To There and Back Again

Six months ago in the wee hours of a Sunday morning I dreamed about my oldest son. In this dream, a police officer told me that my son had been hurt and was taken to the hospital. I kept asking over and over again, what happened? Was he going to be okay? There was never a response, just a click and then a dial tone on the other end.

A mother’s intuition can sometimes be unsettling and I woke up with a terrible sense of foreboding.

The next morning I received a phone call with the caller I.D. displaying West Virginia. Normally I don’t answer calls from another state because more times than not they are solicitors. However, I knew from the dream that I had that this call was going to be different. From my solar plexus, I knew that it wasn’t about my daughter overdosing again on heroin. I thank my lucky stars every day that she has gotten her life together and our relationship has blossomed because of her recovery. No, this was definitely different and I knew that I wasn’t going to be prepared, dream or not, for the news coming from the other end of the line.

I was relieved to hear that he was fine and that he was going to be okay, but he was in the hospital.

And then the story unfolded with information that I found difficult to process.

It was Two weeks before the incdent that he called me. He didn’t need money or anything, he just wanted to talk. He was living less than an hour away from us in Portland, but his daily life was busy with working full time and going to college.

I knew that he was stressed, his girlfriend of three years went off to college out of state and the long distance thing wasn’t working out too well. It was on again off again for 6 months before they officially ended it. He hated his job and had taken on too many classes. Add to that, he was having to deal with his alcoholic father who called him incessantly, all hours of the day and night while in a drunken stupor asking for favors that my son would inevitably give in to.

This was a 20 year-old who had reached his breaking point, but I never knew just how bad it had gotten for him. Yes, I knew these things were happening in his life, but the more I pried, the less I knew. He was careful to omit the sordid details; details that would eventually be revealed. He was always one who didn’t want to burden others with his problems, so he kept the conversation light, thanked me for listening and told me he loved me.

A few days later he just up and left at 3 a.m. He packed his car and headed to Kentucky of all places, to visit “friends” he had met on an online game. When he called me from Missouri, I was shocked, but he was an adult. As hard as it was, I bit my tongue. I couldn’t very well ask him what the hell was he doing or demand that he come right home. He was in good spirits and sounded happier than he had for several months.However, this journey he was on wasn’t all he had hoped it would be. He realized that no matter how far he went, he wasn’t going to be able to escape his problems.

So he had decided that there was really only one solution to his misery. After some quick research, he found what he was looking for. He got in his car and drove four hours east. With a Sharpie he wrote his first and last name on one arm (to make sure his body could be identified) and the password to his phone and laptop on the other. He then climbed out onto the ledge of a bridge that is known as a hot spot for suicides. People are drawn to this place with its impressive height and view of the Appalachian Mountains. It was a sure thing to extinguish feelings of hopelessness.

It just so happened that on this sunny day a sheriff’s deputy was on patrol and saw a car illegally parked alongside the bridge. This usually meant only thing, and sure enough he was found standing on the 3 foot wide ledge. This situation was very personal to the deputy because she lost her sister to suicide just three weeks prior. She called for backup and they were able to talk him into being helped from the ledge and taken to the psychiatric unit at the hospital.

The next 5 days were a blur as we caught a flight across the country to West Virginia. We got his car out of impound, and met with the doctors at the hospital. The relief that I felt when I saw him walking down the hall overwhelmed me. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t help the tears that flowed. My hands were trembling when I hugged him. Through his own tears, he kept apologizing for what he put us through, just as he had apologized to the sheriff’s deputy for causing a traffic jam on the bridge. At that time, I could only tell him how much he was loved, and how happy I was that he was still “here”.

The drive home was more of a rollercoaster ride for my emotions, and we sought intensive outpatient care as soon as we got home. We also began family counseling, where we learned that he began thinking about self-harm at 11 years-old. By the time he was 12, he was cutting himself on his upper thighs where the wounds would be hidden.

But he seemed so happy! He laughed; a lot. He played with his younger siblings who were 9 and 10 years his junior. He loved sports. He had lots of friends. But deep down, where we couldn’t see, there was a sadness that grew and grew. We have talked about why he didn’t come to us then. He explained that with the chaos and anxiety surrounding his older sister and her addiction, he didn’t want to add more to our stress. So he kept it in. We didn’t see. We never knew. Not until it was almost too late.

