NWTS 2019 Clackamas PDX Oregon * northwest pilgrimage and passage * safe travels
Recently have felt like going away (to Kauai) and calling it a life, or perhaps making one last stand (a long lost animation project) on the biz front. And whether in response to my jumbleaya of sorts or not, I did decide to make pilgrimage to the Northwest Tarot Symposium last week.
First up was an underwaterlogged wine country, and with many a vineyard left little more than a messy muddy cauldron. After that the usual red madrone lined, jade green Eel River was more oft churning ripsaw rapids, with swollen, gorged and overbloded brown veins pulsing thru newly battered and ravaged ravines, ripping new sinkholes from the newly exposed riparian sidebars.
And what started out with the soft rhythmic serenade of Shimshai, soon gave way to the driving beat of Jillian Speer, and with our river sister singing, “My Father was a Fisherman,” and “I want to live in a world where only love takes my time.” I stopped for a small shot of espresso in Laytonville and was wished “safe travels,” and not for the last time on this northwest passage.
A logging truck had its way with me just before Leggett and the Elfin Glen there, which was good and well enough as I then had time to appreciate the newly anointed Richardson Grove SP (State Park), and space enough to safely pass around the ancient olde grove, roadside beauties there.
Finally up in Humboldt the local swim team was just climbing out of the Arcata Community Pool, which made the lap swim less of a chore, and when accompanied by hot tub and sauna, made for a near holy trinity. After laying up for the night in Trinidad, and after no luck on the friend’s front with any of Ig, Jdawg or the Jedi, did grab an extra strong cup of reishi mocha for the road.
However the coast was not clear as the route north of Brookings and south of Gold Beach was sinkholed, so I had little choice but to brave the odds of heading up thru to Grant’s Pass, and despite that Southern Oregon had been snowed in, with chains required and most of the power out on the I-5 North. “Guided by the light,” and “enchanted by the sun,” I was under the power of Alma Melodiosa and with a Snatum Kaur chaser, eye did make my way thru the remaining mists of the red woo woo land and unto the falling snow along a long drink of the now indeed jade green Smith River, and which gave way to a now and again deep teal blue.
Taking to heart the words of a one Rising Appalachia and that, “a wise man once said that rushing is violence,” I put on a lil’ travelin’ jujuberry music and got my (best as I could) southern fried honky tonk on, and made way. 2pm and 39 degrees later, a day late and a holler short, Roseburg never looked so good. An hour later in Eugene eye stopped in at Sundance Natural Foods for the ritual og salad bar visit, and ended up giving a woman a lift who had missed the bus and was going right to where I was. Turns out Mountain Rose Herbs (Mercantile) was closed due to the weather conditions, which left me with little recourse save for onward March.
36 decans later I was sitting listening to Dazmond Natalie Moravec at the intended Northwest Tarot Symposium, and that before a “Dudes in Tarot” panel, and a talk by Callie French on “What am I really Meant to do in Life ?” And just for the record and according to her (rather precise) calculations, ‘twas by “accepting the completion first (that ‘tis already a done deal and not to get my panties so in a bunch),” to “listen carefully to the silence before proceeding,” and that “ruthlessness can be merciful when balanced with love (a mouthful I know).”
In lieu of the Saturday night cocktail party I exchanged readings with a fellow James Wanless protégé and real time Voyager tarotist, Alia Shanti Gumbo Love. She also has a new deck out titled Dream Awake Tarot, and has a most marvelous and enrapturing website, well worth a gander or coupla few. Also had the good fortune of reconnecting with Deb Strom from my once upon a time Bellingham Tarot Circle, which was a most prized once/month gathering there.
Sunday I collected a rather enchanting Pamela Steele print along with listening in on Grace Sequoia for her Practitioner’s (Physician’s) spread, and got the requisite coupla few readings.
First up was Mary Sweeney who shared that I was running a strong current and suggested that I don’t need to run such power all the time, as it runs down the body. She advised not to seek power and to rather hold sacred space, and that the more humble the better the vessel, and instrument of her peace I can be. She also added that the oracle helps shut your mind off and that meditation cleans our nervous system. Another reader scryed that I am holding it together but that the situation is not sustaining, and that I am exhausting my chi, and with my present life lesson that of the hermit. She shared the empress as the hidden influence and recalled that feminine creativity requires masculine fire to ignite. She asked “where do I resonate, where is commitment,” and reminded me that energies congeal in one location, and that focused energy creates power, i.e. the one light, one focus of the hermit (perhaps via realigning with the divine).
Laureli did intuitive eye readings and deduced that I was an “artisan priestess scholar,” and that was on top of the Gumbo Love proclamation that I was nothing short of a “shitcan of wisdom.”
Off property and off to visit a friend or coupla few, I cautiously passed the Stella inspection and let Quigley out for his per usual backyard motorabout, and as Gretchen had just returned from her Mexico retreat and had Kauai on her horizon. Vaughn was in shorts ‘n tee, and that with little to no regard for the low of 24 and high of 34. Before that was reminiscing (esalen) Rocky Horror Picture Show with Mick (Michael) and post anniversary Marie (thank you for the b’nut squash soup), and with their soon to be starting school later this year son, Jack (of the Woods).
Back down to Eugene got to go mad hattin’ with my sister Cat, to down 2 earth for a beanie or coupla few, and that after another Mountain Rose visit in pursuit of the fabled self heal herb.
The mists of Ashland (and the Coop) were the final Oregon frontier, and as the wise woman Tara shared of her plans for travel between Hawaii and the Czech Republic, and with stopovers in the UK and Colorado. The night before I had talked majick and the occult, and of Crowley and esoterica with Ivan, and was fascinated by how he had flipped the switch and jumped the proverbial fence, and with his tone and tenor as testimony to a most visceral/physiological moment of truth. And which was all fine and good as I am sure that I am still a “green again.”
Before leaving I made time for the requisite steam, sauna and soak at the local Wellsprings, and to sip of the ceremonial Greenlight elixir, and as he explained that he had “rasped” his chaga and reishi in order to gain the greatest surface area for his mushroom tea infusion. Didn’t get to see his yard full of arugula, but did get flat out rained and fogged on all thru the Siskiyou.
