the struggle

Today I am struggling.

On Monday, I went to a bankruptcy hearing. I'm bankrupt. My creditors have 60 days to dispute the bankruptcy and then...I'm just a woman who went bankrupt. And I'll have ten years of saying "I went bankrupt in 2012" when I try to purchase a car or take out a loan or maybe even when I apply for credit cards, who knows?

This is a mar on my brain. Bankruptcy. I went out to dinner with some friends the night of my hearing and I cut up my credit cards at the table at BJ's. A friend whisked the pieces away and said she would make a necklace of them.

So far, the worst part of bankruptcy isn't anything that happened in court, or anything that happened on paper, it's what happened in my head. I gave up. I believe in the struggle. I don't believe in walking away from obligations. I wanted to overcome. Promises are made to be kept.

You don't go bankrupt. It's shameful. I am ashamed.

They say that my job now is to learn from the experience. Pay down balances, don't buy anything you can't afford, don't borrow. It's true. And sometimes I'm struck because I've realized that $40,000 I used to owe to the banks is gone now. That I make money and spend the money I make, and there are no cards, I don't owe anyone except the mortgage company and the government (student loans).

I wasn't addicted to shopping. I didn't accumulate these bills because I went on crazy shopping sprees, buying shoes or jewelry or purses. I just didn't make enough money, and my partner has always been unhappy about that, and it's a conflict  in our relationship still. And when something needed to be bought, I just bought it. Groceries. Gas. Whatever.

When it came time to move to California, I bought first and deferred payment to later. And then it got to where I could only afford the minimum payments on my cards, and I was literally going to have debt for the rest of my life but still, I was ok until last fall, when the company that I wrote freelance for made a major overhaul to their policies, and my second income dried up. By the time my writing income came back, I was already behind on my bills and owed thousands of dollars just to catch up, and my credit was ruined already. And I talked to those debt management companies. The charge was going to be something like $800 per month just to pay off the cards, I didn't have that.

So there was this choice to make. No, there wasn't even a choice. There was no money to pay the card companies. My system for the last several years had been to pay the minimum balance on every card every month, thereby freeing up a small amount of space on that card, and then using that available credit to buy my groceries and food. Without room on my credit cards to pay for groceries, I had no money to pay the minimum balance due on the cards. It was a stupid cycle to have gotten into, but it happened and then once it had happened, there was just no way out.

So I went bankrupt. After years and years of paying credit card companies, I threw up my hands and went bankrupt. And I'm trying to learn from the experience. I've been told by the lawyers to get a credit card and pay down the balance every month, to build back my credit.

Today I'm not feeling the relief of being debt free, I'm feeling sad. I want to have another baby. I want to earn enough money to have a baby and then go back to work and pay for childcare, yet there's not enough. We need money for child care, and I have almost no savings, and probably $800 worth of repair to do on my car, and I've just gone to a bankruptcy hearing. I'm almost 32 years old now.

I'm a secretary. My second job, freelance writing, doesn't pay enough. My third job has never gotten off the ground--partially because I can't even decide what that is. Illustration? Portrait painting? children's book writing?

There's not enough time. Never enough time. Working full time and working a second job just to supplement my pathetic income leaves me with no time to spend on a third job. And without a third job, how will we ever have another baby?

I was cleaning up the garage last night. It's full of Curly Sue's toys. She almost never gets the chance to play with toys because she spends so much time either in trouble, or struggling through homework. Curly Sue is at sleep away camp right now, and seeing her toys made me miss her. And, with so many disused toys in the garage, I started to think about all the time CS doesn't spend playing with them, and I started to feel this terrible sense of doom. I want the best for her but don't always feel as if I can do well for her. She should play more. Life should be happy for her. But our time at home so often comes to an argument. I'm also worried about her work ethic. Hell, I'm worried about my work ethic. There are so many people I let down. So many things I can't seem to do. So many ways I disappoint myself. I didn't buy my mom or dad a gift on mother's day or father's day. I haven't talked to some of my friends in weeks or months. I was given an award at work recently and I'm worried I've squandered what could have been a financial leg up by not making my writing quota this July. 

God, I'm getting all worked up now. These things are all circling my mind. I am debt free. I am ashamed. my career is flat. I want a baby. I want the best for my daughter. I am afraid. I am sad.

I should probably go take 15 minutes to calm down. In my favorite spot.

