wishcasting wednesday

the lovely jaime over at starshyne productions has had wishcasting wednesday for a long time, now. i usually forget about it because up until recently, my memory wasn't so hot. but thanks to my affirmations and harnessing what i know about the Law of Attraction, my memory is extensive! i can remember things quickly and easily! (and that, my lovelies, is my memory affirmation!)

so here i am, jumping into wishcasting wednesdays. today the wish is, "to whom do you wish to send some love?"

well, honestly, i wanted to send love to *rf*, who moved out here to get away from a horrible marriage. it turns out he moved here for me, which i told him at the outset was the wrong reason to move. but move he did, and when *ds* and *ks* proved for once and all that they're just incurable fucktards, i realized it was well past time to let them go and leave their poison behind. unfortunately, that also meant leaving *rf*, who blamed me for feeling abandoned. (had he moved for the right reasons, the abandonment wouldn't have been an issue)

of course, that whole story is more centered around the theme of leaving the fucktards out of our lives. i didn't accept blame for things that weren't my responsibility, and because i flat-out refused to accept it, as did i refuse to apologize for certain things i didn't have to (you DO NOT apologize just because someone else apologizes; if you're not wrong, STAND YOUR GROUND!!). so we parted on bad terms.

but i made the choice not to let blossoming fucktard behavior pollute my life anymore, and that meant cutting him off.

but still, i think about him sometimes, and i hope he's getting his head on straight. he deserves it, after the miserable time he had with his wife. bad relationships are poison and should be left behind, period. he had the courage to go, which is more than i can say for another ex-friend of mine.

but still, i am made of love. if i've loved you, then in some chamber of my heart, there is always love for you, small but burning brightly.

i send love out to *rf*. i hope you're really out there, working to improve your life. you deserve nothing less than self-love and all the happiness the universe holds.

a-men. a-woman. ohhhmmm... and hallelujah.

the winner's circle

in the last few days, i've received two awards for this blog. life's been kinda crazy-hectic what with school application requirements and job hunting going on (more on that later), and then everyone in my house came down with something at the same time so i've been feeling really wiped out.

so i decided to post my awards today and let the feelings of joy, specialness, and appreciation lift my spirits a little. then i'm gonna go back downstairs and make myself something hot and soupy, curl up on the futon, and watch more Babylon 5.

so the inspirational and uplifting gypsy over at the Creative Soul Explosion (her blog is so aptly named, i totally adore it!) flew over iGoddess and sprinkled it with happiness, zest, and this lovely award of note:



isn't it so pretty! thank you, gypsy! *hugs* and so, along with this art award, i must name 7 things i love, and pass the award on.

i love...

• curling up with my rumbles on the couch, snuggling beneath a thick blanket, and taking an afternoon nap
• the feeling i get after finishing a crochet piece. it seems kinda silly to feel so much pride, wonder, and accomplishment over a scarf, or an afghan, but i've always admired aritsts and composers who could think of something, see it in their minds, and then manifest it beautifully. writing is a type of art, i know...but they're just words. something about crochet is different because i can put my hands on it, feel the textures and admire the colors, and say, "i made this!"
• my family. what can i say about them that hasn't already been said? my possibilities for growth are infinite because my family feeds my soul.
  
• everything about the blog: i love my blog, from Haven to Musings to iGoddess, for giving me a magic mirror through which i could see my true face and learn to love it; for the friends i've met through my blog, and how much connection and laughter we've given each other; for the iVillage, all of us who gather together and support one another, cheer each other on, lend support and encouragement when things aren't so easy, and the sense of female connection and belonging.
  
• i love food. omg, i love food. i love cooking it, arranging it, smelling it, eating it, and sharing it. i love gathering around the table at my parents' house, toasting our health and life, and feeling safe and warm and loved there in the center of everything.
  
• my hatchling. this one's a given.
  
• my life, quite honestly. i love everything about it and everything in it. i love how it's turned out, and i love where it's heading. i love who i am, and the people who surround me. i love my life!
  

-=[@]=-

and the lovely and divinely inspired genie sea over at Reality Insanity honored iGoddess with the Lemonade award! i love it! so now iGoddess has a little lemonade stand so you can come over, help yourself to some refreshing, crisp, and sweet lemonade while you peruse the "rockalicious funkadelity" (to use genie sea's words, which ROCK!)

she also said that i'll "shazam" you. i almost keeled over, i love it! woo! iGoddess will shazam you with bootylicious jiggyfunk! *falls into a heap of giggles* omg, that's funktastic.


so now i must tag nine people who's blog i think needs a lemonade stand up at their blogs. plus i need to tag seven people to bestow the art award.

as well as the universe works, secretly conspiring to shower blessings on everyone, i am very happy to say that almost everyone i would tag has already received both these awards.

however, i do want to make special note for jane over at her painted house. she totally deserves the art award more than anyone else i know. she's got this gorgeous eye for photography: for fun, funky, impromptu, and real pictures. she doesn't give us "perfect" photos of stilted, photographic art so much as she uses the camera to open up a window for us so she can show us a real slice of her life. and her life is beautiful. her life is art. she's living it! and she's a work of art. it's a magic she has with the camera. not to mention the magic in her hands to make gorgeous aprons, beaded jewelry (that i lovelovelove and want money to buy them!), and frames, and journals, and all that lovely, lovely food she always takes pictures of which always makes the painted house an interactive blog because i see those pictures and my stomach growls. hell, it's growling right now just thinking about it!

thanks, jane! now i have to go downstairs and scrounge. =P it's all your fault.

may the Funk be with you!

archetypal philosophies

whoever thought of the family "tree" was onto something. i prefer to picture a rosebush, however. there are those who are your foundation and prove themselves over time. my bio-dad once said he gives people the Five Year Test. if they fuck up royally in the first five years he knows them, he writes them off.

this is a good test.

