I'm so excited! I've got sites.
Check it out!
purplecarrottarot.yolasite.com & bellybuttonstars.yolasite.com
(Yes, that's right, I'm using my blog spot for free advertising. ha Ha)
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Soul Preserves
Noun, preserves. Verb, to preserve; synonym, to protect.
What will it be? Jam, or jelly?
Jam's spreadable and's got tang... and seeds that crunch and wedge between your teeth. It also stains what it drips on.
Now jelly's got the sugar, but you need a spoon to get it from the jar to the toast and it has this texture more of congealed blood than mashed fruit. Of course - all the color (and nutrients) have been so boiled away that it doesn't do much stain damange when it drops on fav pajamies.
I vote jam. But why argue? They're both preserves.
Quoting the Holy Bible, ESV, Psalm 16 and verse 1: "Preserve me, O God."
That's right. Get out a Mason jar and bottle me up Jesus! Mash my soul with sugar 'n spice and everything nice! Seal me with the Holy Spirit and label me with a new name so you don't wonder later, when you're shuffling through the jars on a Sunday morning in your expansive heavenly pantry before church, what kind of Christian I am. Umm. Nummy!
Sticky situation: Church
I was in Thailand on PhiPhi for New Years 2009. Beach attired, drinking alcohol out of a bucket, squished in a dancing, pulsing throng, I remember a moment in the middle of it all when I forgot to party and looked around and thought: this is it. This is church. This is the body. United. Alive. Joyful. Preserved.
What will it be? Jam, or jelly?
Jam's spreadable and's got tang... and seeds that crunch and wedge between your teeth. It also stains what it drips on.
Now jelly's got the sugar, but you need a spoon to get it from the jar to the toast and it has this texture more of congealed blood than mashed fruit. Of course - all the color (and nutrients) have been so boiled away that it doesn't do much stain damange when it drops on fav pajamies.
I vote jam. But why argue? They're both preserves.
Quoting the Holy Bible, ESV, Psalm 16 and verse 1: "Preserve me, O God."
That's right. Get out a Mason jar and bottle me up Jesus! Mash my soul with sugar 'n spice and everything nice! Seal me with the Holy Spirit and label me with a new name so you don't wonder later, when you're shuffling through the jars on a Sunday morning in your expansive heavenly pantry before church, what kind of Christian I am. Umm. Nummy!
Sticky situation: Church
I was in Thailand on PhiPhi for New Years 2009. Beach attired, drinking alcohol out of a bucket, squished in a dancing, pulsing throng, I remember a moment in the middle of it all when I forgot to party and looked around and thought: this is it. This is church. This is the body. United. Alive. Joyful. Preserved.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
The Pixie's Tarot
On September 18th, 1951, Pamela "Pixie" Colman Smith passed away - but her energy remains.
On the 16th of this September I was taking a time of meditative clairvoyance, focusing on my visual percipient - a yellow piece of A4 paper with a large, black filled-in circle in the center. (That's right! No crystals for me! Tooooo expensive.)
I saw an old woman that looked of native descendant, her dark hair wild about her head. She was viewing me from different angles, turning her head from side to side and up and down in that slow way that a bad camera connection does on Skype.
I thought that perhaps she was one of my ancestors - and I was happy to see her.
I then put away the clairvoyant exercise and turned to my newly purchased Rider-Waite Tarot deck. (Up until now I had been using a homemade set of cards from Sweden. Ever hear of Abergs Spelkort? The deck was a display of his art work... Disney fun fun. Anyways...) Slipping slowly through the deck to get a feel for the cards I came to one dedicated to PCS, the artist behind the Rider-Waite deck.
Her face hit me with a punch that took my breath away from me momentarily. It was her - younger - but her... I was sure of it. But given as I am to self-doubt, I decided to seek out the truth by christening my first reading, done Celtic Cross, with the Question: "Did I see Pamela?
Answer: I did.
Pixie,
Thank you for what I perceive to be your guiding energy. I hope to draw on you again and again. May your energy flow through my Readings. I dedicate each of them, from the Rider-Waite Tarot deck, to you my dear.
Good night, sleep tight. I will greet you at the Resurrection of the Dead.
Ceci
On the 16th of this September I was taking a time of meditative clairvoyance, focusing on my visual percipient - a yellow piece of A4 paper with a large, black filled-in circle in the center. (That's right! No crystals for me! Tooooo expensive.)
