As I was driving back from Amadell today, I was reminded of the Supertrampsong of the same title as this blog.
It was indeed a long way home, but so worth it.
The journey was made even better by the exquisite weather we enjoyed the entire way home. The Appalachians were our constant companions and, to be honest, they beckoned to us to stop and explore them one day more.
Responsibility Calls
But alas, responsibility calls and we needed to get home.
Democracy in action called to us with an even louder voice than the two songs I offered you above.
Please get out and vote.
Take a look around and summon the courage to see what’s actually unfolding in our communities, states, and country. Obviously, I’m speaking directly to Pennsylvanians because tomorrow is our primary.
But it does not matter where you live. When your state has its primary and general elections: VOTE. Vote for your school board directors, vote for your supervisors, vote for you Register of Wills. VOTE.
Your rights, your voice, your power to maintain control over your own life depend on you exercising your RIGHT and PRIVILEGE to vote. Don’t squander your power by waiting until it’s too lateand your rights have been lost.
I missed the deadline again that sends my posts out at night.
But guess what? I missed it last night, too.
The thing is, you might not have noticed. That’s because I literally hit the ‘publish’ button last night at 1:00 a.m. and it was nevertheless too late. It didn’t get sent out as an email last night because I missed the deadline and it was therefore held until tonight. But because I also put a link to my posts on Facebook, you still got to read it.
So tonight, last night’s went out and it looked like I’d made a timely submission. But I hadn’t. I missed the boat.
As a result, tonight’s post, which is obviously (abysmally) late getting published, will go out (if you have the email subscription) tomorrow night.
Good Grief
If I manage to get my Monday night submission published in a timely fashion (i.e., before 1:00 a.m), you’ll then receive both tonight’s and tomorrow’s in one email.
Good grief, this post is a load of hooey. But you know what? You just never know when you might want to know the intricacies of publishing a blog post every single night and the repercussions of meeting or missing an email deadline.
Tuesday is Primary Day in PA
Well, tomorrow night I’ll be back in Pennsylvania. Tired, I’m sure, and anticipating a very early morning on Tuesday because I’ll be happily playing my very small part in local democracy by working at our local poll. And Tuesday is Primary Day in Pennsylvania.
So if you take nothing else from tonight’s post, let it serve as a reminder that if you live in Pennsylvania, you need to VOTE on Tuesday!
The moon is full tonight. The shift in energy is palpable.
Technically, since a full moon occurs when the Sun and Moon are sitting in opposite signs, this full moon is in Scorpio, since the sun is currently in Taurus.
I don’t know anywhere near enough to be able to offer any true insight into what a full moon in Scorpio means or the energies it might be triggering or ushering into our lives. But…I know what I feel. And I know that the sign of Scorpio is associated with death and transformation.
Scorpio is also associated with Pluto and thus radical transformation and transmutation.
I know as I sit here writing this post that my hands have ‘turned on’ and are a deep rosy color. They are vibrating and almost humming. Conversations and connections this evening are buzzing in my ears.
Transformation is afoot.
A Culmination of Energies
My sense is that certain energies on our planet are culminating now, in this full moon, and a shift is beginning to take place.
Yes, I know. Perhaps I sound a bit ‘out there.’ Again, all I can tell you is how I’m feeling. And I promise, I’ve had nothing to drink except seltzer water. And nothing to eat except some delicious sautéed vegetables and brown rice. Nothing questionable. Nothing mind-altering.
Somehow, in some way, everyone who’s reading this post either feels what I’m talking about or will feel it imminently. Honestly? I’ll be shocked if you don’t.
Sometimes we need to let go of thoughts, beliefs, attitudes, opinions, and judgments that we’ve held for longer than we can remember. And we need to let go of them because they’re standing in our way to a greater understanding of who we are and why we’re here.
Sometimes it’s hard to let go of these things because we’ve grown fond of them. They feel like a second skin. They’re comfortable and familiar and they help us define our world – at least, they help us define what even counts as our world. So if we were to let go of them, we might feel lost. Or uncomfortable. Or a little fearful of the unknown.
Photo: L. Weikel
Sometimes, on the other hand, it’s hard to let go of these things because we aren’t even aware that we hold them, carry them around, or allow them to influence our lives every day. We honestly do not realize the fundamental beliefs, judgments, opinions, and attitudes that are the filter through which we experience our lives.
Taking the Time and Doing the Work to Discover What Needs to Go
How can we let something go that we’re not even aware we hold?
By doing the work.
By opening ourselves up to the possibility that we might not even be aware of our own self-sabotage – be it advertent or inadvertent. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter in the least whether we’re sabotaging ourselves purposefully or not. Or even knowingly or not. Blockage and self-sabotage impede. Period.
