Katrina's Joy

I have been having a real tough time recently, as evidence by my last post. What I had not mentioned was the problems with my shoulders. They keep getting stuck. My massage therapist, chiropractor and intuitive healer have all been working mightily to get them moving again. But each time I show up for a visit, my left shoulder especially is stuck again. Which is strange because I can get in my car after a session where one healer worked hard getting it moving, and drive to the next healer only to find the shoulder stuck again! It was maddening!

So today, my yoga instructor Carrie, per her usual synchronicity, invoked Shiva for our session. And at some point we were doing a rather oddly strenuous version of the Warrior II pose where we were thrusting one hip out while turning the other in a vastly differing direction. When we came out of the pose, rubbing our inner thighs and our aching hip joints, someone asked for the name of the pose. Carrie sheepishly sort of laughed and said, “We call it the Wounded Warrior.” And suddenly something clicked in my head.

Later during savasana, I asked Carrie if she could check my shoulders for me. I explained the problems I had been having as she bent over to adjust them. She suddenly looked very concerned as she found the same nodule everyone else had been working on over the last two months. She looked me in the eye as she said, “Katrina, that knot is directly behind your heart.” “What is happening with your heart?” She looked deeply worried and her concern struck me right where it mattered. I said, “Oh … yeah!” What else could I say? She helped my shoulders to relax with what to me looked like eyes on the verge of tears.

Later after picking up some special items from Trader Joes, I stopped for a visit to Sligo Creek Park. I hadn’t visited in so long, and the bright sun reminded me of why I love that park. I walked to the bridge and paused to listen to the waters. I breathed deeply as I crossed the bridge; it felt like coming home.

And that is when I noticed all the damage. Several of the trees had lost branches; some had lost major limbs. It was devastating. One poor young tree had been split in two, exposing her delicate inner structure to the wind and the rain.

I paused at each wounded tree and expressed my deep sympathy and grief for its loss. Touching my hands where I could over the open wounds, connecting to the still living trunks, I expressed my hopes and prayers for recovery.

At the poor tree ripped asunder, I expressed my sorrow and I could feel her respond. I reminded her that her life was not over, as long as she could still feel her roots in the soil and take in nourishment from the sun and rain, she could still grow and thrive. I asked the older trees, especially those who themselves were wounded to tell this young tree about how life could continue. And to tell her especially that she would live not in spite of her wounding, but now more because of her wounds.

As I sat down to rest a bit before returning to my car, something broke apart inside of me. I suddenly felt all that had been wrenched away from me. I could see all my inner preciousness and vulnerabilities exposed to the elements. And just as suddenly I began sobbing. My poor shoulders were trembling with each wave of tears. As I sat in my misery, I suddenly heard voices. It was the trees repeating back to me all I said to comfort the youngest of them.

“You will live on not in spite of your wounding, but because of them.”

Now a new wave of sobs erupted shaking my entire frame. I cried and cried until I didn’t even care who saw it. I cried until I no longer could hide my sadness or repress my grief.

Yeah, there was something going on in my heart. This wounded warrior was carrying a lot of unexpressed grief. Grief I now know that must be expressed and cared for in the now and not stored in my body.

As I left the park, I expressed my deep gratitude to the trees. And to all my healers and teachers, I say Namaste.

I have been thinking a lot lately about my physical body. Mostly I‘ve been drawn to the muscle aches, the noisy joints and the areas that feel heavy when I wake from sleeping for almost 12 hours a night. My body is a veritable symphony of sounds, stories and complaints.

I thought that my diagnosis of Fibromyalgia along with CFIDS, and the resulting pain meds, all my troubles would be over. I had thought that pain was all that held me back. But then the fatigue portion kicked into first place. And despite what my Rheumatologist thinks, I am not just tired because I am not exercising. I was exercising just fine up to the fibro-roulette routine that subjected me to a host of differing mind numbing, fog inducing, homicidal raging meds. Cymblata stops the raging burning pain all over my body, thank the gods. But the process that brought me to this point ruined most of my nurturing routines.

So now I begin the process of rebuilding my radical self-care from the ground up. I have done this so many times before, I should be used to it by now – but it is still teary eyed difficult and it still makes me want to run and hide. And it also does not help to be fighting off a nasty cold just weeks after a stomach turning flu and let's not forget the winter to rule them all.

