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Grey Cloud August 2, 2015

Posted by wimynspeak in Bee Write!, General.
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This grey cloud that seems to follow me turns out to be laden with gifts. At first glance, they are not apparent, but when one is followed by a dark cloud as long as I have been, one tends to look for deeper messages, if only to avoid the tedium.

So today, when the new neighbors show up uninvited, and me with no tea or biscuits to offer them (lack being part of the grey tedium of “not enough”), I grasp at the gift that dangles before me and venture to announce that I never serve real food in my home, only the imaginary kind, which, I tell them, is the best kind. I paint a picture of magical tea parties that are so much better and more filling and satisfying than what they might call the real thing.

I bring out the best china, meaning the pieces that are not so badly chipped, and pretend to steep the tea and mime serving the cakes and dainty little sandwiches, all the while weaving a story of fairies and wood nymphs, and unicorns so that even though it is only a made-up story, they all laugh and play along. When they finally leave, they are biting and licking their lips, searching for the lingering sweet taste of a magical afternoon.

Later, as the night grows dark and the grey cloud melts into a deep velvet sky, I close my eyes and imagine the tea and biscuits settling in my stomach. The rumbles inside me dissipate until the only sound I hear is distant thunder. Even with my eyes closed, and despite the clouds, I can tell the moon is full and shining through the open window, illuminating the dishes on the table and crumbs of magical food fallen to the floor that I have yet to clear away.

I think of a dog I have always wanted since I was a child: medium size, black, with a wise and kind face that evokes both curiosity and stability. She is wearing a lovely jeweled collar and I call her to me by clicking my tongue and offering her a bite of sandwich. I motion to her that it is okay if she wants to lick up any crumbs she finds on the floor. We spend the next hour cleaning up my little room together and when I finally open my eyes, I can still picture the palace that fits within these four grey walls; still feel the dog’s slippery tongue on my hand.

I read, one time, about a village in Japan where they used to sacrifice a black dog to call in the black rain clouds. I have done the opposite. I have used my dark cloud to call in my black dog. No worries. I am well enough to know this is all happening in my imagination; hungry enough to know that, for now, it is sufficient.

The dog comes to me again as soon as I close my eyes. Once again the rumbling in my belly becomes the portent of an approaching storm and I can imagine the dog being caught in it, so I whistle to call her to me and she comes right away. I am lying now on a mat on the floor and the dog lies down next to me. Her furry warmth stops my shivering and I feel safe next to her.

But I do not sleep right away. I have always loved storms and wait with anticipation as the rumbles grow louder, which, of course, they do. I think about my neighbors and our tea party and wonder if they are still savoring the sweetness of our communion, as I am. Drowsily, I lay one hand on the dog’s head and for a moment consider what to name her, for in all the years of wishing and hoping for such a companion, I have not done so. And then I realize that this is not my task to do. The dog has a name and it is for her to reveal it to me when she is ready. I fall asleep, finally, content in this realization.

When I awake, though, the dog is gone, the sky still dark and rumbling, and I feel my hunger in a way I hadn’t before. I put an imaginary pot of oatmeal on the stove and while it simmers I stand at the window looking out on what my mother used to call a “toad-y” kind of day. The grey cloud still hovers over my little cottage, but the rest of the sky is an odd green hue that brings forth visions of nauseous sea voyages and the bumpy backs of the great bullfrogs by the pond.

I am reminded of a long-ago day just like today. I am getting ready for school and the smell of oatmeal with cinnamon fills my nostrils. My mother loved days like this — overly wet days that would call forth the tree frogs to set up a chorus and sing to me on the way to school, my belly full of warm oatmeal, my imagination fueled by the grey clouds, a loyal black dog at my heels.


The Hive of HERstory: Feeding the Queen April 11, 2015

Posted by wimynspeak in General, Workshops.
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LogoThe Hive of HERstory: Feeding the Queen

Intuitive collage workshop for women

On the darkest night, when the moon is hidden, the women gather around the great cauldron and silently add their own sweet gifts to the bubbling elixir over the fire. They take turns stirring, stirring — dancing and singing all the while. When the mixture is just right, each woman in unison dips in one finger, feeling the heat of their intermingled passions on her skin before placing a sweet drop of the precious brew on her tongue, the royal food of the inner queen, feeding and nourishing the self that creates possibilities and manifests desires . . .

Come join us in the hive as we use the intuitive collage process, along with simple creative writing prompts, to nourish our own inner queen and create a sweet opportunity to explore possibilities and our heart’s desires. 

Rosemary Court Yoga Studio, 810 Central Avenue, Sarasota

Saturday, April 18, from 2:00-5:00PM

Open Pricing *   Please pay generously according to your means.

Advance registration is required.  Let me know if you are joining us.

MoonRise Oracle: Shadow of the Long Night November 20, 2014

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LogoMoonRise Oracle: Shadow of the Long Night

Intuitive Collage Workshop for Women Saturday, December 6, 2014

As the full moon rose, she stood in her winter garden, barren now, though she could feel life sleeping in the earth beneath her feet. She envisioned the seeds she had planted with so much care taking in the nourishment of the restful dark, gaining strength for germination, rooting, and breaking through, eventually, to drink in the light of the sun. Now, though, all was silent under the watchful moon as the shadow of this long night wrapped itself about her shoulders, a heavy cloak of patience, wisdom, and courage that inspired her to feel into the darkness and follow her dreams . . .

Come join us as we use the intuitive collage process to wrap ourselves in the nourishing shadow of the long winter night, trusting that the seeds of our dreams, which may seem dormant, are germinating in the dark, finding what they need to take root, and grow strong.

Open Pricing *   Please pay generously according to your means.

Advance registration is required. Let me know if you can join us!

Date/Time:  Saturday, December 6, from 2:00-4:30PM

Location: Rosemary Court Yoga Studio, 810 Central Avenue, Sarasota

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