Worn Out Gloves
|Koszmarne Gąszczu Kołysanki from Deviant Art|
I'm the Memory Collector, your companion and spirit guide.
Let's unwind the clock, peel the past.
The reflections you give me, conjure, surrender from within,
I throw into the fire, the cauldron of resolutions.
They burn into embers and flickers that evolve into butterflies.
They flutter away, heal and free you of all chains
so they can revisit and invent who you are.
Let the dance begin..."
In Europe, I live on Air, and Prayer and Stone...
|Pembrokeshire Coast - Wales|
|Readings at Harmony Holistics|
|Time, Transition, Spiraling, Expanding|
Life is simple and elemental in The Rooms of Time
|La Chapelle Montbrandeix|
|La Chapelle Montbrandeix|
John O'Donohue - Conamara Blues
|Another Day, Another Portal - Tarot Readings at Harmony Holistics|
|The door to the invisible must be visible - Rene Daumal|
It's always now. The now is eternal. We always see with memory.
Laugh a lot, it clears the lungs.
My Chariot year proved true to its wheels; they never stopped turning.
|The Chariot, www.alexandraeldridge.com|
There is no chronology of events to follow here, especially when I'm thinkin' from my heart, but life don't clickety clack down a straight line track, it comes together and it comes apart. - Ferron, from Ain't Life a Brook. And the Cards exist outside of linear time; if I knew more about Quantum logic I could tell you more about that, but I don't!
|Somewhere in Santa Fe, Chimayo, Silver City?|
I don't know what it's like for you but here's what
it's like for me... I wanted to turn beautiful and
serve Eternity and never follow money or love with
greasy hands, or move the earth and waters just to make
it fit my plans. My eyes would be the harbor, my words
the perfect place for a girl on a road.
...and they did, May and June from Charras to Bordeaux, Fr., Amsterdam, San Francisco, Vallejo, Mill Valley, Albuquerque, Santa Fe, Taos, Chimayo, Silver City and all the way back again. In August & September, Southeast France. Maps on my taps. I read for French students in the train station, in airports - after the flight from Amsterdam to Bordeaux was cancelled, I read for anxiety-pocked travelers at the "home on the road hotel". Guess what they wanted to know? I read for 20 women & one lovely man at a garden party in Ross with Hawaiian dancers & music. I read for dozens at the Good Earth in Mill Valley. After 200 Tarot readings, I stopped counting.
|HOOP, Andrea Broyles, Santa Fe, N.M.|
This journey is best described by a concept borrowed from Plato, 'metaxu', being 'in between,' in between our earth...comprehensible, concrete, material surroundings, and transcendence, mystery...the situation of the human who is incurably 'en route.
In Defense of Ardor: Essays - Adam Zagajewski
|Andreabroyles.net - Santa Fe, New Mexico|
The body is the road. Edmond Jabès
This place where you are right now, God Circled on a map for you. Hafiz
|Steps - Canyon Road, Santa Fe, N.M.|
Traveling was an opening to revelation, to the natural stories, cycles and powers outside of myself - enough tiptoeing to the windowsill! A pilgrimage of sorts, as poet, David Whyte, speaks about in "A Great Invitation"; escaping one's own confining story, through entering the stories of others, being found by the world.
"That day I saw beneath dark clouds
The passing light over the water,
And I heard the voice of the world speak out.
I knew then as I have before,
Life is no passing memory of what has been,
Nor the remaining pages of a great book
Waiting to be read.
It is the opening of eyes long closed.
It is the vision of far off things,
Seen for the silence they hold.
It is the heart after years of secret conversing
Speaking out loud in the clear air.
It is Moses in the desert fallen to his knees
Before the lit bush.
It is the man throwing away his shoes
As if to enter heaven and finding himself astonished,
Opened at last,
Fallen in love
With Solid Ground."
~ David Whyte,
|Mural on wall of The Market - Tesuque, N.M.|
|Dawn/Aurora - at the beginning|
|Open to Revelation|
|Walking the Labyrinth - Ojo Caliente, N.M.|
|The Opening of Eyes|
And he said,
'All that happens.'
