning. That was simply how I began, the Capricorny sickly-ish child though mine presented physically in 1 2 3 and then off to the races across the next 20-year plateau. Exile and a comfortability with wandering were one pair of my chief influencers — now it’s more a comfortability with the not-knowing while freshly getting projects done on time like pulling fresh bread out of the oven. If I was bored then, I needed to go entertain myself. When you’re out there alone, ya gotta make it for yourself or you’ll bore yourself to death. When Tom Hanks named his ball Wilson . . . YES!!!! Deep In Self he was, and his Shadow-friend Wilson was the ideal companion . . . for the island.
Integrated inner opposites. Antinomy. Chthonic Numinosity. Your shadow plays with you every day with an even more fluid fluency than Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers dancing together regardless of your motions. Yes, that’s mundane shadow. Though, is it? Is it also the face of your depths evidently present? . . . . Yet, remember my butterfly at 3. It disappeared into my head, only to re-emerge, all the while before, during, and after as a shadow. A shadow into my head, that was a shadow. You can play some 3-level chess with that one . . . I’ll be over on the checkers board.
Have some fun in the sun and dance with your shadow. Be like The Sophia Principle that Pallas-Athene always reminds me of: Aware enough to sense your shadow, yet smart enough to dance with it. Notice that it is not phrased “to not fight with it.” Notice it is not phrased with light and dark and yin and yang and this and that and vice-versa contrariwise. It is phrased, “aware enough to sense your shadow, yet smart enough to dance with it.” Aware, conscious. Sense, natural animal. Smart, sensate Swords thinking. Dance . . . well, dance is everything, huh. Rather than waiting for a shaman to ask when you stopped dancing. I have been dancing with my shadow my whole life. May I cut in and ask you to have a dance with yours in the sun. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s that first step to finding that little kid in The Tower . . . the little kid that is You, Only New. But, you (k)new that, didn’t you? Go dance with yourself in the sun. I’m sure Billy Idol would approve.
How does YOUR Shadow enhance your sense of place cast from your body so you don’t float away, or at least you playfully know where your own ground is? How is the spell of your shadow cast? How do you cast the spell of your shadow?
Are there other shadow characteristics that are effortless as well? I suggest to just make sure you get used to leading when dancing with your Shadow. The Shadow isn’t very helpful when leading, and as you can imagine I’ve never been terribly fascinated with Persona. Was that a non sequitur? Well, I’ll be damned. It wasn’t. My Shadow made me do it, anyway, though. 🙂
TarotBlogHop in and dance! Heck, I may have re-invented enough wheels in my life to be an honorary tire designer. Even so, I still rather my foot on the gas, steering wheel in hand. I almost want to credit that to my Shadow. I’ll have to step up and accept the honor, though. The lighting in here doesn’t cast her through the screen.
Life didn’t really end, huh? In fact since age 2 it has just gotten intensely better and better. Note the two Tarot card images. The Sun, and The Tower. Feel deeply the Sun’s bright identity nestled directly in its deep-space-all-around Shadow, and its dark and light characters working together below. Note the After-Shadow of The Tower when all the smoke and rubble has cleared, and see the bright-eyed little child come up asking you all sorts of questions that you answer and answer and answer some more until you realize you are answering them ALL and POOF . . . poof . . . poof all quietens down, and that little child’s eyes beam, as you smilingly ask, “Who are you?” The child smiles back, “I’m you, only new.” DAYum, the Tower Kid is in the future from mentioning him before. Quite a bright one that Tower Kid jumping forward like that . . . perfectly out of line.
Nestle in to your dance with your shadow this Samhain, even if only in play with candles and masks. It helps keep you fresh, and is like Direct Priority Delivery from your unconscious. What shadows do your masks cast within you? How do you cast the spell of your own Shadow beautifully outward like The Sun card above? How can your Shadow be like a cashmere sweater? How do you dance with your Shadow?
May you lead your Shadow well in the dance . . . as you can’t help but wear it.
All similar, each unique.
~ THE END ~
Happy Tarot Samhain BlogHopping!