I saw an old woman that looked of native descendant, her dark hair wild about her head. She was viewing me from different angles, turning her head from side to side and up and down in that slow way that a bad camera connection does on Skype.
I thought that perhaps she was one of my ancestors - and I was happy to see her.
I then put away the clairvoyant exercise and turned to my newly purchased Rider-Waite Tarot deck. (Up until now I had been using a homemade set of cards from Sweden. Ever hear of Abergs Spelkort? The deck was a display of his art work... Disney fun fun. Anyways...) Slipping slowly through the deck to get a feel for the cards I came to one dedicated to PCS, the artist behind the Rider-Waite deck.
Her face hit me with a punch that took my breath away from me momentarily. It was her - younger - but her... I was sure of it. But given as I am to self-doubt, I decided to seek out the truth by christening my first reading, done Celtic Cross, with the Question: "Did I see Pamela?
Answer: I did.
Pixie,
Thank you for what I perceive to be your guiding energy. I hope to draw on you again and again. May your energy flow through my Readings. I dedicate each of them, from the Rider-Waite Tarot deck, to you my dear.
Good night, sleep tight. I will greet you at the Resurrection of the Dead.
Ceci
Friday, September 17, 2010
Street Junk
KEY to random markings in script:
* = Sssparkles!
<^> = that cool thing Haspop does with his Head n' Shoulders
Street Junk?
ci, the *Garage Sale*. It all begins with a sign on a telephone phone.
Like a "Lost Kitten" advertisement, fluffy white, with it's little lost persona staring you right in the face: SATURDAY. 8-5.
It's like a "Concert Coming" or a "For Sale" notice with a rip-able phone-number fringe skirting the bottom that makes you grunt.
And you remember those eyes and your grunt goes from "Whatever," to becoming one of wonder and suddenly, curiously - you make a plan, or, you make a split-second decision and turn around to... Go <^>
Right. So you're there and suddenly you fall into one of two categories - the guilty and the non.
The Guilty: You feel obliged to buy something. This stems from a sexual attraction to your mother (boys), or a sexual attraction to your father (girls). Simply put - you know it's wrong but... they've done so much for you...
The Non: You don't give a shit. This stems from a sexual attraction to your mother (boys), or a sexual attraction to your father (girls). Simply put - you've been had enough times. You don't owe nothin'!
Now, whether you buy something or not - there are three things that can or could occur, and will occur, depending on who, <^>, is hosting the *Garage Sale*.
If you are attending a garage sale that my husband's family is not hosting this can or could or will happen:
1. You are watched like a hawk as you peruse the unimportant, cheap, overused and unwanted items. God forbid someone steal a 25 cent piece of street junk that they will not miss.
2. You are not offered cookies or other baked goods even though you are in theory a visitor at this person's home.
3. You are not greeted with music to browse by.
Or*** if you are attending a garage sale that my husband's family is hosting this can and could and will happen:
1. Upon your arrival you are greeted with a cheery "Hello!" and henceforth ignored at what oddly looks to be a family reunion.
2. You are offered cookies or other baked goods because you are a visitor at their home. In fact, if you stick around and chat awhile you'll leave with that street junk before marked 1 dollar -for free! And... that peanut butter fudge you've been eating? It can be put on order for the holidays.
3. You are greeted with music to browse by. That's why that decrepit radio they always mean to sell for pennies sticks around year after bloody year. (Why don't they get that? I refer to the pre-garage sale conversation question: "What?! Didn't we get rid of this last year? Okay this year we mark it down! They offer a nickel they get it!" Yep. Sure you will.)
Ah yes - garage sale conversation. It spans from "OMG do you remember this? Awww - I don't know if I can sell it..." to "What is this? I don't even know where I got this!"
But my favorite garage-sale-conversation is to be found in the petty comments given by many American garage sale goers.
The comment: "Well, can't see nothing I can't live without.
No kidding...
The comment: "How much are you asking for this?" When your masking tape price tag very clearly declares how much you are asking.
Be real cheapskate - just ask if we'll go down.
The comment: "This is my 3rd garage sale of the day. I'm plum out of money!"
So then why did you come fother mucker?
The comment: "Just here to look."
WARNING!!! Run these people off your property! They are the thing identity theft is made of! "Oh, I see you used to knit?" Yah right wanker.
*<^>*
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