I’m Still Here, She Used to Say

 

May 6th, 2019

There’s nothing more to say after my moody and sleepless weekend. Now I know why that restless spirit lurked.  She passed away early Saturday morning.

I liked to call her my auntie even though she was my mother’s cousin.  For a while it seemed that her concern for status and a certain type of propriety would dim my need for Sunday chats. Having someone to talk with, to chew the fat with, to simply say hello to became more important than any mutual tales of glory or woe.

She defied the odds,  continuing to breathe on her own for over a year after they took her off the oxygen. She lingered on, clear-minded, in her own home, with caretakers coming in and out. She persevered through visits and outings, ignoring the whispers and patronizing statements-the way people talk to old folks, loudly, sounding as if the encapsulated soul is some kindergartner needing to be chastised for squirming.

 

I’m still here she used to say

long after any morning happiness

ceased, leaving a darkening doubt.

 

I’m still here she used to say

and we would make jokes about surviving

day after day, hour after hour, a gaze, a shift, a sigh groaning into  slumber- yet- like a mean-spirited joke being played out against her will,

she would awaken.

I’m still here, she used to say,

long, long after a lonely dusk, the ancestors and angels gathered her in their welcoming glistening arms–

she’s free!

Moon Up in the Daytime

cloudy wispy half-moon
of light gossamer
lingering above
in a sentimental blue sky
late afternoon solace: the veil between the world is thinning as one more autumn emerges.

They Don’t Tell You

in the background the usual
misogyny
rattles around like the crusty rickety
and impetuous
drunk hanging out at the corner bar bragging to his seaside pals.

mama had warned you about stranger danger
but forgot the part
where your own sister
won’t call you to report
that Linda May had passed away
a month ago.

they don’t tell you
and never did speak
directly
except when the iron was hot
and the blue cold ribbon of one-upping
was theirs to display
and cheer.

Writing Fiction Cures Memoir Blues

 

 

In fiction, anything goes because you make stuff up and nobody knows if you’re bending the truth-kind of like some major players in US politics. Sorry, couldn’t resist.

I decided to take the Nanowrimo challenge in November and produced well over 60, 000 words in a flurry of writing.  I didn’t do the posting or participate in the website boards.  Putting my work out there wasn’t my goal because I wanted to play my cards close to the vest; the writing itself was my prize. I am working on publishing it possibly as an ebook. Writing a novel was not something I planned to do and to my own surprise I really busted through the setbacks I’d been experiencing.

Here is what I learned in my writing my first novel:

• I can do it! I enjoy writing fiction
• Writing fiction frees up creative juices because you’re not worried about facts
• Writers can use their memoir stories for ideas
• Taking on a month-long challenge works for motivation

I  loosely based my novel on my memoir and found that I was able to explore and write about themes that had plagued me for years. Issues, conflicts, tension, and resolution were tackled much more easily in fiction because I wasn’t tethered to exact details. I was more pleased at the end of the day with my work than I had been for all these years slogging through my (unfinished) memoir. The fiction writing was an amazing antidote for memoir blockage! Smooth moves. 🙂

Because I wanted to have my memoir as factual as possible the need to be completely truthful slowed me down and then stopped me. I got bogged down in details and  worrying about offending people. Perfectionism stinks sometimes.  However, I’m back into the writing of my personal story again with less worry-sort of. Now I’m becoming a complete snob in order to finish both works.

 

Journal prompt: take a day or a few weeks/months and write a story from start to finish. It can be as short as a few pages. Maybe you’ll find that this assignment leads you to do more writing and to challenge yourself. Pick one theme or issue from your own life and incorporate it into your story. Write freely. Be as bold and daring or as dry and technical as you want. Don’t edit your rough draft.

Discussion: what did you discover? Did you enjoy writing a story? What issues did you uncover or discover anew? How did your body react (if at all) to writing fiction?

 

 

The Horns of Hell

The braying coward in the room
reminds our dreaming hearts
to continue
following the Golden Rule —
to do unto others that which you would have done unto you

or at least to make the attempt
to look as if you’d paid attention
during that first decade of your own early existence
when
blackboards
and chalk
and rulers
ruled.
Yet apparently the memo
never appeared in the DNA
of such a barnacled baby branded by the horns of hell.

