Magical Thinking

The Night of Solstice and the gift of Spice Cake

 



I woke near 3:00 am on Solstice having had the most wonderful dream. I stumbled upon a bakery no larger than a closet. Inside an old woman dressed in flaxen cloth in tones of all brown (earth or the rich spices of winter?) appeared with a spice cake on a tall cake stand. “You must take this” she repeated, it is spice and will bring luck. I wasn’t hesitant in the lease and felt so blessed to be given such a confection. Without hesitation I left the shop, I actually backed out with the cake on the high stand and did not turn around until I was on the street. I watched her smiling face and was filled with gratitude.
A gift…the first I have received on this entire journey!
I have been fixated on spice cake since that night and did a bit of research. It appears the custom of eating spice cake at Christmas is a rather common English tradition. Some cakes are filled with dried fruits and spices, while others are as simple as the addition of ale, ginger and cloves.
It is said that Yule cake should be made a day or so before the holiday and eaten on Christmas Eve. The cake should be baked round, about the size of a dinner plate, and should be three inches thick. Cheese and ale, or other spirits, usually accompany the cake. The rural housewife makes crosses on the cheese with a sharp knife, and, as is the case with plum pudding cakes, it is considered unlucky to cut either cake or cheese before Christmas Eve.
After searching for recipes I found one that was supposedly Colonial in nature. This spice cake or Ginger cake came to Virginia from England at the time George III was struggling to hold on to the colonies. How perfect, given I live not too far from Colonial Williamsburg, Virginia and my grandfather arrived in this country from Bolton England. (A gift from the ancestors?)
Sweet dreams to you all, my cake shall be served Christmas Eve, as is the tradition. My deepest thanks to the Lady in brown for beckoning me. Deep Peace everyone.

No. 9

I'm a believer! There is no such thing as a coincidence.
Today is 9:9 and right on time. Here's why.
The last of the cardinal numbers, the 9 is the most worldly and sophisticated of all numbers. The 9 has some similarities with the 6. However, whereas the 6 as a symbol of motherly (or fatherly) love, giving its love and care to friends, family and the immediate community, the 9 offers it to the world at large; the 9, more than any other number, has global consciousness. Looking at the shape of the symbol is, as always, quite telling. The 9 is like the 6 upside down, a symbol of her offering sympathy and compassion to everyone; a reservoir of giving with a generous downward spout. (From www.Numerology.com)

Today, Voila! A message arrived. 

I haven't been "given" a Lurlene card in awhile, and I've missed  Miss Universe whispering, or at times screaming into my subconscious.  

I understand she has been busy, just look at the trauma the world is experiencing right now.  These are challenging times and that is without Mother Nature adding her unquestionable power to the mix. But add them she did and except for those with the blackest hearts, we are turning our angst into acts of compassion.  We are focusing on that what matters in this world, what is global and how do we help.  While I could take this note to another political place I shall resist.  

So take every opportunity you find yourself in and be a 9!

Love is good and good is magical, trust me, I've seen it transform things.  9:9 
(PS:  don't you find that exclamation points look a bit like wands?, I knew I liked them for a reason)

The Slow Life

After I’ve been away from home a bit, I like to take my time sinking back into it’s rhythm.  I try not to dash about too much, lest I destroy the natural peace that’s waiting.

While I never turn on the radio or the television, I do tend to crank up the air-conditioning and turn on the ceiling fans; then I sit, to hear what I can hear. 

I look to see what needs putting back in place and what might have “moved” while I was gone.  Things like that happen in this house.  But that’s another story. 

This morning I was up early.  For my sanity, I had discontinued the morning newspaper so my routine was already in flux.   I was standing in the dining room, not quite sure what to do with myself when I heard the chirp.  It was the cardinal who spies on me through the large dining room window and chirps for his breakfast.   Their sweet whistles are often one of the first sounds of the morning.

Both male and female Cardinals sing. The song is a loud string of clear two-parted whistles, often speeding up and ending in a slow trill. Males in particular may sing throughout the year, though the peak of singing is in spring and early summer.  Today it is all about the chirp.  The one you’ll hear most commonly is a loud, sharp chip. Most often they make this call when warning off intruders to their territory, when predators are near, as females approach their nests, and by both sexes as they carry food to the nest.  Around the Little House, they make it as soon as they see my shock of white hair. 

Happy for the reminder, I scooped a bowl of black oil sun flower seeds and headed out the back door.  That’s when I felt it, when I caught a breeze.

On a good day, I catch an easterly breeze that cools the long side of the house and makes you forget its July.  The morning sun isn’t high enough to fill the shadows yet and the channel created by the fence and the house makes for a perfect wind tunnel.    

How had I forgotten about this, has it been that long since I was out here.  When did I let newspapers and devices crowd out this time?  Honestly, I think it has been over six years since I sat “down on the side.”  Coffee in hand I sit and look at my world from a different point of view. 