I'm so lost.

Had a good conversation with a friend yesterday, and he's inspired me to spring into action. Illustration.

With RH and CS gone, I have three weeks to draw a collection of illustrations, which I plan to post on my art blog, and hopefully use as a start for my portfolio, leading to some future career in some kind of...art. Drawing story boards? Illustrating books or book covers? CD covers?:) Whatever.

It's going to start with my man, Walt Whitman.

There he is. The man. The gateway drug for gay people (see, Art of Fielding). I'm planning to illustrate passages from Leaves of Grass, using pen and ink. I spent my time at my favorite spot today picking passages:

"I loafe and invite my soul, I lean and loaf at my ease... observing a spear of summer grass... "

"Or I guess the grass is itself a child...the produced babe of vegetation. Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic, and it means, sporting alike in broad zones and narrow zones, growing among black folk and white, Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I receive them the same. And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves."

And so on. To anyone who has never picked up a copy of Leaves of Grass, I urge you to do so.

At this moment this morning, I am feeling energized and ready, ready to start anew and do things right. To support my family, to use my time wisely, to hug my daughter more, to spend more time looking up at the sky, to contact old friends and keep up with them finally, to read more and try more and do more, to be more. To always work, always play, always produce.

Which reminds me of that moment in A Tree Grows In Brooklyn, Francie Nolan, sitting at her desk on the day that the US has entered World War I, trying to create a living memory of the moment she read the news. She begins to become internal and abstracted, and this is the passage:

“Dear God," she prayed, "let me be something every minute of every hour of my life. Let me be gay; let me be sad. Let me be cold; let me be warm. Let me be hungry...have too much to eat. Let me be ragged or well dressed. Let me be sincere - be deceitful. Let me be truthful; let me be a liar. Let me be honorable and let me sin. Only let me be something every blessed minute. And when I sleep, let me dream all the time so that not one little piece of living is ever lost.”

The entire passage is very reminiscent of Walt, who is even referenced in that section, I believe.

When I die, I wish to have some passage of Leaves of Grass read at my funeral (or wake, or party, or whatever). And then I used to tell Ms. RH that I wanted to be cremated and the ashes scattered in Boston Harbor, where we used to live directly after college. I'm not sure this is what I want anymore--it's a little impractical because I'm living on the west coast now, and I don't even have relatives on the east coast, so anyone who wanted to come see the scattering would have to pay for plane tickets and hotels to be there and I don't want to ask that of anyone.

Luckily, there is time to think this over. And in the end, I'm not sure it matters one way or the other. Really, I'll be dead. Dead and occupied with something else by then. As Walt says (grossly paraphrased), I'll be grass under bootsoles. Drifting on the wind.

All goes onward and outward...and nothing collapses, and to die is different from what anyone supposed, and luckier.

Strange weather

This summer, as with many summers, I will be alone on Lammas. RH and CS often leave for weeks at a time during the summer, to visit our relatives in the midwest. I don't have much money, so I often stay behind to work and save and get things done around the house.

I will celebrate on my own. I plan to make some corn dollies and a stew, so that I can eat the leftovers in the days after my celebration.

I haven't been posting much because I've been busy, but I've been doing daily meditations in my spot (see the picture, taken a few days ago).

RH and CS leave this weekend, and I'm going to be doing several rituals around the house, including a cleansing ritual in the kitchen, and probably a more personal cleansing ritual, the details of which I have not decided upon.

Summer is a strange time for me. Most summers come and go so quickly. At my office, the people I work for are largely gone and I am alone to spend my time as I please. I always start the summer with a long to-do list, and yet I end up accomplishing what feels like very little. The end result is a feeling of happy laziness and suppressed anxiety.

Now here it is, July, and already I feel as if this summer is a missed opportunity, like it has gone already, and I have missed my chance to get work done.

During my 15 minutes every day, I try to calm myself, and summon the energy to buckle down and deal with the tasks that must be dealt with.

I'm carrying around a green crystal today. To calm myself and focus my energies. I hold it in my hand and breath deeply.

Messy life.

I'm going bankrupt. I could explain why (uhh...I don't have money? yeah but more specifically) but I don't want to. Bottom line: it is happening. Good news: I get to keep the house. Bad news: I have to bear the shame of going bankrupt. Other good news: I get a fresh start, financially speaking. I am finally solving my financial problems. Other bad news: going bankrupt goes against everything I was ever taught. My midwestern sensibilities say that I'm a failure. Possibly, my midwestern relatives would say this as well.