The indigenous grandfather, the shepherd, would say to his fold
his flock
the watchful courageous children
quiet now, young ones. Be still,
stop talking so much
keep your hands to yourself.
Don’t be a braggart
watch out for grandiosity and boasting;
the grandfather, the father, his hands ever-warm

tended to by his long-loving

tawny wife
steadfast, kind, capable of moving mountains
with her keen eyes…
a heart, a fortress
as mighty as the tides

and
as delicate and tenuous as a curled fern.

It is the space inside the
last page of the story
beyond needless words
that holds the children

eager for the sight of their kindred souls,

the scented earthy

sheltering arms
protecting them
from the foul-mouthed monster
born out of the fearful horns of hell.

The Day the Universe Dumped Me on My Head aka Vulnerability

A little over a month ago I was getting into the holiday spirit. On Wednesday, December 6^th, I decided mid-morning to put up some lights in the lovely palo verde tree in the front yard. Without telling the hubs or asking him to spot me, I dragged the big extension ladder out to the front and set it up underneath the tree. In my poor preparation, I set the ladder up wrong, focusing instead on how gorgeous the solar lights would look wrapped around the tree limbs. My cursory push down onto the base rung of the ladder was totally inadequate. The ground was soft but I ignored it in my pre-holiday enthusiasm. I’d done the job dozens of times.

 

Back to the story. I climbed up about seven feet on the ladder and began reaching over to a limb on my left with my arms full of Christmas lights.

The rest is a complete blank.

I don’t remember anything at all after that. I don’t remember falling. I don’t remember my dear Jesse finding me on the ground, insisting that I needed to go to the ER. I don’t remember arguing with him that I needed to make sure I had on clean underwear (I was a child of the ‘50’s when mothers told their daughters to make sure their undergarments were clean in case they got hit by a bus). I don’t remember demanding that he call my regular doctor which didn’t make any sense except I wanted to be in charge.  My loving partner is used to my being demanding at times, but it was bizarre that I can’t actually recall being so terribly bossy in my altered state.  I don’t remember being covered with dust and debris or my husband using the WaterPik  to clean the dirt out of my mouth and gently wiping the earth out of my nose. I don’t remember his insisting that I needed to go to the hospital, then helping me getting into our old SUV, then his driving me to the clinic.

It was only later that he told me he was worried that he would have to call 911 because of my odd belligerence.

I started to become aware of my surroundings as I sat in a wheelchair clutching my purse (another 50’s habit) when the staff at the first clinic we went to realized that I’d lost consciousness from the fall, and so we’d have to go on ahead to the ER.

I do remember people in an exam room asking me who was the president of the United States. I made a screwy face and answered correctly. My expression made them all laugh. They put one of those terrible collars around my neck in order to stabilize me, gave me some strong medication. I went into that dull state of being, now completely aware that I’d broken my shoulder. The collar was ill-fitting and stiff, I was warned not to pull on it. Later on, I was wheeled down the hall and admitted to the hospital for my fractured arm. In the hallway, one of the nurses told another to remove the restraining strap from my gurney. I guess I was in a place where people were often brought in with behavior problems, impairment or even trouble with the law.  Egads.

I ended up being diagnosed with a multiple closed fractures in my left humerus. I had broken my left shoulder head in three parts and they were checking to make sure I didn’t have an internal bleed in my belly. According to the subsequent tests they did on me I had not suffered a concussion, stroke, or heart attack. There was no brain damage, only my bruises and wounded ego over such an expensive mistake.

Everyone in the medical field told me it could have been worse. My friends in the medical field all said the same thing. The dear hubby keeps telling me that. Could have been much worse. Now I am starting to believe them.

Long story short-the universe dumped me on my head that day. It was a total cosmic wake up call of paramount importance second only to one or two other life changing whacks I’ve experienced. The old zen parable of “attention!” comes to mind.