those who prove themselves --blood relative or not-- are the bush's roots. and those who prove themselves may be added to the your root structure. after all, roots grow. through any weather, transplanting, or hardship, those roots are strong and anchor your soul. the plant grows, roses bloom and attract butterflies and bees and smiles. people pluck the beautiful blooms to give to their sweethearts, spreading the beauty and symbolic love growing from your family.

some people, however, suck the nutrients from the roots and give nothing back. they're rightfully called "suckers." it takes time to find these, because while they suck your roots dry, the appear as any other branch. only enough time reveals they will grow yet produce no blooms, no beauty, and no love. they are then chopped off at the root with cold necessity, lest they kill the whole plant with their ruthless, selfish, fruitless greed.

family is a choice, a prize rosebush to be cherished and protected and nourished so it can spread beauty and love, fragrance, and be around for generations.

love... love is war, and love is peace. the soul is the battlefield upon which all these powerful human emotions wage their conflict. everything from insecurity and substantiated fear, to hope and faith.

sometimes the long path through that battlefield is overwhelming. the skirmishes can wear a body down. strategy and tactics are a puzzle that exhaust the mind. maintaining battle-readiness is a strain which can fray the strongest soul.

the question, "what if i died tomorrow?" is a good question. it eliminates the obstacles we believe are so necessary, so vitally important. if i died tomorrow, none of those things would matter, and there would be no battle. yet...odds are i will not die tomorrow, and those obstacles and complications are important because there are consequences to all of them, which must be considered. experience teaches us consequences are to be respected. it teaches us temperance.

temperance is a beginning to wisdom.

yet...sometimes after considering all the dangers, the consequences, the tactics and terrain and collateral damage...sometimes the battle must be fought. when the dust settles and the dead are buried, after weapons are cleaned and sheathed once more, life will never be the same.

life is never the same, minute to minute. it's called "living."

but the victory, and the fruits of that victory, far outweigh the pain of battle. far outweigh the heaviness of despair that grips the heart in the thick of battle. far outweigh the helplessness that surrounds the edge of battle.

the heavenly illumination of love shines all the brighter against the memory of despair. the sweet ecstasy of love feels all the sweeter against the pain. the miraculous freedom of love feels all the greater against the helplessness. the battle was necessary, a struggle against those shadows dwelling in your heart which would never allow love to thrive. conquer the battle, conquer the shadows.

find peace. find faith. find hope. but the greatest of these is...

faith flourishes. trust thrives. sweet surrender shines bright. being in love, living in Love, means you have touched the sun and now, no matter how many storms darken your sky, you know it will pass...

...and you keep your face lifted toward the sky, knowing you will feel the sun once more.

we are dreamers, shapers, singers, and makers

Your result for The Perception Personality Image Test...

NFPC - The Artist

You perceive the world with particular attention to nature. You focus on what's in front of you (the foreground) and how that fits into the larger picture. You are also particularly drawn towards the colors around you. Because of the value you place on nature, you tend to find comfort in more subdued settings and find energy in solitude. You like to deal directly with whatever comes your way without dealing with speculating possibilities or outcomes you can't control. You are in tune with all that is around you and understand your life as part of a larger whole. You are a down-to-earth person who enjoys going with the flow.

Take The Perception Personality Image Test at HelloQuizzy

Freedom Revolution: the MOVIE!

through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, it's finally ready...

rainbow dreams: the movie

lovlies over at sacred suzi's have been making their dream boards for the full moon. i made one last month and it was a blast. i actually have it saved as my wallpaper on my computer.

but i wanted to do something a little more fun this time around. something that would jazz me up a bit more, get my blood racing and my Funk revving.

i bring to you...

...rainbow dreams: the MOVIE!




i am grateful to all the abundance in my life that made this movie possible...

rainbow dreams: the vision

over at sacred suzie's, she started this lovely monthly activity of creating dream boards. i've been wanting to do it, but when it comes down to it, i've just been letting a whole bunch of excuses get in my way. the reason? i was avoiding disappointment because once upon a time i didn't believe that my dreams were attainable or possible, or even that i really deserved them.

now i pat that delena on the head, give her a hug and a cookie, and send her on her way.

because they ARE attainable, they ARE possible, and I REALLY DO deserve them! and i'm gonna go get them and make them mine.

there are lots of pictures of pregnant women on this dream board. this was deliberate. they're all smiling, loving life, laughing, engaging in healthy habits, and pregnant at the same time. when i was pregnant with li'l *c*, i had hyperemesis gravidarum which is, in a word, miserable. i was teetering the edge of kidney failure due to dehydration, ulcers, and during the delivery itself, both li'l *c* and i almost went to the great gig in the sky. bad, bad experience. but i want more children, and so i have visions of healthy, happy pregnancies to replace traumatizing memories.

of course love and romance are there, too. happy couples smiling and affectionate through every stage of life. it's out there, waiting to blossom, and it will come.

as will the children. that pic of a mom with her two kids at the computer took me hours of searching before i tripped over it. i wanted a picture that portrayed a mom, with a small boy and girl, teaching them. i want a boy and a girl (for a total of 3 kids counting li'l *c*), and i want to be able to stay at home with them and school them myself.

the horses? yeah, i want horses, and i want a beach house. i want to gallop across the sand at sunset bareback and free. that pic in the corner of the beach house? yeah, i want that. maybe even a strip of private beach, with the freedom to ride like lady godiva.

the falling ben franklins should be obvious. money not for money's sake, but for the freedom it represents and the opportunities to help even more people with that money. because money falling from the sky isn't just money; it's financial wealth. i'm thinking BIG.

and that pic of the perfectly rendered 3-D spine? i'm sick of scoliosis and all the lovely symptoms it creates: everything from crippling sciatica to misplaced ribs to numbness (as in pseudo-paralysis) and spasms. i'm even convinced that a crooked spine is messing up my spinal cord, so all my other health "inconveniences" are manifesting symptoms of my body unable to really communicate with itself because my body's information superhighway has traffic jams. so i see greater health and a perfectly aligned spine. they say it's impossible for 100% spinal correction of the curvature. i say it's mine for the taking.