Fast forward 6 months and we are still trying to navigate the choppy waters. The treatment is ongoing and he is still living with us. He recently got a new job that he likes and has begun to think about his future in constructive, positive ways. He now will talk honestly about his emotions and we can only take it day by day, dealing with the ups and downs of life. We notice and appreciate the small victories. But then there is the underlying fear that my husband and I share. I’m not sure if it will ever truly go away. It’s a familiar fear, but it’s a different sort of vibe, because each child is unique. Things are far from perfect, but I see subtle changes in all of us and how we connect. There is now hope where once there was only invisible hopelessness.

***This event made me aware of how preventative measures are desperately needed to close the communication gap. There needs to be a willingness to talk about depression and other mental health issues between parents and children and the teachers that we entrust them to. There also needs to be a willingness to listen and give support. Enough of the avoidance and looking the other way. Uncomfortable as it may be, learning about depression and feelings of self-harm should be just as important as the (sometimes controversial) 5th grade health films they show our kids in school. These issues need to be included in the topics covered in said films to hopefully lessen the stigma for those who reach out for help.***

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Just Keeping it Real

Wow. I don’t even know where to begin so I guess I’ll just start by writing about the Good in my life. I have so many things I feel incredibly thankful for, but I want to share the fact that I am officially off of the opioids! Yay!

No thanks to the pain management doctor though. He was becoming less and less helpful in working with me tapering off. I think the pain clinics will take your money as long as they can while they push for you to try the “new and improved” spinal cord stimulator or another spinal injection (I’ve had 18 of those injections and they never worked, but I knew it kept my doctor(s) happy and me leaving the office with new scripts).

I had been at a standstill for months and was really, really frustrated. Then the morning of my last scheduled appointment (in August) I simply woke up and said, “I’m done.” That was a defining moment for me. Not showing up to an appointment could easily break my pain management contract. And with the opioid epidemic, it was no secret that it was getting harder and harder to find pain management doctors that would accept the responsibility of new patients.

But I truly felt those words, “I’m done”. They were Soul Words. It was a Body-Mind-Spirit moment of consciousness; the kind that can make your toes curl, like the blissful moment you fall into an orgasm. But unlike orgasms, Soul Words tended to elude me. This was profoundly different than saying “I’m working on getting off these meds that I’ve been taking for the past decade”, which I always meant each time I said it, but during that mind-blowing moment it became crystal clear to me that I would be on the meds as long as a dr. told me I needed them; that it was okay; go on, have some more. It was all simultaneous, and from the very center of my Soul, the Source of those two powerful words, I faced honesty and truth without judgement and without doubt. I was done. So I didn’t go to that appointment.

The next day I felt a little uneasy, but I put on a new fentanyl patch (which would end up being my final one) and began to take note of when I actually “needed” a pill for the breakthrough pain. I was still being prescribed 180 of the 10mg oxycodones for the “breakthrough” pain each month to take along with the fentanyl. I’ve been prescribed as many as 210 pills with the 15 patches; but this didn’t change the fact that I had way more than I should. Way more than I needed. People without the opioid tolerance are usually sent home after surgery with 30 pills of 5mg oxy, vicodin, percocet, etc. with maybe one refill, if they’re lucky. For me, that would be like getting a box of Tic Tacs, because every month the pharmacist would hand me enough opioids to kill a pack of mules.

Making the decision that I was done made me realize what a habit it had become to just take a breakthrough pain pill at the first sign of pain, even the slightest twinge. You see, it had been drilled into my head that “you can’t let the pain get too bad because it’ll be harder to get under control”. Well, of course I didn’t want that to happen!

Now I had to face the unpleasant task of re-shaping my thoughts and begin to lessen my fear of something getting out of control. Oh, the irony! At first it was awful to make myself stop each time I reached for pill and ask, what else can I try first? (and not in conjunction with?). I knew I would have to deal with some additional discomfort than what I already lived with every day.

I knew I could try an ice pack. A warm epsom salt bath. Some gentle yoga. Qigong. Meditation. The tens unit. The compound cream. Writing. Creating. Reading. Even that awful acupressure mat. I had this mental list of the things I knew I could try first and If those things failed, I took some Advil or Tylenol. Then I took an oxy. Sometimes another one an hour later. Then I began to notice that as I reached for the pills less and less, the first options were working better and better.

It took a long time though.

And I am not a patient person.