I’m recovering well and ready for physical therapy to start up. When all this happened I was working on my novel, a sideline journey using parts of my still unfinished memoir. I’d just started working with a new writing group, new friends I’m cherishing for their ability to withstand their own challenges while sharing stories together.

So on December 6^th, I began my four -day journey in the hospital. And I began a new lesson in vulnerability in a way I’d never experienced before. My first nurse was a young good-looking man with four kids. I had to use a bed pan in front of a man I didn’t know. I had to be lifted by people I didn’t know. Apparently I was apologizing for the weight I needed to lose. I mean, talk about being vulnerable. I was worried about my breath smelling bad. What woman isn’t vain to some extent? Grateful for the female nurses who later were assigned to me, I love each and every one of them like sisters now.

I don’t like vulnerability.  Yet at the same time, having no control and relying on others forces you into compassion. You become compliant or sweet or you become a jerk. I try to be the former. It is a state of being re-introduced to the goodness, kindness, and relying on the professionalism of others and is a strong reminder of all the qualified people out there in the world. God bless them. I miss the doctors, nurses and staff who tended to me and looked after me. They are all angels and I was honored to meet them. It was not exactly the way I wanted to meet new people, but hey. These things happen.

 

Vulnerability is described as “the quality of state of being exposed to the possibility of being attacked or harmed, either physically or emotionally.” Nobody needs to hear about how getting older or suffering from a disability makes us feel especially tender or vulnerable.

Just by following the national politics, most of “us” are reminded daily of a certain vulnerability because of the bully-buffoon in the White House. Those of us who find each other, regardless of whether or not we agree on politics, share our stories of life and death and everything in-between.

With my adorable husband helping me and with the support of friends and family, there is always a way to adjust to not having use of one’s full potential. There are times when I want to feel sorry for myself, but I won’t let it come in full force.

I will share more of my broken shoulder story later on.

Writing prompt: write about feeling vulnerable. When in your life have you felt, or do you feel, the most vulnerable? What images come to your mind? Use descriptions. What helped you get through those times? If you are going through them now, what tools are you using? How does journaling writing, or creativity help?

 

portrait of the writer after 30,000 words on working novel

 

What People Say: Dealing with Word Wounds and How to Heal

 

Oh the things people say: “You’re good with the customers but you’re not management material.”

Why do some people react to hurtful comments while others seem to have a thicker skin? The only reason for approaching the topic in writing is that I used to be one of those sensitive types. I learned through needless suffering to deflect the jabs by setting boundaries and kicking out the insult-bearing squatters from my head. Writing a memoir or life story does bring up some of those nasty memories.

The opening scene in the rough draft of my memoir is a one-line zinger that somebody slapped on me at a family function. I got zapped. Verbally tasered. I fired back with what I thought was a classy response. The offender and I never talked about it.

Put-downs, maligning and one-upping happens to everybody. What years of being a parent, grandparent, wife, sister, and friend has taught me is that others have similar experiences. Everyone is sensitive in varying degrees, and that being a “sensitive” is actually a skill. When I earned my degree in psychology and participated in years of workshops, what I learned is that if I don’t get a handle on reacting to people who bully, I risk becoming bitter and resentful.

Writing is a good way to deal with the hurts and move on from the jabs and insults.

While I wrote jokingly in one of my blogs about men being Neanderthals, it is women, it seems, who have a special talent for murderous competition designed to make another woman want to quit. For those of you who have been the recipient of digs and jabs, please take heart and learn to fight back or move on. You’re worth it. I know, because I’ve been there. Sometimes we’re the ones who do the zapping. Everybody I know, male, female, gay, trans…whomever…has stories about the war of words.

Here are a few one-liners I’ve experienced in my life. Some are light-hearted. Some were turning points/wounds that required spiritual counseling and even regular counseling so I could heal. They might not make sense or seem that intense, but as each writer knows, words shape our stories.

Childhood:

What happened to you? Did you get sunburned through a screen?

“There’s a man down in those trees. He’s going to come and get you.”

Don’t worry, they’ll grow.

What are you doing here, jackass?

Why don’t you want to play doctor with me? Don’t be scared.

Jobs-co-workers

Who made the coffee this morning? It’s too weak.

Who made these rubber band eggs?