Over the 4th of July I tried to pay the mortgage, only to find out my mortgage company disabled my access to the account and I can't make the payment.

After having a mild heart attack, I sent a panicked email to my lawyer at 11 at night. First thing, I asked flat out: I DO get to keep the house, yes??

I woke up at 7:30 the following morning with knots in my stomach and a response from my lawyer, bless him for responding to me on a holiday. He reassured me that I will be able to keep my house, my mortgage lender's behavior is not unusual and I simply need to give them a call.

I showed up at the bank today to drop off the mortgage check and waited in a line that would make the DMV proud. After a long wait, I was told I need to speak with a rep at the desk. I am still here, still waiting. My one hour lunch period has been almost two hours long and there's no end in sight. Gods get me out of here.

I am somewhere beautiful

Right now.

and the solstice

Happy solstice! 

Yesterday was my family's first solstice celebration. During breakfast earlier in the week, I mentioned to Curly Sue that I was excited for the solstice. She became sullen and asked why we were celebrating it, anyway? After all, we've never celebrated it before. I said we were celebrating it because I wanted to. My response wasn't fair because I was intentionally dodging the pagan issue. I will discuss this with Curly Sue in a few years when I'm certain this isn't some passing thing I'm doing right now.

Still, I think the entire family enjoyed the celebration. We started earlier this week by making many food plans. We thought there should be strawberry shortcake, lemonade, sun tea, grapefruit soda made with juice from our grapefruit tree, some kind of rosemary parmesan bread, salad with raspberry vinaigrette and vegetable shish kabobs. 

In the afternoon we had "solstice bowling". This was Ms. Red Hair's idea. We live within walking distance of a bowling alley. 

the shortcakes were made by Curly Sue. We used a sun-shaped cookie cutter. 

The bread was made by me. I'll post the recipe some other time. It was good but I'm going to try a different recipe next year. We grilled slices of this bread with olive oil and garlic.

Curly Sue decorated the patio area around the table with chalk suns. We live in LA so practically our entire backyard is concrete. I'm a midwestern girl and my parents' backyard consists of a half acre and a creek, so the concrete is really appalling to me. But I love our home and I love where we live so this is something I'm learning to deal with. 

There were four lit candles on the table. The candles were symbolic of the earth and sun simultaneously (fire for the sun, and one each symbolizing an element and a direction). 

We had a fire in the fire pit, which is not a pit at all but a bowl on legs. 

After the dinner, we lit the fire and got back into the pool. By 8:30 we were sitting in the pool by the fire pit, eating strawberry shortcake. The backyard was lit by the fire and by the white lights under the patio umbrella, so in my memories everything was orange and blue, and we were visible only in silhouette. 

The meal started around 6:30 and went into the night. In the dinner I incorporated peppers and blueberries from our garden. As I mentioned previously, our backyard is concrete, but there's a substantial flower bed lining the walls of the yard. And we have a plethora of container plants. We are growing tomatoes, pumpkins, basil, zucchini, peppers, blueberries, strawberries, corn and a variety of flowers. We're new home owners, and until now have always lived in apartments, so gardening is new to us. Neither Ms. Red Hair nor I have any idea how to care for most of our plants. Some of them are faring better than others. So far we've had the most success with the blueberries and some of the pepper plants. Our tomatoes are spindly. The zucchini refuses to grow. 

This makes me feel like an inadequate witch. I should have a blooming garden with lush, healthy plants. But I am still learning. 

Solstice plans and a visit from the not-quite-inlaws

It's been a very busy few days. Ms. Red Hair's parents are coming to town at the end of the week. Besides the usual cleaning one must do when expecting guests, we've been making a lot of last-minute improvements to the house. Ms. Red Hair had me under the sink in the 2nd bathroom yesterday, replacing the ugly faucet.

If you've never replaced a sink faucet, this is one of those "box of chocolate"-type chores: you never know what you're going to get. Be warned, it's unlikely to be as easy as they make it seem in this video:

Doesn't that guy look like the dharma-initiative video guy from Lost?