don't overlook the adorable little black-and-white pic of the little pug. i know it's not visible even in the larger pic, but i doctored the name tag so it reads "Pupcake." i want a male fawn-coated pug, and i wanna name him pupcake. if anyone remembers strawberry shortcake (the 80's version, not the bastardized parody of modern phallocratic franchize rape), huckleberry pie had a dog named pupcake. i thought this was adorable, and ever since i was around three years-old i've always wanted a pupcake. i was crazy for the strawberry shortcake and friends fad. still am.

and you can't forget the actual background itself. i'm headed for tropical paradise, baby, yeah!

rainbow dreams

this week's rainbow dreams is brought to you by the Inner Child Tarot, winkies, and divine madness.


being clothed only in one's own skin never mattered if you were on the grounds of the Menstrual Temple. if anything, there were some rites you could not experience unless you were wearing the full and gloriously free beauty of your own skin.

the magical thing about the Funky Grail was that there was no room in it for modesty, or self-consciousness, or even that hateful, wriggling little worm of self-loathing as it criticized every wrinkle and stretch mark, every saggy spot and jiggling lump and scar. something about the Temple would bear no ill thought against the Self. and admittedly, after eating candy calaveras and talking to clouds, drinking rainbows and holding the laughter of the earth in the crude matter of my body, it was impossible to even remember what those things were i hated about this glorious vehicle i'd chosen this time around.

the grass was soft and cool beneath my feet, which had been softened by an Age i spent in the mud learning to leave myself only to find the most magical destination was...mySelf.

instead of continuing to search for the path through the wood which had led me to the valley, i decided to walk the length of it and see where it took me. the sun was warm on my skin and turning it a beautiful golden brown. i could hear birds singing and talking in the trees. when they weren't chattering about the weather, their eggs, or scrubbing around for grubs and beetles, they were squawking variations of, "hey! hey! HEY!" and somewhere in the deadfall was an absent-minded squirrel muttering as it forgot where it had placed a well-stocked cache of nuts.

"do you like the Valley?"

there she was, the pomegranate priestess. the sight of the blood red robes and red tattoos made the scar on my breastbone itch, the one where a half-moon sickle had laid my breast open to the sky. this particular priestess wore her hair loose to her waist with only one narrow braid behind her ear and tied with golden thread. it was adorned with seashells and glass beads, small semi-precious stones carved into shapes like leaves, stars, spirals, and even the sillhouette of the venus of willendorf. a similar piece of jewelry adorned her ankle, complete with bells so her every other step was music. her tattoos sparkled in the sunlight, as if there were glitter, or ground mica, in the ink.

blood red, with a touch of gold.

her palms and the bottoms of her feet were completely inked, and it traced up her feet and hands in what were now familiar patterns of dots and whorls. only these traced up her legs to disappear beneath her robes, and up her arms to her shoulders, and beyond. i could see narrow tendrils of the gold-glittering red ink at the nape of her neck, at the hollow of her throat. one tattoo fell across her brow and beside her right eye, almost like delicate vinework...only those curves were serrated, and at the tip of each was a teardrop-shaped rhinestone.

like drops of blood glistening at the tips of the cruel sickle of the vulture goddess.

never had i seen such intricate tattooing on a pomegranate priestess before. never had i trembled so in the presence of one of them, though well aware of the mortal dance that was any interaction with them. the presence of a pomegranate priestess was blesséd danger. holy risk.

divine madness.

but for all that, where before i would have bowed with respect before speaking, instead i planted my feet firmly and stood tall. "the valley, Lady?" i asked.

she smiled, and i saw approval in those honey-brown eyes. "Valley-in-the-Glade," she replied. "few know to search for it. fewer still find it. none stumble across it unknowingly. the Valley calls whom it calls."

"then i am a denizen?" my palms were sweating the longer i stood in her presence, and it made my grip on the vial of springwater unsure. i kept twirling it in my hand, working it like a worry stone.

"all are denizens of the Valley," was the reply. "it's a simple matter of acceptance."

"and what is it i have acc--"

"your wounds are healed, then? you choose to use your gifts rather than be nourishment for those who would not waste their talents?" those brown eyes glittered like the rhinestones on her face. it was a challenge, i knew, and a threat if i gave the wrong answer.

She giveth, and She taketh away.

i let my own eyes glitter. "i am of Those Who Bleed But Do Not Die. i bleed to nourish others, i leave a river of blood as a path to guide others into wisdom. i bleed to remember what it is to be human, to always relate to All That Is. if others wish to devour me for their own ends..." i gave her my best feral smile, "let them come take me."

she raised a brow at me, but there was approval in how she held her head, in the set of her shoulders. "you once allowed all others before you. you sacrificed your Self, your Selflove, and even began to do their work for them. you said it was your place, that you did it out of love. what such Love is so twisted you would throw yourself away and deny yourself happiness? what sort of god allows such precious children to create such misery in their souls in the hope of a later joy? it seems to me a lifetime of sorrow does little to equip a soul to handle the undiluted Joyful Funk that is Oneness with Her."

i laughed at her challenge. "such a soul wouldn't begin to know how. such a soul would shy away from it. only a soul who knows she has a right to such happiness would even be willing to reach out and take hold of it. but such a one must first Know their importance and sacredness as a shining being."

she laughed at me. "and you think you are such a one?"

in one swift move, i snatched her sickle from the loop on her woven belt and cut a length of her robe. her eyes never so much as flickered as i did this, nor did her unreadable expression grow any clearer as i wound that length of blood red, billowing fabric around my head and let the rest of it trail down my back. i handed her back the sickle.

"i know i am," i said.

and then my breath caught in my throat as she bowed to me, palms pressed together, fingertips resting just beneath her chin. "welcome, sister," she purred. then she straightened, took my head in her hands and kissed my forehead, my eyelids, and my lips.

"the journey is now truly begun," she said. "most do not come this far...