Who scheduled this appointment?

What about your age?

Is this the new help? (that would be me)

 Relationships/Life situations

 You’re really filling up those pants.

You act like you’re single.

You don’t care about me.

You don’t love me.

When did YOU ever grow up?

You have private property hang-ups.

You think you’re so smart. That job just landed in your lap.

You have a repressed mouth.

Why don’t you go back to Europe where you came from?

You don’t understand simple things. You have ownership issues.

Don’t do this because you’re humiliated.

We’re going to teach you a lesson.

Well I hope you learned your lesson.

You’re a two-faced elitist.

You need help.

That’s why Susan is so screwed up.

You can’t even put a lid on a jar right. What’s wrong with you?

 (Thank you Jesus, I never broke anyone’s face. I would come home from working all day and have to make dinner while my kid’s father had been home. Then he would get on my case after I’d make a cup of tea for myself to get through the meal-making).

I’ve had guests come to my house, eat the meals I prepared for them, enjoy the bedroom I fixed up for them only to have someone say, “You make me tired. Can’t you just relax?”

Boundaries!

Yes of course there are more one-liners to add to the repertoire. But I’ve done my ceremonies. Writers  & journal keepers can use the words/scenarios to add to novels, memoirs, and interweave them into their characters’ lives. Don’t forget the positives!

*********************

 

Journal prompt: Do you remember things that people have said to you that hurt? Do comments people have made stay with you for life? Write them down. Later go back and write a brief explanations after each comment. This is for you only for right now.

If you decide you want to elaborate, go back and write the emotion or feelings that you experienced after the words were spoken.

Discussion: Experts have found that the act of writing affirmations and positive summaries has a powerful affect on our health. Do the exercise again and use nice things that people have said to you. Notice if there is a difference in the way you feel. Compliment yourself in your journal often.

Also, one way to deal with hurtful words is to take the list and have a releasing ceremony. Put the written words in a fire and burn them. Say “I now release all this hurt forever.” Another way is to make a paper boat and write some of the terms or words that have wounded you and put it in a moving body of water. (please be eco-conscious).

Put your list through a shredder.

You can do a freezing ceremony to get rid of your words-spoken list. Put the list of wounds in a bag and freeze it. Later on when you are ready, in a couple hours, days, months, dump your list in the garbage or compost pile if you have a garden. Another way is to paint on biodegradable materials and bury the issues in the earth. Or make art. Do a collage or sand tray exercise and work with those hurts. But at the end, it’s imperative to be positive. Make up your own ways to put the issues out of your psyche and your world.

Happy writing, everybody. Cheers!

 

 

Whacked Out News vs Hope for the Future

Hello Kindred Writers and Readers,

I haven’t been on WordPress since August but I’ve been journaling and slowly working on my memoir manuscript. I’m not giving up. It doesn’t matter to me anymore how long it takes.

As I scan over my blog I’m tempted to toss out writing and stick to art and poetry. Then I remember a few words from various teachers and authors, especially Arun Gandhi who worked on one of his books for many years and when it emerged, the final product was a children’s book.

Then I check out all the incredible, talented, and hopeful young people in the world. I can’t give up on hope when I think about people such as those involved with DACA, education, women’s rights, civil rights,  along with so many un-named s/heros who wake up every morning to remind us to have courage.

I’ve about had it with adults, especially politicians who act worse than spoiled children. Since I last made a blog entry, we’ve seen the horror of hateful and fearful lost souls (KKK)  marching in Charlottesville, juxtaposed to kind, loving and inclusive gathering of people opposing the ignorance. What a tragic event.

Then came Hurricane Harvey, a natural disaster most surely caused in part by factors of global warming from man-made pollution. The fact that our president, ( I call him Humpty), thinks he can boast and buy his way through office and railroad legal experts, is absurd. He alone, is responsible for setting the tone and pace for critical dialogue  as the leader of the free world. Wake me up from this nightmare. Yet he remains a dangerous buffoon. He claims to know more than the generals? Ok. Good luck with that one. My response: Amendment 25.