Love Poems from God: by Daniel Ladinsky
So many Misbegotten Moons between The Desire of Stars and The Year of Mercy. I lost two blogs - words upon words written over weeks, days, hours, vanished. The first one went AWOL after I had written the last sentence, the ink wasn't even dry. Poof! went the Photo Phantasms. Blood, sweat and tears poured over the wireless keyboard. Went through the seven stages of grief; gave up piecing the blogs back together, started afresh, surfing the waves of consciousness by watching lots of Danish and Swedish crime shows, and a French detective series called Spiral. It seemed important to surround myself with narratives I couldn't completely understand.
I got so much sympathy, empathy from my friends (mostly all writers). It's true what Henry James said about the three things in life that are important: The first is to have sympathy; the second is to have sympathy; and the third is to have sympathy. I'll add a fourth: Back Up (though that is not possible with Blogger - what is lost is lost).
I realize we are in a different world now then when I wrote those words. Back then I was watching The Vikings (which coupled well with the interminable election), envisioning myself as the Shield Maiden, Lagertha, based on the flesh and blood Lagertha, who was married to THE real Ragnar Lothbrok.
|Shieldmaiden Hervor dying after battle with the Huns - Painting Peter Nicolai Arbo|
|Meow Wolf - Santa Fe, New Mexico|
The greatest joy was to see old friends and old haunts with "new eyes" - to be a foreigner in the land of the familiar. And to be able to tell so many what they had meant to me, how they had changed me, touched my life, both here and there, then and now. Some traveled great distances, like Christine, who came all the way from Mineral Pt. Wisconsin on trains and buses to Santa Fe (good practice for her Camino Pilgrimage!), poet/artist Kim from Idaho, Jan from Italy Tarot Tour, Sherry on the Ferry, Laurie (my past/present/future girl!), and Jeannie, Donna & Victoria, Richard, Mikethustra, Denny & Greg from Malibu, my beloved brother Mark and poet Kathy Evans, and Liisa & Aurora, the Diamond Hearts at the center of my journey.
|Niki de St. Phalle - Tuscany Sculpture Garden - Italy Tarot Tour|
And to all those who gave me shelter in their wonderful homes; Dawn in Vallejo, Judy in Mill Valley, Alexandra and Rick in Tesuque, Stewart Warren in Silver City, Pamela Williams in Santa Fe - Thank you! And for all the Cards and Confidences we shared. I was able to read for almost every last one, as well as the now grown up children of my friends, Sean, Michelle, Sadie and Liam.
|Judy's in Mill Valley before Ross Tarot Event|
|With my brother Mark at Dawn's in Vallejo|
What Balzac said about friendship:
I am sorry there were those whom I didn't get to see.
|"I wish you were here" - www.alexandraeldridge.com|
|Me & St. Michael|
|Gila National Forest- New Mexico|
|Museum of International Folk Art - Santa Fe, N.M.|
|Nothing sweeter than old friends - with Christine & Jane|
|Museum of International Folk Art|
|I am an Angel, but tell no one - www.alexandraeldridge.com|
|Shidoni Sculpture Garden, Tesuque, N.M.|
|Liisa waiting patiently at Wu Wei Temple, Fairax, Ca.|
It was a "Wu-Wei" evening, introducing the Le Petit Lenormand cards, coupled with Tarot, into the Temple. Good things happened, natural action, in alignment with the flow of chocolate biscuits.
|Reading Tarot at Wu Wei Temple - Fairfax, Ca.|
I was riding a magic carpet of "transformation" of my own, along with the destinies of those who came tiptoeing or storming in for readings. Together we shaped and co-created futures, rather than continually correcting the past.
|The Emperor - Tesuque, N.M|
|I Love You All! Overpriced Kava & Chocolate Biscuits|
I lived & worked in Fairfax for many happy years in a little treehouse on Bolinas Rd.
