eaglesnest

“Not the same kind of sky - still hoping I can get enough ‘left’ to shift my sight & experience the orbs. a very (too) clear sky compared to the fully fogged in one last week. They are off-kilter today and I am neither surprised, nor too concerned. ENOUGH conscious distraction — chanty time — A spider - upside down -

I right her, mark her location with a little stick in the sand & wonder if the crows would attempt to eat her.

no orbs, but arcs from the sky to the water, but not extending to the land.”

she is indeed a baby tarantula that I came across this morning at Moonlight Beach. after surfing, brother James helped me move her to the plants growing on the strata to protect her — though I know she’ll move back to the sand to hunt.

We made plans for a long drive & talk to go to the Indian Store. The talk is good and I hope he takes away somethings. Otherwise, I will have to utilize some reeds for his Zen study

He found the perfect bones to make some tools and I finally found a little dark carved wooden spider “charm” to honour the Grandmother Spider and keep her messages close to my ear.

I was just going thru the motions of the rest of the day as I was looking forward to the pagan wienie roast. Alas! The Universe decided to best I stay home and do some serious work — I began to edit MS #3 from the publisher I work for to pay the bills. They are something else I tell ya!! This writer . . . well . . . all of his characters . . . kinda hem and speak in . . . awe and . . . argh!!! AND he would love the pagan wienie roast as he firmly believes in WHICHs. Seriously, I thought I had seen all kinds but after these three — ONLY 3! I am amazed once again at how people’s brains work.

Doesn’t matter — these guys keep writing and I keep editing and I can keep this roof over our heads and food in our bellies.

I managed to fall back asleep after getting up early to go with my buds to Moonlight Beach & woke to realize I needed to be there in two minutes . Lucky me — they live literally a stone’s throw from my new home. I pulled on my grey yoga pants, grabbed a hoodie as it gets amight foggy and chill at the water’s edge .

Well, they were a little brighter and bushier tailed than I - no worries. I wasn’t even sure what I’d do — though I was sure as hell not getting in the Pacific or on the board .

Getting out of the truck, I realized I needed a pen and anything to write on. James produced some old bank statement, a pen and a telephone answering machine manual for a writing surface. Good to go.

“I see the tracks of the bipedal carbon based life forms I am supposed to be ‘connected to.’ They were here, earlier than this, which is early for me. I know it’s a late start to many. Other marking show me where a seagull retrieved something for breakfast out of the wet sands.

My shaman brother is paddling out - to ground, as I ‘instructed’ him, in the ocean. My Earth Mama sister completed her stretching and as the Golden Goddess she is, is running now along the fog shrouded shore neath the strata . I keep both in my view - my vision, my sight, my heart. They are mine, beyond family or friends - we are, we belong.

The ocean is warmer than I thought as I stand at the edge allowing my feet and ankles to be submerged. My “doc” said soak them in salt water

I chant, intone, count and begin my walking mantra. I greeted the Directions, rolled up my pants and am looking, watching the water for a message. “Do as I told James, ok- ground with the water.” I stood in the place of the North and see into the place of the South. They were many light beings - orbs and the lights here are like the ones I was surrounded by on Haida Gwaii .

Then, a bird, a pelican (the name is obstructed in my mind - I can not name him in this language, I want to call him things I do not know or understand) flies over my head and makes himself known and connects to pass something along.

There are shapes amidst the orbys and they are squiggly. They have purposeful direction - like marching in from the ocean to the land, while the little lights just bob about, fizzle and spiral about. Drawn to a section of submerged sand, I see the 3 sisters . They are washed out and an eagle forms and too is washed away.

Time is measured; we only have an allotment. That the message comes in the shifting sands just when beneath the water’s edge adds to that. Nothing is forever.