We are allowed, according to the First Amendment to write and say what we want in the US. I’m beyond disbelief anymore. I find relief in political cartoons, especially Steve Sacks  who just published his first book. I may publish some of my rudimentary cartoons this year. Here’s another link.

So, I write about death often it seems. Not that I’m trying to be morbid or depressing. Quite the opposite. Death is like love. It hurts when we are in it because of fear of losing. Yet, the big L word is uniquely about freedom and not controlling others. Much of what I’m exploring in my own life story has to do with relationships and the challenge of being “good enough.” Isn’t that nutty?

The power of love and death is undeniable. People spend their lives trying to control anything or anyone around them in search of the race against time. Then, by the time you get old enough, if you’re lucky, you realize that none of crap you fought against in the self image category is important. People may like you, hate you, or whatever. No matter you do, they will talk about you, and for the most part, people don’t care that much. The hubs and I will both attest to the fact.

I’ve been through all the fads of spirituality on the market, only to come to the conclusion that most of feel good pablum IS a market, with branding, advertising and the whole mess.

Back to the drawing board.

I hope to have something more entertaining for my next post. Rusty, dusty.

Meanwhile, I’m happy to post that our granddaughter who has cystic fibrosis is doing very well. She’s in middle school now. Thank goodness and God (I’m a believer) for medical staff, doctors, nurses, administration, and volunteers who give hope and courage for anyone dealing with a disease. When you or a loved one has a challenge, no matter how cliche it sounds, not one second, not one minute of their lives is taken for granted.

Journal prompt: How do you see the world right now? Are you concerned? Bored? Angry? Happy? Numb? Describe your feelings about your environment. Do you sense that things are improving in your life or not? What do you dream about accomplishing?

Love and light to all.

Below: original art circa 1972, charcoal drawing, “Claude”

Rejection, Breaking Dishes, and Rewrites

You’ve heard the quotes about how many times Babe Ruth struck out during his career. You’ve been reminded about the number of rejections J.K. Rowling received before she hit it big.  Do these reminders help when another rejection comes in?

Hell no.

What goes around does not necessarily come back around. Your dreams can die in the water if you get discouraged. Please don’t give up.

Time to toughen up, yo.

But what to do in the meantime?

Every writer knows how easy it is to get sick of your manuscript. The thrill of what you thought was so profound is being rejected by better writers, or famous peoples’  sex scandals and famous peoples’ romance. Again.

Have ever wondered how much time you’ve wasted looking at other people living their lives? Seriously.

Or, you just plain got rejected.

You have several options when rejections fill your inbox-tongue in cheek-not literally.

•  Break dishes
•  Learn how to play golf
• Put on your old Allman Brothers or Buddy Guy tunes and crank it up full blast
• Run away &  put a week at a luxury hotel on your credit card-suffer later
• Do yoga for pissed off people
• Yell at the dog
• Knit, break the knitting needles and ball up the yarn, donate said yarn to the Goodwill
• Doodle
• Rewrite

 

I favor breaking dishes, running away, and doodling. Doodling usually wins. You can find budget hotels to replace the overly expensive bed and breakfast inns, but the cold hard truth is no matter what your coping mechanisms are,  you have to  do the rewrites.  When you sink your head into the pillow, be it luxury lavender or at home on budget, the naked truth is staring at you from the ceiling.

You have to revise. And unless you have a contract,  nobody cares. You still have to do it.

Sweat.

Do the rewrite.

Again. Hog the bandwith. Be stingy with your time.

For anyone struggling with the sting of “so sorry, but we’ve had hundreds of submissions this year,” I have no advice except that you’re not alone.  As old Aunt Mathilda used to say, “just stay with it. Don’t give up, honey.” At the risk of sounding bitter and pathetic, I won’t bore you with how much I’ve spent on writing classes that haven’t gotten me any closer to finishing my manuscript. But my wasted funds might make you feel better about yourself.

Ladies, I’ve found that people in support groups don’t always pan out the way you wanted. If you think that all the law of attraction stuff and spiritual types are the best way to find kindred friends, you might want to think about joining a bowling group instead. You’ll find better camaraderie. Plus you get to smash things and make noise.

