branches up, roots down

When the novel The Da Vinci Code came out, I was told by a variety of friends and relations that I had to read it. The movie is now out , and once again, it seems not a day goes by without somebody telling me how I’ll enjoy it. I read the book. I won’t be seeing the movie. Actually, probably at some point I’ll cross paths with it, either in flipping channels or it being the best of a bad selection at the video store, and I will see it. But I’m not standing in line, or paying close to ten bucks to watch it. Now that I’ve read the book, I’m pretty sure I’ll feel the same way towards the movie. It’s not the kind of story I find compelling, but I sure appreciate its cultural importance. So many people told me I’d love the novel that I started reading it with the expectation that it would be pleasurable, that I’d sink down into the kind of magical world that is familiar to me, where the earth is alive with spirits and the goddess is immanent. That wasn’t the ...

As the walls came down in the flat below me, the effect was felt all the way in Portland , Oregon . For many years I owned this house of spirits with Patti and Karl. The walls that came down this week were the walls of their son Colin’s room, for they have moved and my friend Ilyse has bought their flat. She’s removing the walls of their old bedrooms to create a big living room, kitchen and dining room space, using their old living room as the new bedroom. This has been in the planning for almost a year, but of course as it actually happens, it coincides with so many other things moving, changing and opening up in our lives. My housemate of four years, Fern, moved out this week, just as all the walls came down. And, Patti called from Portland , saying Colin had been struck by a sudden attack of homesickness for this house. Of course he had. The walls had all come down to his room, and even the ceiling no longer remained the same. I’m doing my best to simply keep breathing, to ...

In the past week or so my path has crossed with a preponderance of my old covenmates. This is saying a lot, because as far as covens go, I’m a bit Elizabeth Taylorish, she of the many famous husbands. I’ve been in three, and all have been stellar. After the coven Compost, out of which Reclaiming sprang, these three covens have probably been the most influential in the shaping of my fledgling “tradition” of the Craft, which is actually also in its infancy, despite our pretension of being “the old religion”. Being part of the first generation of modern witches, I’ve had no elders to lean on or tell me their experience, and for all of us, this has been an ongoing experiment, with no time to sit back together and go over the results. Recently, there was a gathering called Dandelion in which Reclaiming witches got together to envision where Reclaiming is going. I found myself not interested in attending, for a variety of reasons, one which is that I’m in a phase of review...

I subscribe to The Sun , primarily for its poetry and its back page of quotations. Every issue the quotations address some theme and I’m always amazed at the synchronicity of these themes with my own thoughts. I can’t get these two bits out of my head; Kilgore Trout once wrote a short story which was a dialogue between two pieces of yeast. They were discussing the possible purposes of life as they ate sugar and suffocated in their own excrement. Because of their limited intelligence, they never came close to guessing that they were making champagne. Kurt Vonnegut All outward forms of religion are almost useless, and are the causes of endless strife…..Believe there is a great power silently working all things for good, behave yourself, and never mind the rest. ...

Last night I found myself at a renegade restaurant at a large loft a few blocks from home, talking to a charismatic black butch artist who was wearing a Wallace kilt. Her large canvases of naked women were scattered thru the loft, as she was a good friend of the host of this guerilla gourmet experience. Our conversation was lively, and at some juncture she exclaimed, “But of course, I’m an Aquarian”. I laughed out loud, answering “Well, of course! I’m one too!” Over the years, I’ve come to realize that many of us Aquarians share an affability of perspective, almost as if we are all immigrants from some other land, who can relax in each others presence, knowing our strange ways are nothing but familiar to each other. Beltane being the season that Aquarians are conceived, and having spent the last weekend with an Aquarian friend, my birth sign has been on my mind. A perfect May evening, this event was in itself also a perfect Aquarian happening. With the full moon beaming in ...

One of my clients uses the term “child of my heart”. I’ve used the term “goddesschild”. Both sound saccharine, a bit goofy, but both also point out the lack of good language we have to describe the particularness of some relationships. Mother’s Day is tomorrow, and today has been a day the children I am related to not by blood, but by spirit, have been in my thoughts. These are children who are kin, and who I feel a guardianship that is not anything to do with legal, but purely natural and perhaps karmic law. Lyra left on Thursday to show her portfolio to a Chicago art school. She left me a voice mail message on Wednesday, hoping I could see her finished portfolio before she left. Our schedules didn’t mesh, and I was on pins and needles waiting to hear what happened. Yesterday I found out she was admitted. I look forward to her triumphant return, and I know that we’ll soon be sitting together on my couch, going over her artwork. Just imagining the sound of her excited voi...