It was pretty as a painting up there.
|Cows Grazing, Road to Bolinas - Thaddeus Welch, 1844 - 1919|
|Pamela Williams - Silver City|
|Available on Amazon!|
|At Jennifer's, surrounded by the scent of Art and French cuisine|
... Pamela would introduce me to her dear friend, Jennifer, living in Mill Valley, and Jennifer would prepare us a 5 star french meal along with sharing her wonderful, eclectic art collection.
And to my own wise dear seer & soul sister from our "convent" days: Canadian Astrologer, Dale Perigoe, who couldn't be there in the flesh; your Maggie Muggins wore the earrings, blessings and love you sent, with the knowledge we can both get off our knees now - in this lifetime. Wined and dined, I shan't dare whine about aging.
|A Devil and two Angels|
Alexandra sent a birthday cake! Ruffles (Jeanne Bennion), true Alchemist, Artist, Greek scholar, parfumeure and my conduit to the Gods and Goddesses, sent Hermes & the Lyre & Athena of the Trees, in a Butterfly Box of pure essential oils, with her exquisite artwork and writings. They infused my readings with juju!
|Joyeux Anniversaire - Tesuque, N.M.|
|Hermes and the Lyre - Jeanne Bennion|
|Out of the Darkness - www.alexandraeldridge.com|
|Papillon & Birthday Reading - June 6|
We're all dancing on the Causal Plane together
|Rodolphe Ernst - The Perfume Maker - likely 19th c.|
|Princess of Wands - Hard Desire|
|Pholarchos Tarot - www.carmensorrenti.com|
|Daily Alchemy - www.carmensorrenti.com|
Memory is a transcendental function.
|Stephanie H. Artist - Tesuque. N.M.|
|Azima - Sufi, Taoist, Minister - Silver City, N.M.|
|Agape - Stephanie Howard|
In 1897, a French doctor named Hippolyte Baraduc conducted a series of photographic experiments. He hoped to prove that the soul does indeed reside in the body and leaves it at the moment of death. He fastened a live pigeon to a board with its wings outstretched then placed a photographic plate on its chest and secured it tightly. As he'd hoped, when he cut the pigeon's throat the plate depicted something. The Soul leaving took the form of curling eddies, he said. Up until the 17th c., it was widely believed that magnets had souls. How else could an object attract or repel? - from Jenny Offill's Department of Speculation
|Kathy Evans - Soul Card|
The Buddhists say there are 121 states of consciousness. Of these, only three involve misery or suffering. Most of us spend our time moving back and forth between these three.
|Golden Gate Bridge|
|Mill Valley, CA|
|Mill Valley, CA|
|Kim Mott with matching car|
|We found some ducks|
|A rare bird|
|One of the last fishermen in Mill Valley|
|Kim has a knack for finding useful information|
Kim's my Buddhist, poet, artist, sandpainting, yogameister, wine sommelier friend, who also lived in Fairfax for many years. She opened up and ran a stellar painting gallery there. She lives in McCall/Boise, ID. now, homesteading and conserving the land and the animals who inhabit it. No matter where we roam, we write to and for each other. We've been in an adhoc writing group together with Mikethustra for around 20+ years. I don't know why they let me in. I'm a dumb blonde. They're both much better writers than I am. Maybe because I have large breasts?! Having Kim for a friend is like having Aladdin's lamp; she makes your wishes come true. (That's how I got the large breasts) - just kidding.
|Parade Ready! Hats compliments of Mikethustra (I got the best one)|
|Give Peace a Chance|
We were in a time warp - it was as though we had never left. Up in the hills, it was 2020, cyborgs and million dollar homes. Down in the flats, Ghandi held sway with Wavy Gravy, the rainbow & tie dye people, Gumby and Scottish Pipers. It was almost the "Summer of Love" that never was.
and wild strawberries, drops of wine, the dew.
The nettles that methodically overgrow
the abandoned homesteads of exiles.
You watched the stylish yachts and ships;
one of them had a long trip ahead of it,
while salty oblivion awaited others.