I like to do things myself, but I hate plumbing. I hate plumbing even more than I hate electricity, and I hate electricity. I hate lying on my back with my arms above my head, staring at the underside of a 1980's vanity and sink with water dripping on my forehead. Smelling the damp. Realizing that the wrench I have is too big or too small. That I have to undo all the work of the last 15 minutes so I can find a work-around for the fact that the cabinet drawers are in my way. (should I just chop off that section with a jigsaw? I don't have a jigsaw. how much would something like that cost? what if I took the drawer out? I'll have to take off the drawer face and that probably won't help. maybe if I stick this rubber pipe deal through the hole in the top of the sink. Ahh. yes. f'ing plumbing.)

I said a lot of nasty things yesterday that I'm not proud of. Like about mother-f'ing sinks and leaks. There was a lot of yelling.

In the last few weeks I've made a fence, replaced a faucet, taken down old towel holders and put up new ones, installed a valance and assembled an umbrella holder.

Curly Sue is just about done with the school year and she's been spending a lot of time at my office. I took her to the special 15 minute commune spot on Friday. Ms. Red Hair told me in bed on Friday night that CS said I had taken her to my special place. That there was an ant freeway up a tree, and you had to crawl around a thorny bush, and that I had picked up some litter from the creek. I was touched that she told Ms. Red Hair in such detail--it seems like she really liked it there. I admit that bringing her there was kind of a beautiful experience... she seemed appreciative and respectful. And I felt closer to her for doing it.

Ms. Red Hair has been helping me to plan for the solstice on Wednesday. Our plans so far include:

1) bonfire in the fire pit
2) a rosemary/parmesan bread with a sun on the top (Ms. Red Hair bought a sun cookie cutter!)
3) strawberries and blue berries from our garden (which has only so far produced like 5 of each, so there won't exactly be a feast:)
4) grapefruit soda made with grapefruit from our grapefruit tree
5) a meal of salad and possibly grilling on the back patio, with strawberry shortcake for dessert
6) wearing light clothing, and a toast or thank you
7) bowling.

The bowling thing is what Ms. Red Hair really wants to do.

Ms. Red Hair seemed so interested in the planning that I asked her if she thought maybe she was becoming a pagan. She said that she might be a very apathetic one.

For pain

I have a white quartz crystal, for pain. My 15 minutes today was spent focusing on the crystal, and performing a little reiki in some special uncomfortable areas on my body. No words seemed appropriate for the situation--where do I get off asking for relief if I have nothing to offer in exchange?--so I sat there and ran through the thoughts in my head. While performing reiki, since I had to set the crystal down, I wrapped a piece of my own hair on the crystal and laid it on the photo of my driver's license. I left the hair tied around my favorite tree in my favorite spot. So I guess I did have something to offer, however small. 

Feeling great now, actually. Hungry too. 

It's a gray day today. Here are some pictures from my 15 minutes.

prayers

I've been writing prayers during the commune time. Writing them and then repeating them, in my head. It's unclear why I don't want to speak them aloud, but it feels better to say them in my head, and so I do. 

In the books I've been reading, I've been seeing recitations to speak during spells. These recitations always feel 1) random (because I have yet to see a spell that is the same spell from one book to the next) and 2) too long and awkward to remember. These prayers, which could just as easily be used in spells, as I believe that spells are a kind of prayer, are short and written by me and they feel more genuine. 

For Strength:

as the ants work, so do I

industrious and persistent 

unfailing

my call to you

strengthen me

an offering of bread

life for us all

my hard work

shared with you.

an offering.

In Thanks:

in thanks

to you

for this moment

and my many blessings

in thanks

I come here

in thanks.

of bread and blood

Here are some more photos from the spot where I do the 15 minute meditations, or commune, or whatever you'd like to call it. These pictures were taken yesterday in the later afternoon, so the quality of light is different, very sun dappled.

Yesterday during commune time I gave a loaf of bread as an offering. I left it at the base of the tree where I sit. Oddly, I'm not sure yet who the offering was for. This is all new to me. It just felt right, so I did it. I was excited to give something back. I want to give more back. Do more.

The day before, I skipped commune time altogether in order to give blood, which is its own type of giving back. I have one of the very useful blood types, like one of the O's or something, so the people at the blood and platelets center call regularly and remind me that my blood saves babies and emergency victims or something...