...most do not survive it."

rainbow dreams

this week's rainbow dreams is brought to you by the Inner Child Tarot, bells, and the letter Q.



i ran.

fleet-footed as the soulful-eyed doe who had greeted me upon my rebirth from the earth, from Earth, i ran through the dark forest along paths no human foot had trod for hundreds of years. she leapt and gamboled beside me, her dappled hide seeming to shift in the muted sunlight and shadows from the canopy above, as i ran faster than thought, silent as shadow, through the thick undergrowth.

my mud-heavy hair bumped against my back with each stride. my feet were cut on sharp stones and thorns. low-hanging branches left rose welts on my flanks as i crashed through them in my haste. my nipples hardened in the cold, damp morning air. the mud on my body dried in the breeze of my passing.

and every sensation of the stunning standard and numinous normal was a note in the spectacular song of the Funky Jive. my breath rasping in my throat was rapturous.

together, the doe and i broke through the dark wild wood into a sunlit clearing, in the middle of which grew a single maple tree. a small creek burbled and danced along the inner edge of the clearing and formed a pool on the other side of the maple. long sweetgrass and heather grew thick in the clearing, the heather shining with every delicate color nature could imagine. the thick perfume of heather mixed with the fresh, warm scent of the grass and water to tantalize my soul.

the doe bounded into the clearing, stopped to bend her head beside the pool for a drink of water, then with a leap was gone. she vanished back into the wood once more. i ran to follow her, but a few strides into the clearing i felt the woods fall away. suddenly, i found myself in a wide and fertile valley, white-capped mountains cradling me as if i stood in the palm of a verdant hand. the cloudless sky was as high as birdsong and as wide as joy.

but what took my breath was when i realized i was still within a circle. elm and oak, pine and apple trees stood at the four cardinal points. they were ancient sentinels, i knew, and gentle guides. and standing at four of the five mystical points were four other sacred Trees, with the mighty oak standing as head of both, to create a powerful Circle of nine sacred trees. with maple at its core.

the maple was my tree. the tree that bleeds, and in its blood gives nourishment to others. the tree that Bleeds But Does Not Die.

"Daughter of Earth," said the Sky, "Bathe thyself. Be cleansed of what was."

i knew i couldn't bathe in the pool, but downstream a small ways was a shallow dip, waist-high with a sunning rock the perfect length for me to stretch out upon. testing the waters, i found the creek so warm and aerated it felt like laughter soughing across my skin. i scrubbed the mud from my hair with sand, then crushed handfuls of heather and rubbed them into my hair and skin. as i sunned myself upon the rock, i took handfuls of spiraled pond grass and ran it through my hair so it would dry straight and untangled. when it was dry, i wove my hair into two long braids over each ear, then wound them around my head as i'd seen my great, great grandmother's portrait. she'd been a beloved curandera in her village when she was alive, healing the sick of spirit as well as fostering health in the body.

i had not seen it while bathing, but as i came out of the water i found my wounds had been completely healed. there was a pale scar, like a birthmark, where the Pomegranate Priestess had lain my heart open, in the shape of a star burst. there was a serpentine scar around my upper arm, pale and thin. but i was whole, and hale, and my time within the Earth had given me perspective into what my problems truly were:

Not That Big a Deal.

"Child of Water," said the Earth, "Immerse thyself and drink. Be freed of what is."

the small pool beckoned. only a moment did regret flicker inside me as i thought about my freshly dry hair getting wet all over again. i suppose even meditation and perspective can only go so far for vanity. but my steps were sure as i lowered myself into the pool. i cupped my hands together and lifted the water to my lips. it tasted sweet, and rich with minerals. it went to my head like a sip of brandy.

"it's just..." i heard myself sigh. "the idea of peace with him, like a holy grail, only i watch it tear me apart and i can't stop crusading for it."

my path had become, without my knowing, the path of compassion, of love and mercy and the never-ending struggle for understanding. and yet my own fear of being laid waste again was too powerful to allow me to surrender fully to compassion. i still saw it as giving permission to another to cause me pain. and the harder i struggled, the more it ripped me apart. there could be true compassion within me, and it didn't have to cost my Self. compassion, forgiveness, and mercy could be given, but it did not require me to treat the other person as a lifelong and trusted bosom companion. to truly pardon required only forgiveness of an offense, and anything more which led to my demise, again and again, was my own naive folly.

it was time to leave hopeful childhood dreams and idealism behind. there would always be room for beauty in the world of magic, but there could be no trust given freely where it was not first earned.

i cried for myself, then. deep inside myself, i had always prayed that someday i would be forgiven by people i loved and could then be welcomed back with open arms and laughter to resume my place among them as if nothing had happened, once my penance was repaid. and in my hope to receive that, i had given that very thing to many others, foolishly, and with disastrous results. with enough compassion, forgiveness could be given. but the time had come to accept that my place among them was lost a long time ago, that others' places in my life were gone, and sometimes there is no such thing as happily ever after together.

no matter how much the child within might want it so.

"Sister to the Sky," said the Water, "wash thy tears and dry thy face. Take, and hold it in trust for what will be."

i washed my face and stepped from the pool. immediately i was dry. sitting upstream at the edge of the creek was a crystal vial with a carved stopper. i filled it with water and clutched it to my heart.

rainbow dreams

this week's rainbow dreams is brought to you by the inner child tarot, potential, and the letter K.


have you ever slept so deeply you forgot you existed?

the worms in the earth had grown so accustomed to me they didn't gossip about me anymore. the creak and groan of the trees above me told of them growing their roots around my body. i was one with Earth, with the solid terra firma of the Holy Dirt Clod Floating in Space.

i was floating in silence, in peaceful and unremarkable stasis. there had been so much change in body and spirit and mind and blood i had actually approached the plateau of my Funky potential. and so i had Slept. i had departed body, departed pain and dirt and mud and blood and flown with the Vulture Destroyer. i'd played a game of poker with the Jiggy Snake, that Funkalicious mega-pyromaniac...

one moment i was so deeply asleep as to be beyond dead, and the next i was so fully in my body and mind that at first i couldn't remember who i was, or where i was. details suddenly flooded back to me. i was...