I knew I had hit a milestone when I began breaking the oxys in half. Little by little, day by day, I made progress. Then something totally amazing happened. I went a day without any pills and didn’t even realize it until I went to bed and saw half an oxy from the day before still sitting there on the shelf of my medicine cabinet.

I’m in no more pain than when I was on the opioids. I haven’t had any worse Fibromyalgia flare-ups either (my rheumatologist had once told me that long-term opioid use can actually cause Fibro). Well, no dwelling on the past decade, eh?

My therapist told me it could take another month or two to get my serotonin and dopamine levels back to normal, but at least he’s not suggesting we increase my antidepressants. I will more than likely be on the neurontin the rest of my life because of nerve damage from surgery #1. But I’m okay with that.

Moving forward, I ended up flushing 6 leftover patches and 97 oxycodones. l still have the other half of the last oxycodone sitting on the middle shelf of my medicine cabinet. When I see it every morning and night when I take my other meds, I think about how it no longer has any power over me. It’s a reminder of how far I have come.

Many Blessing on Your Journey )O(

Midsummer’s Labyrinth

May You Dance With Laughter!

Circle Dance

The Wheel is turning to its height
Dance, Lord, for the powers of Light.
Dance, Dance for the end of Night
Dance on.

Leaf and bud and branch upthrust,
Dance for the peak of Nature’s lust,
Dance On

Dance, a million petals unfurl
Sunlight, colors, shadows swirl
Dance all, the heady, merry whirl
Dance On

Elderflower, like summer snow,
Dance, for the Sun’s lingering glow
Dance on.

Dance, my Lord, and bow your head,
Roses, Sun and blood are red
Dance on.

Dance, my Lady, all in white
Dance for the dark that hides in the Light
Dance for the first caress of Night
Dance on.

Now Dance All and shed no tear
The young King follows the old King here.
Dance for the merry Wheel of the Year
Dance on.
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Nothing is certain. Only change. The basis of all life. The Cycle. The Wheel. As Above So Below.

This is such a beautiful time of year. The lavender is bursting through its buds, silvery and fragrant. The plums are beginning to slowly ripen, surrounded by blooms and fern fronds embracing each other. There is such grace in these moments when I stop and look at the beauty of Midsummer.

We are standing at the crest; this, the high tide of the year. There is warmth and light as the sun stays steady in the sky. The kids run barefoot along the paths beneath the trees, coming in as darkness arrives with filthy feet and faces full of smiles as bright as the noonday sun itself.

Grasp each moment of Every Day. Savor it, because moments are fleeting.

The roses are in bloom and I make it a point to stop and smell them. We have red ones, big yellow ones, and my favorite, a deep coral hue that smells absolutely divine. I have brought a bouquet in and set it on the dining room table. In the bathroom there are lilacs in a jar of water. And beside my bed is a fresh cluster of lavender and rosemary. I think I shall sleep well tonight.

Midsummer, the turning point. The longest day is here and daylight is at the highest peak of its power, and so it is from that moment that darkness now begins to grow.

We have built a small stone labyrinth in a clearing beneath a gathering of cedars. There are just enough rays of sun to ignite the solar lights at every sixth stone. I find the spiral to be mesmerizing, tranquil, and dizzying all at the same time. Tonight I took the journey alone and once I arrived I stood at its center for quite some time looking into my own soul’s eyes.

The center that I cannot find
Is known to my unconscious mind;
I have no reason to despair
Because I am already there

–W.H. Auden

Many Blessings on Your Journey )O(

Luna, I Love You and All…But…

Full Moons and I don’t get along. It’s a simple fact that I have finally come to terms with. The Full Moon is just so…so…….present. She demands attention. Now, I love to look up at the Full Moon and feel the glow of Her smiling down upon me. And there are full moons that absolutely take my breath away with their beauty. During her fullness I look up at Her, acknowledge Her, but I don’t linger. I’ve never lingered.

Last night there was no hint of her light because it’s been cold, cloudy, and raining for days. But whether I can look up at her and see a bright or faint glow, or no light at all, I still feel Her. We all do. For me, at the same time every month, within the realm of about 72 hours (give or take) I am a total emotional wreck. And that is putting it mildly.

It wasn’t until about two years ago that I realized I preferred the New Moon’s energy. A lot (I also think the waning crescent totally rocks too). It was drawing close to the New Moon and I was writing in my journal when it hit me. It was like an epiphany of sorts. It was one of those smack my palm to my forehead moments while slowly sliding it down thinking: It’s okay to prefer the energy of the New Moon. It’s Okay.