On my way to the blood donation center, I practiced walking meditation. This is something I haven't done in a while. I'd forgotten the method and I was out of practice, but like other forms of meditation, you can't focus on doing it "right". Basically, as you walk, you breath in and out, recognizing your breath, saying thanks to yourself, and focusing on the details of the world around you. The smells, sights.

The link I provided is an article by my man, Thich Nhat Hanh. In it, he advises to focus on the words "I have arrived" and "I am home" as you walk. This turns walking into something you do not to get somewhere, but just another way to live in the moment. Breath in, breath out. I like this line from his article:

"If you want to meet the Buddha, if you want to touch God, if you want to touch the ultimate dimension, that is the address: the here and the now. It is very special."

The bread I gave for the offering was gone yesterday. I looked at the ants crawling up and down my favorite tree and asked them, "did you do that?"...  One of the ants crawled up my foot.

Thank you to the lord and lady

Thank you for this.

spells, $800.

I've been calling my morning events "commune," but I've realized that most people would probably interpret that to mean commune the place (a community of hippie types), when what I mean is the verb, to communicate or talk.

Another word for the commune events might be meditation, except that I think of meditation as a quietening, where as this is more of an awakening. This morning during commune I said my first prayer, a kind of made up thing. It felt natural and good. I wrote it down. I'd like to bring an offering to my spot, the next time I come. I'll be making a lot of bread this weekend anyway, so I'll make an extra loaf, or half loaf.

At home, things have still been hard. Ms. Red Hair is at her wits end with work to do for her job, Curly Sue has been killing us with her behavior. I've been doing the "eastern healing" with CS on weekday evenings while I talk to her about her homework, but last night's really didn't do anything for her--or me, really. I was distracted by her homework, as was she. Ms. Red Hair has told me on occasion that she doesn't feel like the eastern healing ever does much for her, but she tolerates it willingly in the evenings, before bed. She seems to like it regardless of the ineffectiveness of it, because it's a time for us to talk.

It's hard for me to imagine why the eastern healing does so little for Ms. Red Hair. I feel like she must not be open to the experience, rejecting it somehow, except that I know she believes in it--she was, after all, the person who encouraged me to do it in the first place. Perhaps it is affecting her in ways she doesn't realize. Last night's session felt very good for me, refreshing.

Yesterday I cast my first spell; I need to earn $800 this June. I placed sunflower seeds in a tin, with my wish written on a paper in the tin. I placed a yellow crystal in the seeds, to signify the sun, helping it grow.

I said something small and I placed it on my desk. I have not made up the alter yet; one little thing at a time...

changes inside

Today I went earlier for Commune and there was no sunlight by the creek. It's a different place at 8:30 in the morning. It seems sleepier, as if the plants, like me, are still waking. 

Today I just sat and observed. There weren't many deep thoughts running through my head, except that I noticed the instant relief as soon as I was there. Similar, though not entirely the same, as the relief I feel when I sit down on the bed to go to sleep at night. Also similar, sometimes, to the experience of drinking a good glass of wine. One could become addicted to Commune. 

Curly Sue stole something from a boy at school yesterday. We've been dealing with this a lot, and believed that this was getting better, so last night was a bad night. Curly Sue had been earning back a lot of privileges that she had lost a long time ago (due to stealing). Now these privileges were taken away and everyone was feeling tired and disheartened.

I'm from a family that self medicates. When we're anxious, we drink. Actually, we drink for lots of reasons--because we like to drink, and to celebrate, to socialize, to enjoy the experience of drinking. I believe in alcohol. I mean, it's kind of a spiritual experience in my family. My mom and I talk about different kinds of beer the way that some people talk about different television shows or books they liked. 

I know that this can be taken too far. Some people might think this sounds sick. Maybe it is.

Lately I've been worrying that I'm self medicating too much. I don't think I'm an alcoholic, but I know it can go that way if one's not careful, and beer and wine are too good to be wasted on bad times.

And last night was the kind of night when I would have had a couple glasses of wine. But I didn't. I had some tea. I felt...just fine. Inside. Those shrieking voices in my head, the anxiety voices, were quiet. Even though there was fighting in the house and unhappiness and disappointment. I felt strong. Not happy, but strong. 

And then that relief this morning during morning Commune...which made me realize that I'm doing something good for myself. And I don't want to waste wine on bad times. 

beach going, and the problem with moths

On Sunday we went to the beach to fly a kite. We live fairly close to the beach but spend most of our swimming time in the pool in our backyard. 

