For a day where I left home before nine and arrived home some twelve hours later, today goes down as one of the better ones in a long while.
After feeding Em's cat, going to meditation and having breakfast with the girls, I made my way down to Popeye's for a cup of coffee, where I got to meet my new canine godchild. Most people collect nephews and nieces, I appear to collect animals to feed and nurture when their owners are away. This weekend I'm feeding Leon (Em's cat). I'll visit the Maow Maow tomorrow, two of my standard charges - but today, I met Gypsy, who has me down as "If my owners can't be found, contact this mad woman" on her microchip.
Gypsy's a small, round antithesis of a Rhodesian Ridgeback. A fluffy Pomeranian arrangement with a flat ribbon bit on her back. Lovely mutt. I sat down and she plonked herself in my lap. I think I'm in!
Following the quick visit to Popeye, I made the hour's drive down to Rye to read at a hen's party. This is the third one of these I've done in a fortnight.
However, it's only the fourth time I've been down the Mornington Peninsula. Two beer club fishing trips and a day wine tasting with Reindert.
I really don't get out of the city enough.
Driving up to the base of a large hill an hour later(Shirley got me there without an issue) I used the crampons and ropes supplied to get up the driveway. Greeted by the maid of honour, I was shown around a magnificent holiday rental house, met the group, reassured them that they weren't going to be told they were going to die and I was lead off to a bedroom where I set up for reading.
Setting up for a reading mean throwing my cards down on the bed and taking off my shoes.
Spent a glorious two hours reading for a group of older women. It appears the Gods of Tarot were on my side today - it appears I was on the money. As always, I made one person cry, but that is the norm. Seriously fantastic, interesting, loving people. I like reading for groups like this. A real array of professionals, stay at home mums, older women - fun, intelligent people. I had a ball. Stayed half an hour longer free of charge just for the pure pleasure of reading for great people.
I love my tarot gigs, but days like this are the ones that feed my soul.
Once that was done, it was time for me. Real me time. Time for a treat. Time to knock another things off the bucket list of things to do.
I've lived in Melbourne for twelve years - but I rarely make it out of the city. There are so many places that I want to go in Victoria, but I use the excuse that I have nobody to go with to no go anywhere. I've been down the Great Ocean Road once - because Glen Waverley wanted to go for a drive. Rutherglen got done when Reindert and I drove a friend's campervan back from Newcastle. Sam and I went to a winery just out of Bairnsdale once, because the wine is exquisite. That was years ago. And other than the odd trip to Ballarat, Bendigo, the wine regions and the long drive down the Western Highway to Adelaide - I've been nowhere.
So, today's treat - to make the trip really worthwhile, not knowing that the crowd would be so good - I stopped in at the Peninsula Hot Springs just out of Rye.
Absolutely magic is an understatement.
Rocking up at around five 'o'clock I wondered if I'd made a good call - it was cool, overcast and drizzly sort of day. I paid my money, changed into my swimmers and looked around. Large steaming pools, paths leading out to the bush and best of all - an area which was signed "Adults Only". This doesn't mean it was for naked use - just no kids - which suited me just fine.
There are two complexes. A spa area which does private baths, massages and the like - a bit more exclusive and no children are permitted. Then there is the Bath House area, a bit cheaper to get into, kids are allowed under supervision, and it was the the place I went, which was just magic.
Wandering through the bush in my bathers, towel over my shoulder, thongs slapping, dunking myself in various pools of differing temperatures, letting the soothing mineral springs take away the cares of the day was a lovely way to spend the rest of the afternoon.
Of the two places I loved the most - the hot pool at the top of the hill that had a view over the better part of the Mornington Peninsula was up there - a scorching 43 degrees, it was at that nearly-too-hot-bath temperature - I managed five minutes before going off in search of a cooler pool.
Just sitting in the warm pools, looking at the dimming light, listening to the bird song, lazing the day away - what more can you ask for. Despite the parade of semi-naked people from every corner of the globe, the centre has an eerie peace to it. I reckon it would be fantastic to go there on a cold, rainy winter's night.
The other place that blew my mind was the recently constructed Hammam complex. Being a huge fan of Turkish baths, I went into the steamy, marble building and just sat. Memories of Granada and time in the Hammam there there came flooding back. I'd go back there tomorrow just for this. (But the way, the background shot of this blog is of the roof of the Hammam at the Alhambra in Granada - the one at the Rye Springs is nowhere near as fancy or old, but it still brought back memories.)
After a turn in the sauna, a quick dip in the cold plunge pool, I showered, changed and made my way home.
Now, I'm just relaxed, a bit tired and my skin feels incredible. Such is the joy of mineral springs. If you're down that way, make a point of dropping in. It's so worth it.
Days really don't get much better than this.
If I pull off the prediction that France will win the Rugby World Cup by two or three points tomorrow, well that will make for a stellar weekend. (I got the Australia result and the spread right - but I'm not sure I have this one on the money)
But we can't ask for too much more.
The only thing that would have made this day even better would be if somebody was here to share it with me.
Pand xx
_________________________________________________________________
Ice cream free days: 1
Waiting for the Moon
Peace arrives over a blackened beach
Where darkening waters undulate
A song so silent
Only the sand can understand
The rhythms of the timeless Godless sea.
The first star dares to shine show it's face
As it gently pierces the sheen
Of the velvet silk of the sky.
"I am Venus!" she cries,
Waiting for someone to notice her glory.
Other stars shyly follow her lead,
Sometimes hiding
Behind the deepening blue,
Before standing it's ground
And waiting to be counted by the world.
So you sit, and wait, for the moon,
On this black and silent beach,
Searching the horizon,
For the first signs of life, of light.
Wondering if your wait will be worth it.
Showing posts with label tarot. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tarot. Show all posts
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Unlearning
The Tarot Gods were having a bit of a laugh yesterday.
My services as a tarot reader are in demand. With two hen's parties to read at yesterday, plus a number of other one-on-one bookings in the diary, I'm back finding my inner witch/tarot reader/counsellor/shovel-wielding-blow-to-the-back-of-the-head-giver - or whatever skill it is I use when I go reading cards on a regular basis.
Explaining to people that you read tarot can, at times, be difficult. I tend not to tell people about this hobby job until I know them, once I work out where they lie on the mystical plane. I try not to make a fuss of it - it's something that I do. I'd be more ashamed to speak out if I played mixed netball or was into taxidermy or "The Farmer Wants a Wife". Something embarrassing like that. Tarot is a part of me - a small, eclectic part of me.
Friday night was interesting. I went out for dinner with Jonella and her Mum, Connie. A pious woman from Durban, she was asking me about my weekend. I explained that I was racing around, having my cards read and doing a couple of readingsm hoping she wouldn't ask too many questions.
Talking tarot with religious people can be difficult. I tend to avoid it - saves arguments and judgement. However, Connie asked me a direct question. Why was I having my cards read? How did I feel reading cards? This wasn't said with any malice or judgement - I was compelled to answer.
What does one say?
Jonella was looking on with interest. She's warned me about her mum and her religious beliefs - but after a lovely evening at one of the local Vietnamese restaurants, the boundaries were set, I was fine to talk.
I explained that in having my cards read, I was normally looking to get some clarity around what was going on in my life or in a situation in my life. It's more of a counselling session. I don't want to know the future - I want to have a look around about what is going on now. My reader is a trained counsellor, as well as the former head of the Australian tarot guild - I'm in safe hands.
As to me reading - I see myself as somebody who sheds light on the present. I rarely make predictions. I don't give advice - but offer suggestions. If things are good, they are good. It things are not so, what are they doing to make things a bit better?
I told Connie, "Readings are never forced on people. If they don't want them, I don't give them. If people are visibly unhinged or drunk, I won't read for them. I'm not there to make waves - just to have a look. But as one very devout Christian told me once, "Messages come from God in all sorts of ways - who am I to discount what you do? You have nice energy - I'll give it a go." I rather like that analogy - what I do is look at the messages at a point in time - that is all. We tarot readers have our own version of the Hypocratic Oath. "First, do no harm."
I have my cards read about once a year - normally when I want some clarity around a situation. I don't need to go any more than that. - it's like a counselling session, normally with a point.
Jonella said later that her mother was at ease with what I was saying. I'm glad. I don't go out to inflame other people. It's a gentle path you walk when you look into the lives of others.
I booked my reading with Viv a few weeks ago. Work is proving a little stressful at the moment, not knowing what is going on - I wanted a bit of reassurance.
The cards decided to have a laugh at me. For every question I asked, I got another answer, and another question. I asked about work. I'll be fine - now what am I doing about releationships? I asked about money, I have enough - now what am I doing about relationships? Travel. If I want to, I can - now what am I doing about relationships?
The cards decided to shove this in my face. What am I doing about this? Why don't I have relationships? Why do I push everybody away? It was like I got my answers about whatever else, then the cards started on me about my love life or lack of it. It was pretty unrelenting. It all ended in tears. It normally does when my cards get read. Not bad sobby tears, just tears. My natal moon is in Cancer. I'm a sook.
I left, and hour later, flummoxed.
The thing that came up most of all was that to progress, I have a lot of stuff to unlearn. I've done the work on me - now it's time for the unlearning all the stuff that I've taught myself over the last forty-three years. The stuff that appears to be so ingrained that it is a part of me - almost to a cellular level.
But how does one going about unlearning things? In my childhood I learned that to trust would mean getting your feelings trodden over - I don't trust. Never say the words I love you, people just run away. Don't get attached to people, they will just use you. Don't rely on people, they will just let you down. Don't expect anything, you will never be disappointed. Please people, but don't expect to be pleased in return. If you can't do it yourself, you won't be able to do it. Other people leave you weak and vulnerable. Don't go near them.
I have a lot of unlearning to do.
We talked about why I felt all of these things and I can look back and see where it all came from. From my mother being the breadwinner in the family, miserable in the situation - having all of her hard work torn way when my father walked away with the lion's share from their divorce. Young love left me truly scarred - and when love was offered a few years later, I was far too broken to go near it. During my twenties, I lived the life of an illegal alien for many years, reticent to get into relationships for fear of being thrown out of the country - and unwilling to marry for convenience to stay - that would mean relying on somebody. Love was something that was always unrequited - or so I thought. The men I chose were always unavailable. I make my own money because I only know how to support myself. I've been paying my own way since I was fourteen.
And all of this is what I have to unlearn.
Buggered if I know how I'm supposed to do it.
Being honest, these questions have been plaguing me for a while now. A series of events have set off a lot of thinking around these topics. The world has been shoving these questions in my face for a while now. It's time to take notice.
After a wondeful massage after the reading - much needed, I trotted off to my tarot jobs. Two very different events - one at a city bar with a group of professional women dressed to the nines. The other, in a hotel suite, a group of young suburban women, teachers and nurses, down to earth and fun.
Two different groups. The same questions. Will I have children? Will I get married? Is this one the one for me?
As always, with tarot cards, you stick to what you can see. As always, when doing short readings at hen's parties, keep it light, stick to the knowns - work, money, fun.
Somebody will always cry. Of course, somebody did. Hen's parties are about avoiding the buttons. You're going to press one every now and then.
Maybe this is biggest lesson of all. Maybe it's time I got my buttons pushed well and good.
What ever else, it's going to get interesting from here on in.