So I let go of the idea that as a Witch I was supposed to prefer the Full Moon. To do my magick at the Full Moon. To Draw Down the Full Moon.

That was two years ago and I still sometimes forget my relationship with the Full Moon.

Then came yesterday.

Yesterday I cried. I sobbed. I felt stretched thin. The tension was so taught. I can usually find a contributing factor, but yesterday I was at a loss. I was bitchy, moody, and grieving for something I couldn’t quite grasp. And it scared me. Really scared me.

I could attribute some of the feelings of hopelessness to several things going on in my life right now. I’m upset with how unproductive I have been feeling. Even more than usual.

I haven’t been weaning down in the meds anymore, instead I had plateaued. I also hurt my hand. Again. That’s twice in two months. This time I was finishing up a painting when once again I felt a “pop” on the top of my hand. I couldn’t open or close my hand without feeling a lot of pain. I also couldn’t flex my wrist. I was put in another, even more restricting brace than before that I’m supposed to wear 24 hours a day for 10-14 days. Puleeze! I don’t have time for that!

My house is in disarray. I can’t wash dishes, fold laundry, use scissors, sweep, write, draw, or use a fork (I am so left-handed it’s insane). It hurts to wash my hair. Hell, I can barely even type.This post is taking me literally hours. But I was warned that if I take off the clunky brace I risk doing some serious damage to my tendons that would most likely require surgery. Then I think, pfft. What’s another surgery?

Something within me broke yesterday. I felt so completely lost that I wished for the earth to open up and swallow me whole. So I sat in holed up in my studio, in gloom and doom. My husband checked on me a few times and brought me some tea and toast. And I waited it out. I sat there with sage burning most of the time and today I feel like I’ve smoked a pack of cloves. I slept out there on the massage table. And I’m glad I did. My back feels great!

What a serious difference a day makes in the cycle of the moon. I usually follow the moon aspects, but this month, with hurting my hand and all the other usual b.s. I didn’t bother. Little did I know that the Full Moon was in Sagittarius with dear ole Saturn conjunct stirring the pot. If I had understood what was happening amongst the stars then maybe things would have been a bit more bearable. But then again, maybe not.

I truly believe in natal charts and that our etheric souls have a say in mapping out our next incarnation. My Sun Sign is in Cancer. I know my rising sign is 6 degrees Scorpio, and my Moon is in Taurus. .01 degrees in fact. Which means, karmically I’m an infant in the realm of the light of the moon.

Cancer, Scorpio, Taurus. I don’t know about you, but I sure as hell wouldn’t want to get into a bar brawl with that trio. Or a fight of any kind for that matter. They can be moody, oversensitive, stubborn, and suspicious of everything and everyone.

Of course those are on the bad days.

Their good qualities are actually pretty terrific. So I’m told.

I still don’t know what was truly at the heart of yesterday’s pain. Yes, there are some challenges in my life right now, but I still feel like I didn’t quite grasp something buried deep within. I’m missing something.

But hey, the good news is, the New Moon will be here soon to guide me. Yes, it will be void of light, but it’s through the darkness that we must feel our way through. Without light we rely on our other senses to guide us along. Besides, I’ve never been one to be afraid of the dark. At least not in this incarnation.

Many Blessings on Your Journey )O(

To Simply Smile

It was around the time of Imbolc that I unplugged. During that time I used my laptop strictly for daily writing and for checking emails every other day or so. I even remained unplugged quite a bit longer than I had planned on because after the first week I realized just how badly I needed it. I politely requested for my friends and family to not mention news topics (such as all things political, disastrous, entertainment, gossip of any kind, etc..) for one week. Just one week was all I asked for. I knew I might be tempted like I am with sweets, but I also knew that ignoring trivial things like Facebook would be a breeze. I barely spent time there as it was, infrequently checking in with the one small local Sisterly Tribe “secret” group I am a part of.

Most of those who knew of my intentions were shocked, some were appalled, and many simply told me I couldn’t do it for a whole week. It was crazy. Weird. There was just too much juicy info out there, loads of yucky stuff to feed off of. And what if they really needed to get a hold of me? Like what if the world was actually coming to an end, a family tragedy occurred, or the zombie apocalypse had commenced? I told them that of course those things were important to me, so please, by all means tell me! (duh!) But please call me. Don’t send me an email, or tweet it. And don’t text me to give me the news. I want a real phone call, you know, where you can actually hear my voice and I can hear yours in real time.