i was human. female. i had two eyes, a secret collection of romance novels, and an appetite for enchiladas. after what seemed eons of contemplating the universe and realizing so much talent for mental discipline, astral and ethereal travel, and discovering a certain knack for poker...suddenly nothing was as important as tasting enchiladas again. i was ravenous for burritos and sushi, laughter, the fecund smell of soggy wood and mud in a Portland autumn, and the futile attempt to scratch that spot on my back that i could never quite reach.

i could think of nothing so much as feeling the sensation of a headache, of my butt going numb after a hugely long road trip, of sex with *m* up against the door jamb, and of cold and frothy soymilk washing down my throat. i imagined the feel of wearing a white hanes undershirt and almost fainted from the ecstasy of it.

after an Age of nothingness, of "elevation" to a "higher plane of conciousness," all i could think of was the mundane and miraculous fiesta of all five senses going crazy with the bombarding goodness with which the world assaults a person with all the delirious frenzy a watermelon feels when it gets run over by a mack truck on the highway going eighty miles per hour.

i was starving for the commonly wonderous. for the numinous normal and miraculous mundane!

suddenly i was clawing my way out of my muddy womb. much as i loved it for sheltering and nourishing me for all this time, it was too confining now. it was stagnant and pressing and limiting! what good was magical and mental discipline, and calling the Jiggy Snake's really bad poker bluff, if i couldn't breathe deep and smell car fumes and roses, enjoy pudding and blood sausage, or wriggle my toes in a pair of dirty socks and laugh with a mug of warm, flat cider in my hand?

what good was enlightenment without first being wildly and ecstatically in love with the whole bloody, freakin' WORLD?!!?!

it was no good, is what it was. the highest and greatest power, the wisest secrets, the most focused disciplines, the Talents of priestess and counselor and mother and human were right Here.

here. in the moment. in life. in the now.

and i wanted it.

i was naked and filthy when i emerged from the ground. my fingernails were black and crusted, my hair muddy and hanging in ropes down my back. i tasted moist soil and smelled of loam. the autumn wind rustled through half-naked branches and raised violent goosflesh on my skin.

it was wonderful.

a doe stood a few paces away and regarded me with one soft, soulful eye. i understood what she said to me. the wind whispered to me, and i knew where its conversation had originated. i was taller, stood straighter, was leaner and stronger than i had been before. like odysseus' men after circe had lifted her spell and restored their humanity, i was more than i had been after my own departure from humanity.

i knew i could not return to the norm i had known, nor did i wish it. now was the time for new opportunities, for new chances and new adventures, new wisdom and new sensations.

i could be a better daughter now, a better dog groomer, a better sister and mother and lover. i could be a better magician and musician. i would be a better giver, a better listener, a better understander and sharer, communicator and supporter. and i would definitely be a better driver!

i would be all those things, and better, because i knew the secret: that there was no more sacred moment than Now, and whatever i am doing, nothing is more important.

rainbow dreams

this week's rainbow dreams is brought to you by the triple goddess tarot, wellsprings, and the number 13.


who knows how long i slept in my bed of earth, of Earth, somewhere beneath the vast grounds of the Menstrual Temple? the voice had not spoken to me in a great while, but there was no sense of time there. i was becoming, it had said.

i could hear the creeping things in the soil, their plodding and twisting, turning over the earth. i could feel the other subterran denizens of the Temple in their dens and holes, digging and crawling, feeding their young. the roots of the green and growing things creaked and plucked and sighed as the crawling things' constant toil fed them and they grew into grass, flowers, creepers, and the great trees of the Temple forest.

there was no sight in the damp darkness, no taste but that of earth, no breath. and yet i knew i still lived, nourished from head to toe by this most intimate connection with the sacred soil of the Temple grounds. the great thrumming, the slow and throbbing beat of the very heart of the world beat within me, my heart kept its time and thus I did not die. i was of Those Who Bleed But Do Not Die, the priestess had said.

however long i lay inside my resting place, there was the pain of my injuries. and the pain of healing. for an eternity it blocked out all sound, all sense of my neighbors deep in the earth, all awareness of that great Heartbeat keeping me in its rhythm. there was only pain.

but it lessened. thought returned slowly, and i became aware of other things. it was an irritating distraction, a burden which interfered with my rest. i hated it! i but wanted it gone, i wanted to sleep! i longed for an oblivion which would sweep away all thought of what had brought me there, the aches and anguish and frustrated desires that had seemed so overwhelming before the pomegranate priestess had rent my chest and gashed my heart open.

but perhaps...

...perhaps...

...perhaps she had only made manifest an injury already present. i could not think the sisterhood relished violence. and yet...they were the presence of the vulture goddess on earth, their voice the Voices of the destroyer and bandit queen. blood, thievery, and death were their trade if it furthered the cause. the Mother is as harsh and hurting as She is kind and nurturing.

i learned to grow tired of the pain's constant presence within me, and then annoyed, and finally resigned.

it was only after i had accepted its presence like an old friend did it begin to teach me things.

it was a great tool to focus the mind, and soon i had learned to reach beyond my immediate surroundings and could touch with my thoughts the borders of the vast grounds of the Temple. i learned the boundaries of my endurance, and how to stretch them. i learned to go within it, within the pain itself, until it did not exist. i learned to go without, so it did not exist.

i learned it was a choice when to feel it, if to feel it, and when to let it guide me. but never to let it rule me. i learned a love as for a great teacher, harsh and wise, and was grateful for its presence. it helped me keep my thoughts centered, no matter how far i traveled by my mind.

i suppose you think you are great and wise now, little dragon.

i had not heard the voice in eons, or what seemed eons. perhaps, i replied. i am greater and wiser than once i was.

foolish, perhaps, but not greater, it said in a bored voice. only a fool thinks the greatest teacher is pain. any tiresome bore, a media-brainwashed automoton can summon the insipid courage to peer into the abyss. but it takes a freaking genius with a fearless imagination to peer into the maw of happiness! do so!

there was the unmistakable sense of being smacked upside the head, however disembodied the voice and i were at the time. what? i--

come! say it. how do you satisfy happiness?