Pandx
My services as a tarot reader are in demand. With two hen's parties to read at yesterday, plus a number of other one-on-one bookings in the diary, I'm back finding my inner witch/tarot reader/counsellor/shovel-wielding-blow-to-the-back-of-the-head-giver - or whatever skill it is I use when I go reading cards on a regular basis.
Explaining to people that you read tarot can, at times, be difficult. I tend not to tell people about this hobby job until I know them, once I work out where they lie on the mystical plane. I try not to make a fuss of it - it's something that I do. I'd be more ashamed to speak out if I played mixed netball or was into taxidermy or "The Farmer Wants a Wife". Something embarrassing like that. Tarot is a part of me - a small, eclectic part of me.
Friday night was interesting. I went out for dinner with Jonella and her Mum, Connie. A pious woman from Durban, she was asking me about my weekend. I explained that I was racing around, having my cards read and doing a couple of readingsm hoping she wouldn't ask too many questions.
Talking tarot with religious people can be difficult. I tend to avoid it - saves arguments and judgement. However, Connie asked me a direct question. Why was I having my cards read? How did I feel reading cards? This wasn't said with any malice or judgement - I was compelled to answer.
What does one say?
Jonella was looking on with interest. She's warned me about her mum and her religious beliefs - but after a lovely evening at one of the local Vietnamese restaurants, the boundaries were set, I was fine to talk.
I explained that in having my cards read, I was normally looking to get some clarity around what was going on in my life or in a situation in my life. It's more of a counselling session. I don't want to know the future - I want to have a look around about what is going on now. My reader is a trained counsellor, as well as the former head of the Australian tarot guild - I'm in safe hands.
As to me reading - I see myself as somebody who sheds light on the present. I rarely make predictions. I don't give advice - but offer suggestions. If things are good, they are good. It things are not so, what are they doing to make things a bit better?
I told Connie, "Readings are never forced on people. If they don't want them, I don't give them. If people are visibly unhinged or drunk, I won't read for them. I'm not there to make waves - just to have a look. But as one very devout Christian told me once, "Messages come from God in all sorts of ways - who am I to discount what you do? You have nice energy - I'll give it a go." I rather like that analogy - what I do is look at the messages at a point in time - that is all. We tarot readers have our own version of the Hypocratic Oath. "First, do no harm."
I have my cards read about once a year - normally when I want some clarity around a situation. I don't need to go any more than that. - it's like a counselling session, normally with a point.
Jonella said later that her mother was at ease with what I was saying. I'm glad. I don't go out to inflame other people. It's a gentle path you walk when you look into the lives of others.
I booked my reading with Viv a few weeks ago. Work is proving a little stressful at the moment, not knowing what is going on - I wanted a bit of reassurance.
The cards decided to have a laugh at me. For every question I asked, I got another answer, and another question. I asked about work. I'll be fine - now what am I doing about releationships? I asked about money, I have enough - now what am I doing about relationships? Travel. If I want to, I can - now what am I doing about relationships?
The cards decided to shove this in my face. What am I doing about this? Why don't I have relationships? Why do I push everybody away? It was like I got my answers about whatever else, then the cards started on me about my love life or lack of it. It was pretty unrelenting. It all ended in tears. It normally does when my cards get read. Not bad sobby tears, just tears. My natal moon is in Cancer. I'm a sook.
I left, and hour later, flummoxed.
The thing that came up most of all was that to progress, I have a lot of stuff to unlearn. I've done the work on me - now it's time for the unlearning all the stuff that I've taught myself over the last forty-three years. The stuff that appears to be so ingrained that it is a part of me - almost to a cellular level.
But how does one going about unlearning things? In my childhood I learned that to trust would mean getting your feelings trodden over - I don't trust. Never say the words I love you, people just run away. Don't get attached to people, they will just use you. Don't rely on people, they will just let you down. Don't expect anything, you will never be disappointed. Please people, but don't expect to be pleased in return. If you can't do it yourself, you won't be able to do it. Other people leave you weak and vulnerable. Don't go near them.
I have a lot of unlearning to do.
We talked about why I felt all of these things and I can look back and see where it all came from. From my mother being the breadwinner in the family, miserable in the situation - having all of her hard work torn way when my father walked away with the lion's share from their divorce. Young love left me truly scarred - and when love was offered a few years later, I was far too broken to go near it. During my twenties, I lived the life of an illegal alien for many years, reticent to get into relationships for fear of being thrown out of the country - and unwilling to marry for convenience to stay - that would mean relying on somebody. Love was something that was always unrequited - or so I thought. The men I chose were always unavailable. I make my own money because I only know how to support myself. I've been paying my own way since I was fourteen.
And all of this is what I have to unlearn.
Buggered if I know how I'm supposed to do it.
Being honest, these questions have been plaguing me for a while now. A series of events have set off a lot of thinking around these topics. The world has been shoving these questions in my face for a while now. It's time to take notice.
After a wondeful massage after the reading - much needed, I trotted off to my tarot jobs. Two very different events - one at a city bar with a group of professional women dressed to the nines. The other, in a hotel suite, a group of young suburban women, teachers and nurses, down to earth and fun.
Two different groups. The same questions. Will I have children? Will I get married? Is this one the one for me?
As always, with tarot cards, you stick to what you can see. As always, when doing short readings at hen's parties, keep it light, stick to the knowns - work, money, fun.
Somebody will always cry. Of course, somebody did. Hen's parties are about avoiding the buttons. You're going to press one every now and then.
Maybe this is biggest lesson of all. Maybe it's time I got my buttons pushed well and good.
What ever else, it's going to get interesting from here on in.
Pandx
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Atonement
I haven't written about tarot for a while. I haven't done many tarot jobs this year - mainly the odd job for friends. I miss it.
So to set the scene, we have Sting: One of the few songs I know that exist about tarot.
I'll set the scenes. A sunny October day a few years ago.
The cards fell and Vivienne's eyebrows lifted, as they do when she's perplexed. She clicked her tongue. That almost never happens. As a double Scorpio, there is very little that perpexes, moves or shakes Viv. Double Scorpios could skin a live puppy and not feel anything - well, that's the theory of double Scorpios anyway.
We were doing a new spread on karma and the karmic path. Surrounding me, a group of other fledgeling readers, all listening in, half-curious, half-incredulous, wondering what Viv was on about. When it comes to tarot, Viv is one of the best tarot teachers in Australia if not the world. She teaches the straight down the line stuff - she also sometimes looks at some of the more "out there" theories around tarot. The karmic path / past life spread was on of the ones reserved for the "hippy shit" basket as I affectionately refer to some of the more esoteric teachings (even if I normally get a lot out of these snippets). Interesting, but not for your routine readings. I don't think I've ever used the spread again - I'll stick to my normal life cycles and Celtic Crosses and occasionally the Gareth Knight, 'Let's make a mess on the table," spread - really effective, but it uses half the deck.
In front of me, every dark card in the pack.
"Well, it looks like you weren't very nice in your last lifetime." Viv said glibly.
"No shit, Sherlock."
The surrounding spreads in front of the others were somewhat more even. Viv's tongue clicking had set them off and the others in the group started peering over. Looks of consternation came ot a few faces.
The all had spreads with cups and stars and suns and the occasional fool. A few had some of the challenge cards in front of them. The Hanged Man, The Chariot, the eight of cups, the four of swords.
Nope, my dear spread had cards of death, the ace of swords, the ten of swords, the five of cups, the Devil and the Tower, all surrounded by the Queen of Swords.
"Looks like you got up to a bit of mischief your last time round."
""You don't say!"
But this time, I'm feeling a little disconcerted. I've been reading cards for a very long time now. I know what is "normal" and what is just plain wrong. The last time I saw cards like these was the morning of the Boxing Day tsunami. I looked at the cards, went "nah!' and folded the cards. The news came in two hours later.
This morning, my cards sitting in front of me, glaring back with a Margaret Thatcher 1000 mile stare.
"So, what do you see?" asked Viv.
"The cards of a murderer. Somebody's who's killed out of rage, for profit, for pleasure even."
Not a very nice person at all. You might have started a war or two."
"A few others around the table caught on and came for a look."
"Oh, you were a right piece of work."
"And they let you come back."
"And what do you get from all this?"
"It appears I would be atoning for this past life."
"I think you might be right." said Viv.
"Now that is what I call atonement. Geez, with cards like that you've got centuries of karma to cut through.'
Hmph.
I've always liked the theory of karma. You get back what you give out. Be good in one life, get better in another. Be bad in one life, come back as pond slime the next - mind you I'm sure there's some pretty happy pond scum out there. I'm also quite comfortable with reincarnation - coming back to this life from another to fix and repair past patterns. I know not everybody believes in this, and I'm more than fine with that as well. There is also something stupid about those people who believe they were Cleopatra, Henry VIII or Joan of Arc. I don't reckon I was any of these people. I've got an inkling that I've been burned or hanged as a witch a few times, however - just seems to fit.
And it also appears I might have been a self-absorbed, murdering despot at some stage. According to those cards that is.
I also just love what the kabbalists say on how we are reincarnated and know everything about our former lives until just before we are born. Just as we're about to come out from the womb, an angel comes down and taps us on the top lip so we forget. The dip below our noses and above our top lip the mark of the angel making us forget our past lives.
Reincarnation and karma bring all sorts of questions for me. What if you were really bad in a last life? What happens if you were made to do unspeakable acts - say as a soldier or part of a despotic regime, only acting under duress? What if you lead an honorable life, but make one major stuff up - will that come back to haunt you? Is it like the hourglass counters at Hogwarts that keep track of deeds and misdeeds of all, where at the end of the year prizes are given out? Or in this case, better lives?
And who defines what is good and what is bad anyway? Which moral or theosophical code has it correct? There are so many to choose from.
I've often made the comment that I must have done something really wrong in a former life to get where I was a few years ago. I also reckon maybe, in being allegedly "good", in this life, I've managed to shake a bit of the bad juju away. You know, being the friend that I want to be to others, paying my taxes on time, being nice to old people and babies, that sort of thing, my karma credit is back in the black.
I really don't know about this. I love the Jewish idea of having a day of atonement. Yom Kippur, a day of sitting and dwelling on the sins of the year and having them forgiven. Get it out and get it over with for another year of mucking up.
The Christian belief that Christ died for my sins has never sat well with me. I'm responsible for my own life. I'm responsible for what I do and the consequences of my actions. Nobody else has charge of that part of my life.
So where is all this leading? I'm revisiting some past lives at the moment. Looking at what was what. And what is now. Feeling what damages were inflicted. Wanting to atone for the wrongs committed. And wondering when the atonement will finally end.
I think The Panics say it best:
So to set the scene, we have Sting: One of the few songs I know that exist about tarot.
I'll set the scenes. A sunny October day a few years ago.
The cards fell and Vivienne's eyebrows lifted, as they do when she's perplexed. She clicked her tongue. That almost never happens. As a double Scorpio, there is very little that perpexes, moves or shakes Viv. Double Scorpios could skin a live puppy and not feel anything - well, that's the theory of double Scorpios anyway.
We were doing a new spread on karma and the karmic path. Surrounding me, a group of other fledgeling readers, all listening in, half-curious, half-incredulous, wondering what Viv was on about. When it comes to tarot, Viv is one of the best tarot teachers in Australia if not the world. She teaches the straight down the line stuff - she also sometimes looks at some of the more "out there" theories around tarot. The karmic path / past life spread was on of the ones reserved for the "hippy shit" basket as I affectionately refer to some of the more esoteric teachings (even if I normally get a lot out of these snippets). Interesting, but not for your routine readings. I don't think I've ever used the spread again - I'll stick to my normal life cycles and Celtic Crosses and occasionally the Gareth Knight, 'Let's make a mess on the table," spread - really effective, but it uses half the deck.