I will say that the time has flown by. I’ve been busy writing, painting, sketching, and madly creating some crazy stuff that I absolutely adore. I’ve carved out time for Tarot readings and tea with friends, both of which I cherish. I’ve been busy working on different areas of my life and am spending more time than ever with my husband and kids. My daughter and I are currently making our own Spirit Dolls and I have enjoyed our special time in the studio.

I have been practicing yoga 5 days a week and am thrilled to write that I have stepped down further on my pain meds. If all goes as planned, I will be completely done with the fentanyl and taking a fraction of the breakthrough medication by June, two months before my personal goal.

I thought that now I’m back on the grid I should probably catch up on some things I’ve missed out on, but the more I think about it the more I realize that I’m much more interested in enjoying the fresh Spring strawberries. They are way juicier, much easier to swallow, and truly make me smile. 

May Spring bring you new, deliciously juicy experiences that make you smile too!

Many Blessings on your Journey )O(

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The Here and Now; Living in the Moment

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This morning I passed by the family room altar with a pile of clean laundry. As I dumped it over the top of the couch and thought about how I needed to dust, my eyes landed on a “memorial” of sorts for Jazzy. Call me morbid, but in trying to work out how I was going to help my children deal with the transition, I made something to be placed on our altar a few days ahead of time. Just a small, framed photo and poem about the “Rainbow Bridge”. I was too distraught to even create my own poem. Hell, I could barely even do that little bit of copy-paste.

Each family member added something that reminded us of her. I planned on placing her collar and leash on the altar when I came home without her. My youngest daughter crocheted a small cotton yarn bracelet and hung it from the corner of the frame to be charged. She asked if I would place it on Jazzy’s left foreleg before she was “gone” and to tie it snug to make sure it stayed there “through what they, you know, do with her body after”. When I told everyone the good news, she immediately took the bracelet and with a big, beautiful smile on her face asked me to tie it snug to her wrist.

It’s many days later and our altar has slowly changed shape and form, but I decided to leave the picture itself there for the time being (interestingly, I never placed the date of her death on it). I feel it’s a beautiful reminder to us about life and the afterlife. The soul to soul connections we create (or continue) with loved ones during our incarnations are powerful and whether or not the “Rainbow Bridge” exists on the way to the Summerlands is really irrelevant at the moment. But I do think it will spark some creative conversation about how as individuals we feel about the cycle of life, death, the afterlife, and rebirth. There will be so much to talk about, and I’m curious to see what they spill out after being raised in a Pagan/New Agey/Touch of Wiccan/Zen Moment Reminding/Goddess Worshiping home. It should be interesting and I’m bound to gain new insights on how their own unique individual thoughts and feelings about their spiritual paths are evolving. They are old enough now to be able to make distinctions of what resonates with them and what doesn’t. And that’s what I want for them.

I think that some day next week we will sit down as a family and together write (or draw, or paint, and/or collage, etc.) something meaningful about our own personal connection to Jazzy in the Here and Now and create something special, perhaps a small hand-bound scrapbook or something that we all have contributed to… I don’t know yet, right now I am just too damned exhausted. My hope is that it will open the way to contemplate our own lives, the lives of our loved ones, and to remind ourselves of what we take for granted. I want it to help each of us to realize and appreciate every moment we have and every meaningful memory we create in the Here and Now. Because really, the Here and Now, this moment, this breath, is the only thing we know is for certain.

 

Preparing for a Different Kind of Storm

My life has been busy over the past few weeks. We’ve had some storms come by, along with remnants of Typhoon Songda. The Oregon Coast weathered 2 tornadoes and while we received over 9 inches of rain in two days, we were fortunate and didn’t lose any big trees, only our power.

We held onto our plans, dropping the kids off with my parents to head home to do some much needed (in my opinion) work on my studio. As promised, my husband helped me declutter and paint. I had been gearing up for this for quite some time so when the power went out we continued to paint by candlelight and ate cold pizza while listening to the giant trees outside creak and groan with the wind. It was really rather romantic, that is until our backs both ached and we joined in the groaning of the trees. My husband couldn’t help but allude to the fact that we should be groaning while throwing our backs out doing something that was actually fun. I told him to shut up and keep painting so we could both actually finish. His only response was to flick paint at me. My husband…speechless? Encouraged by his lapse in sarcastic comebacks, I told him it would be nice if he tried not to make a mess this time. A little back and forth innuendo match ensued which made for great entertainment.