So I have restarted my at home yoga practice, again. I am hoping next week that it will get warm enough for me to walk, again. It is awfully hard to walk when all your lower joints go pop and click with each step. I feel like I need to add a new line to the Wizard of Oz saying -- y’know, “… a heart, a brain, a home, the nerve … some knee cartilage!”

Yikes! I feel way too frail to be only 54 years old. I keep telling myself, that the strength, flexibility and endurance I built up last year will make it easier this time. And I already can tell it is true. My yoga practice still feels good; I just need to rebuild it back up slowly to the spring/summer levels of almost daily practice. And who knows, I may be back to multiple walks a week by April.

I just have to be present with the now. And that is the most difficult thing for me. Because “right now” feels very frail, tentative and sleepy to me. So I am left at giving myself pep talks, and tricking myself into seeing the bright side -- which on these dark days is a real stretch.

So today, after a massage, a chiro appointment, a hair cut, a PO Box check, an ATM deposit and a grocery run, all I could do was write this rant before delving into my back to back Assisi conference calls. I only got 6 hours sleep last night, half of what I apparently needed every other day this week. I will probably have the same amount of sleep tonight as well. Sigh …

I know loads of other people who are having a way harder time than I am, but damn … I sure could use some sun sometime soon. Can someone put an order in for me? Thanks.

This is the message I delivered January 3rd, during the opening of our sixth year of Reflections.

This is the sixth year of the school, and I’d just like to welcome everyone to the sixth year. There’s something special about…well, each year is special. I know some years I’ve been very weepy at the start, or weepy at the end. But there’s something very special about being able to get to a sixth year. One away from the seventh, and once you get there it’s sort of like settling the first chakra. We’re heading toward that place, where we’re starting to get the root of the school really solid, and so that feels so momentous, there’s like a momentum there.

I’m really excited about it. It really warms my heart to have you all here as part of that journey; a journey that is part of all of our contributions. Now we are all involved in this process of creating this container, maintaining it and caring for it. It is one of those things that is often invisible. I know part of my job—my primary job—is maintaining the container, but if it was only up to me, I don’t think it would be as strong as it is today. Our container is rich, deep and multi-layered; it is just so incredibly intricate.

It is like looking at a fractal. There’ve been some incredible pictures as of late of three-dimensional fractals and the beauty inherent in them…you can see things that resemble cathedrals, fountains, trees and orchards, and it’s just an incredible richness that was only hinted at in the two-dimensional renderings which only came alive in the three-dimensional. Our school container is just such a multi-dimensional structure. At every level you go down you find the pattern repeated, and it reveals such a rich, beautiful, and intricate pattern.

Some of you are starting to see some of those patterns, and as a result your own work is deepening. But everyone has deepened and grown through this process. It’s the not so obvious, the subtle work, that does this. Every once and a while I discuss the core of reflections -- the work of the soul.

The work of the soul is heady work; it is not for the light-hearted. It is not for folks who are unused to pressure or discomfort or disillusionment or disintegration. Quite frankly, it takes courage to walk this journey -- it takes such deep courage. It takes the kind of courage that we are often unaware of in the larger culture. It’s not the kind of courage that you see in a film when you see the hero say, “We’re outnumbered! We only have four bullets and there’s a hundred people outside, but I’m gonna make a run for it!” Not that kind of courage, that kind of courage is actually quite silly, if we are honest about it.

But it takes the kind of courage that, to me, is more reminiscent of the courage of my ancestors, where you didn’t know what each day would bring, whether you would live to see the next morning. But there was still, even within that unknowing, still time to comfort a child, to take care of an elder, to show someone love. Even in that uncertainty, there was strength of character; it mattered what we did, even if this is the end. That is the kind of courage I am talking about. The kind of courage that says, “I don’t know where I am right now, I don’t know what to do, but I’m gonna show up.” And that’s the kind of courage that it takes to do this work, to be here, to be on this journey, to walk this path.