In front of me, every dark card in the pack.
"Well, it looks like you weren't very nice in your last lifetime." Viv said glibly.
"No shit, Sherlock."
The surrounding spreads in front of the others were somewhat more even. Viv's tongue clicking had set them off and the others in the group started peering over. Looks of consternation came ot a few faces.
The all had spreads with cups and stars and suns and the occasional fool. A few had some of the challenge cards in front of them. The Hanged Man, The Chariot, the eight of cups, the four of swords.
Nope, my dear spread had cards of death, the ace of swords, the ten of swords, the five of cups, the Devil and the Tower, all surrounded by the Queen of Swords.
"Looks like you got up to a bit of mischief your last time round."
""You don't say!"
But this time, I'm feeling a little disconcerted. I've been reading cards for a very long time now. I know what is "normal" and what is just plain wrong. The last time I saw cards like these was the morning of the Boxing Day tsunami. I looked at the cards, went "nah!' and folded the cards. The news came in two hours later.
This morning, my cards sitting in front of me, glaring back with a Margaret Thatcher 1000 mile stare.
"So, what do you see?" asked Viv.
"The cards of a murderer. Somebody's who's killed out of rage, for profit, for pleasure even."
Not a very nice person at all. You might have started a war or two."
"A few others around the table caught on and came for a look."
"Oh, you were a right piece of work."
"And they let you come back."
"And what do you get from all this?"
"It appears I would be atoning for this past life."
"I think you might be right." said Viv.
"Now that is what I call atonement. Geez, with cards like that you've got centuries of karma to cut through.'
Hmph.
I've always liked the theory of karma. You get back what you give out. Be good in one life, get better in another. Be bad in one life, come back as pond slime the next - mind you I'm sure there's some pretty happy pond scum out there. I'm also quite comfortable with reincarnation - coming back to this life from another to fix and repair past patterns. I know not everybody believes in this, and I'm more than fine with that as well. There is also something stupid about those people who believe they were Cleopatra, Henry VIII or Joan of Arc. I don't reckon I was any of these people. I've got an inkling that I've been burned or hanged as a witch a few times, however - just seems to fit.
And it also appears I might have been a self-absorbed, murdering despot at some stage. According to those cards that is.
I also just love what the kabbalists say on how we are reincarnated and know everything about our former lives until just before we are born. Just as we're about to come out from the womb, an angel comes down and taps us on the top lip so we forget. The dip below our noses and above our top lip the mark of the angel making us forget our past lives.
Reincarnation and karma bring all sorts of questions for me. What if you were really bad in a last life? What happens if you were made to do unspeakable acts - say as a soldier or part of a despotic regime, only acting under duress? What if you lead an honorable life, but make one major stuff up - will that come back to haunt you? Is it like the hourglass counters at Hogwarts that keep track of deeds and misdeeds of all, where at the end of the year prizes are given out? Or in this case, better lives?
And who defines what is good and what is bad anyway? Which moral or theosophical code has it correct? There are so many to choose from.
I've often made the comment that I must have done something really wrong in a former life to get where I was a few years ago. I also reckon maybe, in being allegedly "good", in this life, I've managed to shake a bit of the bad juju away. You know, being the friend that I want to be to others, paying my taxes on time, being nice to old people and babies, that sort of thing, my karma credit is back in the black.
I really don't know about this. I love the Jewish idea of having a day of atonement. Yom Kippur, a day of sitting and dwelling on the sins of the year and having them forgiven. Get it out and get it over with for another year of mucking up.
The Christian belief that Christ died for my sins has never sat well with me. I'm responsible for my own life. I'm responsible for what I do and the consequences of my actions. Nobody else has charge of that part of my life.
So where is all this leading? I'm revisiting some past lives at the moment. Looking at what was what. And what is now. Feeling what damages were inflicted. Wanting to atone for the wrongs committed. And wondering when the atonement will finally end.
I think The Panics say it best:
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Of Tarot and Teflon
There are rules of tarot reading that cannot be broken.
The first one is never to make grand statements around bad things. You never tell anybody that they're going to get horribly sick or that somebody close to them is going to die. Never. There are are ways of delivering what appears to be bad news. Telling somebody their granny is about to die just aint on. What if they don't? What if it's the other granny? What if nothing happens? What if they get cancer. Tarot readers shouldn't make large negative statements - ever.
The second big rule of tarot reading is when one of your own issues comes up in a reading, do not shy away from looking at what is going on - after the reading is done. You're there for the client. You can deal with your issues later. You have a responsibility to yourself to look at your own crap as well as helping others to sift through their stuff.
The third rule of tarot reading is to always self-protect. Do not take other people's issues on as your own. Acknowledge their pain and suffering, but do not take it on board. It's their pain to deal with - not your own. You can empathise, offer guidance, provide alternatives, but you do not take on other people's pain and suffering and wear it like a lapel pin. Techniques to avoid this crap transference can involve techniques including white lighting, setting up a sacred space to work in, reiki empowerment or in my case, I recite the teflon prayer ("I'm made of teflon - no crap sticks to me". Repeat regularly - it works).
The last big rule of tarot reading is that you never give advice when reading, per se, but provide alternative routes if you can. And if it's all too much - out of your league, realise this, take the time to gently recommend professional help if it's what the cards are indicating - offering no diagnosis, blame or shame, what ever help that may be. This is not copping out. This is being responsible - knowing your boundaries and abilities and recognising that the person you are reading for could benefit from some more guided, pointed, professional help help could be the difference between years of misery and a life which gets back on track quicker.
Thing is, these tarot rules translate easily into four life lessons.
1) Look at things in the positive - giving things a negative slant gets you nowhere.
2) Meet your demons head on and quickly - take responsibility for them sooner rather than later.
3) Put yourself first. Until you are okay, you can't give to others. Never put yourself last as its proof of how you value yourself.
4) Rather than suffer, seek help. Recognise you have a problem and do something about it.
So here I sit as a part of a group of people trying to lose weight. I have a wonderful online support group - absolutely fantastic people. There are a number of groups I'm alligned to. There's the girls from the 12wbt that I know through the Biggest Loser Club - magic people and great friends - they've become a part of my daily life and I'm blessed to have them there. There's the people from the 12wbt that arrange activities that I keep an eye on - great for finding extra boxing classes and people to do runs with.
And there's a couple of other weight loss groups, larger groups, which I'm part of with people at every stage of the journey - from depression, denial, bargaining, anger right through to acceptance.
Eh, I've heard that list somewhere before.
Yes. One of the common elements, the elephant in the room that is rarely acknowledged, is that the psychological side of weight loss is very alligned to the grieving process.
You see it time and time again.
Working through the issues of what is really going on, whether it be dealing with a long undiagnosed or unrecognised depression cycle (Tim Tams are my friend - really they are! Tim Tams make me happy.), to the bargaining moves some of us do (if I go for a ten minute walk that will get rid of the Tim Tam I just ate) to the anger many of us feel and subsequently turn towards themselves (I hate Tim Tams and I'm never going to have one again) to the denial that a lot of us divert to, whether we admit it or not (What me, eat Tim Tams! Never!) to the final acceptance of the real issues (Hello, my name is Tammy and I am a Tim Tam addict. It's been three weeks since my last Tim Tam).
I'm trying to not light of something that's far more serious, but to show a point.
Unfortunately, there really isn't a state which encompasses fat and happy.
Being overweight is just a very long process of grieving.
For many of us who've been blighted by obesity, we've tried for years to hide our pain through a sunny disposition, a wisecrack and the willingness to be invisible. Nobody's pain is exactly the same, but we can all empathise. For those who've been overweight - and not just a couple of kilos, but very overweight, will know what it feels like to be pointed at in the street, have car horns blare at you, to be asked how far your pregnancy is going along, have clothes split at the seems, to walk into a shop and know that nothing will fit, the eyes of the size 8 shop assistant staring at you as if you were dog poo on your shoe. You avoid public transport for fearing not fitting in the seats. You avoid going to bars for fear of being barked at. (And yes, most of these things have happened to me in the past, and yes, it's crap)
Most of us can also recognise the behaviour patterns that come out when stressed or emotional.
When my aunt passed away the other week I turned to my old friend ice cream. Ice cream doesn't make judgements. Ice cream doesn't care if you want ot be completely antisocial. Ice cream, for a minute or two takes the pain away. I'm pleased to also say that in turning to ice cream, I went the one paddle pop route, not two tubs of Ben and Jerry's Cherry Garcia - which I would have done in the past.
I acknowledge the behaviour pattern. I chose to give in to the ice cream, but I also chose to not damage myself and my compromise my weight loss too badly by taking a lesser route. I also made sure to look at why I was doing what I was doing, feeling the pain, knowing full well that these hurts were spiritual and made the choice not to let things spiral further. I'm not perfect by any means, but my actions were far less self-destructive than in the past.
Which is why I've found myself stepping way from these groups for a while.
To see the pain and frustration on a daily basis is difficult for me. I want to help. I want to give advice. Sometimes I want to slap a few people over the head and yell "STOP BEING SO STUPID! STOP RUNNING AWAY AND TAKE FULL RESPONSIBILITY - GET HELP!". Other people, I just wish I could pick up and cuddle, wishing there was a fairy with a magic want to take their woes away. Other people I look at and I see a former version of myself. In denial, depressed, scared, angry - wanting for things to change and helpless to do so. These people are the hardest ones of me to look at.
I look at them and I want to ask why they are avoiding getting real assistance? I want to tell them to start changing their thought processes. I want to tell them that this can be a very long process. What they think they want to do in changing their bodies will make everything better is wrong and that changing the inside is the only way to make things better.
And how do I know this. Ten years in and out of very good, focussed therapy - and the knowledge that I'm still a work in process - physically, mentally and emotionally. Also knowing that all of the work I've done has made me far, far more happier with myself and my body. I'm certainly not perfect, but I know that when I take full responsibility for my thoughts and actions I feel a lot more in control. I also know when I reach a point where I have to go seek help - and I seek it quickly. But generally, I'm okay. I'm not the happiest person on the planet, things aren't perfect, but I'm okay. It took me forty years to realise this.
Looking back at all this, I'm not made of teflon - which is why I'm giving the online forums a wide berth for the while. Some stuff that really belongs to other people does stick. Some stuff really does hurt and some stuff makes me despair about not only the person in pain, but myself.
But at least the teflon coating makes it easier to wash away.
The first one is never to make grand statements around bad things. You never tell anybody that they're going to get horribly sick or that somebody close to them is going to die. Never. There are are ways of delivering what appears to be bad news. Telling somebody their granny is about to die just aint on. What if they don't? What if it's the other granny? What if nothing happens? What if they get cancer. Tarot readers shouldn't make large negative statements - ever.
The second big rule of tarot reading is when one of your own issues comes up in a reading, do not shy away from looking at what is going on - after the reading is done. You're there for the client. You can deal with your issues later. You have a responsibility to yourself to look at your own crap as well as helping others to sift through their stuff.