Four years ago as residents of New York City, we used to spend every possible weekend at the beach. It started in May; buying our season passes. On Saturday and sometimes even Sunday afternoons, we'd wake early and take the subway to Penn station. Buy iced coffees at Starbucks, sandwiches for lunch at Subway. Take the train from Manhattan past Queens to the last stop on the Long Beach line. We'd drag our bags and our towels to the beach and then walk sometimes for a quarter of a mile over the sand to find the best spot. Spend all morning and part of the afternoon making sand castles. On the way home, we'd have salad pizza at the restaurant not far from the train station. 

I thought when we moved to California that we would spend every possible moment on the beach. That this was like moving to our mecca. 

We found out when we moved here, it's the Atlantic we love. The Atlantic ocean is my darling. It's freezing cold in the early summer, but warms up gradually. By August, it's the perfect temperature. Even so, it's like a different ocean every day. Sometimes calm and smooth, sometimes full of rough waves, dangerous. Terrifying.

The Pacific is a different beast. The waves in the Pacific ocean are rough and frigid all year long. And the beach here is often chilly and windy. 

Still, there is a beach we sometimes go to. It's tucked away in a residential area, surrounded by expensive houses. To reach the beach, you park on the street then climb down a long staircase. It's not a popular beach, so most of the time it feels deserted and magical. Sometimes we see starfish there. Once, we found a cave.

At home, we're having a problem with moths. they're all over the place, particularly in the kitchen. I'm a bad pagan because I'm supposed to love nature and preserve life, but I kill insects I find in my house. We saw a waterbug in the house once last summer, and I killed it. And I've been smashing the moths with my bare hands. The only bugs that I don't kill when I find them in the house are spiders. I believe spiders are Good. 

I'm thinking about doing a banishing ritual, but I'm brand new at this and that sounds a little negative. I don't want to banish the moths and burn down my house, and I don't want to perform negative spells. 

not that killing the moths is really any better. 

I was looking through my practical magic book today and came upon this suggestion for prosperity and change: place seeds (pumpkin, sunflower, etc) in a bowl and place your wish for the future inside. Place it on an alter. 

This sounds like something simple I'd like to try but...I need to make an alter. This is a cart before the horse scenario. There's a dresser at home, in the spare room, I think I can easily make into an alter. There's a cloth draped over the top. It's a tall dresser, the top is just at my shoulders. 

I'd also like to try these Prosperity cakes from Zedral. 

Reiki and kids and raising them pagan

Told Ms. Red Hair yesterday that I wanted to start doing the eastern healing again. That's what we called Reiki, when I used to do it. I'm not sure if I do it right, never was sure. I already did it to myself a little during the Commune yesterday morning, and then in the evening I spent about 10 minutes with Curly Sue, and about 10 minutes with Ms. Red Hair. The question arises whether this is enough time to make a difference, but I think so.

Earlier today I came upon a post from Nydia, whose blog I just started to follow. Specifically I stumbled on her article, on being a witch and raising a witch. She mentions that many pagans raise their children on a "neutral" path, and she has chosen not to. It seems natural to her to raise her son with pagan beliefs as long as they feel right to him. She raises an interesting point: if she were Jewish or Christian or Muslim, she would likely raise her son to follow her religion, and so why not raise him to be Pagan? And, why not? Why should paganism be different from other faiths passed down from parent to child?

Maybe because paganism is mostly made up of solitary practitioners. It's so personalized. What is right for the parent may not be right for the child.

Religion would do Curly Sue good--she's got a lot of Lost in her. But I can't raise her in the Christian faith because I don't believe in it myself, I can't raise her as a pagan because I've barely started to follow it. We tried taking her to the Unitarian Universalist church when we moved here several years ago, but the fit wasn't right.

If I felt like my roots in paganism were firm and deep, I would be more open about this with Curly Sue. And maybe someday I will be in that place. I applaud the parents who teach their children about their faith, and raise their children with religious beliefs.

Today during Commune I took a picture of the beautiful orange flower below. I went a little deeper down the creek today and had to duck under a tree to get to this spot. I don't want anyone to see me at work. I'm already somewhat known for my weirdness around the office but I'd rather not be that spacey chick who meditates by the creek too.

