How Tarot Works 

You are not unique. In the ways that you may be unique, you add your uniqueness to the story the cards depict. It’s a story of humans and their lives. How could it not be your story. The Arcana are the people who populate human life, humans. The number cards represent energies, forces of life. They show what’s happening to the people.

So I shuffle. Play with the cards. Deal them out. There I am, in the middle of all this busy living. How to make sense of it. 

It’s a conversation between me and the cards I’m dealt. What other meaning could I possibly bring to this than my own meaning. 

Tarot is always right because it can’t possibly be wrong. Because it’s you interacting with the cards. It could be tea leaves as well, or the lines on your palm. 

It’s helpful because it is a mirror. Sometimes it’s easier to see in a mirror. 

Thoughts On Parenting 

In some instances, my recovery from Polio being one such instance, forcing a reluctant child to do something they abhor to do isnt mean. But most times that’s all it is: mean. I remember when toddler Erin became what we call a “picky eater”. She also began an odd eating routine, in which some days, sometimes several consecutive days, she fasted. The other days she ate voraciously, if selectively. Nothing on her plate could have any contact, including drippings with the others. 
I called my pediatrician. He said in his forty years as a pediatrician he had never once seen a child starve by choice. 
My parents would have forced me relentlessly to eat as they wanted me to eat. Unfortunately this frequently occurred and often led to dire consequences. 
My parents were wrong, but there is a silver lining: I’ve always been clear in almost all cases not to follow their example. 
But I have to give credit where credit is due. My mother forced me to do every bit of the daily routine and sequencing of exercise and rest the Physical Therapist at the hospital recommended. 
I of course resisted, but my mother insisted, no exceptions. The doctor at the hospital told my mother I would never walk again. My mother was having none of it. She pushed me off of the crutches, refused to allow surgery. She was my hero. And I’m still walking. And grateful at a depth … well I have nothing to compare it to. Love. Gratitude and love. 
So there are times when a child’s displeasure is simply irrelevant. But those other times …

The Backyard Fence

The roses are coming along nicely. A Robin is looking around for a nest. I want her/him to nest where I can see them. I hope it’s not too late. I’ll put out some nesting material to entice her. I have no idea whether that is ignorant and lame or a good idea. Please weigh in my dear treasured wildlife biologists. Your input enriches my world.

Update: The. At Maggie is a bird killer. So far from enticing her I’m just hoping she nests where I can see her with binoculars.

Save The Last Dance For Me

When Richard and the dog are both snoring it’s just me and iTunes, lonesome music in a crowded bed, thoughts of the future pester my brain and rob me of sleep. 

It’s dangerous to look ahead. 

I suppose it’s just my mind doing its best to prepare me for the almost certain future in which I will be, if not alone, without my best friend, whose fitful sleep and troubled dreams populate my nights.
The tapestry of our lives unravels and soon the picture will surely go. Where? Away.

I need no disturbance to keep my eyes open wide staring into the dark. I see the thing approaching. The writing’s on the wall. I don’t need a Daniel to decipher for me. 

My days are filled with it, as his brain declines and his world falls apart. It breaks my heart. 

Frantic days, I become an easy mark for the latest “alternative” remedy. All the money I’ve thrown at my hopeless hope! Daily he is less and less here.

In the snoring hours, I grieve. My sorrow tastes like lead, as heavy, as dead. I hate Alzheimer’s. And my fast-approaching empty bed.

Choosing Wisely Choosing Happy

My body and I have gotten along better since I stopped thinking it was me, all of me, and nothing more of me. 
After 67 years of living and decades of healing I now think of my body as a space suit. It’s what I gotta have on to be in this world. 
My body is a creation of this world. Transient, mortal, helped along by survival instincts the human body is eminently suitable for this world. 

As my body ages, I’m more and more aware that my consciousness hasn’t. My consciousness (how I occur to myself, who I am for myself) is 25, even though my body is 67 and pretty beat up (life does that). 

I’m too old to dismiss the temporary nature of this body. It gives me daily reminders. I remember when I could just not think about life being transient. That is called 25.

But I must also say that I am very happy despite the chronic physical pain and the progressive decline of some of my body parts and systems. 

Used to get me down. Thankfully I’ve made progress with my mind. I choose happiness and self-agency every chance I get, every time I can. 

With practice the happiness has long since become my baseline. Now that’s something to be happy about. I have so much to be happy about. 

It’s not luck. 

It’s a choice. My maker endowed me with free will, not so I would be good, but so I would be powerful in the face of so many challenges and setbacks common in this life. 

I stand up taller,  I stress and suffer far less when I have a choice, even if it isn’t total and absolute choice over absolutely everything. I look for choice and welcome it even when its scope does not change a physicality. 

Subjectively my experience of life is qualitatively better, much better when I am “at choice.” Cheers me up even when it’s not objectively true. 

My mind is often a brat, frightened, lazy and indifferent, argumentative. I had to discipline my mind first. Nor am I done. 

But I’ve learned I can talk it into just about anything. So I create affirmations and repeat them over and over again. Meanwhile my mind is annoyed and incredulous at worst and at first,  and at best amused. 

In the end, my mind yields to my insistence. It bends to my will, my patience and my persistence. And when that moment comes, when my mind believes the words it is reciting, why then it’s just true. 

Say Hallelujah 

Say Amen

Labor Day

Do you realize we are honoring the Labor Movement? The American Labor Movement, the mother of all movements in this country. We honor with a National Holiday those brave activists who fought and many of whom died for a minimum wage, working hours, unions. I’d bet phony USDs a lot of people have no idea what this Holiday is about. So I found a link, which I append below. 
I want to celebrate this Labor Day by sharing a story with you.
A couple years ago, I was at a concert and overheard a young woman reciting how the system is rigged against her generation. Then she said there’s nothing we can do to change it. So, you know me … I butted in.
I blurted out, “Hey we’re still here. Call the rally and we will show up.”
“We can’t do that.”
“Why not? We did it in the 60’s. We’ll do it again.”
“But,” she said, “They might hurt us!”
“So?” I said. “They hurt us. Tell you what,” (I had a brainstorm right there at the Knitting Factory), we’ll go in front. I’d rather they hurt me than you anyway.”
Her face screwed up in this odd way. She turned back to the concert, which was a good idea after all. 
So for several years I lost my faith in young people. 
And in spite of everything, of all the pain we are in as a people, it fills me with pride to see them step up, for Bernie Sanders, for Black Lives Matter, and all the many courageous demonstrators on all the large and small front lines. Oh yeah, I’d still stand in front but my head would be held high.
Happy Labor Day. Never Forget!