The third rule of tarot reading is to always self-protect. Do not take other people's issues on as your own. Acknowledge their pain and suffering, but do not take it on board. It's their pain to deal with - not your own. You can empathise, offer guidance, provide alternatives, but you do not take on other people's pain and suffering and wear it like a lapel pin. Techniques to avoid this crap transference can involve techniques including white lighting, setting up a sacred space to work in, reiki empowerment or in my case, I recite the teflon prayer ("I'm made of teflon - no crap sticks to me". Repeat regularly - it works).
The last big rule of tarot reading is that you never give advice when reading, per se, but provide alternative routes if you can. And if it's all too much - out of your league, realise this, take the time to gently recommend professional help if it's what the cards are indicating - offering no diagnosis, blame or shame, what ever help that may be. This is not copping out. This is being responsible - knowing your boundaries and abilities and recognising that the person you are reading for could benefit from some more guided, pointed, professional help help could be the difference between years of misery and a life which gets back on track quicker.
Thing is, these tarot rules translate easily into four life lessons.
1) Look at things in the positive - giving things a negative slant gets you nowhere.
2) Meet your demons head on and quickly - take responsibility for them sooner rather than later.
3) Put yourself first. Until you are okay, you can't give to others. Never put yourself last as its proof of how you value yourself.
4) Rather than suffer, seek help. Recognise you have a problem and do something about it.
So here I sit as a part of a group of people trying to lose weight. I have a wonderful online support group - absolutely fantastic people. There are a number of groups I'm alligned to. There's the girls from the 12wbt that I know through the Biggest Loser Club - magic people and great friends - they've become a part of my daily life and I'm blessed to have them there. There's the people from the 12wbt that arrange activities that I keep an eye on - great for finding extra boxing classes and people to do runs with.
And there's a couple of other weight loss groups, larger groups, which I'm part of with people at every stage of the journey - from depression, denial, bargaining, anger right through to acceptance.
Eh, I've heard that list somewhere before.
Yes. One of the common elements, the elephant in the room that is rarely acknowledged, is that the psychological side of weight loss is very alligned to the grieving process.
You see it time and time again.
Working through the issues of what is really going on, whether it be dealing with a long undiagnosed or unrecognised depression cycle (Tim Tams are my friend - really they are! Tim Tams make me happy.), to the bargaining moves some of us do (if I go for a ten minute walk that will get rid of the Tim Tam I just ate) to the anger many of us feel and subsequently turn towards themselves (I hate Tim Tams and I'm never going to have one again) to the denial that a lot of us divert to, whether we admit it or not (What me, eat Tim Tams! Never!) to the final acceptance of the real issues (Hello, my name is Tammy and I am a Tim Tam addict. It's been three weeks since my last Tim Tam).
I'm trying to not light of something that's far more serious, but to show a point.
Unfortunately, there really isn't a state which encompasses fat and happy.
Being overweight is just a very long process of grieving.
For many of us who've been blighted by obesity, we've tried for years to hide our pain through a sunny disposition, a wisecrack and the willingness to be invisible. Nobody's pain is exactly the same, but we can all empathise. For those who've been overweight - and not just a couple of kilos, but very overweight, will know what it feels like to be pointed at in the street, have car horns blare at you, to be asked how far your pregnancy is going along, have clothes split at the seems, to walk into a shop and know that nothing will fit, the eyes of the size 8 shop assistant staring at you as if you were dog poo on your shoe. You avoid public transport for fearing not fitting in the seats. You avoid going to bars for fear of being barked at. (And yes, most of these things have happened to me in the past, and yes, it's crap)
Most of us can also recognise the behaviour patterns that come out when stressed or emotional.
When my aunt passed away the other week I turned to my old friend ice cream. Ice cream doesn't make judgements. Ice cream doesn't care if you want ot be completely antisocial. Ice cream, for a minute or two takes the pain away. I'm pleased to also say that in turning to ice cream, I went the one paddle pop route, not two tubs of Ben and Jerry's Cherry Garcia - which I would have done in the past.
I acknowledge the behaviour pattern. I chose to give in to the ice cream, but I also chose to not damage myself and my compromise my weight loss too badly by taking a lesser route. I also made sure to look at why I was doing what I was doing, feeling the pain, knowing full well that these hurts were spiritual and made the choice not to let things spiral further. I'm not perfect by any means, but my actions were far less self-destructive than in the past.
Which is why I've found myself stepping way from these groups for a while.
To see the pain and frustration on a daily basis is difficult for me. I want to help. I want to give advice. Sometimes I want to slap a few people over the head and yell "STOP BEING SO STUPID! STOP RUNNING AWAY AND TAKE FULL RESPONSIBILITY - GET HELP!". Other people, I just wish I could pick up and cuddle, wishing there was a fairy with a magic want to take their woes away. Other people I look at and I see a former version of myself. In denial, depressed, scared, angry - wanting for things to change and helpless to do so. These people are the hardest ones of me to look at.
I look at them and I want to ask why they are avoiding getting real assistance? I want to tell them to start changing their thought processes. I want to tell them that this can be a very long process. What they think they want to do in changing their bodies will make everything better is wrong and that changing the inside is the only way to make things better.
And how do I know this. Ten years in and out of very good, focussed therapy - and the knowledge that I'm still a work in process - physically, mentally and emotionally. Also knowing that all of the work I've done has made me far, far more happier with myself and my body. I'm certainly not perfect, but I know that when I take full responsibility for my thoughts and actions I feel a lot more in control. I also know when I reach a point where I have to go seek help - and I seek it quickly. But generally, I'm okay. I'm not the happiest person on the planet, things aren't perfect, but I'm okay. It took me forty years to realise this.
Looking back at all this, I'm not made of teflon - which is why I'm giving the online forums a wide berth for the while. Some stuff that really belongs to other people does stick. Some stuff really does hurt and some stuff makes me despair about not only the person in pain, but myself.
But at least the teflon coating makes it easier to wash away.
Monday, January 17, 2011
The Three of Swords
I only ever go to have a professional tarot reading when the voice inside tells me to. This only happens once or twice a year at most, when I trot off to Vivienne for a reading. Vivienne used to run the tarot guild. She's one of the best readers in Australia if not the world. She's also one of the more direct, tarot readers around. Another friend who sees her for readings calls a session with her "ripping you a new arsehole." Maybe it's not quite that violent, but it certainly gives you something to think about.
Unfortunately the truth often hurts. Oh, how do I know this one.
There were a couple of reasons why I asked for the reading today. Though I'm pleased with my time off, I was looking for some clarity around the work situation. Also, with all of the changes that have been happening, I want a bit of clarity on a few things. Friends have come, friends have gone, jobs have gone, opportunities are coming. Things are in a bit of a spin.
I've also been drawing the devil card a bit of late. When it come up often it's a sign to talk it out. The Devil is about looking fear in the face. Only I can't quite see what I'm scared of.
There was also another issue that raised it's head during the week which I needed to see a way through. The pain was raising its head again. It was time to address it once more - and not let if fester.
The pain, you ask. Yeah, I call it the pain. It comes when somebody touches a nerve and you don't quite know what to do with that pain. In this case, it was stirred up after reading a friend's blog.
My friend, Aim, is one of the most remarkable people I know. Her blog detailed her history, right through her childhood, through a miserable adolescence, into adult hood. Three years ago, Aim screamed "Enough!" and started on a journey - the most incredible journey, during which she has shed 75 kgs and had discovered that life can be, and is, wonderful. She's one of my inspirations. She's a wonderful spirit - wise, funny, knowledgeable and brave. I feel honoured to call her a friend.
Aim's story rang far too many bells with me. In her journey, she's also been addressing the hurt, shame and pain that were a constant factor in her life. Everything she was saying I could relate to. I know that my story isn't as extreme, but I saw myself in her words.
And then came the 'aha' moment for me. What's going wrong with me in within? Go back and chat to Viv.
What was stirring in me was old pain. Childhood pain. Teenage pain. The stuff that's been hanging around for what seems like eternity. The stuff that if you don't deal with it comes and bites you in the bum until you either knock it on the head, or die. Three of Swords stuff.
If Aim can look at her demons, so can I.
(Big breath in, big breath out)
So after this morning's massage client I take myself off to Viv. The normal pleasantries. The normal chat about the cat and the computer. The normal preambles. And then the killer.
"The universe has made it apparent that you are supposed to get out there and do this right now."
"Aha." I wanted to say "No shit, Sherlock," but I'm a little less crass than that.
"Everything is going to hinge on the decisions you make next."
"Aha."
"And you don't trust yourself because you've messed up in the past."
I butt in here, "But I'm doing a better job of things lately."
"I didn't say you weren't. But you need to trust every instinct you have from now on."
"Okay. I hear you."
I knew this. Sometimes you need somebody to spell it out for you.
We did a few more rounds. Seems my idea of going contracting is sound - but I know this. I'm happier when things are changing and I get to meet new people and do new things. I should also get a plan together, looking into setting up my own business - but doing what I asked.
And then, the obligatory relationship question. Has to be done. I'm just like everybody else when it comes to this question - what's doing with the lovelife? Everybody asks it. Up comes the Three of Swords. Old pain.
"Well, you're broken. You got broke."
"No shit, Sherlock. Why do you think I sit in that dream group?"
"So you can see that you're not that badly off."
"Indeed."
"You're just as broken as the rest of the world. You just have to find a different way out of it."
"Hmm."
"It's time to start trusting yourself."
"Aha." I'm tearing up by now.
"You don't know what love is and it scares the shit out of you."
"Aha."
"So what are you going to do about it?"
I consider this for a while. I know she's right. I know I'm a bit broken in some ways. I know I've healed in others. But after all the work, the therapy, the courses and the tarot and navel gazing, I'm still broken, and I certainly don't trust myself in these situations - anything to do with relationships - I buckle and run.
"Well, I'm going to try and fix it. It's the elephant in the room." I say with resolve.
"The elephant in the room?" asked Viv.
"Yeah, the one in the corner you know you have to eat. And how are you going to do it - one bite at a time."
I might have to get myself another star calendar. I have one going for diet and exercise going. Each day I keep within my calories and take at least a half hour walk, a star goes up on the calendar. They use it for toilet training kids, why not use it as a reward system for keeping my health and wellbeing on track.
If only I could work out what I would get a star on the calender for on the other problem. You can't count calories and exercise sessions when it comes to matters of the heart.
Leaving Viv's place, I was a bit unsettled. Lots to digest. Lots to think about.
I'll do double job hunting tomorrow. Today I just need to let myself think and heal. And get to the gym, where I know I work some of this pain out and gather more self-respect with every push, row, step and pull.
One day at a time.
One step at a time.
(Big breath in, big breath out)
Looking fear directly in the face.
Pandxx
Unfortunately the truth often hurts. Oh, how do I know this one.
There were a couple of reasons why I asked for the reading today. Though I'm pleased with my time off, I was looking for some clarity around the work situation. Also, with all of the changes that have been happening, I want a bit of clarity on a few things. Friends have come, friends have gone, jobs have gone, opportunities are coming. Things are in a bit of a spin.
I've also been drawing the devil card a bit of late. When it come up often it's a sign to talk it out. The Devil is about looking fear in the face. Only I can't quite see what I'm scared of.
There was also another issue that raised it's head during the week which I needed to see a way through. The pain was raising its head again. It was time to address it once more - and not let if fester.
The pain, you ask. Yeah, I call it the pain. It comes when somebody touches a nerve and you don't quite know what to do with that pain. In this case, it was stirred up after reading a friend's blog.
