coddiwomple Tarot * a happy ending * preserver

For the near sixtiethsomething time in near sixty or so years, am back to my near annual ritual and officially a free agent once again, and given to seeing if there’s any magic to this here carpet ride, or if I’m getting the proverbial rug pulled out from under me.

There is the requisite trusting in life and saving room for yes, for knowing it’s not so much the night mare, but rather the faery steed that carries me forth, and promises made to self, to take greater risks for the greater good, to honey my senses, and to move from know thyself to love one self.

There was the song in the background, you can’t run from what you’ve done, the sentiment that I didn’t know when to stop, rubbing peoples the wrong way, that I just grind and badger peoples. ‘Twas time to leave and let go, and as I had been voted off the island and worn out my welcome.

For beautiful eyes, see the goodness in others; for nice lips, be kind. I don’t need to be right. Be kind. I don’t know the how or why of it, and ‘twas time. And the story goes that there is no spiritual entertainment technique that can help me.

The time to cockadoodle doo has arrived. I can ask in that things are for the highest good, that I act on things, and don’t give up. The arrow has been shot. ‘Tis time to face the music and myself, and turn away from what is not right for me. The choice to disengage, to (not) choose peoples that have wounded me, to identify unclaimed desires.

Hello (whitewater) chaos, good day to you upheaval. And never am I short on escapade. Guatemala, the Camino, Alameda, esalen. To coddiwomple is to travel purposefully toward an as yet unknown destination. Perhaps to find a place of refuge, temple and/or retreat. I picture myself wearing a broad brimmed sombrero, sandals, pancho or cloak and wielding a staff.

Am pretty fairly certain that it’s got a happy ending.

Preserver * woman of worlds * Voyager Tarot by James Wanless * Way of the Great Oracle

So slow to it, ever so dull and duller, too heavy and oft homebound, and at times with so little curiosity for things. ‘Tis time to create, to give birth, to produce, to preserve the quality (of this most sacred life). To take my time and to do it well, ‘tis but a labor of love. I cherish what I create.

Can I not take responsibility, and some tender loving care, for the slow growth of my creations. To work with my hands, to design and make clothes, and to use my fashion sense. Do I not enjoy the arts, enjoy the dance. Can I not bring joy, inspiration, beauty and feeling to my avocational pursuits.

Who am I not to purify this again most sacred of bodies, to eat weller, and to nurture my body into optimum health and wellness, strength and beauty. Can I get an amen. To stay down 2 earth, practical and measured, and to manifest tangible physical products. To grow, gestate and germinate. To be in my studio, my palace of productivity. To build a most sacred space and nest.

So ripe, so full and fertile. To weave together. To clothe, beautify and insure. To do pretty.

And is it so wrong to do the taboo, to be on point, in concert and as party to the ensemble.

What I pay attention to is from where the next chapter and fractal unfolds. Have the courage to just say it, to prepare for the occasion, to join in with the rainbow procession, as all au naturale.

This is her most sacred vase, and as I real eyes all as this most sacred (time and) space.