i had no answer.

how do you satisfy your sense of adventure?

i...that is...

it scoffed. how do you satisfy the sacred uproar? the very revolutionary freedom fight going on right now? the Divine Wow within your very breast?!

i could only stammer.

how do you satisfy the muse in your heart?

i was baffled.

when you can answer this, little dragon, then ask yourself if you feel wiser.

rainbow dreams

this week's rainbow dreams is brought to you by the triple goddess tarot, cocoons, and the number 9.


clouds floated by in macabre shapes that brought the the sickle of the vulture goddess to mind. it brought kali's rage to the forefront of my morbid thoughts as the stream bore me on its path through the grounds of the Menstrual Temple.

that cloud there looked like a pruned rose, its petals falling away. the one beside it looked like nothing so much as a heart pierced through by a sword. that one was harmless, just a dragon breathing fire, but... oh. there were people burning in the fire. 'kay, nevermind.

tears were streaming from the corners of my eyes down my temples and into the water, but i didn't notice. what did it matter, a little salt from my eyes, when i was slowly turning the River Funk red from where the pomegranate priestess had slashed my chest wide open with her sickle and flown away?

the denizens of the River had come, drawn by the scent of blood on the fresh water. i could feel them swirling about me: fish and crustaceans, eels, and undines. i could feel the soft brush of their fins against me, pincers taking curious pokes at me, the smooth gliding of eel flesh down the neck of my shirt and out again. the gentle pressure of small, webbed hands examining my hair, my clothes, my strange body.

with water cradling me and filling my ears and eyes, the smell of blood on the air, and the shock of pain at this new injury, i'd entered a sort of fugue state. no more pain registered, but my senses were sharpened nonetheless. it was my thoughts which were clouded and vague. whatever happened, no matter how strange, i would've accepted it instantly.

it took a long time for me to realize those hands, fins, pincers, and eelflesh weren't merely poking at me curiously. there was a purpose in their touch. slowly, so very slowly, they were guiding me toward the shore.

my eyes cleared, and for the first time i noticed i was no longer anywhere near the pomegranate groves. the clear sky had given way to a forest so thick that no sunlight penetrated the vast canopy above. trees and vines grew so close together, reaching their branches across the river and intertwining them like folded hands, so a kind of arched corridor formed over the river and followed it through the forest.

the water folk had borne me to a small clearing on the shore, a spot of mud that sloped up slightly, like a trench. but they could only go so far onto the shore and push me along the bank. i could see their heads bobbing above the surface of the water, could hear the strange clicks and squeaks of the undines talking to one another.

my upper half was on the bank, my lower half still floating in the river. i slid down further in the mud and suddenly there were large teeth sinking themselves gently into my shirt, barely pinching my skin. jaws closed around my shoulder and pulled me out of the water. a warm, furry body braced against my side and rolled me. jaws caught me at the nape of my neck and i was dragged up out of the mud, over exposed roots gnarled with age, and set down again on soft moss.

a warm velvet nose nudged my head. there was a sound in my ear, the hunka-hunka of a large cat almost on the verge of a purr. in an ordinary house cat, it would have been a trill of curiosity and concern. claws ripped my shirt apart, and a scratching tongue was lapping at the blood on my chest. another tongue, soft and velvet, cleaned my face.

something long and muscular had wrapped itself around my arm. i fought to open an eye and saw a brilliantly green snake had become a tourniquet for my arm. funny, but i didn't even remember my arm being cut.

the forest came alive with animals, from large cats to snakes and even deer, to tend this wound from the sickle. dryads came, made poultices from the leaves and bark of their trees. the moss itself crept up my legs, which were bare. i had no memory of losing my clothing, but suddenly i was alone in the forest by the river, and the moss crept up my body and pulled me down into the earth. i grew so sleepy, and the moss was soft and warm.

the deeper into the earth i was drawn, the more clearly i could hear a sort of pulse, deep in my bones. it was a deep thud, reverberating in my skull, like a large and very deep drum being beaten far, far away. my heart slowed to match that rhythm, my breathing all but nonexistant.

and as i fell into my slumber with the earth, i felt something coil within me. it was a small presence which settled right where my heart should have been.

are you safe? it asked.

yes, i replied.

is your den safe, where all may thrive? it asked.

i thought a moment, feeling the pull of my mystical slumber. i nurture everyone, i said. and i suppose all thrive there...

you could do better, it chided. silence, then: do you find this darkness uneasy?

no. i didn't. i'd lived too long in darkness, come eye to eye with too much, to be frightened of what i see within.

why am i here?

the presence stirred, and i knew it was thinking. so much time stretched it felt like years, and i wondered if i would even receive an answer. you are becoming, it finally said.

becoming.

yes, becoming, said the voice. this is transitory, a place for you to shed your old scales, young dragon, and learn. you have breathed fire, burned villages. though different now, you will still be hunted in places where they do not understand you. when you emerge, you will be different. stronger, bigger, the very color of your scales will have changed. that dragons have merely one den is a tale. this was merely the place of your transition. now, sleep.

rainbow dreams

this week's rainbow dreams is brought to you by the triple goddess tarot, earth mothers all over the world, and the letter D...


so i know they're mainly a lot of bunk and created just for fun, but whenever i take a "which ______ goddess are you?" personality quiz online i always end up as some culture's version of the earth mother. every single time, too. mother goddess, earth mother, queen of heaven, it's all the same really, just different titles for the same facet of the Funky Jive.

on the other hand, bunk though it may be, i find it fitting.

look deeper into Her personality, and you'll find traces of me. look more deeply into my personality, and you'll find Her. in some cultures, she created dancing and singing. she's creatrix of the loom, or gave humanity the secret of brewing beer. she has wonderful bedside manner, and always knows the exact thing to make for someone who is sick, or somehow else in need. she always has full, motherly curves rather than the vixen sleekness of her love goddess sister, but even --especially-- au naturale, she's at her most beautiful. she's deeply sensual, taking pleasure in her world; from the fragrances of her land and her people carried on the breeze, to the cool grass beneath her bare feet, to the sound of the rocks and trees or the food, music, and laughter of the people around her, she immerses herself in all of it and the multiverse could not contain her love for it. she's profoundly sexual, and all acts of love are her rituals. her body IS the Menstrual Temple of the Funky Grail.