My friend, Aim, is one of the most remarkable people I know. Her blog detailed her history, right through her childhood, through a miserable adolescence, into adult hood. Three years ago, Aim screamed "Enough!" and started on a journey - the most incredible journey, during which she has shed 75 kgs and had discovered that life can be, and is, wonderful. She's one of my inspirations. She's a wonderful spirit - wise, funny, knowledgeable and brave. I feel honoured to call her a friend.
Aim's story rang far too many bells with me. In her journey, she's also been addressing the hurt, shame and pain that were a constant factor in her life. Everything she was saying I could relate to. I know that my story isn't as extreme, but I saw myself in her words.
And then came the 'aha' moment for me. What's going wrong with me in within? Go back and chat to Viv.
What was stirring in me was old pain. Childhood pain. Teenage pain. The stuff that's been hanging around for what seems like eternity. The stuff that if you don't deal with it comes and bites you in the bum until you either knock it on the head, or die. Three of Swords stuff.
If Aim can look at her demons, so can I.
(Big breath in, big breath out)
So after this morning's massage client I take myself off to Viv. The normal pleasantries. The normal chat about the cat and the computer. The normal preambles. And then the killer.
"The universe has made it apparent that you are supposed to get out there and do this right now."
"Aha." I wanted to say "No shit, Sherlock," but I'm a little less crass than that.
"Everything is going to hinge on the decisions you make next."
"Aha."
"And you don't trust yourself because you've messed up in the past."
I butt in here, "But I'm doing a better job of things lately."
"I didn't say you weren't. But you need to trust every instinct you have from now on."
"Okay. I hear you."
I knew this. Sometimes you need somebody to spell it out for you.
We did a few more rounds. Seems my idea of going contracting is sound - but I know this. I'm happier when things are changing and I get to meet new people and do new things. I should also get a plan together, looking into setting up my own business - but doing what I asked.
And then, the obligatory relationship question. Has to be done. I'm just like everybody else when it comes to this question - what's doing with the lovelife? Everybody asks it. Up comes the Three of Swords. Old pain.
"Well, you're broken. You got broke."
"No shit, Sherlock. Why do you think I sit in that dream group?"
"So you can see that you're not that badly off."
"Indeed."
"You're just as broken as the rest of the world. You just have to find a different way out of it."
"Hmm."
"It's time to start trusting yourself."
"Aha." I'm tearing up by now.
"You don't know what love is and it scares the shit out of you."
"Aha."
"So what are you going to do about it?"
I consider this for a while. I know she's right. I know I'm a bit broken in some ways. I know I've healed in others. But after all the work, the therapy, the courses and the tarot and navel gazing, I'm still broken, and I certainly don't trust myself in these situations - anything to do with relationships - I buckle and run.
"Well, I'm going to try and fix it. It's the elephant in the room." I say with resolve.
"The elephant in the room?" asked Viv.
"Yeah, the one in the corner you know you have to eat. And how are you going to do it - one bite at a time."
I might have to get myself another star calendar. I have one going for diet and exercise going. Each day I keep within my calories and take at least a half hour walk, a star goes up on the calendar. They use it for toilet training kids, why not use it as a reward system for keeping my health and wellbeing on track.
If only I could work out what I would get a star on the calender for on the other problem. You can't count calories and exercise sessions when it comes to matters of the heart.
Leaving Viv's place, I was a bit unsettled. Lots to digest. Lots to think about.
I'll do double job hunting tomorrow. Today I just need to let myself think and heal. And get to the gym, where I know I work some of this pain out and gather more self-respect with every push, row, step and pull.
One day at a time.
One step at a time.
(Big breath in, big breath out)
Looking fear directly in the face.
Pandxx
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
The Abyss
I'm going to a funeral in a few hours, so I'm sitting here at home, in my gym clothes, trying to find the energy to get my bum onto a cross traiiner for half an hour. My body, and mind, and spirit feel decidedly battered. Not helping matters, the next door neighbours are renovating, so I'm listening to the grating drone of a sander.
The funeral is for one of my lodge members, the lady who bumped me in to co-freemasonry. A beautiful, loving, etherial presence, who even when going through the ravages of chemotherapy kept her spirit and courage. She was in her late fifties - too young really. But knowing that this spirited, joyous mother and grandmother had a wonderful life fills me with some peace. I have no qualms taking a day off as a mark of respect. I need to do it. These guys have become part of my extended family. You do this for family.
The last few days have been hard. Really hard.There's been a lot of emotion flying around. I've had numerous people crying, actually, make that sobbing, in my arms over the last few days. Card readings will normally bring out a few tears, but these were hard core. Seriously huge things are happening to people out there. And all I can do is witness this.
The Grounded Dutchman is going through his own readjustments. He's finding his limitations, which I know is frustrating him no end. Our daily reading and diction sessions continue and he's doing well - but it's other little things that are getting to him. Before the accident, nothing seemed to bother him. Now, he's a lot more sensitive and emotional. We went to see Inception last night and he had to leave part way through - the whole experience was too noisy and intense for him. He went to a bar to celebrate a leaving do - similar experience - he had to walk out, unable to cope with the noisy atmosphere.
Maybe not so strangely, I get where he's coming from with the noisy environments. Maybe it's me getting old, or just being rather sensitive, but I hate crowded, noisy spaces. I can do concerts at a push, but I would rather be out of the mosh pit (unless the Pixies are playing). It was sad to see him go early - it was a fabulous film.
And as for me - I'm just trying to find some direction. The pain in the side contintues. I had my regular appointment with the myotherapist yesterday, telling her of the joys of St Vincents Emergency Room. She started pummelling my back. "We need to get some of this trauma out of you. You're carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. No wonder you feel like you're giving way."
And she's right. It's just how I feel.
A lot of this has to do with the situation at Tin Can, String and Whistle. It really is in a state of flux at the moment. People are leaving left right and cente, nobody is sure what we'll be doing in the next three months - and I've been editing a large document and what ever dribs and drabs I can get - this makes me feel really undervalued. Going from a dream job where I loved the work and the people to where I am now is so deflating.
So, what are my options?
Leave and find someting new. Start over. Get out now?
Take up the six month sabbatical that is on offer at the moment - 14 weeks pay to take 26 weeks off - and to come back to a job, not sure what - maybe get moved to India or Vietnam? Find some contracting work in between?
Or keep on going the way things are, waiting to be made redundant.
I'm also looking at why I'm so resistant to move. A lot of this comes down to the fact that I love the people at Tin Can, String and Whistle. I'm at a place where I know I'm respected and my real work, when I do it, is valued.
Even putting my name down for roles in India and Vietnam is daunting. This wasn't done on a whim. I look at what I have here - no property, no animals, no family. It's just my friends, who are my support network and joy, that keep me here.
Honestly, I feel like wrapping myeself in cotton wool. All a bit pointless when you're staring down into an abyss. If you jump, you don't know how hard the bump at the bottom is going to be.
Then again, you don't know if you going to jump and fly off to somewhere miraculous.
Cards of the Blog: The Hermit, The High Priestess and The Ace of Swords.
Look within, trust your instincts and get your head around it. You'll do just fine.
Great. Keep drinking the Rescue Remedy, get your cards read.
And most importantly, view my wonderful future.
The funeral is for one of my lodge members, the lady who bumped me in to co-freemasonry. A beautiful, loving, etherial presence, who even when going through the ravages of chemotherapy kept her spirit and courage. She was in her late fifties - too young really. But knowing that this spirited, joyous mother and grandmother had a wonderful life fills me with some peace. I have no qualms taking a day off as a mark of respect. I need to do it. These guys have become part of my extended family. You do this for family.
The last few days have been hard. Really hard.There's been a lot of emotion flying around. I've had numerous people crying, actually, make that sobbing, in my arms over the last few days. Card readings will normally bring out a few tears, but these were hard core. Seriously huge things are happening to people out there. And all I can do is witness this.
The Grounded Dutchman is going through his own readjustments. He's finding his limitations, which I know is frustrating him no end. Our daily reading and diction sessions continue and he's doing well - but it's other little things that are getting to him. Before the accident, nothing seemed to bother him. Now, he's a lot more sensitive and emotional. We went to see Inception last night and he had to leave part way through - the whole experience was too noisy and intense for him. He went to a bar to celebrate a leaving do - similar experience - he had to walk out, unable to cope with the noisy atmosphere.
Maybe not so strangely, I get where he's coming from with the noisy environments. Maybe it's me getting old, or just being rather sensitive, but I hate crowded, noisy spaces. I can do concerts at a push, but I would rather be out of the mosh pit (unless the Pixies are playing). It was sad to see him go early - it was a fabulous film.
And as for me - I'm just trying to find some direction. The pain in the side contintues. I had my regular appointment with the myotherapist yesterday, telling her of the joys of St Vincents Emergency Room. She started pummelling my back. "We need to get some of this trauma out of you. You're carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. No wonder you feel like you're giving way."
And she's right. It's just how I feel.
A lot of this has to do with the situation at Tin Can, String and Whistle. It really is in a state of flux at the moment. People are leaving left right and cente, nobody is sure what we'll be doing in the next three months - and I've been editing a large document and what ever dribs and drabs I can get - this makes me feel really undervalued. Going from a dream job where I loved the work and the people to where I am now is so deflating.
So, what are my options?
Leave and find someting new. Start over. Get out now?
Take up the six month sabbatical that is on offer at the moment - 14 weeks pay to take 26 weeks off - and to come back to a job, not sure what - maybe get moved to India or Vietnam? Find some contracting work in between?
Or keep on going the way things are, waiting to be made redundant.
I'm also looking at why I'm so resistant to move. A lot of this comes down to the fact that I love the people at Tin Can, String and Whistle. I'm at a place where I know I'm respected and my real work, when I do it, is valued.
Even putting my name down for roles in India and Vietnam is daunting. This wasn't done on a whim. I look at what I have here - no property, no animals, no family. It's just my friends, who are my support network and joy, that keep me here.
Honestly, I feel like wrapping myeself in cotton wool. All a bit pointless when you're staring down into an abyss. If you jump, you don't know how hard the bump at the bottom is going to be.
Then again, you don't know if you going to jump and fly off to somewhere miraculous.
Cards of the Blog: The Hermit, The High Priestess and The Ace of Swords.
Look within, trust your instincts and get your head around it. You'll do just fine.
Great. Keep drinking the Rescue Remedy, get your cards read.
And most importantly, view my wonderful future.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Just who is Ernst Wanke?
Reading cards takes me to some of the more salubrious suburbs of this fair city. Armed with the Grounded Dutchman's faithful GPS (crumbs, will have to give that back soon) my passport in case I have to go over the Westgate Bridge, my purple, velvet bag full of tarot cards and Andrew, my trusty Toyota Echo, I get to go out to such wonderful places as Deer Park, Carrum Downs, Ferntree Gully... places where lots of young couples live and subsequently, hold lots of hen's parties.
I really do need a GPS to get to such places as the Melbourne outer suburbs offend my Adelaide sensibility of not going places out of a twenty minute radius.
Tonight I was out to a Hen's Party in Narre Warren South. Narre Warren South is another name for the back end of nowhere. It's where the little boxes made of ticky tacky all looking just the same reside. It's just out the other side of Fountain Gate, where television's Kath and Kim live. It's somewhere I no aspirations to go to or live - but as they're paying me to read cards there I cannot complain. Hen's Parties are my bread and butter.