That’s why it’s a gift to have other people whom we trust implicitly walking beside us. We may all be on the similar paths, more or less, but that doesn’t mean our footsteps mirror each other’s.
Finding – and Being – Those We Trust Implicitly
Not in the least. But it does mean we something to have people whose perspective we trust close enough to call us out and say, “Hey! Do you see what you are affirming to the Universe every time you say such a thing?” or “You’ve been telling yourself that same story all the time ever since we met five years ago.”
Often this can lead to a gasp and an internal astonished realization of the belief albatross we’ve been slogging through the mud with, allowing it to weigh us down and slow our progress until we suddenly find ourselves stuck. “Oops. Wow. I did not see that.”
So to have people we trust nearby to call us on our stuff, lovingly but honestly, is a great gift.
True Friends Being There For Each Other
I witnessed some amazing stuff unfold today.
I watched dear friends shed old ways of thinking and being, beliefs and judgments that used to cause heartache and mean self-talk.
And tomorrow?
Tomorrow I’m going to witness them looking up. Looking outward; looking at themselves with profound love and respect, and an eager anticipation of what is coming ‘next.’
I’ve read about them. And I’ve undoubtedly seen photographs of them. But nothing beats seeing them in person.
Nevertheless, I’m sharing some of my own photographs with you tonight because I find these mountains simply enchanting.
Even though, intellectually, I knew I was in the midst of the Smoky Mountains, my mind balked at the idea that what I was observing was not, in fact, the smoke from campfires. I could feel my resistance to denying my imagination’s desire to romanticize those alleged campfires into hearths of people living on the land. People of the land.
But the truth is that the magic witnessed by people living or visiting here for generations is actually real. No matter how much those curling wisps of blue-ish white vapor resemble smoke, the fact remains that they are the legendary ‘smoke’ of the Smoky Mountains. And there’s not a lick of smoke to them.
Photo: L. Weikel
I know I’ve been singing the praises of Amadell practically every night, but what can I say? The views. I cannot get enough of the ever changing vistas I encounter each and every couple of minutes (much less hours or days). Nor can I hold my tongue when it comes to appreciating the lush foliage of the rhododendrons and mountain laurel, the juniper, maples, elms, and magnolias.
And the creeks. Nothing sends me into a state of calm and peace faster than the voice of a creek cascading down a mountain.
I’m cherishing the opportunity to sit with this land and immerse myself in its beauty.
I’ve only got a few minutes to jot down some thoughts. I was drawing a total blank as to what to write about this evening, because most of my day was spent in a session.
I started flicking through recent photos I’ve taken with my iPhone hoping to snag some inspiration from them.
Lo and behold, I came upon the photo of the notice we discovered in one of the other bookstores in Asheville (not linked in yesterday’s post).
I took the photo because the attitude just felt astonishingly unwelcoming and, well, snooty.
This was photo was taken in a bookstore. This bookstore featured an abundance of chairs and tables, even tables with empty champagne flutes (which I assume get filled on occasion, although we certainly didn’t wait to find out if and when). On many levels, this purveyor of pages seemed to be the quintessentially chill, abundantly decadent version of a Barnes & Noble or long-demised Borders.
And then we saw the sign photographed above. All over the place. I honestly wonder if the vibe of this place could have been less reader-friendly.
I’m guessing that, in spite of their signs, this establishment is not primarily in the business of selling books. Or maybe I just misunderstand their target audience.
Perhaps they serve people who traffic in rare, out of print, or one-of-a-kind tomes that never get read and prefer champagne to a rich cup of coffee and a book with which they can curl up and get lost in another world for a while…
I know when I’ve found where I’m wanted and welcomed. It wasn’t this place.
You know, if Karl and I only had $100 left to our names, we’d probably spend half of it on books. OK, maybe $75 on food and $25 on books. But still…
Notice that doesn’t include anything else. All we need is food for our bodies and food for our souls.
When my dear friend Luz (one of the owners and caretakers of Amadell) told me she wanted to show us some bookstores in Asheville, I tried to feign indifference, or at the most, mild enthusiasm. That’s because I was latching on to my denial.
The Last Thing I Need is More Books
I don’t know about you, but I occasionally find myself embracing an attitude within myself that eschews visiting bookstores, especially when I’m writing (or when the desire to create something bigger and longer lasting than a journal entry starts brewing). It’s a skittish place that rings of the self-talk, “I’ve got six books backed up on my inner tarmac, waiting for clearance, while I’m fully immersed in the act of cruising with my current indulgence. And that’s not even counting the thing that’s starting to taxi on its own from within.”
