Here’s a rule of thumb that will help you: If you believe that something is good, and you do it, it benefits you. If you believe that something is bad, and you do it, it is a very detrimental experience.
— Abraham

But tonight is not one of those times. And so stars burn fiercely above, each one a beacon to the next step towards desire. With a thought the roof above my quarters in the Hacienda is gone, and the light shines down on me with cool, cool clarity.

From Wikipedia:

James Truslow Adams coined the phrase “American Dream” in his 1931 book Epic of America:

“The American Dream is that dream of a land in which life should be better and richer and fuller for every man, with opportunity for each according to ability or achievement. It is a difficult dream for the European upper classes to interpret adequately, and too many of us ourselves have grown weary and mistrustful of it. It is not a dream of motor cars and high wages merely, but a dream of social order in which each man and each woman shall be able to attain to the fullest stature of which they are innately capable, and be recognized by others for what they are, regardless of the fortuitous circumstances of birth or position.

Winds sweep in over the Oasis, winds from the East that blow through the lush greenery, making it sound like the ocean rushing in. The stars look close enough to touch, and so I do…

Because when you loose yourself a little, or maybe even a lot, the good sort of love believes in the you that you misplaced for a little while. If you’re smart, you’ll remember that the you that love believes in is really pretty great.

And just like that, with sneakish simplicity, you’re found.

Ataxia

Ataxia would like to talk to us, but she can’t. She is out of time and out of place, and her resulting state of flux has left her unable to purse her lips and form the words with mouth, tongue, or larynx. Ataxia’s dress made of sky is impossible in the heavens where she lives, but for her it is simply another symptom. She cannot move herself correctly, and that is why she is held up by strings like a marionette.

Ataxia’s plight is this: she has no will of her own. She did, once. Eons ago, Ataxia was a facet of the Earth Mother herself, as the Spring Maiden. She had a different name, one long forgotten by us, and perhaps even by her; we may never know. As we progressed in our evolution, Ataxia withered in hers. All that is left of this child who was worshipped every planting season before May was called May is this shell, this remnant, this warning and reminder of what, if we aren’t careful, we may loose forever.

Ataxia has become subject to the rationalization of the world, to the worship of the external and control at the sake of the internal and communion. She is the deepest knowing that we so often shun and run from and ignore. Her mix-matched, half-this, half-that, all-nothing state is the result of the attempt to control the mind, to control the soul. This belief of control has seized up Ataxia’s limbs, rendering them spasmodic. She no longer works right; just like we no longer work within the whole of our potential.

But Ataxia is not catatonic yet, and every so often she struggles to push meaning through to her rebellious body. As long as she cares enough to try, it means that enough of us are trying, too.

Seduction of the Moon

Allune is mistress of emotion, which means her nature is changeable as wind, as the skin on a snake. When we are caught in the riptide of an emotion, Allune comes to us and grabs a firm hold. She knows emotion for what it is: the weather of the soul. We feel emotion and let it define us, but what we feel is not who we are. When we forget and get lost in those feelings (even happiness can sweep you away into forgetting reality), Allune does her best to guide us back to shore where we can think and breathe again.

Allune speaks:

I have found it such a curious thing! When I grasp for one they let me go. When I hold them close they strike out at me, flailing and thrashing. It must be that you humans love the embrace of the emotion so much you cannot let it go. But one does not always have to be wet to love the ocean, my darlings. All the world will be the same, I promise you, if you view it from the shore.

This post is dedicated to Joann. Though I still want to like my cake and eat it too…

Kavanyi

Kavanyi is poised, ready to dive. It is not water that Kavanyi treads, but the abyss that Malis guards.

Did you think you would have to do this alone? When you are ready and Malis steps aside for you, she sends out a call to her friend Kavanyi. And Kavanyi dives.

Whether or not you see her, Kavanyi walks by you in the dark places. When she shines to light your way, you are able to laugh at a joke even when everything is falling apart. When she takes your hand, you have a breakthrough moment that lets you continue on. When she nudges you gently, you see the information you need right then to figure things out.

Kavanyi’s name in our world is Grace.

Kavanyi speaks:

Never look for me, because I am always with you in the dark. Trust yourself and let me help you. The universe is always looking for excuses to help you, and I am merely a part of that. Remember that you cannot fail, because there is no failing. And when we see you through the abyss, I will be your sister and my task will fall also to you.

Kempethra, Walking Alongside Fear

A long time ago, Kempethra’s white robes were unstained. The walls of the buildings of her realm were white. But now all is covered over with blood, and Kempethra mourns.

She does not know how it happened. One day she turned a corner and the side of her house was marred by a slash of fresh, wet red, as if the house itself was wounded. Kempethra gasped, and looked about, but saw nothing and no one. That was the first time. But it continued, the dripping bloodstains appearing over and over on everything in sight, until the streets ran red. Kempethra, horrified, looked for an answer but could find nothing amiss.

Kempethra speaks:

Tell me. I beg you to tell me what has happened here. When I touch the blood-soaked walls they respond only with echos of pain. You have to help me! The victims of these hurts must be here, must be somewhere close by. We must put an end to this suffering. I can not stand for this atrocity to exist in my world. The culprit must be found and stopped.