 Or if you are really into spirituality, as I am, you haven’t met your people yet. Keep the faith.

Big shots and famous people have staff writers who troll the internet to get ideas…from you! Really. I once wrote a blog post and within weeks, I saw my exact words on a high-profile spiritual hot shot’s ad. Maybe it was my imagination-I have no idea. But at least I got some form of a delusional ego-boost out of it.

STAY WITH IT!

 Writers, artists, musicians, poets, and even street bums are all about competition. “Players really only love you when they’re playing.” Shrinks debate each other over theories at workshops. Victims compare wounds in therapy groups. Psychotherapist Irving Yalom shared that one of his most vicious groups of clients were abuse survivors who battled each other over the severity of their stories. I wonder if monks in monasteries compete over how long they can meditate in silence? Does anyone know?

I’m over 60, the age when you’ve already become rather invisible unless you’ve got some kind of “it” factor.  And you’re expected not to make waves, or the threat of being labeled bitter is at your heels. Aunt Mathilda told you that you’d get more out of being sweet than the vinegar-spiced sarcastic reply. She was right, but she was wrong. Betty White and Carole Burnett can tell you all about how to age gracefully and be funny. There is  a certain freedom that comes with age.  There is less time to waste and more pack to the punch.

And to the most awesome people out there-all you young writers and artists, stay with it.

Do the rewrite.

And always have spare dishes around…

 

 

Journal prompt: write about rejection. What are your responses? Don’t be polite. What do you find helps you get back on track with your projects? After you have written about rejection, write about a success. It can be from childhood. What is your favorite antidote for rejection? At the end of your journal entry, write: YOU ARE ACCEPTED. This is important.

Always add something positive for yourself. Write a congratulations note to yourself.

 

Journaling Tarot, an Interview with Mary K. Greer

 

Mary K. Greer

 

This week I’m excited to introduce you to Tarot expert, Mary K. Greer. She’s the author of eleven books and has been a tarot teacher for years. I use her Tarot for Your Self, a Workbook for Personal Transformation regularly. I recommend that all memoir or journal writers take a serious look at tarot as a tool for self-discovery through symbolism and metaphor.

Some keywords defining the tarot journey are

• perspective
• imagination
• spirituality
• discernment
• symbolism
• process
• theme
• Jungian psychology
• personal transformation

My personal story with oracle cards began around 1986 when I bought my first deck. I started with a non-traditional oracle deck, The Medicine Cards. Then I purchased the classic Rider Waite Tarot, and the Crowley deck intrigued by  the illustrator Pamela Colman Smith. The Jamaican-American woman artist who created the original tarot images so well-known today, supposedly was not mentioned for her work when the deck was published. Unfortunately, they say she died in poverty and obscurity, but her work is beloved by many through the ages.

      my collage  tarot card – the Hermit

Tarot is about the human saga. For brevity’s sake you can look up Tarot here. It’s uncanny how spot-on the card pulls can be as a fun tool for writing.

Aside from the twenty-two Major Arcana or Trump cards there are four suits with general associations making up the lesser arcana. When you read the cards you look at the relationships generated by the images and their meaning.

• Cups represent emotions and water
• Wands represent action and fire
• Swords represent thinking and air
• Pentacles represent materials (coins) and earth

• What I want to explore for journal-keepers and seekers in this segment is the excavation of symbols and metaphors that help you, as a writer, discover your own personal story.

Please join me in talking with Mary K. Greer below:

SR: What got you started in the tarot path?

MKG: I was in college in Tampa Florida in the late ’60s and my best friend got Eden Gray’s Tarot Revealed for Christmas but no cards. I was fascinated and asked everyone if they knew where I could find Tarot cards. Someone told me about a “metaphysical” bookstore on the other side of Tampa. I borrowed a car and went on my first magical “quest” to find a deck. I discovered not only the cards but the whole world of the occult and metaphysical at that bookstore. Within a year I decided I would teach Tarot in college and that someday I would write a book on the subject. I had found what I never knew I was looking for. What really drew me to the Tarot was my interest, as an English/Theatre Arts major, in “archetypal criticism” involving a Jungian approach to symbolism and Joseph Campbell’s hero’s journey, all things I was just learning about then. I soon discovered that the stories I would spontaneously tell about the cards were easy-to-interpret metaphors for what was happening in someone’s life. To me it seemed as natural as breathing, although it could be disconcerting when potential boy friends nervously complained that I knew too much about them after they asked me to read their cards!