May your life be a place where masks are colorful and enlivening,
a place where masks fall away as naturally as autumnal leaves,
a place where you are always in the season.
May your life be as natural a place as the snake his skin shedded, the snake his skins not missed.
BOO! Jordan . . . Happy Samhain!
HEY!, Where’s my candy?!!!!
OH funny . . . just realized my street address is 110 now in a different city 20 years later.
Go 110!
Best to your Shadow-Unmasking new life into your journey as you explore the Samhain series of TarotBlogHops! Click here to magically shed the skin of this blog so it becomes another shadow and Carolyn Cushing’s Art Of Change Tarot is featured.
Welcome to this Tarothoppin’ segment along your TarotBlogHop dance of “Mabon ~ The Power of Transformation.”
Tarot ~ Mabon ~ Mystereum Mead Made
Power your life’s firmament fermenting Tarot mead
journey, natural expressions, new directions
(c) 2010 Jordan Hoggard
What serves as your Tool of Transformation? What makes your grapes and honey turn to mead? ~ Turbo read the Majors card by card in verse as a “Mystereum Mabon Poem of Transformation Of How Dreams Actively Come Into Being”
Mead Making Topic: Is Marriage Like The Confluence of Getting A Ticket Together, Making Honey, and Then Fermenting Mead With It?
Try to read the entirety without seeing the card at the first part of each line . . .
Try to mead the following without seeing the first card speaking each line . . .
The Fool: On a whim I trusted myself without explanation, feeling that reasons were just damn unreasonable fluff The Magician: and as I stepped into nothingness, new ground formed right under my feet The High Priestess: as form was given to the formless The Empress: a quizzled and wild-eyed smile coming to full term The Emperor: as my vision spread out across such expansive beauty The Hierophant: in the majestic and inspiring down-to-earth-spirit of painters’ sunlit skies thick with clouds The Lovers: and I turned to pause. That whim was like another’s eyes brightening mine, and there she was The Chariot: singin’ Doo Waa Ditty Diity Don’t Ditty Deet Justice: yet, even the loud music pressing the foot further and was a balanced scale of a The Hermit: silent man in uniform with intense gaze The Wheel: “Uh hem. You’ll need to pay this by next Tuesday, or appear in court as it says. Strength: We turn again, don’t we?, with the power of our natural voices to each other in the present. BWAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. WhatEV. You? Me? Should we pay the ticket or the toll man? The Hanged Man: Neh, that would be a clear waste of time floating around with either of THEM. Death: NEW ROAD! That tree’s cool. Turn left! Temperance: Where are we really going? We’re in this wonderfully deeply . . . The Devil: Oh YEAH! Let’s have sex behind every tree in the forest! The Tower: And, our worlds exploding altered the very fabric of the forest as we crashed down heaving together The Star: to look up at that single first night light making wishes never smoking hope and diggin’ our celestial groove so The Moon: that only we each knew inside, smiling at each other with our newly formed secrets The Sun: knowing that we were behind on our “every tree” deadline as the sun would come up soon enough and call time though it didn’t stop our conversation, Judgment: only re-introduced us to the magic of twilight as we resurrected from our newly humidified forest to emerge with most of our clothes The World: and conquer the world with tired and knowing smiles.
The washer and dryer aren’t what steal that other sock are they?
Wands: Our energies developed Cups: a nourishing fulfillment Pentacles: that we began to solidly base things on Swords: where all the elements came together to temper and quench us in masterful communication, and we cut off looking for the sock.
~ THE END ~
All similar, each unique.
How does YOUR Tarot make the honey-ambrosia of the mead of the fermenting fun of a road trip of a story?
Happy Tarot Mabon Meading where Merry Meet Mabon’s to Merry Mead! Jordan
78 Whispers In My Ear
A (mostly) tarot blog by a mother and writer drifting through the universe.
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Alison's Alembic
All sorts of magical things can come out of an alembic – put something in, and out comes…. well, here it’s tarot, astrology, and art!
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Jordan Hoggard
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