As my background is a strata - a visual reminder of how time moves & maybe leaves a record, but nothing more, when even that ‘record’ will not stand forever in some locations. To the strata I march, slowed only by a spiral shell and the sand dwellers. There is a grey squirrel ahead at my destination. Gathering my gifts I advance, The strata is worn smooth and covered by salt, tenuously preserving the exterior while plants with flowers cling and thrive upon it. Like my daisies of yore, like me.”

err, mayhap not so much vino as beers…. but yeah, in answer to a question this week put to me by a non-writer — “were you guys drinking ?”

“we ARE writers, dude. Do beers grow on trees ? oh, they don’t, eh? They f-in’ should. but c’mon wherever two or more of us congregate , in the name of Papa , there damn well best be beers.” and in deedily-doo there are beers AND bubbly, by the by, at our weekly ‘bring out yer dead’, err, I mean, ‘

Once a week the famous Ed, the infamous db & lil ol’ me knock back a few as we knock out the kinks in our writing, well, mostly theirs.

An’ every other week, should I be so blessed, I head to the O’side writers and good ol’ Hey-Hey gets me a Chronic as soon as she sees me walk in.

Mind you — we don’t neeed a nice little brew, but it sure makes being a writer easier.

and if the song is right that “in heaven there is no beer,” well, hell we gotta drink it here

Managed to connect with a potential new client, work on a report due tomorrow, write copy & publish another website for my new careers & fish for a paying job from a volunteer position today - as well as ride roller coasters at Legoland with my son & his father. Felt like I was gathering materials to construct a new nest.

Somewhere I have not only picked up steam, but something similar to confidence that I had not worn as easily before. It has grown from the little exercise of identifying myself as an editor as per db’s instructions. I have now committed to that on the web .

Beyond that I have even branched out & developed a website for the other stuff - the side of me that has been mostly in the hush hush, sequestered away in the shadows unable to thrive. By publishing this site , by linking it here , by a little e-mail to my friends I have come out of the closet.

I am a healer, a shaman. Many of my closest friends, my true family are aware of this. They support, encourage, assist me in this rather large part of who I truly am. I have never been quite sure why I am timid about calling myself by those titles.

It is much as not only referring to myself as an editor, but backing that up with “My starting rate is $60.” If I refer to myself as a healer, I need to back it up. But more than that.

I say “I am the biggest skeptic, for I have seen the truth.” I have walked with saints, messiahs, seen spirits, — see? even here I stopped typing, and started to edit, to filter, to say “ohoh, they are going to think you are a loon, judge you as less because of this.” Here is one why.

Upside of where I live, of who I know is that they do NOT see these “claims” as odd, indeed they have been nagging me, just as db does about editing, to DO soemthing about this, to craft a career out of my innate talents. It is with that familial support & love I can emerge from the darkness and do the daring & bold step of posting a website .

I can not be complete if I do not let my spirituality thrive. As I gather the building components of my new life, as I reclaim my identity & strengthen my self I need to be truthful and embrace every aspect of my true nature.

Twigs to form the foundation, twine to weave it together & twilight to surround the little nest with magic.

This is to be my new intro as I meet folks, followed {I have been instructed by the ever so persuasive DB} with “My starting rate is $60 an hour.”

And, indeedy-do I am, too! I have placed my editing & writing on the back burner for the last two decades years, doing some here & there, undercharging everyone I have ever worked for. Not anymore.

I have this blog. It led to another blog job with CoAbode. Last week, I began writing on Red Room. Today I officially was hired by an on-line publisher to work as a PAID editor. Yesterday I secured a location to teach writing classes & to provide editing services from. Last night, talked with the great DB and with his encouragement (read “pushing”} am moving steadily forward in my field.

I have been doing editing of some sort or other for over 20 year. I have been writing for 30. “Life” has, until now, been mis-organized in respect to my career. It was relegated to a “hobby”-like status. Oh no, babee. Not anymore.

“Hello, I’m an editor. My starting rate is $60 an hour. I’ll have to check my calendar to see when I can fit you in next month.”