I cannot believe I am writing today, the day after my elderly father's memorial service took place far away. I am absolutely exhausted, "gutted," I think my British friends say. I feel like I am, myself, considerably older than 62, hopefully temporarily. I am not going to try to do much, yet I woke up with an essay in my head.
Back on March 16, I wrote a post called "Temperance" where I really owned up to some of the paradoxes in my life, including the fact that I use so-called oracle cards of various kinds, including tarot. This could seem quite bizarre in someone with a passion for English church music, and indeed I've spent a good part of the last few years hiding one from the other, even within myself.
About two weeks ago, I decided it was time to replace "eagle" as what some people call a "totem animal." (Today is not the day for me to unpack the cultural appropriation issue...I was led to the Sams and Carson Medicine Cards during my many travels around the country in the 1990's, and still find them very helpful and meaningful.) So I shuffled the deck, stated my desire to have a new power animal symbol for the next phase of my life, and pulled Bear/"Introspection" from the face-down cards. This is a far more appropriate teacher for this emerging phase; the time has come to set aside flight high above the landscape in favor of hibernating in a settled, rooted place, attuning myself "to the energies of the Eternal Mother." From the Sams and Carson reading (pages 57-59), it seems clear that this is good power medicine for a mystic. This morning, I chose another card from another deck picturing a bear in hibernation. She is certainly with me right now, and that is the kind of day I need.
Even in my barely awake state, I couldn't help but laugh at the contrasting superficial concerns brought on by my dad's death (the biggest tsunami of all) -- my WASP obsession with appropriate correspondence and clothing (described in two previous blogs), and my mystical choice of a comforting oracle card. They are both valid, if so very different, in face of such a rocking change to one's sense of self and family. In front of my eyes, I saw a Mark Rothko-type painting, two enormous color fields, one deep turquoise and one blue-red. I reminded myself that these two color fields, brushed by a great painter, do not fight each other for domination. Their very presence together on the canvas is an implied "and," as is that rich line where the two colors meet. They are meant to be together, as are my contrasting colors. Which brings me back to the "horizon philosophy" that I tried to articulate back in the 90's...but not today(!)
To those readers who have stuck with me the last few weeks, thank you. Thanks for being there.