And I want to honor that. Part of my job is to honor that journey; every single journey, because every journey is unique. However, if you step back far enough, they’re all part of the same glorious, blossoming life of spirit, of mystery. It really needs to be acknowledged, on my part and on your own parts, how far you’ve come, how much you’ve grown, and how much you’ve contributed to the growth and development of others here in this room, as well as outside of this room. And I know that even as a teacher, I have learned more by working with a school as opposed to just teaching classes. So I’ve grown, and my growth, development and journey has been informed by your growth and journey. It’s a process that’s unfolding and revealing in and of itself. This is really a journey that we are taking together; a journey of spiritual community.

So when you look at yourself and how you are developing and moving forward, even if you’re unaware of how much you are moving and developing—I can tell you all that you are—if you could see that pattern from a distance, you would be in awe, you would be in complete awe. But if you could see the journey this community has taken, you would be filled with such joy. This community’s journey is just incredible -- the blossoming and growth that we as a community have made. And I would like to think that it has had an impact on our surrounding communities, our families, loved ones, and others. I’m proud of us as a community and I’m proud of you as individuals. So I want to especially applaud that, to acknowledge that, validate that. I am honored to be your teacher, I am honored to be part of your journey, and I am very, very proud of each and every one of you. And so thank you for continuing this journey. Thank you. Thank you for this. Thank you.

I am so late in getting back to this blog. This year began with a bang and has not slowed down even with four snowfalls and loads of time spent hibernating. When I wasn’t twirling around like crazy, I was resting and recuperating – which is a good thing, right? Yet, it has meant that I have not written seriously in a really long time, at least not publicly. I am writing like crazy for school. And hopefully I will find a way to share some of that content here.

I took a short detour to get the first two of three Facebook pages up and running. There is still a lot of work needed to get the Reflections page to auto-magickly update – but it is good for now. I still need to put up a brand spanking new Connect DC web site and Facebook page – hopefully in time to announce our upcoming Ostara ritual (March 21st). Aiieee!

And the fun doesn’t stop there. I am teaching a bunch of classes starting in March. The first will be a weekend of Elemental Psychology. I owe this blog a write up on this topic especially since I have already taught two short versions and two overview classes on the topic of my book already. Then there is my Healer Weekend coming up in April. In between, Anne Hill flies in to teach a class on dreams. Reflections has a solid selection of teachers and classes this year – I am very proud. In fact one of the things I am editing is this year’s welcome message that I delivered to the school during orientation.

I am really satisfied with a new technique I am using to manage my Getting Things Done action list. It works with both sides of your brain at once, and makes working feel good way down deep in your soul. It also means that when you stop using the system, your younger self complains big time -- more on that topic later as well. I also want to share the progress I have made toward my long-term goals. And lastly, I want to share that Reflections is reading Romancing the Shadow as our 2010 book study. I am getting my entire school ready for my June Shadow class.

Well, I think that pretty much brings folks up to date. Okay, Katrina, back to work!

I have avoided it long enough. So as of today, I am on Facebook.

I decided to just put up a Facebook page instead of opting for the personal profile. This was mostly because I hardly have time to keep up with Live Journal much less add another social media site to my growing list of commitments. I hope folks understand.

I asked for advice from several folks who have already taken the plunge and the results were mixed. Finally my dear niece warned me against having a personal profile and a page -- "Pick one", she said.

Now I have to figure out how to have my events, rants and other items appear auto-magically. We will see how this works out. One thing I have already noticed is that with a page I cannot look up anyone. So if you want me to find you, you will have to become a fan of moi.

Look out world, Katrina is now on Facebook. This has to a sign of something or other -- just not sure if it is really bad or just sorta ... y'know really inconsequential.

First off, thanks to all who sent condolences. I want to especially thank those who shared their own funny stories about the Calico Goddess. They made me laugh. I had threatened to post one of the “articles” and if I get some time mid month, I may just do it.

I have been incredibly busy these last few months, preparing for Reflections 6th year, building my tradition, settling into the role of student again and preparing my infamous New Year’s Day Dinner. I am terribly behind on email and have just caught up again with bills and laundry. But all in all, my life feels rich and filled with work that makes my heart sing.

I had some exciting insights from my various experiments with goal setting, finding balance and getting healthier last year. I hope to share these ideas and even a new experiment in productivity that I am trying out this week! And I am already hard at work on my 2010 goals. I had better get cracking on my write-ups hunh?