To get to Narre Warren South you have to go under Ernst Wanke Bridge and past Ernst Wanke Road. Was the council stoned when there were voting on the road names? The town planners were having a laugh. The fact that anybody travelling the thirty kilometres down the Monash to Narre Warren will see the wonderfully named road and bridge in big letters just after the Eastern Freeway exits is beside the point. Did they think the people who live out that way wouldn't complain? My friend Mac, of the Freemasons, five children called Michael, Maryanne, Michaela, Munro and Madison fame, lives in Berwick a few miles on from this wonderful place. He pointed out to me driving him home one night that the name on the bridge was vital to the South Eastern Suburbs, "It's Ernst, Pand, not Ernest. Nothing earnest lives out here."
Other than driving a ninety kilometre round trip there was another request to the job. Could I please dress up as a gypsy for the evening.
After the Seven Girls Called Tiphannee debarcle a few months ago, where after a rather difficult evening reading for needy bogans who complained that I didn't look gypsy enough, I've been really cautious of this dressing up lark. About one in ten jobs ask me to dress like a fortune teller. Part of me would love to tell them where to go, but my professional pride has me play along. And as all of my "gypsy" clothes got given to the salvos after I lost 20 kilograms, I'm at a loss as to how to dress now.
The thing that gets me about the dressing up is that I've studied tarot for a very long time. I've been taught from some of the best tarot teachers in the world. I read cards with the utmost respect and integrity and I know I'm a good, honest, caring reader. I read just as well in a pair of jeans or in my pyjamas. I don't need chiffon, scarves and make up applied with a trowel to do the job.
Tonight, complying with the request, dressed in flowing black, hair tissed up, adorned with every peice of silver I own and a make up job to make Alice Cooper proud, I knocked at the door. It must have been dressed to her expectations, the host looked happy to see me, which was more than I can say for the cop who breathalised me on the way there. I think he was a bit scared.
With the full moon tonight, things came out. Reading cards on the full moon is like adding a strong magnifying glass to the cards. These were nice, salt of the earth people. Some really hard lives were revealed to me. It really is an honour to be let in to see these snippets of people's realities.
As I always do on these evenings, I asked the host if there was anything I needed to know - any circumstances I should know about that I should stay away from. After going to one of these events where one of the guest's husband's had been murdered a few weeks before, I do this as a matter of course. It's best to know things like that up front. No point trying to be happy about things when there is no way they are not. From the back room I could hear one of the guests berating me for this. Fishing for information she said. Other than one girl being very pregnant, there was nothing to beware of.
The night passed. The readings were accurate - too accurate. Lots of shocked faces, lots of grateful smiles, grabs for the tissues - lot of angst and emotion was released. It was really cool.
Including the woman who was dissing me for hunting information. She was the last to be read for. She sat down in front of me. We opened the cards. "Oh. I'm sorry. Your mother..." I didn't get to finish the sentence. She was crying in the toilet by then. We had a great reading when she returned. We discussed options to help her through her grief and to move forward after her mother's recent passing.
The sceptic was convinced.
For as much as I make fun of the hen's parties at which I read, I do really feel blessed to be able to see into people's lives like this. The readings are almost like a short, pictorial blog - laying out their lives for me to see and comment upon. It's not a job for the faint hearted or weak minded. If you're not reading cards with love and integrity, there's no point doing it.
It's a strange gift I'm grateful to have received.
I really do need a GPS to get to such places as the Melbourne outer suburbs offend my Adelaide sensibility of not going places out of a twenty minute radius.
Tonight I was out to a Hen's Party in Narre Warren South. Narre Warren South is another name for the back end of nowhere. It's where the little boxes made of ticky tacky all looking just the same reside. It's just out the other side of Fountain Gate, where television's Kath and Kim live. It's somewhere I no aspirations to go to or live - but as they're paying me to read cards there I cannot complain. Hen's Parties are my bread and butter.
To get to Narre Warren South you have to go under Ernst Wanke Bridge and past Ernst Wanke Road. Was the council stoned when there were voting on the road names? The town planners were having a laugh. The fact that anybody travelling the thirty kilometres down the Monash to Narre Warren will see the wonderfully named road and bridge in big letters just after the Eastern Freeway exits is beside the point. Did they think the people who live out that way wouldn't complain? My friend Mac, of the Freemasons, five children called Michael, Maryanne, Michaela, Munro and Madison fame, lives in Berwick a few miles on from this wonderful place. He pointed out to me driving him home one night that the name on the bridge was vital to the South Eastern Suburbs, "It's Ernst, Pand, not Ernest. Nothing earnest lives out here."
Other than driving a ninety kilometre round trip there was another request to the job. Could I please dress up as a gypsy for the evening.
After the Seven Girls Called Tiphannee debarcle a few months ago, where after a rather difficult evening reading for needy bogans who complained that I didn't look gypsy enough, I've been really cautious of this dressing up lark. About one in ten jobs ask me to dress like a fortune teller. Part of me would love to tell them where to go, but my professional pride has me play along. And as all of my "gypsy" clothes got given to the salvos after I lost 20 kilograms, I'm at a loss as to how to dress now.
The thing that gets me about the dressing up is that I've studied tarot for a very long time. I've been taught from some of the best tarot teachers in the world. I read cards with the utmost respect and integrity and I know I'm a good, honest, caring reader. I read just as well in a pair of jeans or in my pyjamas. I don't need chiffon, scarves and make up applied with a trowel to do the job.
Tonight, complying with the request, dressed in flowing black, hair tissed up, adorned with every peice of silver I own and a make up job to make Alice Cooper proud, I knocked at the door. It must have been dressed to her expectations, the host looked happy to see me, which was more than I can say for the cop who breathalised me on the way there. I think he was a bit scared.
With the full moon tonight, things came out. Reading cards on the full moon is like adding a strong magnifying glass to the cards. These were nice, salt of the earth people. Some really hard lives were revealed to me. It really is an honour to be let in to see these snippets of people's realities.
As I always do on these evenings, I asked the host if there was anything I needed to know - any circumstances I should know about that I should stay away from. After going to one of these events where one of the guest's husband's had been murdered a few weeks before, I do this as a matter of course. It's best to know things like that up front. No point trying to be happy about things when there is no way they are not. From the back room I could hear one of the guests berating me for this. Fishing for information she said. Other than one girl being very pregnant, there was nothing to beware of.
The night passed. The readings were accurate - too accurate. Lots of shocked faces, lots of grateful smiles, grabs for the tissues - lot of angst and emotion was released. It was really cool.
Including the woman who was dissing me for hunting information. She was the last to be read for. She sat down in front of me. We opened the cards. "Oh. I'm sorry. Your mother..." I didn't get to finish the sentence. She was crying in the toilet by then. We had a great reading when she returned. We discussed options to help her through her grief and to move forward after her mother's recent passing.
The sceptic was convinced.
For as much as I make fun of the hen's parties at which I read, I do really feel blessed to be able to see into people's lives like this. The readings are almost like a short, pictorial blog - laying out their lives for me to see and comment upon. It's not a job for the faint hearted or weak minded. If you're not reading cards with love and integrity, there's no point doing it.
It's a strange gift I'm grateful to have received.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Seven Girls called Tiffany - or the Support Act
The other feature of the weekend just gone was the two tarot jobs of Saturday - one birthday party down near Frankston, then a hen's party up in Boronia. The normal fare of people - the normal mix of female human conditions - the frumpy best friend, the unfullfilled aunt, the overacheiving career girl, the overweight cousin, the childhood mate who now works in a factory, and of course, Nonna - who needs the reading translated into Italian by her aging spinster daughter.
The big difference in this weekend is that I met seven women called Tiffany.
Five of the Tiffany's I can't really remember - run of the mill girls - dental assistants, stay at home Mum's - nice enough girls, nothing out of the ordinary cards. Quick, light readings are my stock in trade at these events.
Next came Tiphany with a "ph". A young, eurasian girl, dressed differently to the rest with their off-the-rack dresses - better turned out, more self assured, classy jewellery - no Beville's charm bracelets or empty Pandora necklaces on this one. An artist, somebody who does a bit of this and a bit of that. A creature after my own heart. I saw what I could have been twenty years ago given some self esteem and nurturing.
Tiffany number seven was a bit of a basket case. She walked into where I was reading and I had to stop myself from saying , "Shite - you're a bloody giraffe!" Standing before me,a bulimic six foot, sixteen going on thirty, resentful Tiffany, bemoaning all the hideous luck of her sixteen years. She'd been ill recently and it had stopped her from auditioning for "Australia's Next Top Model." According to Tiffany, her life was over.
Dear me. How do you read for such a person?
Sorry for being so condemning and judgemental. It comes with the territory. I remember reading, telling her that respite was in sight and that all would work out. Can't do much more than that.
Reindert asked me if when I read tarot if I read the people or read the cards. It's a bit of both on these occasions. At these parties when you have five minutes to give a quick reading, you have to go by the cards - and a bit of instinct. You soon obtain the ability to read people pretty well. Once you open the cards that's when you get to the bottom of things - find out what makes the person tick. It's actually a very honoured position. How often do you get to look into the lives of strangers - and have them hanging on your every word?
I will also say that at every one of these events I will inevitably end up holding somebody's hand for a bit. You touch the raw nerve, the sensitive spot. The part they didn't want seen. Most often the words that set them off, "When did you last give yourself a break? When did you last pat yourself on the back?" or the killer, "You look after everybody else. Who looks after you.?"
When I read one-on-one for an hour, that's when the real magic of the tarot comes through. You can sort through stuff then. These five minute readings are teasers. It's a bit unfair, really.
These hen's affairs can be comical. I've not had that much experience at hen's nights - I've tended to avoid attending them in the past, always stating why go to something you have very little chance of hosting yourself.
Sometimes, more often with an older bride, you will find a more subdued and classy evening - days of pampering, elegant drinks served by a rather buff, topless young man from Wonthaggi (being the hired help, you always get to talk to the aforesaid waiter, never wanting him to ask to put his shirt back on - too nice a view.)
It's the young ones, the kid brides, the young girls from the outer suburbs who tend to have the tacky celebrations, with the plastic penises and the strippers and the blue party games like "Stick the Dong on the Donkey."
The hen's do on Saturday had some alternative entertainment. One of the blokes from Puppetry of the Penis was there to do dick tricks for the baying masses.
Had nobody told these women that a man standing there in socks, runners and a cape fiddling with his tackle isn't that interesting or sexy?
This is the third time time I've been the support act to the Puppetry of the Penis fellow. We ran into each other in the hallway between stints.
"I know you?" he says.
"Yep." I answer, "Still doing dick tricks, Dave."
"Pays the bills, Pand."
"Don't you get sore, Dave?"
"Yep. Don't these women drive you nuts wanting to know everything."
"Yep. Used to it. Don't you get sick of women looking at your bits."
"Used to it."
"Sluts for a buck, aren't we?"
"And we wouldn't have it any other way."
He went out to the lounge to entertain the throng, aged from sixteen to eighty.
My gig is slightly easier.
I stayed in the kitchen, getting some much needed fluid and food in my system before returning to read for the last handful of hens. I've seen the show once, in a theatre, years ago, that was enough. I let Dave and his appendage have their professional space.
Returning home after seven hours of driving and reading, I fell quickly into a dream plagued sleep where I was stuck on a boat in the bottom of the ocean with an old gramaphone for company.
Didn't say that doing this didn't come without a price.