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Almost there!

What once resembled a curio/new age store now feels very “Zen” to me. A little sparse in comparison, it has become a place of serene solitude. I have organized my herbs, crystals, and tools of the trade in a way that I can actually find something easily. My craft area and supplies are separate from my writing desk. It’s a humble, quiet retreat that calms and soothes my spirit as soon as I walk in whereas before I felt weighed down in a mess of unfinished craft projects and candle stubs from a previous ritual.

Remember that binder of daily routines, tasks, and lists? I condensed things further into a Witchy bullet journal. I have my weekly plan, daily tasks, important and not-so-important tasks, weekly menu plan, the moon phase and the sign(s) it’s currently in, the weather, Tarot card of the day, spaces for quotes I like, and my long wish list of things I want to try, places I want to see, and things I want just for the sake of wanting. I have a place for my accomplishments, several pages for a brain dump, and a place for a monthly memory collage. I also made a symptom log in order to find any trends or connections to certain activities I did, and another log to track my meditation/yoga/tai chi practices. All of this easily fits in this one little 5×8 journal that will easily see me through to Imbolc.

The process of clearing out and simplifying has led me to reevaluate the other stagnant areas of my life that are in need of attention as well. One in particular I have been avoiding for some time.

It’s not easy to choose the path opposite of least resistance, but I did. I saw my pain management doctor today and I told him that I wanted to step-down on my pain meds. I told him what I wanted in the long run and the accompanying fears that go along with it.

We agreed that over the course of the next two weeks I will step-down from my current dose of Fentanyl 75 mcg/hour to a 50 mcg/hour patch. I will also go from 80 mg oxycodone for breakthrough pain down to 60. That’s the short-term goal. If things go well, the next step will be to drop down from the 50 dose of Fentanyl to a 25 mcg patch with an additional 12.5 mcg patch if needed. At that point I’ll have dropped down to 30-40 mg oxycodone.

I honestly don’t know where it’ll go from there, but my ultimate goal is to be off of the fentanyl completely by August. I haven’t set a complete shut off time for the oxy, but that will more than likely be revealed as I get closer to my goal.

My doctor and I talked in great detail about the possible hard times ahead. I have been on pain medication for so long (starting like so many others like me; with a little vicodin, on to morphine, then to oxycontin and methadone, to where I am now) that I probably won’t feel too great and I’ll have to deal with my pain spike in other ways. He paused here and there as if giving me the opportunity to change my mind. We ended the appointment with the agreement that I give him a call between now and my visit next month if things became “unmanageable”. That made me laugh. I told him that things were already unmanageable for me in the opioid department. Duh!

So there you have it. Whatever the oncoming weather, be it storm or sunny skies, whether I’m huddled in the corner in a cold sweat or sitting in a chair reading a good book, I’ll be ready to deal with whatever comes my way and stand behind whatever choices I will make. It’s up to me now.

Many Blessings on Your Journey )O(

The End of a Rainbow is Just The Beginning

My step-daughter got married yesterday. It was an outdoor wedding in a beautiful forest clearing not far from our house and a family friend performed the ceremony. It was supposed to rain all day, but somehow the clouds steered clear, making way for the nuptials. The ceremony itself was nonreligious and simple. I loved every moment of it. The bride looked absolutely gorgeous, and witnessing my husband walk her down the aisle made my tears begin to flow.

I never thought a wedding could be so perfect. My youngest daughter was the flower girl, and after some practice I was successful at completing a waterfall braid with her waist length hair and added sprigs of baby’s breath here and there. My youngest son walked the dog down the aisle following the groomsmen. My oldest daughter was a bridesmaid and she actually looked really good, so much so I that I was inclined to believe her when she said she had been clean for over a month. My oldest son ushered me down the aisle, just ahead of the flower girl. (my step-son ushered his mother down the aisle as well).

It was very casual and earthy with just a little kick of boho-chic. It was the perfect opportunity to wear my handmade, heavily embroidered, flowy purple Belladonna/Stevie Nicks style dress with my tall black boots. I curled my hair in tight ringlets then brushed it through and tousled it a bit. I very rarely curl my hair but I felt so pretty that I may have to do it again sometime, just for the hell of it.