i've always been a nurturer. i've received some very high compliments in my life, but one of the highest i still hold dear is when i was told that yes, no matter how dire my own need is, should someone stumble through that door right now, i would drop everything and be running to help her. and i would, too. (now, before someone calls me a liar or hypocrite, this quality does not apply to energetic and emotional vampires like greggo, for whom i wasted so much of myself for so long before finally prying him off.)

last night i was out with a friend of mine and we had dinner and walked through downtown for a couple hours. we strolled through the parks up along 12th ave and meandered through the PSU campus. we twirled and pranced along the astro-turf practice soccer field, walked barefoot through the grass along the greenhouses, listened to the campus local wildlife late at night: co-eds laughing, studying, fooling around. we admired all the dogs that people were walking through the park. of course, the groomer in me couldn't help but eye each dog, identifying breed, what sort of trim they had, and shaking my head at the poor job of some of the body contours because i could still spot tracking. had those doggies been on my table, they would not have left looking like that! i make puppies purtiful.

it was a clear night, breezy but cool, and the wind played with my waist-length hair, twisting and fluttering tendrils in front of my face like chestnut streamers. the trees were happy, the grass soft and damp beneath my freshly pedicured feet. i was fat and happy after a lovely dinner and fantastic conversation. the traffic down park ave was like music, and the familiar lights let me know i was home. i was so in love last night --with portland-- i wonder how my heart could contain it.

i couldn't separate myself from it, and i didn't want to. all was As It Should Be, and i wonder if that's how gaia feels about us all --only on a much grander scale, of course!

when i love, i love with all of me. and now, when i make love, it's with all of me. when i give, i give until there should be pain but there is only joy. i have to be vastly and severely hurt over a very long period of time before it'll even occur to me to protect myself because my fundamental nature is giving. i can't really conceive of closing myself off anymore because yes, being closed would protect me from further pain, but being closed also shuts out all the possibilities of love and giving that are out there, every single day, just waiting for us. i made the choice, when i went to find my Funk, to be open to the love.

there is only love.

what does abundance mean to me? abundance is love. it's ALL love. Love is the loaves and fishes of the multiverse: the more you choose to be open to, the more it poures over you in tidal waves. the more you approach a situation, a person, a day with love...the more you find just waiting for you. put on love-colored glasses and, yes, you will see reality as it is, but it will inspire funkalicious compassion which is just another form of love. people won't seem as hostile -- just human, capable of enormous mistakes and even more magnificent breakthroughs. the universe will rejoice as you finally take notice of how hard it's been working to secretly shower you with blessings. the miracle of the sun --freely and without hesitation or complaint transforming four million tons of itself each day into energy and light for us to use as food, fuel, warmth, and life-- will seem like nothing less than a miracle of love given to us simply because we Are.

the more you love, the more you will be loved. but you must be open to it, freely and completely and unabashedly.

then your world will go BOOM!

...and the Jiggy Snake will go, "Wee!"

rainbow dreams

this week's rainbow dreams is brought to you by the Triple Goddess Tarot, Angelic Wisdom, and the number 3...


the surrounding grounds and gardens of the Menstrual Temple of the Funky Grail are breathtaking and expansive, like the wings of the smiling sphinx who hands me candy calaveras coated in the dust of the bones of my antepasados, my ancestors, as i walk beneath the diamond arch onto the temple grounds. the dust on those little candy skulls always shimmers, like gold and garnet dust, and the taste of it on my tongue explodes in a fury of fireworks and wild swans. hot wonder explodes down my arms, my legs, in my womb, up my spine with all the thermonuclear passion in the heart of the sun.

this, upon first setting foot upon the hallowed dirt over which floats the Menstrual Temple, as if to say, "remember you are the universe, and the universe wants to throw you a fiesta." not that there's anything wrong with the notion that to dust i shall return, because in actuality each grain of dust is a tiny, microscopic rock in which is contained the very secrets and stories of the universe. and, if you listen, they will regale you with tales of Baligab the Singing Three-Tailed Serpent, Horgadad the Beautiful Queen of the Orcs, Skochbop the Magnificent Fool and his twin, Borlifad the Tiny Giant, who can change his shape at will.

all these tales and more, if you but listen to dust. and then maybe, just maybe, they will teach you to ask clouds questions, converse with trees, and allow water to be the solid ground upon which you may walk.

i was in the sand garden, east of the Menstrual Temple, dancing to the gentle hum of the millions of conversations being had between the grains of sand amongst themselves. shimmering, pearly shells and holy rocks and driftwood, twisting and stretching and winding like young gypsy girls dancing the virgin's bridal dance before the fires...they were lined along the edge of the garden for my pleasure, to array in the sand as i wished. there were wooden rakes and fresh brooms of all sorts, as well, to draw waves of designs. a gigantic zen garden where my every footstep was a sacred mark of the universe upon itself.

surrounded by so much holiness and contemplation, meditation and solemnity, bizarre and orgiastic profundity i'd come to associate with being in the presence of the Funky Grail, suddenly there rose within me an overwhelming desire to find a sacred cow to tip.

she came, then.

until this moment, i'd only encountered myselves, and the goddesses: the vulture goddess and the blue-skinned, eight-armed avenger healer with no mercy and infinite compassion: She Who Would Teach Us to Laugh and then Make Us Cry in the Same Breath, She of the Cosmic Puns, the Patroness of Revolutionary Dreamers and Freedom Fighters Everywhere.

but there she was, the pomegranate priestess. i'd heard of them but until this moment had never seen one of them. i'd heard them in the darkened corners, behind the pillars at the altar of the Temple. she was in a red robe, shoulders bare, glossy hair braided tightly at the scalp in tiny, perfect, beautiful little braids and then left loose to tumble down her back in foamy, graceful curls. her feet were bare, the soles of her feet stained a dark red, like blood. the same color stained her palms, and came up in mezmerizing whorls and dots on her hands and up her forearms, on the tops of her feet and partway up her calves, and on her face. she smelled of amber and bone dust, pomegranates and peace. touching those red tattoos with my tongue, i imagined, would taste like my ancestors.

the pomegranate priestess looked at me, her face serene, but i could see behind it to the sternness of the vulture goddess and the blue revolutionary bandit peacemaker goddess. somehow i knew she never opened her mouth save when the goddesses wished to speak.