Kempethra’s words are compelling, but I warn you not to listen. She Walks Alongside Fear, and so will never see the truth: that she inflicted those terrible wounds, one by one. Those who walk with fear do not realize that fears are not private things. When fear drives us, we act out of fear. The self-preservation that we learned as children protects us by hitting at others. Kempethra does not know she walks with fear. She cannot see how anyone of her sweet, caring nature could do something so terrible. And the blood still flows, and endlessly she searches.

Only by truly acknowledging ourselves as responsible can we leave Kempethra’s realm and go to see her sister, Malis, who will show us the fears we have to deal with to stop the endless bloodshed.

Ornythia, She Who Speaks to Birds

Ornythia speaks:

The wise know the mask for what it is. The wise do not wear a mask at all. Emotions haunt us all; to liberate them from haunting you, remember the mask is only a filter for the benefit of others, not yourself.

Ornythia uses her bell to chase spirits away from us, and she finds that a hateful task. Often spirits are of the helpful sort, that mean to show us what we need to see or to place what we need on our path. In fear we call on Ornythia to keep us away from all influences, good and bad. The sound of her bell hurts the spirits, and over the millennia Ornythia has pained demons and wee folk, gods and angels, and all manner of fairy creatures and saints. Centuries ago, Ornythia would weep for the damage her bell inflicted, and for herself and her curse that she had no freedom to decide, only to act as petitioners begged her to act. She cried until her tears formed a lake. But weeping did not change anything and her heart grew cold. She stands now on the lake of her tears turned to ice, frozen from the deep, cold anger that has settled in her heart to stay. The fish frozen in the lake calls to Ornythia to remember her true calling, but Ornythia can no longer hear him.

What Ornythia has forgotten is that her bell can chase spirits away or call them to her. If asked, she can ring her bell widdershins and summon for you the spirit you need most to help you right at that moment. Though it is important to remember that sometimes the universe might feel that the thing you need most right now is a sound thrashing, so Ornythia’s bell will act according to your needs, not necessarily your wants.

Malis

Malis looks very, very accusing. She stands before the abyss, before the monsters in the dark places. SHe is the last hope before the venture into the darkness that lies in our own souls.

One of the greatest and most horrible things Malis can do for us is to hold up her mirror so that we can see our reflection. Her mirror shows us all that we are, in punishing detail. It is her aegis, like the Gorgon’s head for Athena. She takes strength from our wholeness. Her knowing look is comforting in its sardonic cast, because we know that however many times we fail to penetrate our own depths, however many times we go back to her sister, Kempethra, she will be there. Malis will always raise the mirror for us, will always help us to see no matter how many times it takes.

Malis speaks:

I want you to succeed, foolish children. I am the guardian of the place of power that lies within, and I am not here to keep you from it. I am here to open the way. Trust in me, trust in the process, and trust in yourself. Take a deep breath my lamb, and look into the mirror and tell me what you see.

Malis is a sorceress, and knows ways to make you stronger. Will you listen?

Pictures say a thousand words, and recently I’ve been looking hard at pictures to glean the words out of them. Every Tuesday I’ve been going to the local museums and spending over an hour in one room to really take in all the detail laid into each painting.

Those thousand words are in the language of symbols, ready to be examined, interpreted, and re-interpreted to make cohesive sense to the viewer. The color of a shirt, the placement of figures, the perspective, even the negative spaces of an image can all be interpreted, either within the realm of universal symbols or within the realm of the personal (i.e., myth vs. dream).

I began this exercise with the work of my favorite online artist, Thalia Took. She did these amazing drawings that she calls “Dream Cards.” Ms. Took encourages personal interpretations of the cards, so I’ve been seeing what the characters have to say to me. I am doing this in a way to prepare for listening to what characters have to say to me.

The first card I worked with was Pevensal.

Pevensal

Pevensal looks like a purpose brought him to the place that he is at, but having arrived, he has forgotten what that purpose was. Standing in the circle before the tree of life in the garden of the heavens, he has nothing to tell God but that he does not have any answers. How will God judge Pevensal? Is the journey the answer?

Pevensal speaks:

If not for you my name would be lost to the world. But perhaps it would be better that way, lost. I only took this quest because it seemed the only thing to do. I did not choose it, I did not want it. It was thrust upon me and I am a victim of the effects it has had on my life. I am here as you wish me to be, by the tree of life. My quest is finished. I am free to live my life free of it. What do I do now? Will you tell me?

Poor Penvensal. The blue hues that he wears are wisdom, the knowledge of the way the world spins and turns us. But he cannot see the truth that he knows, distracted by the sun-yellow of his tunic, rounded by the black of negativity. He knows yet refuses to see. He sleeps to the truth, denies the sacred that is right there for him to see. What Pevensal doesn’t realize is that nothing stops, no one thing for another. There is no such thing as putting life on hold–for every minute of life is life–there is no other. Life is only lived now, not after or before-what you do now is your life. Pevensal’s confusion comes from the perception of an ending–the end of his quest. What to begin next? But life still rolls on through the confusion. You can shuffle it around and direct it, but only as it is happening.