The reception overlooked a small valley where we all awed at the complete arc of a rainbow. It was so big, bright and complete that from where we stood we could easily see the end of it hitting the ground.

I laughed and I cried. I danced with my husband beneath the twinkling lights. My parents who have been married for 44 years, danced beneath the lights too, proof that love can last and endure all the ups and downs of sharing a life together.

Yesterday was a beautiful beginning for two amazing people in their early 20’s who were highschool sweethearts; and each other’s first and only. If fairytale weddings exist, then this was one of them. May they live Happily Ever After.

Many Blessings on Your Journey )O(

Thyme in a Bottle

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Since my last post I have been working really hard to keep up with my daily tasks and routines. I’ve followed through to the best of my ability, which fluctuates from day to day. But everyday I give conscious effort to do the best I can with what I’ve got.

That means remembering who I am and what makes my life feel “good” and “on track”.
The crazy thing is that I haven’t even beat myself up for not accomplishing everything on my “list of the day” and that in itself is a major triumph.

When I woke up this morning, before I even got out of bed I asked myself a simple question; How will I choose to spend my time today? And the question didn’t make me anxious.

I say this because two weeks ago, time management was difficult. At the end of a day where all those things on my list seemed to remain one step ahead of me, I was mentally, physically and emotionally exhausted. I ended up being a crabby bitch when I started thinking about all the things I didn’t get done. I felt like I just couldn’t keep up with life.

So I took 3 cleansing breaths and wrote out the bare bones of this spell, which in part was a letter to myself, (but really, aren’t most spells merely letters to that aspect of ourselves that we are trying to connect with?) and then had a heart-to-heart talk with the Goddess.

Thyme Management Spell

Gather your items:

Your three minute egg timer
1 orange candle
1 small bottle
3 drops patchouli oil
3 drops cinnamon leaf oil
3 drops orange oil
30 drops sweet almond or mineral oil
A pinch of thyme (go ahead and make it a big pinch)
A piece of paper and your pretty purple pen that makes you happy.

Remember your simple altar setup. K.I.S.S. (Keep It Simple Stupid). You know that during this time in your life simplicity avoids confusion and saves time!

So set it up and quit over-thinking, because I know you will want to. You just love second-guessing yourself. Keep acting that way and all the thyme in the world will not be enough.

Cleanse, cast, and invoke. Then move forward.

Prepare the oil in the bottle with a dropper, add the thyme, cap and shake to mix well. Imagine that while you are shaking the oil that you are also dislodging any negativity or frustration that comes with simply trying to keep up with life. But be careful not to break the bottle with your built up ick, because then you’ll have to start all over again, thus wasting more time.

On the piece of paper write your petition to the Goddess, feeling your deep personal need for successful time management. And remember, K.I.S.S.

I wrote to Her during my ritual, expressing my longing for less chaos and more peace throughout my days. I didn’t want to feel rushed, and I didn’t want to be angry at myself anymore because anger physically hurts me. I wanted her to know that I was willing to keep my priorities in focus, and to take charge of my actions, as each one leads to the other, and so on.

I folded the letter and held it in my hands feeling my fingers tingle with energy. When it felt right, I placed the piece of paper under the timer. Then I dabbed a small amount of the prepared oil to my wrists and rubbed them together.

I lit the orange candle and started the timer.

altar2

I gazed into the candle flame and pictured myself going through a typical day at a calm even pace. Things were running smoothly. Appointments were remembered and household duties were under control. My mind wandered into the darkness a few times but I reigned it back in.

When the timer had sounded, I extinguished the flame and went on about my day. When that feeling of tension began bubbling up, I would bring back into focus the orange candle’s flame and feel the loving support from Her. I was then able to trust in my ability to take back control of my day.

I did this every morning for 3 days, and every other day since. I read the letter, dab on the oil, light the candle, start the timer, and then visualize a smooth sailing day. It only takes a few minutes, and within those first 3 days I began to see a noticeable difference in how I reacted to situations, and how I made better choices in managing my time.

I’m going to do this as often as I need, (replacing the candle when needed) but I choose not to waste my time obsessing about it! I will do it and then go on about my day.

The best part about this daily “blessing” is that I’m finding that if my day didn’t go exactly as planned, I don’t beat myself up about it. One of the things I’ve learned since starting this is that successful time management is the ability to take on unforeseen challenges without causing negativity to creep in and slow me down.

