an auspicious day

I sometimes really do feel like I am living in dreamtime. Yesterday was one of those days.

I had an appointment at city hall at 12 to get a marriage license. That in itself feels dreamlike….especially since that civil right may be voted away on the 5^th of November. As I slid into the parking spot that miraculously opened up right in front, a commercial against Proposition 8 was playing on the radio. The words were ringing in my head as I entered the hall full of gay and lesbian couples, looking for my partner. Here we all were, in this strange place between the worlds, going through motions that in a few weeks time may be denied other couples. Or not.

We found each other and took our place in a long line of stories. Everyone had one, and most were telling them. The man next to me told me about his cancer, and how he thought he’d never live to marry his partner. The cancer is in remission, and the wedding will take place in the Victory Garden in front of city hall. We told him about the Victory Garden in our back yard, and how we felt so grateful to have been chosen by this project. I breathed into the very words – Victory Garden.

With so much on the line right now, breathing into those two words felt useful, felt auspicious.

We signed the papers, got the license, and left. Judy went back to work, and I went home to meet the photographer from the Chronicle who was coming to do a photo shoot about Pagan decorating for Samhain. Fern had described me to a reporter as the Pagan Martha Stewart. The reporter had called and interviewed me a few days before. Helpfully, my teenage son would occasionally holler out things like “Don’t believe it, it’s really all about devil worship!” I explained to the reporter that having a teenager, no matter if you are Christian, Buddhist, or Pagan, seems to be universally the same. Your teenager believes everything you believe in sucks. And, they are rude. Mine is both rude and funny.

My sister was going to be spending the night in town, and she showed up just as the photographer was finishing up, just in time for us both to take part in a photo focusing on the part of my altar where our father is honored. I’m convinced our dad is doing his part for the election, that all the dead I’m working with are doing their part. The fact that this year’s altar might find its way into the paper feels as auspicious as the words Victory Garden. It will be interesting which names on the skulls and which photos on the candles make their way into the paper. Will Jeremy? Will Cora? Susan North? Paul Newman?

I don’t think I’ve ever felt so anxious about feeling things are auspicious. And yesterday, that feeling just built and built.

After a good dinner, we set out to a Patti Smith concert. Judy had gotten the tickets weeks back…just another reason I love her. She is not the fan I am, and had told me if the music was too loud, she might leave. She knows I am crazy wild for Patti Smith, who gets played full blast along with Leonard Cohen, when I’m up in my art studio. She turned to me at one point, with tears in her eyes, and said it was the best concert she’s ever been to. And she’s a picky musician.

Patti had come to play for us because it was Arthur Rimbaud’s birthday and because this is San Francisco. And she was casting a spell. That was clear. She was in full shaman mode and we were transfixed, drawn into the magic that was being woven. She was putting her shoulder to the wheel of change, demanding that we all do the same. Putting our energy into actively and mindfully voting for change we can live with…auspicious change. Rimbaud was invoked and so were many other of Beloved Dead. At one point, the crowd was shouting out the names of musicians, writers and artists who have died this year, and I felt the dead filling the room, giving their spirits to us taking a particular turn at this mighty crossroads of change.

It was a full day, an auspicious day, a day where the air itself vibrated with possibility.

What will these next weeks be like? It’s hard to imagine.