Yeah, OK. I’m mixing metaphors and making a freaking mess of this post.
But really. Who the hell was I kidding?
I’m going to blame Luz for the carnage that happened next. Not only did we go to a wonderful place called Malaprop’s, where I dutifully snagged a couple delicious finds, but we also went to Mr. K’s, a place I thought for sure I wouldn’t buy anything, because, let’s face it, as this post, this one, and this one would prove, I could probably provide them with half their inventory from my own home.
Darn it if I didn’t walk out of there with something like seven used books. Gah!
I Blame Luz
So yes. We saw all sorts of great places in downtown Asheville today. Eclectic shops, rock, gem and mineral stores, funky antique stores, and a plethora of places where we could indulge all our senses, gastronomic and otherwise. But where did we drop down and settle in?
The bookstores.
And if there’s one sure sign of an amazing place to be, whether on vacation, on retreat, or to settle in full time – it’s the quality of the bookstores. I can attest, Asheville passes with flying colors in that regard.
Being cradled by the Appalachian mountains doesn’t hurt either.
Hmm. Yeah… I’m starting to sense a plot. I think Luz knew exactly what she was doing.
I realize my past few posts have been pretty short, but apparently this one is going to be even shorter, even though I’m technically getting an earlier start than I have in several days. Sometimes it seems like it doesn’t matter how much time I have to write; if the words don’t come, there’s not a whole lot I can do about it.
I’ll admit it: I just finished watching last night’s penultimate episode of Game of Thrones and, well, “Sheesh,” is the best reaction I can muster. (H/t to SW.)
To be honest, it’s hard to think about much of anything after watching that. It’s not even the action that I’m referring to – it’s the fact that I can’t get the stupid theme song out of my head. And yeah, OK, I’ll admit it: I find myself thinking about death.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, since GoT is GoT (and what would I have expected anyway?) there’s a bigger, more personal reason than just GoT that’s causing me to mull that subject over, but that’s another discussion for another day.
So for now I’ll leave you with a photo of these brilliant carp at the Peace Pond at Amadell.
I guess I felt a teensy bit too smug last night – getting my post written and hitting the ‘publish’ button with about a minute to spare.
So here I am: I have 20 minutes to write something and maybe – possibly – if I’m lucky – snag a photo to include. I’m thinking my luck may have run out on that score.
Ha ha – just goes to show; right?
What a fascinating weekend we just had. It never ceases to amaze me how people can walk into your life one day and two days later leave as friends you know have entered your life for a reason.
Mother’s Day…
I wish I had more to say. Of course, I extend Mother’s Day wishes for happiness and appreciation to all the mothers in my life. You know who you are.
And I say to my own kids – all five of you, but also the other kids out there who are mine (you know who you are, too) – I love you. My life is exponentially richer as a result of having each one of you in my life.
You guys, my loyal peeps who’ve been sticking with me through 181 days now (even if you did miss a couple few), know that I’ve wondered what would happen if I found myself in a space where I might be compromised in my ability to honor my 1111 Devotioncommitment.
Well, this moment is both a challenge and an affirmation.
The night tonight is exquisitely conducive to cocooning. To sleeping. To dreaming. I’m sitting here in my room, the expansive windows thrown wide open despite the rain cascading from the sky. (I checked: No worries, nothing is coming in through the screens.)
It’s almost as if the cavalcade of sounds, textures, voices and images that we just experienced at the hands of the wizardly alchemist Peter May and his sound dakini, Marina, actually rippled out into and through the rainforest, following us as we wound our way to our room.
Indeed, perhaps our journey to the ululating murmerings of the didgeridoo was a mere appetizer to the evening’s main course.
The one that followed us home.
I can only hope.
My Devotion – My Heart
In the meantime, though, in the race to return to my room so I could write these words, I realized just how close to my heart I hold this devotion. It’s as if this time at the close of every day is time actually spent with my eldest son. Even if I don’t write about him (which in fact I rarely do), even if I write about the most mundane of topics. Even if I write a sentence and call it an evening. No detail about any post that I may write has any bearing whatsoever on the heart of the act itself.
There is purpose behind this Act of Power.
I write because I love.
And the love I feel is eternal, expansive, and holds the utmost healing power.
I hope each and every one of you, whether reading this or not, in some way feels the essence of what I felt (and feel) tonight. Whether it was a wisp of a sense, a warm sense, a rustle of your hair. I dropped by. I sent you love. I blew you a kiss. I thought about you.
And because you happen to be reading this at this very moment, know that that thought, that love, is coming to you yet again.
That was my dream earlier. May it continue to manifest.