 

Many Blessings on Your Journey )O(

To Start Where I Am

Since chronic pain came into my life 9 years ago, I’ve been trying to deal with a new way of living and with it a whole new way of thinking. And I’ve done a lot of thinking in the past few weeks as I’ve hit some highs and then some low-down lows.There were times in the past week and a half that I couldn’t get out of bed. There have been days in the past week where light and sound were excruciating to my senses. Two days ago I dropped a dinner plate when my hand spasmed and all I could do was helplessly look at the shattered pieces on the floor.

The feeling of helplessness just builds up…and up…and up….

When I’m having a really bad episode and all I can do is lie in bed and stare at the ceiling, I notice a cobweb in the corner. I’ll turn my head and see an empty water glass that needs to be washed. When I turn the other way I see that my closet is messy. For days, sometimes weeks, (at one point about five years ago it had been almost 6 months) my eyes and mind will focus on all the imperfections in my home and see it as a reflection of me as a person. Me as a wife and mother and how I cannot care for those I love the most.

Then when I begin the upswing of good days, I can’t simply snap my fingers and make all the stress disappear. I fill up with anxiety every time I see my overloaded inbox, the empty refrigerator, and the giant piles of laundry. Then I’m like a lot of chronic pain sufferers in that when I have one decent feeling day, I will run around frantically trying to catch up. I’ll clean like a maniac in hopes I can get it all done before the pain returns. And it always does, and at that point it’s usually pissed.

Even after all these years, I’ve yet to fully come to terms with my illness and pain. I’ve read countless books on my conditions and have seen the top specialists. I’ve been coaxed into getting reacquainted with my body (a body that seemed to no longer like me) in order to be more in tune to our (its) rhythm. I’ve learned about energy management and how to create a schedule that works for me. I have seen the need to pattern my week so that I have active days followed by more restful days. I know I have to to do a little bit at a time to prepare for holidays, vacations, or long, hectic days. (I’m eternally grateful that things were good for the California trip) I’ve been schooled in the ways of expressing what my needs are and how to drop my pride when I have to ask for help.

Easier said than done.

I readily grasped the idea to make an outline for my life. I’m excellent at brainstorming ideas and making plans and schedules, but I’m absolutely terrible at following through. You see, I’m a list-maker. I LOVE to make lists. I have a list for nearly everything. Things I need to do, things I want to do, things I need help with, menu planning lists, shopping lists, need to follow-up on lists, home project lists, and on and on it goes.

During the bad times I’ll have short-term memory issues and terrible brain fog, getting easily confused (especially with dates and phone numbers). So I have spiral bound notebooks in every corner of the house (and in my project studio, but let’s not even go there) so that I can jot down ideas and plans as they come to me. Then when I get too many of these ideas and lists and sketches scattered about, I will tear them out and slip them into clear sheet protectors and then place them in the correct three-ring binder, complete with labeled tabs.

Then after I have everything in order, I don’t know where to begin. Which binder was the kids’ back to school supply list in? Where was the list for treatment plans? Where was the mind-map for my dream week? This eventually leads me to the fact that the current organizational system isn’t working.

So I’ll spend time flipping through the shiny plastic coated papers and sort them into new categories. Then I’ll begin to rearrange the tabs, like I’d like to rearrange my life.

I know what you’re probably thinking. That I’m a control freak. Anal. OCD. Manic. Micro-manager. Perfectionist. Hypercritical. Persnickety. Wonder Woman Wannabe.

I raise my hand in surrender. I’m all of the above…most of the time.

So here I go again. I have pared down to one small binder and I’ve put the other binders away. I am back to the basics with my original, simple day to day plan. I know it works because some of my best months in the past few years have been when I followed it. The problem has always been easing back into the routine after being out of commission for more than a few days. The perfectionist in me doesn’t want to just jump in where I am. I want to start with a clean, perfect house. I’m even sure there is such a thing. Or I think it’ll be best if I start at the beginning of the month. Or after ___________.

Well it’s Monday. I suppose it’s as good a day as any to start. I got out of bed and showered. I even followed my ‘routine’ for the day. I’ll be honest. I had a little bit of difficulty following my plan today. It wasn’t hard remembering what needed to be done, but hard to pace myself. To not panic. To not work ahead. To make myself stop between things. To not do two things at once. To have realistic expectations. And to celebrate the small successes as long as I was making progress.

Today wasn’t perfect, but I think I can call it a success.

Many Blessings on your Journey )O(