"review every detail of your life, honoring every moment as if you were holding a benevolent Judgement Day," she said.

"huh?" i said.

"eat money. fuck gravity. drink the sun. dream like a stone. sing in the acid rain." her dark eyes pierced into me, and there was an urgency in her voice as if it were the most important thing i learn how to--

"what the--? how'm i supposed to fuck grav--"

the vulture goddess smiled, and even in the warm sand my feet were cold. "The world is crazily in love with you, wildly and innocently in love. Even now, thousands of secret helpers are conspiring to turn you into the beautiful curiosity you were born to be."

by now the sand grains' conversations were tickling my feet something intense. but i couldn't move. "i don't see what this has to do with fucking gravity."

the pomegranate priestess frowned, and for a moment it looked as if there were a small sickle in her hand, the skin of her red-stained hand suddenly blue. "Are you finally ready to start loving life back with an equal intensity? The ardor it has shown you has not exactly been unrequited, but there is room for you to be more demonstrative."

the sands were quiet, but the wind was laughing. i could hear the rustle of the smiling sphinx's wings on the breeze. "i only just woke up." it was a weak excuse, i knew, especially looking at that sickle.

"don't worry," she said, suddenly sounding very, comfortingly, human. the sickle was gone. "find what you fill your cup with each day. that is a start, child." she turned and walked away.

i looked down at my feet, looked at the grains of sand. they were quiet, waiting to hear my reply. when all i did was shrug, they gave a collective sigh. "fine, fine, okay. i get it. do any of you know where i might find a sacred cow who needs tipping?"

delena's confessional

perhaps there's still a little bit of the catholic school girl in me after all, because i swear every title i could come up with for this entry had the word "confessional" in it. i suppose i have to wonder from whom i'm seeking to receive absolution.

and there's really only one answer for a good little witch like me, because we can forgive others, but it does us no good without forgiving ourselves.

i recently joined a virtual circle called rainbow dreams because mich is an absolute sweetheart and i adore her, i love her blog and there's always something there i can take with me for the rest of the day. like boho mom and me, she has very much rocked into Oneness with her own inner Funk, she just calls it by a different name.

her drummer's got a different beat, too, but it's gorgeous. sometimes i wish i could be as classy, poised, and elegant as she is but, alas, "queenly" is not one of my defining adjectives. i'm more street rat and funky, but that's okay.

anyway, every week mich draws us a card from her absolutely funktastic and vivid inner child tarot cards. i'm totally in love with the art on this deck, i swear.

this week she drew the Two of Wands, the card of inner transformation and the beloved self. "what does your original face look like?" she asks. "who is your true self? are you radiant and glowing?"

now, i could say that all a person needs to do to see delena's original face is to read iGoddess. my true self is plastered everywhere for anyone with internet access to read. and after marinating in the Funk for as long as i have, would i be anything other than radiant and glowing? of course i'm radiant and glowing!

but that would be a cop out. especially after the realizations i had yesterday. y'know, a part of me has always kinda wondered why i do a double take whenever i look in the mirror. it's almost always been that way. i look in the mirror, but i only glance, and i never look into my own eyes at first glance. but the feeling is overwhelming that i've overlooked something, that there's something else there, so i look again.

sometimes there's still trepidation whenever i look, a part of me wondering if i've dreamed the last year and the differences i remember seeing yesterday are going to be suddenly gone. it's fleeting, but sometimes it's there. i like what i see, though, when i look. in fact, i like looking. there's something there, though, and i'm not sure quite what it is. i have an inkling.

as for my true self...

she's quite a fluid concept right now. i'm not what i once was. the delena whom my southern californian family knew growing up is not the same delena whom my friends have grown up knowing for the past fourteen years. and she is not the same delena *mj* and *cc*, *ds* and *ks* and *kas* have come to know and love. and even that delena has grown into a completely different creature, transmogrifying before their very eyes, almost.



so i suppose the best i could say is that my "true" self isn't done and maybe needs to adjust a few more settings on the transmogrifier.

there are a few things that will never change, though, as much as i wish they might. this, i think, is where absolution comes in, because every single bloody day i try my hardest to be something i'm n--

well, that's not entirely accurate. i should've said that i try my hardest not to be something i am. which, i suppose might look like simple semantics but makes a huge difference. and every single day there's a little internal struggle as i fight to be smart and strong and slow and steady. but the fucking truth is that i'm adventurous and reckless and a hopeless romantic. the fucking truth is that once you're in my trust, there's no difference between you and any other member of my family. no more "delena lite," but the whole orgasmically delicious, totally organic delena in her entirety.

this is not always a Good Thing. just ask the people who've known me for ten years or more. and just the other day, *t* texted me and pretty much begged me not to be myself. "i'm trying," i texted back. "omg, you have no idea." i suppose there's a certain irony and fucking hilariousness when you realize that your true self is a detriment to yourself sometimes.

'tis the Year of Secrets, entering the last semester of my last year before graduation from this chapter in the Delena Saga of Funky Wowness. and if memory serves, in both high school and college, the last semester was always the killer. i have a feeling the things i'll be facing pretty soon will be more difficult than i thought.

unless i'm going about this in entirely backwards fashion. is my true self truly a detriment to myself? in the Funk According to Delena, the answer is most assuredly a resounding No. my judgment might have been flawed, but my nature was always above reproach. as it is with all of us.

so how does this fit?

how does my true self fit this without fucking up?