I'm wearing a skirt today, looking semi-pretty, so I brought a box top to sit on. It so happened that I sat down in front of a tree trunk where some ants were marching up and down in a single file line. There was a crazy bird across the creek who was bouncing up and down in the dirt, pushing dirt around, as if digging. 

I brought a blank book from home. It's my hope to start writing some prayers or helpful observations; make note of some colors or some feelings that will help me develop some rituals.

And then I talked to goddess again and said thanks to her. I wish I was back there right now. I'm thinking about increasing Commune time to 20 minutes but I'm just so busy.

talking to god

The title of my last post was something like "In the broom closet", but I didn't really say anything about being in the broom closet. Well I am. Ms. Red Hair knows that I flirt with these ideas, but I don't talk to her much about it. I have little to say, and she's far more interested in politics than religion.

Not that I would try very hard to hide it, either. The books sit out on my desk at work, from time to time. My daughter sees me carrying them around. My parents, I'm guessing, took note of them on one of their visits. I don't think anyone will ask, and if asked, I plan to dodge the question via a joke. I just don't particularly want to explain myself.

Lately, the last several weeks or months, I've been talking to god. God. As I mentioned before, I was brought up in a basically secular home, but my family identified with Christianity in the vague way that secular homes in the US often do. I knew the story of the birth of Jesus, and we celebrated Christmas and Easter. As a kid, I talked to God sometimes. I wanted to have a relationship with God, like a friend that was always on your side and always there, but not within the confines of church, where I was uncomfortable and unconvinced.

Now as an adult, I talk to that same god. God. (capitalized?) I'm not strictly monotheistic, but I really only communicate with the one guy. God. And he's definitely male. Many pagans out there talk more to the goddess than the god, and I don't deny her existence, but she, the moon or the ocean that she is, remains a distant figure. The God in my comfort zone is the god of sunlight and trees and the broad blue sky, while she is the goddess of the moon and darkness and the ocean, wide and deep and endless. I like his brightness and brilliance. I like his sunlight, and that is how I think of him. The bright star in my sky.

Like a true LA resident, I talk to god most often in the car. Sometimes I initiate the conversation to give thanks, but most often I'm asking for help.

I've decided it's time for us to interact more, god and I. There needs to be less begging for help here, more open communication. I've made an agreement with myself to spend 15 minutes each day having a daily scheduled chat with myself and the natural world. I will commune with god or goddess, or myself or whatever happens to come my way.

There's a creek on the property where I work a full time job. I went down for 15 minutes this morning, for my first commune.

I set the timer on my phone for 15 minutes. It seems like I shouldn't set a timer, that it should all happen organically and naturally, and for that matter I should have more than 15 minutes to give, but I've got a schedule and this is the way life is. I set the timer to make a cricket chirping sound when it went off so it wouldn't completely yank me out of the experience.

At first I just sat.

Saw things. listened. a bumblebee. Water running slowly down the creek bed. waving moss. children at the school 75 feet away, playing at recess. A rock or a marbled egg that later turned out to be a leaf. A dead unidentified plant that turned out to be not so dead because I later noticed tiny green leaflings shooting from the browned stump.

I kind of thought, should I say something to god? With the water nearby it seemed more like goddess territory, and I felt her presence more than his, as I was sitting in dappled shade. I sent out a very vague, meek "hi" to the world. And then my left leg started to get twitchy.

I get restless legs at the worst times.

I was initiated into the first level of reiki (there's like a terminology for it but I can't remember that right now) a few years ago. Ms. Red Hair wanted me to perform it on Curly Sue, who we both fear has some spiritual and psychological scarring. I haven't done reiki in a while, but it seemed the right time. I placed both hands on my left leg. Concentrated on breath and breathing. Then it all started to come together. Breath and breathing, the reiki, the bumble bee, the water, goddess and dirt.

I started repeating blessed be over and over in my mind. I like these words, although at the wrong times they come across as corny to me. But I kept repeating them, like an amen, and I felt right and sane and whole.

After only 15 minutes I felt like I'd done something. Like something had happened to me. I felt energized and rejuvinated.

in the broom closet, comfy here

K, Internet World, this is my first post and I don't know what I'm doing, starting this blog. It's 9:28AM on a Wednesday and I've got work to do, a daughter to take to the doctor later today, a house to clean, books to read, a dead career to jump start.

Oh, look: 9:29!