SR: How did you decide to write about tarot?

MKG: I had been teaching Tarot in colleges for several years and started doing large lectures and wrote an article. About this time I started going out with a travel writer. We went off to live in Mexico for a year and he encouraged me to write a book. I started it there and continued it when I returned to my teaching job in San Francisco. My college had a degree-completion program for returning adults. We required students to keep a journal recording their work and life experiences. I taught the journal writing workshops and also directed the school’s “learning skills” program for which I had found a workbook that was highly effective. So my first book addressed the then-taboo that one should never read tarot for him or herself. (I love to break taboos!) I used journal techniques and the workbook format to help people overcome the so-called “problems” with reading for oneself and use Tarot for personal insight and creativity.

SR: How would you advise new students to examine their lives by using tarot?

MKG: There are so many ways I can’t even begin to describe them all. Definitely keep a journal in which you write card meanings, your own readings and what is happening at that time, plus make up spreads, gather info on related myths and symbols, and so on. Do a reading at the beginning or major turning points of everything in your life. Note the patterns that appear: certain cards for certain people, when a card keeps coming up and what it finally means for you. You can go back to these readings later and write what actually happened—revisiting them again and again as you gain more insight. Write about the cards particular to you based on your birthdate numerology, astrology and so on. Dialog with these cards as if you were characters in a play, figures in an “active imagination,” asking advice or answering questions posed to you by the Tarot “archetypes.” Explore the many spreads and other processes that are found both in my books and in so many other books today. Try a variety of decks. Each will require that you look at your life from a different, perhaps totally new and fresh perspective. Create Tarot art. By the way, your “journal” can be a public or private blog, a computer file, a ring-binder, an artist’s notebook—whatever works. Start with what interests you most and go from there; you have your whole life with Tarot as your companion and your relationship with it will develop over time.

Last bit of advice: When in doubt, simply describe the card! It’s amazing where you will naturally go from there.

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Thank you so much, Mary! What a treat to talk with you.  Readers, you can find Mary in the links below.

Bio: Mary K. Greer is an independent scholar, writer, teacher and professional Tarot and Lenormand consultant. She has an M.A. in English from the University of Central Florida where she first taught Tarot in 1974. With more than ten books and nearly 50 years experience in Tarot, Mary pioneered many of the Tarot reading methods used today, including reading Tarot for yourself and methods that are interactive, transformational and empowering. She leads intensive workshops every year at the Omega Institute in Rhinebeck NY and travels internationally teaching Tarot. Visit Mary’s blog and on-line courses. Check out the “Tarot Magic Tour in Merlin’s Britain” that will take place in June 2017.

 

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Journaling prompt: find yourself a tarot deck and try a reading. How do you like working with Tarot? What Tarot card do you resonate with?  Write about your experiences.

Discussion: A note to people who are afraid of divination or who might fear Tarot study, or are concerned that oracle decks are dangerous. (They’re not). Briefly, people are often afraid of the “occult” and imagine robed devil worshippers dancing around a fire encouraging making human sacrifices. Not true. I’ve never met any such characters.

With any study group one has to follow one’s intuition and if something or someone makes you uncomfortable, then don’t pursue it. There are times when I use “lighter” oracle decks such as Fairy Tarot or Guardian Angel Tarot.

Yes, there are cards that represent the archetypes of “the devil” and “death” etc, but these cards about symbolism rather than a literal event. Breaking the chains of addictions or illicit behavior (devil card) or the need to  change behavior or look at things from a new perspective (death card) are only indications of elements in life. Find a good teacher. Do research.

Each person who chooses to work with oracle cards or the tarot can choose a deck that isn’t frightening. There are all kinds of decks available that do not use these classic “negative” images. I will devote another blog entry to this topic.

Copyright © 2016 by Susan E Rowland