One potent part of the heady cocktail of the last weekend was all the great talks with my friend Reya. She’s been abstaining from the practice of magic, yet our time together was anything but a vacation from the shamanic lifestyle. After this weekend, I’m full of germinating thoughts on the difference between “practicing” magic and “being” magic, and questioning the old standby definition of magic being “the art of consciousness at will”. That may be the definition of practicing magic, but I’m considering that the definition of being magic might be completely different. Is it possible that with enough “practice”, the art of magic can shift into “being”? Couldn’t there be an art to abstaining from trying to shift consciousness, but to be simply aware of the living dialogue/dance between our own consciousness and the collective’s? This past weekend was magic. Pure and simple. We interacted with the world and its spirits constantly. It was a lively con...

Monday night I arrived home to my beloved primary partner of a city, bedraggled and bedazzled by my affair with the big apple. I’d spent my last day with my oldest of New York friends, the paintings in MOMA. I realized as I stood before A Starry Night , that of each of the four times I’ve been to this city, this is the one constant, visiting the MOMA. In my exhaustion and overwhelm, I found myself imagining I was at a rarefied cocktail party, mingling and chatting with Jasper, Andy, Pablo, and Vincent, among many others. Loving them all, I couldn’t help laughing out loud in front of a Lichtenstein when in my daydream, the Guerilla Girls barged into the party in full regalia. So nice to be able to hold a tender love for these paintings/artists along with my longing for a more mixed up cocktail party! An hour or so later, I was in a small gallery down the street, at a show of Louisiana Artists centered around rebuilding the New Orleans Museum of Art. The walls held much more art by w...

What a day! If life is a dream, today was an epic! We walked thru a silent Times Square , empty of everything but the neon and brilliant signage, red and white confetti drifting in the air. I went to order something at “Wichcraft” in Bryant Park, only to have a woman hold up a huge hand lettered sign that said “CLOSED!”, right as we were engaged in a great discussion on spellwork and the craft. We walked thru the Morgan Library and saw an early Morte de Arthur, some of the first tarot cards, and books covered with handwritten author’s notes and annotations, including Oscar Wilde, Mary Shelley William Blake, and Hemingway. We ate in a converted garage, every plate different, and chandeliers a-go-go, while a jazz quartet wowed us with young coolness. We shopped on Canal street , with vendors whispering and chanting “Coach, Fendi, Vuitton, DVD’s” with knock-offs a plenty surrounding us. We had drinks at a bar where the bathrooms themselves were an art installation. We went to an...

I took the red eye to New York last night, and thankfully slept. I woke up to the incredible sight of the sun rising over the city as my plane was descending. As I rode from JFK into the city, I realized that, although I’ve only visited here twice, I know this city. New York City has got to be the city most portrayed in movies and television. How many different ways have I seen it destroyed? There’s all the various creatures who’ve caused mayhem, King Kong, Godzilla, and of course a variety of aliens, and then there’s all the natural disasters and projections into the future. Being a lover of old Woody Allen movies, Law and Order, and having watched every episode of Sex In The City, this place is familiar. I’m so excited about being in New York and even more excited about spending time with my dear friend, Reya . We’ve had a series of visits that included magical intensity that we both have been ready to jettison. The last time we planned a visit together it turned ou...

This was my first Beltane in about twenty five years that didn’t involve a Maypole. This year, I spiraled around Bernal Hill as my homage to this ripe and fertile season. I filled my house with flowers and friends, and gave thanks for the magic that went into the conception of my son , and to the national Beltane miracles; Stephen Colbert’s bravery and brilliance at the White House Correspondent’s Dinner, and the stunning May Day marches of immigrants around the country. Almost all the establishments in my neighborhood of the Mission closed up shop, with huge signs on the doors explaining why. Everything feels different now. There’s a palpable sense of pride and hope in the air. The power of the life force is strong and shimmering. Without participating in a formal ritual, I feel satiated with Beltane magic. The Great Turning is picking up speed. My son Casey had been dead set against attending any mayday celebrations, and this was the first year we didn’t go to Anne and her...