Of the challenge - 19 kms to go.... Yeeeehhhaaa - that, strangely, is doable.
Card of the Blog: The Devil - lies, deceit and trickery. Not seeing the truth. Unseen blessings. Not seeing the out. Coming from a place of intellect to the self. The first dark night of the soul. The first steps towards courage.
Yep.
Pand
Kilometres walked since 29 January: 172 km
Kilometres run since 29 January: 109 km
Currently reading: Ice by Louis Nowra, Ultramarathon Man by Dean Karnazes
Weight lost since 29 Jan: 1.7 kg
The big difference in this weekend is that I met seven women called Tiffany.
Five of the Tiffany's I can't really remember - run of the mill girls - dental assistants, stay at home Mum's - nice enough girls, nothing out of the ordinary cards. Quick, light readings are my stock in trade at these events.
Next came Tiphany with a "ph". A young, eurasian girl, dressed differently to the rest with their off-the-rack dresses - better turned out, more self assured, classy jewellery - no Beville's charm bracelets or empty Pandora necklaces on this one. An artist, somebody who does a bit of this and a bit of that. A creature after my own heart. I saw what I could have been twenty years ago given some self esteem and nurturing.
Tiffany number seven was a bit of a basket case. She walked into where I was reading and I had to stop myself from saying , "Shite - you're a bloody giraffe!" Standing before me,a bulimic six foot, sixteen going on thirty, resentful Tiffany, bemoaning all the hideous luck of her sixteen years. She'd been ill recently and it had stopped her from auditioning for "Australia's Next Top Model." According to Tiffany, her life was over.
Dear me. How do you read for such a person?
Sorry for being so condemning and judgemental. It comes with the territory. I remember reading, telling her that respite was in sight and that all would work out. Can't do much more than that.
Reindert asked me if when I read tarot if I read the people or read the cards. It's a bit of both on these occasions. At these parties when you have five minutes to give a quick reading, you have to go by the cards - and a bit of instinct. You soon obtain the ability to read people pretty well. Once you open the cards that's when you get to the bottom of things - find out what makes the person tick. It's actually a very honoured position. How often do you get to look into the lives of strangers - and have them hanging on your every word?
I will also say that at every one of these events I will inevitably end up holding somebody's hand for a bit. You touch the raw nerve, the sensitive spot. The part they didn't want seen. Most often the words that set them off, "When did you last give yourself a break? When did you last pat yourself on the back?" or the killer, "You look after everybody else. Who looks after you.?"
When I read one-on-one for an hour, that's when the real magic of the tarot comes through. You can sort through stuff then. These five minute readings are teasers. It's a bit unfair, really.
These hen's affairs can be comical. I've not had that much experience at hen's nights - I've tended to avoid attending them in the past, always stating why go to something you have very little chance of hosting yourself.
Sometimes, more often with an older bride, you will find a more subdued and classy evening - days of pampering, elegant drinks served by a rather buff, topless young man from Wonthaggi (being the hired help, you always get to talk to the aforesaid waiter, never wanting him to ask to put his shirt back on - too nice a view.)
It's the young ones, the kid brides, the young girls from the outer suburbs who tend to have the tacky celebrations, with the plastic penises and the strippers and the blue party games like "Stick the Dong on the Donkey."
The hen's do on Saturday had some alternative entertainment. One of the blokes from Puppetry of the Penis was there to do dick tricks for the baying masses.
Had nobody told these women that a man standing there in socks, runners and a cape fiddling with his tackle isn't that interesting or sexy?
This is the third time time I've been the support act to the Puppetry of the Penis fellow. We ran into each other in the hallway between stints.
"I know you?" he says.
"Yep." I answer, "Still doing dick tricks, Dave."
"Pays the bills, Pand."
"Don't you get sore, Dave?"
"Yep. Don't these women drive you nuts wanting to know everything."
"Yep. Used to it. Don't you get sick of women looking at your bits."
"Used to it."
"Sluts for a buck, aren't we?"
"And we wouldn't have it any other way."
He went out to the lounge to entertain the throng, aged from sixteen to eighty.
My gig is slightly easier.
I stayed in the kitchen, getting some much needed fluid and food in my system before returning to read for the last handful of hens. I've seen the show once, in a theatre, years ago, that was enough. I let Dave and his appendage have their professional space.
Returning home after seven hours of driving and reading, I fell quickly into a dream plagued sleep where I was stuck on a boat in the bottom of the ocean with an old gramaphone for company.
Didn't say that doing this didn't come without a price.
Of the challenge - 19 kms to go.... Yeeeehhhaaa - that, strangely, is doable.
Card of the Blog: The Devil - lies, deceit and trickery. Not seeing the truth. Unseen blessings. Not seeing the out. Coming from a place of intellect to the self. The first dark night of the soul. The first steps towards courage.
Yep.
Pand
Kilometres walked since 29 January: 172 km
Kilometres run since 29 January: 109 km
Currently reading: Ice by Louis Nowra, Ultramarathon Man by Dean Karnazes
Weight lost since 29 Jan: 1.7 kg
Thursday, February 18, 2010
The Absence of Choice
There is a Sufi saying, "Freedom is the absence of choice."
I'm getting a a true taste of what is meant by this.
A good friend is struggling with the decisions of Tin Can, String and Whistle Ltd. Lots of people are struggling with some of their decisions, but I see my friend's torment and I can't help getting dragged into some his anxiety. To stay or to go? Lots of people are asking this at the moment. Myself included.
Complicating matters for my friend is a visa situation. To remain in Australia, or to go back to Europe? What are the benefits? What are the isues? What are the problems?
See to me - there would be no choice. Get the visa papers. Stay. Have the option to be in both places. This isn't a choice, but giving yourself options. But he is steadfast in not taking up permanent residency. His choices and options are different.
I'm sure some of my ove- reacting is because a large number of my friends have left or are leaving the country and the company. I also know I have to look at my options in the near future when it comes to work. What do I want to do? Where do I want to go? What next?
As I have no direct support network, no partner to financially keep me going, I'm responsible for myself. I have no choice but to work. How it must be to have choices around whether to work. I don't know what this is like. Maybe this should be the next thing to search for. Maybe my freedom is in having to work - and not knowing where the world will take me.
Card of the blog: The Hanged Man - At the crossroads, stop and look around, martyrs, victims, seeing things from another view, surrendering to the world and letting things happen, stagnation, looking at ones options from all sides.
Gotta love the tarot deck.
Pand
Kilometres walked since 29 January: 56 km
Kilometres run since 29 January: 32 km
Currently reading: What I Talk About When I Talk About Running by Haruki Murakami, Ultramarathon Man by Dean Karnazes
Weight lost since 29 Jan: 0.7 kg
I'm getting a a true taste of what is meant by this.
A good friend is struggling with the decisions of Tin Can, String and Whistle Ltd. Lots of people are struggling with some of their decisions, but I see my friend's torment and I can't help getting dragged into some his anxiety. To stay or to go? Lots of people are asking this at the moment. Myself included.
Complicating matters for my friend is a visa situation. To remain in Australia, or to go back to Europe? What are the benefits? What are the isues? What are the problems?
See to me - there would be no choice. Get the visa papers. Stay. Have the option to be in both places. This isn't a choice, but giving yourself options. But he is steadfast in not taking up permanent residency. His choices and options are different.
I'm sure some of my ove- reacting is because a large number of my friends have left or are leaving the country and the company. I also know I have to look at my options in the near future when it comes to work. What do I want to do? Where do I want to go? What next?
As I have no direct support network, no partner to financially keep me going, I'm responsible for myself. I have no choice but to work. How it must be to have choices around whether to work. I don't know what this is like. Maybe this should be the next thing to search for. Maybe my freedom is in having to work - and not knowing where the world will take me.
Card of the blog: The Hanged Man - At the crossroads, stop and look around, martyrs, victims, seeing things from another view, surrendering to the world and letting things happen, stagnation, looking at ones options from all sides.
Gotta love the tarot deck.
Pand
Kilometres walked since 29 January: 56 km
Kilometres run since 29 January: 32 km
Currently reading: What I Talk About When I Talk About Running by Haruki Murakami, Ultramarathon Man by Dean Karnazes
Weight lost since 29 Jan: 0.7 kg
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Who knows the future?
I have read tarot cards for over fifteen years. I have been reading tarot professionally for nearly five of those years. Do I live my life by the cards. No. Do I get blown away by what I see in the cards each time I read for others. Yes.
Do I wonder how people can be so miserable for so long. Yes.
Today's tarot job was another hen's party. I do quite a few hen's parties over the year. Most of the time it's held at the mother of the bride's place. You meet the bride, a slim, fake tanned beauty in her twenties who is tying the knot. They're scared, they're overwhelmed with the wedding thing, they're up to theire eyeballs in debt, worry and stress. Then you meet the mother of the bride, the envious best friend/bridesmaid, the sad case you can't place, normally from primary school that Mum invited, the flaky workmate, the spinster aunt.... the list goes on. Hen's parties are all the same. The location and the number of strippers is what varies.
There were two treats at today's reading. First up, Nonna. Nonna was 85 if she was a day. From the South of Italy, her English wasn't great and somebody had to translate the reading. And the anger that came off of those cards! If there is a story in the news about a little Italian lady knocking off her husband in the next few weeks - odds on it's Nonna.
The other person who really impressed me was the kid sister. Kid sister's at hen's partys are often so high on champagne they can't sit straight. This one was a breath of fresh air. Double the size of her twiglet sister, though just as fake tan orange, this kid has chutzpah. She's going to run the world one day. Lovely, blessedly positive, happy cards. You don't see that much.
The thing I suppose I find most confronting is that people are looking for comfort and answers. I don't have the answers - and I'm not a counsellor, so I can't give comfort - though I do not go out to incite at these events. Even if I did, what would be the point - why make people cry on happy days? I just tell them what I see. Sometimes you see too much. Sometimes you see nothing.
Tarot is an intellectual affair. It's not a science, but it is a skill. It's when the sixth sense kicks in, that's when it gets interesting. This doesn't come all the time. I can't tell you what it is - but I believe what makes me a good reader, rather than just a reader.
It's also part performance, part social worker, part best friend and part drill sargeant. Some people are are the stock and trade, others need more specialised care. Sometimes you go away from these events and you know that you may have helped somebody change their life for the better. And that too feels good.
The only other thing I will say about hen's parties. They make me a little glum. I've never had one held for me. I think I would like that one day, and one day soon. You gotta put your goals out there...
Will talk about running tomorrow. I think I've talked myself into this marathon in Maine. Heaven help us.
Card for the Blog: Nine of Cups - lots of love around. Keeping love and gains to yourself. Repletion. Gain. Attaining love.
Hmmm
Pand
Kilometres walked since 29 Jan: 22 kilometres
Kilometres walked since 29 Jan: 8.5 kilometres
Currently reading: The Elegance of the Hedgehog by Muriel Barbary, UltraMarathon Man by Dean Karnazes
Weight lost since 29 Jan: 0.7 kg
Do I wonder how people can be so miserable for so long. Yes.
Today's tarot job was another hen's party. I do quite a few hen's parties over the year. Most of the time it's held at the mother of the bride's place. You meet the bride, a slim, fake tanned beauty in her twenties who is tying the knot. They're scared, they're overwhelmed with the wedding thing, they're up to theire eyeballs in debt, worry and stress. Then you meet the mother of the bride, the envious best friend/bridesmaid, the sad case you can't place, normally from primary school that Mum invited, the flaky workmate, the spinster aunt.... the list goes on. Hen's parties are all the same. The location and the number of strippers is what varies.