Fragrances mingle; there is that of rain soaked moss between the bricks of the patio and lilies blooming in the yard.  A single smell can call up long-forgotten memories and powerful emotional responses in an instant.  This sweet and loamy mix transports me to my grandmother’s home and the ground beneath the tree swing in the back.  I am just about to journey there when a sudden glimpse of a dancing rainbow catches my eye. 

I looked about trying to locate the source when I recall hanging prisms from the tree limb and the trellis just outside of my kitchen window.  Sure enough there they were, neglected and a bit dirty from their long winter’s exposure, yet they still danced and cast their inner light about, a beautiful reminder of resilience. 

Living the slow life is good. 

Truth Matters

 

You know what I'm learnin' that I've known for as long as I can remember...words can do more harm than knives, firearms, bulldozers, glass shards and whatever else you might use to terrorize folk.  

I got cuts that have healed and the scars to prove it, but I've also got open wounds where words pierced my very soul.  Seems to me right now, we're in a war with words, vague innuendoes hurled like cherry bombs on the 4th of July. You know they outlawed Cherry Bombs and M-80's, but folks still find'um and hurl'um to scare the witts out of you. 

Vague-vāɡ/,adjective:

1.      vague; of uncertain, indefinite, or unclear character or meaning.

indistinct, indefinite, indeterminate, unclear, ill-defined;

unclear, unsettled, indefinite, indeterminate, unconfirmed, speculative, sketchy

2.        1.  thinking or communicating in an unfocused or imprecise way.

      synonyms:   imprecise, rough, approximate, inexact, incomplete, nonspecific, generalized, ambiguous,      equivocal, hazy, woolly

2.  cloaked facts 

   

Allow

As I was making my coffee this morning a word presented itself. 

It arrived as if whispered softly… 

Allow

I stopped for a moment…but it was not repeated.   

With coffee in hand as well as a few Christmas cookies I headed to the living room to settle down with my word.  As the tiny votives flickered, I realized they created quite an impressive dance across the ceiling.  Each little light gave its own interpretation to the draft that moved about the room, that too, offering a subtle metaphor for our individuality and small contributions to the universe. 

I closed my eyes to Allow insights.

Allow

….time for the small things, resist the temptation to crowd them out with routine and lists. 

Allow

….Accept, what is present and what could be.  Close no doors out of fear. 

Allow

…things to unfold, do not rush them.

Admit that something is possible and say yes a little more often.

Allow and entertain possibilities.

Thank you Miss Universe for today’s guidance and word, I pray each who chances to read this will Allow a moment to perhaps hear their own message in this sharing. 

Cardinals appear when angels are near

Now and again, I bet we all ask the powers that be for “a sign”.  Because signs are so uniquely individual, appearing in all shapes and sizes, they may not always be easily recognized or immediately understood; and yet we wait and search for something we can apply an interpretation to, be it as obvious as a clap of thunder or as subtle as a phrase uttered by a stranger while waiting in the line at Food Lion.  Most of us recognize when a sign is being sent. 

 Momma was a “sign searcher”, by this I mean she most always knew exactly what she wanted to do about something…then looked for a sign of affirmation to move forward as she had already planned.   I used to tell her she was bending the rules…lookin’ for what she wanted to find. 

We were like that sometimes, oil and water; neither of us wavering from our own convictions for very long.  We did call a truce now and again, yielding for the sake of peace or company. 

All differences we did both look to our birds as messengers.  Nothing was better than finding a cardinal feather or a white feather of any kind.  Momma used to say, “Cardinals appear when angels are near”, and I didn’t doubt that for a moment.  She was also fond of Robins and got concerned when they arrived in winter.  “They’re too early!” she used to say, “a robin in winter is nothing but a fool who’s lost their way.” 

Robins for her, were harbingers of Spring, and all the potential locked up in that promise of new beginnings.  Last year she seemed to take a bit of comfort when I told her about the new breed of Wintering Robins.  They weren’t fools at all, I shared with her.  They’ve just adapted, they’ll do okay. 

“I guess that’s what life is all about,” she said, Adapting.  “I’ll throw out some hamburger that kinda looks like worms. 

All that being said, I took my Christmas walk around the labyrinth this morning,  taking some mental notes on all that I saw and heard.  I suppose I was calling on familiar signs, looking for what I needed to see.  Yep, maybe I was cheating.  But I wasn’t disappointed.  Along the way there were birds feeding under a Crepe Myrtle tree.  There were no bright red “angel birds”, but as I got closer, I figured out that the gathering consisted of a group of female cardinals, (which just happen to be some of the best Momma birds around) along side of some “fools”.  I had to stop for a minute to listen and watch,  seems I heard momma say, All’s right with the world…as long as you can adapt.  

Okay, I’ll work on that!  Merry Christmas all.