Whenever I sit down to write, it never seems to be what I intended when I began. It goes off on tangents, and since I am no longer in school with assignments to have to produce writing about specific things, I don’t rein it in and try to redirect. I let it flow. Which makes it difficult to narrow down to a particular topic to say I write about. Writing makes me feel good. As does learning, researching interesting things, finding connections between things that I hadn’t seen before. Art. Photography. Making jewelry. Herbal crafting. Making things that help heal. Energy, vibrations, the Law of Attraction.
Life, things I love, have loved, food, health, travel, adventures, ponderings. Memories. Scientific discoveries, space, Magick, the ‘unexplainable’.
So when I’ve started a blog in the past it has quickly fizzled out for lack of a topic, a description. I can’t seem to follow those rules for success. But then I’ve never been one to follow conventional ways of doing things. Or viewing things. I’m on my own path. I choose not to choose, not to judge. I used to try to see all viewpoints. That can be exhausting, especially the effort to explain it to others. So I stopped trying. It just comes. It flows. I know things I’m not ‘supposed to know’, and it’s gotten me in trouble. Now I understand that it’s because at times I tap into that field of knowledge about whatever thing it is I want to understand. I’ve also always had Psychic flashes of precognition. And I’ve been called names for focusing energy and having things happen.
I haven’t shared these things with anyone for years, as I’m over feeling I need to explain myself. I am who I am. And now I feel it’s time to just let it out when I write.

Pippitypoppitypoof! #3


Some days I can’t seem to drag my consciousness out of the dream state and back into ‘reality’, which may be feel more solid but not any more real. Feeling as though I am in some state of in-between, I can’t seem to gather my thoughts. So I must just flow with whatever, and see what comes.
This state of consciousness is more open to memories that rise from the forgotten depths, along with dreams.
The fog of rainy days that makes them seem like a time out of time, misplaced in the world we’ve made of hours and day and night, weeks and months and years. When time marked like that fades into only the now, melding into the past and dreams of the future, in layers we don’t often realize are there, just catching a glimpse now and then.
These foggy days can be savored and explored, in and out of our bodies, in other “places”, where we more freely roam without our physical presence. We can travel with only our conscious spirit, free to roam, exploring and learning what we can’t later explain.
When I was a child of an age less than 10, I used to hear a voice when I listened to the quiet of the night, or lay in the grass and followed the path of each blade down through a tangle with others, down past the greenness into the layer of yellow and the whole realm between that and the ground, where little bugs follow pathways through the giant forest of grass. Down to the ground, and then into the sweet smell of another whole world. This voice would accompany me, but I only ever got feelings from it, I couldn’t make out exact words. I never told anyone, I was afraid of their reaction and that I would find out something was “wrong” with me. It was like hearing a comforting humming in the next room. I never felt alone, the dark didn’t scare me until I was Introduced to scary movies.

PippityPoppityPoof! Some beginning thoughts

I love descriptions. When an author can make me see & feel like I am somewhere else. The smells, sounds, colors, feel of the air, color of the light.
My first encounters with feeling like I was somewhere else, from books, was in Middle Earth when I was under the age of 10. I read the whole Tolkien trilogy after the Hobbit, when we still lived in Santa Fe.
Later on I fell in love with Mary Renault’s books about Ancient Greece, Theseus, the Minotaur, Crete.
And there was also Mary Stewart with her tales of Merlin and Arthur, Morgause and her sisters and the knights. The crystal cave caught my imagination and never let go. The magick in those stories.. I felt it.
Halloween has always been my favorite holiday. Maybe my love of pumpkins began with Cinderella, and how it turned into her carriage to the ball. But Pumpkins still bring an excitement to my heart, whether they are out in a field or on a wagon for sale. That they can be carved, painted, turned scary or amazing. They can be made into pies and cookies and skin care products, all, in my mind, magickal, makes them beloved. And owls, wolves, fog, castles, witches. Fairies… Bare-branched trees with crunchy leaves and a moon shining down, ghosts. These are the pictures I drew when I was a kid. Fall, my favorite season. The air so clear and crisp, with that slight gold tinge from the angle of the sun.
Sometimes I would lay on my belly and watch the grass, listen to it growing. I was drawn to crystals and stones and collected them. My dad indulged it. My mother wasn’t happy about my rock collection, it weighed too much. (Broke a wooden dresser drawer from the weight)
I had dreams of places I hadn’t been before, and my dad would take me to them. He also took me to a powwow on a reservation where we witnessed some interesting things.
I loved candles, too. And incense. And perfumes and herbs and plants. I tried to mix my own ‘perfume’ from plants and water and whatever else I could find, in the bathroom sink. Again, my mother was not happy.
Then there was the puppy dad brought home one day. He was a wild little thing, with sharp puppy teeth and very excitable. He shredded my socks whenever I got near. I was a bit afraid of him because I didn’t want my feet pulled out from under me. So I was sent to be the one to feed him, sort of a ‘face your fears’ and calm the crazy puppy energy combo. I was good with animals, they were drawn to me and never gave me any trouble. Even the ones that chased and growled at and bit others when they got too close. I wasn’t threatening, we were fine.
As fate would have it this little ball of energy wasn’t meant to be here long. He was hit by a car as he raced across the street, and I was unconsolable. My dad gave me my first lesson in visualization, and I met up with the puppy who ran to me and gave me a giant neck to forehead licking. I hugged him as he bounced around. And then he bounded off. When I opened my eyes, my neck and face and forehead were all wet and smelled like puppy breath. First venture into another dimension, I believe.
Anyway, it appears to me as I recall these incidents and memories that I have been a pagan – in my relationship and love of earth, nature, stars, moon, animals and plants and fascination with the unseen, all my life. There are supernatural incidents as well, but my eyes are closing. They will have to wait.