You’ve seen the refugees heading nowhere,
you’ve heard the executioners sing joyfully.
Remember the moments when we were together
in a white room and the curtain fluttered.
Return in thought to the concert where music flared.
You gathered acorns in the park in autumn
and leaves eddied over the earth’s scars.
and the gray feather a thrush lost,
and the gentle light that strays and vanishes
Quelle Joie! I got to spend some rare time with Kathy Evans, Imagination Comes to Breakfast, my Waldo Pt. Harbor comrade; our docks within waving distance; we "surfed" the high and low tides of life together, kayaks and caroling, Hip-Hop in San Francisco, daffodil stalking with Wordsworth perched on our shoulders, & walking the desert, Burning Man, jazz till dawn. Kathy of Poets in the Schools, Juvie Hall, UCSF Benioff Children's Hospital. Graphic Recording, the Tingler, Oxygen bar, Cirque de Soleil in Vegas! And the job I almost took at The Grove. I would have seen you everyday Kathy. France has great cheese and wine, but no Kathy to age and mellow with.
|Kathy Evans - Teacher, Poet, Word Doctor|
|Reading for Kathy at the Good Earth|
|Kathy Evans - Soul Card|
|Kathy Evans - Soul Card|
|My Soul, Where Are You? www.alexandraeldridge.com|
|Reading for Jan Walker - Good Earth|
|Good Earth with Victoria, Celtic Queen|
|Liisa/Vasu (Yes, her name has 2 i's)|
|Beloved Limantour Beach, Pt. Reyes Station|
|With the Sequoias in a Blue Dream|
Liisa and I go way back, so much history, but not so many parallels. We worked together for Shen Foundation, East Meets West, the best of Chinese and Western medicine, where Liisa was on the forefront of discovery; presenting workshops/seminars/research grants for alternative medicine, Shamanic Medicine and good old Traditional Medicine with a side dish of psychics and channels. Liisa brought the latest and greatest of cutting edge peeps thru the portals of Shen Foundation/Fairfax and beyond.
She had her bonafides after being a side kick to Ram Dass from the very earliest Indian ragas. But more than that, we both fervently believe we are the architects of our own reality. Once we camped at the foot of Mt. Shasta and fought off the bears together. Remember, Liisa? And sharing doobies in Gloucester with your Dad, Russell before he died? It was the last time we both saw him alive. We three went to the House of Seven Gables in Salem.
My respect for you went over the moon. I saw how you honored him; held the portal open for him as he stepped thru with dignity, and the grace accorded a Celtic Warrior. And the irony of the theme of Hawthorne's book, House of...the wrong-doing of one generation lives into the successive ones, and . . . becomes a pure and uncontrollable mischief. Russell loved that. You're a mick off the old block, O'Maley.
And also good at all the things I'm not, like geography and organizing anything and everything. Even got our money back when we got sucked into that Airplane game donkeys years ago. I'm in Awe. Liisa's a psychic entitity. A Pisces born in a Leap Year - no wonder! Tickety boo - Thank you for everything Vasu!
|Rick Stevens - Psychic Entity - Santa Fe, N.M.|
|The House of Eternal Return - Meow Wolf, Santa Fe, N.M.|
|Mark - Tennessee Valley|
|Kelp - An endless source of fun|
|Dreaming Way Lenormand|
|Sponge Bob's favorite breakfast cereal|
|Tennessee Valley Road past algae filled ditches|
|Deer - Tennessee Valley|
You would not have called to me unless I had been calling to you. - C.S. Lewis, Aslan to Jill in The Silver Chair
YEAR OF MERCY
|St.Francis - Cathedral Basilica - Santa Fe, N.M.|
|St. Francis, Ditto|
|Jesus - Santa Fe, Chez Mamou|
Aurora dropped me off at the Basilica, and I set forth to find the Tune-Up Cafe, which had been recommended to me by reliable sources. I was so looking forward to some Huevos and Mexican coffee. As good as they be, I'm burned out on Cafe au Laits and Croissants! In dawn's light, just breaking, I walked along the immaculate Santa Fe streets, just stirring, lécher les vitrines (licking the windows - "window shopping" in french). I love a city when it's just waking up, in its own reverie, still a little sleepy and slow.