And I love how Angela Raincatcher has already beat me to the punch with the posting of her annual goals. But it is still early, so I am also looking around to see who else is willing to take the plunge.

So Happy New Year to Everyone!

Squeaky the Calico Goddess, my co-priestess and familiar, died yesterday in my arms as I sang “Weaver, Weaver”. She was 17 and a half years old.

I remember her as the runt of her litter, very small, very sick and very unhappy. Her brother, Stinky, was healthy, happy and well adjusted which by contrast had him dying eight years earlier. By all accounts, she was not supposed to be my cat. But something about her plight reminded me of myself, so she came home with me that summer.

I had to nurse her like she was a foundling and all her instincts seemed miss-wired somehow. I held her in my arms and sang to her as often as I could. Slowly over the next few years, she turned from a wild-eyed waif back into a cat. As I slowly took on the mantle of priestess and witch, she began sleeping under altars and showing up for trances. She cast our circles as we planned, and grounded us when we were scattered. Dark Flame began speaking of the temple cats, and Squeaky was our feline priestess.

But she wasn’t only a magickal cat, she was also a mischievous one. Almost every person who slept here as part of the Anti-Globalization movement had stories about her. She snatched one of Starhawk’s socks, made love to it under the sofa and then peed on her bag. She use to gesticulate wildly on any leather items including boots, purses and apparel – whether you were wearing the item or not! I joked nervously at the time that she had apparently picked up on one of my fetishes. She liked her hot red harness so much she would roll around on the floor purring loudly whenever I put it on her. So she had a BDSM side, who doesn’t? ;-)

But the funniest stories included her apparent herding of guests who she felt had over stayed their welcome. She would march up to each of them stare them in the face, look toward the door and back to them. The message was clear, “There’s the door!”

On at least one occasion, she sat with her back to me and mimicked my talking as if to say, “Shut up already!” And on any given night, there she was demonstrating to me how to climb the stairs to go to bed, “You see, *this* is how it is done!” I use to explain that I knew I was in trouble when she started speaking slowly and enunciating. And she was definitely the only cat I knew who could cuss like a sailor, a British sailor in fact.

Squeaky earned the co-priestess title by sitting with people who were in distress. If one of my students began crying she would immediately go sit by them. In fact, I often watched her for clues as to when I needed to up the level of my tending. She would let them rub her head, or she would rub up against them. Once she even jumped onto the sofa and sat in a person’s lap just in time to bring them back from the edge.

She always sat with me when I cried. She was there for me when my brothers died. She was there with me for my descents into the underworld and watched over me through my many seemingly endless dark nights. The only time we parted ways was when I rescued the black kittens. I would like to think that at the end, she forgave me even for that.

I will miss her. Even now as I sit crying, I can feel her sitting between my feet. Last night I dreamt of bluebirds and awoke to hear two cats playing in the tub. I caught a glimpse of her briefly as I stepped into the bathroom. Devi looked surprised but delighted. He has been searching for her all morning, stopping to gaze at me with the biggest eyes. “She is gone,” I say through tears. And outside I hear the chirping of birds.

May the Bluebird of Happiness bless us all.

In love, may she return again …

There are so many blessings within my life. I am grateful for them all. And on good days, I am grateful for the challenges as well.

Today I am grateful for my family, my friends, my students and my teachers. I am grateful for my familiars and my pets. I am grateful for my home, my neighbors and our community. I am grateful for the larger communities for which I am a member … whether recognized or not.

I am grateful for my corporate career that made it possible for me to retire, and the calling from the divine that revealed to me the work now in my hands. I am grateful for my twelve years of Catholic education and the discipline and focus it taught me. I am grateful for the nuns who dared to call me to activism and justice. I am grateful for the organizations and movements that provided an outlet for my imagination, hope and rage.

I am grateful to my ancestors who taught me how to survive. I am grateful to all the artists, musicians, scientists and writers who taught me how to thrive.

I am grateful to the trees that hid me within its branches, and to the clouds for lifting me into the unknown. I am grateful to my mother who taught me how to fight. I am grateful to my father who taught me how to tell a story. And I am grateful to my sister who taught me how to sing and dance.

But most of all I am grateful for all of you … Happy Thanksgiving