There were two treats at today's reading. First up, Nonna. Nonna was 85 if she was a day. From the South of Italy, her English wasn't great and somebody had to translate the reading. And the anger that came off of those cards! If there is a story in the news about a little Italian lady knocking off her husband in the next few weeks - odds on it's Nonna.
The other person who really impressed me was the kid sister. Kid sister's at hen's partys are often so high on champagne they can't sit straight. This one was a breath of fresh air. Double the size of her twiglet sister, though just as fake tan orange, this kid has chutzpah. She's going to run the world one day. Lovely, blessedly positive, happy cards. You don't see that much.
The thing I suppose I find most confronting is that people are looking for comfort and answers. I don't have the answers - and I'm not a counsellor, so I can't give comfort - though I do not go out to incite at these events. Even if I did, what would be the point - why make people cry on happy days? I just tell them what I see. Sometimes you see too much. Sometimes you see nothing.
Tarot is an intellectual affair. It's not a science, but it is a skill. It's when the sixth sense kicks in, that's when it gets interesting. This doesn't come all the time. I can't tell you what it is - but I believe what makes me a good reader, rather than just a reader.
It's also part performance, part social worker, part best friend and part drill sargeant. Some people are are the stock and trade, others need more specialised care. Sometimes you go away from these events and you know that you may have helped somebody change their life for the better. And that too feels good.
The only other thing I will say about hen's parties. They make me a little glum. I've never had one held for me. I think I would like that one day, and one day soon. You gotta put your goals out there...
Will talk about running tomorrow. I think I've talked myself into this marathon in Maine. Heaven help us.
Card for the Blog: Nine of Cups - lots of love around. Keeping love and gains to yourself. Repletion. Gain. Attaining love.
Hmmm
Pand
Kilometres walked since 29 Jan: 22 kilometres
Kilometres walked since 29 Jan: 8.5 kilometres
Currently reading: The Elegance of the Hedgehog by Muriel Barbary, UltraMarathon Man by Dean Karnazes
Weight lost since 29 Jan: 0.7 kg
Sunday, January 31, 2010
The Empty Spot on the Couch
Sunday Night is a bit sacred to me. It's always been my night for me, my television and ironing night, the night I use to regroup and recharge for the week ahead. Normally the weekend is a busy time for me, doing everything from meditation to massage, running, cleaning , going out with friends. Some weekends are frantic, this one has been mellow.
This evening , my tummy is replete, my toes and fingers pretty after a lovely girlie afternoon with a friend and my paid writing job is one piece closer to being finished - four pages to go.
It's also good television night here. I admit to being a complete luddite on a few things. Tacky telly and tomato sauce are my two major crimes against sophisticated civilisation.
So tonight, this year's Biggest Loser started. I sit and watch a group of people, very overweight, all with their own stories, running a four kilometre race. Suddenly, I feel very, very proud of myself. I was there two years ago. I'm not now.
There is a hole in the evening, however. The Biggest Loser is a show I've shared for the last two years. Grounded Dutchman and I used to watch this together. Whether having dinner at each other's place, or chatting over the phone as it played. It doesn't feel the same. The fact that Grounded Dutchman is a long streak of piss who grumbles when his ironing board tummy turns to a small pot, making him look a bit like a grey haired Magic Pudding is beside the point. It's just different not having him there, shaking his head, being my illicit Tim Tam eating, bad telly watching partner-in-crime.
I don't admit to missing him much now - for heaven's sake, he's just a friend I used to watch the box with, nothing more. He's back in Holland trying to get his life back. Sunday nights, I just wish he was here.
Enough melacholy. There's wonderful things to look forward to this week. Other than Dream Group, no commitments, so lots of gym, study and writing time. Of course there is my daily eight hour stint at the telecommunications company of String, Tin Can and Whistle Ltd, with a lunchtime run or two in the week. It's good when there's nothing happening - gives me a chance to do different things.
Tarot Card for the Blog: Pick a card, any card.
Temperance. The restoration of balance. Healing. Reconciling dreams with the self. One step in front of the other. Climbing rainbows.
An interesting pick.
Pand
p.s I missed a goal last blog. To buy no more books until I have read a shelf full of the unread books I have in my collection. I have three shelves of unread books. Ulysses, Midnights Children, a heap of De Bernieres and Atwood, the last Artemis Fowl and Lemony Snicket and a few other notables sit there are waiting to be read. Book group books excepted.
Kilometres walked since 29 Jan: 7
Kilometres run since 29 Jan: 0
Currently reading: Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.
This evening , my tummy is replete, my toes and fingers pretty after a lovely girlie afternoon with a friend and my paid writing job is one piece closer to being finished - four pages to go.
It's also good television night here. I admit to being a complete luddite on a few things. Tacky telly and tomato sauce are my two major crimes against sophisticated civilisation.
So tonight, this year's Biggest Loser started. I sit and watch a group of people, very overweight, all with their own stories, running a four kilometre race. Suddenly, I feel very, very proud of myself. I was there two years ago. I'm not now.
There is a hole in the evening, however. The Biggest Loser is a show I've shared for the last two years. Grounded Dutchman and I used to watch this together. Whether having dinner at each other's place, or chatting over the phone as it played. It doesn't feel the same. The fact that Grounded Dutchman is a long streak of piss who grumbles when his ironing board tummy turns to a small pot, making him look a bit like a grey haired Magic Pudding is beside the point. It's just different not having him there, shaking his head, being my illicit Tim Tam eating, bad telly watching partner-in-crime.
I don't admit to missing him much now - for heaven's sake, he's just a friend I used to watch the box with, nothing more. He's back in Holland trying to get his life back. Sunday nights, I just wish he was here.
Enough melacholy. There's wonderful things to look forward to this week. Other than Dream Group, no commitments, so lots of gym, study and writing time. Of course there is my daily eight hour stint at the telecommunications company of String, Tin Can and Whistle Ltd, with a lunchtime run or two in the week. It's good when there's nothing happening - gives me a chance to do different things.
Tarot Card for the Blog: Pick a card, any card.
Temperance. The restoration of balance. Healing. Reconciling dreams with the self. One step in front of the other. Climbing rainbows.
An interesting pick.
Pand
p.s I missed a goal last blog. To buy no more books until I have read a shelf full of the unread books I have in my collection. I have three shelves of unread books. Ulysses, Midnights Children, a heap of De Bernieres and Atwood, the last Artemis Fowl and Lemony Snicket and a few other notables sit there are waiting to be read. Book group books excepted.
Kilometres walked since 29 Jan: 7
Kilometres run since 29 Jan: 0
Currently reading: Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.
Friday, January 29, 2010
The Fresh Start
It's nearly the end of January of another faceless year. I've come to the realisation that I need to set some goals, so I may as well do it here, in public, where people can see it, and I can be reminded of the goals I set myself and remind myself to work for these things.
The past few days have been rather confronting, not that gastroenteritis is confronting , more messy, gross and completely humiliating. It's not so much the fact of gastro as the doctors words. 'Watch yourself, you have all the precursors of appendicitis." Again, this fact doesn't stress me out, going to hospital and having a fairly common operation holds no fear for me. It's the recouperation that gets me. Where do I go? Who will look after me? Who would look after me?
The messy bits, the slight fever and the pains have gone but the lingering sense of aloneness remains. I live alone. I'm single. Who would look after me if I was to fall ill? I'm not like my mate, the Grounded Dutchman, who was able to be taken home by his mother after nearly killing himself with his paraglider - I don't have that support network. This bout of uneasyness isnt as bad as when I massaged somebody with shingles- the thought of chicken pox sent me to therapy for six months. I've moved on from this - now I feel the aloneness, honour it, and try to work out how this can be fixed.
So goal number one: Get that support network happening - one who's in my life daily so we can look after eachother. And get that person soon.
I also need to put this one down in print too.
Goal Two: By my 42nd birthday I will be 20 kgs lighter. No ifs or buts this year.
I will probably bore you with with my weight loss and exercise efforts. I've gone from the morbidly obese range to a very fit and well toned albeit cuddly cougar in the last two years - I'd like to see how far I can take this.
Helping goal two along is Goal Three : Run a marathon in the next twelve months.
The last year has seen me go from a sloth to a clydesdale. Two half marathons later, a bout of exhaustion, high blood pressure and depression later, I'm ready to get back to it again. I need this goal, as mad as it may be.
Goal Four: To own my own property in the next two years.
Yes, I'm 41 and propertlyless. Spent my 20s living abroad, living hand to mouth, my thirties in complete denial living hand to mouth and now I'm here, 41 and a bit more solvent. Seeing Ferdy the Financial Adviser on Wednesday.
Goal Five: Get more of my stuff out there and published
Writing documents for a telecommunications company is soul destroying. I've won a couple of short story competitions. I can do it again.
Fighting talk.
Lastly, my tarot card for the blog. Pick a card, any card:
Six of Wands. Victory. Rising above obstacles. Knowing your worth. Seeing things from above. Working towards goals and acheiving them.
Hopefully a wonderful omen.
Pand
The past few days have been rather confronting, not that gastroenteritis is confronting , more messy, gross and completely humiliating. It's not so much the fact of gastro as the doctors words. 'Watch yourself, you have all the precursors of appendicitis." Again, this fact doesn't stress me out, going to hospital and having a fairly common operation holds no fear for me. It's the recouperation that gets me. Where do I go? Who will look after me? Who would look after me?
The messy bits, the slight fever and the pains have gone but the lingering sense of aloneness remains. I live alone. I'm single. Who would look after me if I was to fall ill? I'm not like my mate, the Grounded Dutchman, who was able to be taken home by his mother after nearly killing himself with his paraglider - I don't have that support network. This bout of uneasyness isnt as bad as when I massaged somebody with shingles- the thought of chicken pox sent me to therapy for six months. I've moved on from this - now I feel the aloneness, honour it, and try to work out how this can be fixed.
So goal number one: Get that support network happening - one who's in my life daily so we can look after eachother. And get that person soon.
I also need to put this one down in print too.
Goal Two: By my 42nd birthday I will be 20 kgs lighter. No ifs or buts this year.
I will probably bore you with with my weight loss and exercise efforts. I've gone from the morbidly obese range to a very fit and well toned albeit cuddly cougar in the last two years - I'd like to see how far I can take this.
Helping goal two along is Goal Three : Run a marathon in the next twelve months.
The last year has seen me go from a sloth to a clydesdale. Two half marathons later, a bout of exhaustion, high blood pressure and depression later, I'm ready to get back to it again. I need this goal, as mad as it may be.
Goal Four: To own my own property in the next two years.
Yes, I'm 41 and propertlyless. Spent my 20s living abroad, living hand to mouth, my thirties in complete denial living hand to mouth and now I'm here, 41 and a bit more solvent. Seeing Ferdy the Financial Adviser on Wednesday.
Goal Five: Get more of my stuff out there and published
Writing documents for a telecommunications company is soul destroying. I've won a couple of short story competitions. I can do it again.
Fighting talk.
Lastly, my tarot card for the blog. Pick a card, any card:
Six of Wands. Victory. Rising above obstacles. Knowing your worth. Seeing things from above. Working towards goals and acheiving them.
Hopefully a wonderful omen.
Pand
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