In some ways, to say my life is a mess would be an understatement. I'm going bankrupt. I mean that actually. Bankrupt. My partner, Ms. Red Hair, and I want to have another child, but being that we both work full time, have our hands full with our current daughter and then my money problems are impeding our ability to move forward with our family. I'm 31 and I'm not getting younger. Or richer. I work 2 or 3 jobs and it's never enough.

My daughter...Curly Sue we'll call her...god love her...is also a mess. The best time with my daughter is in the mornings, when she's eating breakfast. That's just about the only time of the day it feels like we have time to talk and enjoy just being together. By the time she's gone to school and gotten in trouble and lied about having homework and come home and been rude and I've become frustrated and am having an anxiety attack...well the day is usually completely ruined by 6PM if not earlier.

And then, in other ways, life is great. More than great. Lovely. Amazing. I am so blessed. I have a house, a garden, a partner and daughter. We're vegetarians. I brew beer and read and fuss over my plants and talk to my mom once a week. I live in a city I love, in a neighborhood I love. I have a car and I love it. I love my mechanic and my local grocery store and my coffee shop and the people at my full time job. I have best friends, people I would do anything for, who I feel like would do anything for me.

So all these good things and bad things come crashing together every day. I feel torn apart sometimes. I cuss in traffic a lot--that makes me feel good. I drink beer (too much, really). I bake bread and make lemonade at home. I kiss my daughter every night but fear I don't get enough pleasure from it. I also tell Ms. Red Hair and Curly Sue that I love them every day as I send them off to school and I get a great deal of pleasure from that. Every new day feels good. Some nights I just feel wasted.

More than anything, I am lost. I want to move forward, but I want to enjoy every moment.

A few years ago, feeling this feeling of intense lostness, I started to read books about wicca and paganism. Religion has never been a good fit for me. My mom has been basically estranged from Catholicism ever since her divorce when I was just a baby. In third grade, I had my first communion, but that's the last time I ever considered myself to be Catholic. I had Catholic and Baptist grandparents, my best friend growing up (now my partner) was Methodist. I grew up in a little town in the midwest, where almost everyone is Christian if not in practice then at least by label, and Evangelicalism is prevalent. I have been saved but wasn't convinced by it (didn't even want it), I have been told (many times) I was going to hell, and for like most of my grade school through high school years, I was terrified of God.

9:49 now.

The summer before we adopted Curly Sue, we took her home to the midwest to meet her new grandparents -to-be. I was stressed. Wandering through the Borders bookstore, I stumbled on some books about spirituality. I've read many books by Thich Nhat Hanh and found them to be comforting, soothing.

I don't know if I found a book about magic or spells or just about wicca, whatever it was, I just picked one up. I read. I picked up another. Read more. Took an armful back to the cafe where the family was and I read, and read, and read. took notes.

That summer I did a lot of research and I found it to be comforting. I wanted to do spells and develop a spiritual path, one that made sense for me. Something that would see me through the conflicting feelings I had, about Curly Sue, whom I loved but who scared me, about Ms. Red Hair, who is an intense personality.

My pagan path stalled sometime in the following two years--I didn't have time to do the spells or practice the rituals. Actually, more than that, I didn't have time to decide which rituals were right, what were my rituals. I also became somewhat frustrated with the pagan community--there are a lot of vampyres and fayries and 15 year old girls with black eye makeup out there. I encountered them on the Internets. They made me think maybe this was all just a stupid waste of my time and that perhaps I was trying to recapture some lost opportunity to dress up like a Goth in high school.

I've got a lot of books on my shelf at home now, and I'm feeling lost again, and I've realized again that the pagan path is primarily a solitary one, and I don't need to affiliate myself with the vampyres and fayries and Buffy the whatevers. I'm just me. And I need a path. I'm looking, searching.

I'm going to start reading my books again. The pagan books. Maybe I can start practicing in little ways. Making up my own rituals. I know that there are a lot of kitchen witches out there--and that does fit me well. I live my life in the kitchen.

On Sunday night, with Ms. Red Hair and Curly Sue playing cards and drinking Pepsi at the kitchen table, ceiling fans blowing and a breeze coming in from the open windows, I remembered how blessed I was. My eyes landed on the purple magic book I bought from the Borders because Ms. Red Hair's dad spilled coffee all over it. And I remembered that I believe myself to be a pagan and I want to give that a shot again.