Art and beauty partout-everywhere! but I had to get some coffee! I stopped and asked directions at a parking garage that looked like an entry to a designer store. Kind and gracious, the attendant was like a host for an art opening. He pulled out a colorful, local map (which I still have), got out his I-phone (which I don't have) & placed me right at the Tune-up Cafe. As I left the garage, I made a note that I could actually live there, if necessary. Just bring a sleeping bag into one of the cozy parking stalls.
Next, I got lost, because I always do: geographcally dyslexic. On my way to being lost, I walked two miles and passed three french cafes! The handwriting was on the wall. No huevos for me! The siren call of Chez Mamou coincided with the call of caffeine.
I settled into a sweet table in the tree-limned, side courtyard, which had the authentic air of a French Cafe in Paris, but without all the noise and exhaust fumes. Tranquility personified, I could work on a reading I was doing for a friend.
I was in Heaven (with coffee). And then along came Jesus, sweeping the path alongside me. He stopped and stared at the cards with the biggest brown eyes I've ever seen. I asked him if he was interested in the cards. Guess what? He spoke no English or French, and I spoke no Spanish, but somehow I gleaned that he did numerology & was interested in the esoteric arts. If only my friend Dottie was there with her fluent French and Spanish. All would be revealed in the time it takes to say: Te entiendo...
But we muddled along, I figured out he was from Colombia and wanted to go to Miami; using hilarious hand signals, I asked him if he wanted a reading. He did, AND he wanted to do a numerology reading for me. This was obviously beyond our linguistic compatabilities; but then central casting sent in the proprietere, the Chef, a lovely man, (who'd been staring at us from behind a palm tree) speaking fluent French and Spanish (but then he would be, wouldn't he, running Chez Mamou?!). Tres gentille, our interpreter.
What the cards told me, and what I told Jesus is between he, and me, and God. What Jesus told me (through Monsieur R.), was that he had met a lot of people in his young/old life, and some were good on the outside, some were good on the inside, but I was one of the only ones who's inside matched the outside. Well, I'm crying now as I write this, because it was one of the most profound blessings I've ever received. It truly was the "Year of Mercy." And I can see Jesus from here, Salsa dancing the night away at Cuba Ocho, Little Havana, in Miami.
Okay, Odin is really getting angry again, the suitcase way overstuffed! But hey, most of it is photos and poems; one can zippety do dah past all the text, like a comic book. I could keep going, as this is just the beginning, but my brother, thank Dieu, reminded me of the "Rule of Three," which in writing says things are funnier, more satisfying, and effective when they come in threes. There is also a Wicca three-fold law that states, whatever energy you put in the world, positive or negative, will come back three times. I hope this has been a positive experience for those reading my words, because they'll be two more parts (Jesus willing) to follow. Blessings to you all as we launch ourselves into this exquisite and terrifying year ahead.
|Book with Wings - Anselm Kiefer|
God speaks to each of us as he makes us,These are the words we dimly hear:
then walks with us silently out of the night.
You, sent out beyond your recall,
go to the limits of your longing.
Flare up like a flameLet everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
and make big shadows I can move in.
Just keep going. No feeling is final.
Don't let yourself lose me.
Nearby is the country they call life.
You will know it by its seriousness.
Give me your hand
Next time: Part II - Mysticism for Beginners, a Trip to the Desert, a visit to Lisa de St. Croix's (my Italy tarot tour roomie) Santa Fe Studio, Poetry Reading in Silver City (Abcedarian poem, 16 pages, I bet you can't wait!) and more Alchemy...
|Silver City, N.M. - Poetry Reading|
In our earthly house, windows are replaced by mirrors, the door; until a given time is closed; but air comes in through the cracks. from the Gift, "Pale Fire: The Magic of Artistic Discovery" - Vladamir Nobokov
|Worn out Glove - Charras, France|