Grandfather's Present

This morning on the way to work I was feeling a little off. I woke up a bit anxious, and despite a great, calming meditation session, some of the nervous energy was still clinging to me as I drove toward my day job.  At one point on my route, there's a corner that I turn where suddenly Mount Rainier fills the sky ahead of me, towering over everything. Even though this is a daily occurrence, it never fails to take my breath away, and I always greet Grandfather Mountain loudly and enthusiastically.

In my personal mythology, he is my Grandfather the way the moon is my Grandmother, which is something I adopted over the years from my exposure to both Pagan and Native American sources.  They look so similar in coloration and texture that it only makes sense to me that they are married.  In the twenty-something years since I transplanted to the Seattle area from Minnesota, I have developed a very personal relationship with Grandfather, and some of the best wisdom I've ever received I've gotten from him.  This morning was no different.

Because of my feelings of uncertainty, after saying my good-mornings to him, I asked if he had anything to share with me today.  The following is what I heard in the silence of my head --

"Breathe.  Even a great mountain does not stand on its own.  It needs the support of the earth beneath it and the sky above. You are here.  You are supported.  You are loved."

At first the "You are here" part confused me.  Then I realized that one of Grandfather's greatest messages, even without words, is his presence -- is being present. You are here, meaning 'you are present,' therefore you are supported by earth and sky.

So I began practicing presence -- the mindful presence of being grounded in my body rather than floating around in the mental/emotional realms.  "Own your space," as my friend Pixie told me once.  It is amazing how, when I allow myself to sink into my body, and be fully present in the moment, I really do feel supported... and loved.  It somehow seems ironic that it's when you let go of the world around you and focus on being your individual self, that you feel the most connected to everything around you. That connection is love.

Thank you Grandfather.  I love you too.

Belly of the Beast

It is a curious time for me. Curiouser and curiouser. It is the best of times, it is the worst of times. There have been so many shifts lately that there is no single area of my life that has remained unchanged. 

I have touched on the most significant development in earlier posts, and that is the re-recognition of myself as an introvert. The magnitude of what that means is way outside the scope of this entry, being a whole entire post, or twenty, unto its self, but it changes everything.  The effects of it has been to drive me deeper into myself. Run silent, run deep. 

I have long felt like I am skipping across the surface of my life like a stone across a pond. There is all this depth beneath me, holding me up, yet I am stuck glancing off the very top of it.  That's not to say my life is totally superficial or that my path hasn't been in steady development for the duration of my lifetime thus far. In fact I had a great compliment from a former teacher recently who told me how much my medicine had deepened.  Comparatively, though, there is so much more! It's like the difference between Newtonian and Quantum Physics. When the basic parameters of reality itself shifts, you suddenly realize that everything you've ever known, believed, and experienced exists within an even bigger framework, and that there are other basic forces beneath and supporting what you had, up to that point, believed were the basic forces of creation in the Universe. It's like something that's two-dimensional suddenly being given a third dimension.  I don't know if that even makes sense. There is a futility of words to explain all of this. Another analogy is that it's like having a book on your shelf that brings you joy by it's simply being there -- maybe the cover is beautiful or the title speaks to your soul -- yet you haven't actually read it. You might know what it's about in essence, and sense its depth, which perhaps does make you feel a little bit good when you see it on the shelf, but that is nothing compared to the worlds you will discover when you finally dive into it's pages. 

What it really comes down to is the difference between knowing something and being something.  It is the difference between having tools and using tools.  It is taking all the things I've learned on this path and applying them. It is the journey from the Mind to the Heart.  

Regardless, I can not describe the hungry, gnawing, cravings I have lived with, longing for that depth for so long,  nor the frustration and despair that has developed around the failure to heed that call, no matter what the seeming obstacle was -- Knowing there was more but not knowing how to reach it.  

Gratefully clarity has slowly crept in and, though I do not know the way yet, I do not know more than the first few steps, I know there is a journey I can not not undertake.  Everything in my life has led me to this point, standing at this crossroads, ready to embrace everything I have come into this life to do, to experience, to be.  And again words fail to express what I'm truly trying to say here or to express how I truly feel.

A little over a year ago, I had an experience at Faerieworlds, the annual faerie festival I attend in Oregon.  I was just dancing with the rest of the crowd to a Pagan rock band when I suddenly had to stop.  Full brakes.  As in, I couldn't move. It was like my head had exploded in a burst of light. Boom! Crown chakra and third eye blown wide open. And in that moment I felt/experienced him/me that I came here to be.  I don't want to say there was a sense of urgency, but it became very clear that it was time to let go of all the things I hold onto that restrict me and keep me back from realizing that True Self.  When I came back to my senses and back to the present me, I carefully waded out of the crowd and made my way to the stone circle that stood in the middle of the site.  Not caring who was around or what they might think, I unceremoniously plopped myself down on the ground at the center of the circle where I laid back with my arms spread from my sides and my knees in the air with my feet planted firmly on the earth.  I laid there, and laid there, and laid there looking up at the stars and at Cassiopeia who smiled back down upon me.   

And so this is my course.  I have been given a glimpse of my destination, for this juncture of my Earth Walk anyway.  But this past year has been full of practice runs and gathering resources because I wasn't sure where the trailhead was.  It wasn't until my reintroduction to my introvert nature that I discovered the entrance to the trail.  I'd been living a two-dimensional life, and the third dimension was within.

Since that time I have been left with a mental visual of standing next to a great sea, velvety black, and thick almost like molasses, and sparkling with the light of it's own stars.  I am on the very edge, the gentle waves just kissing my toes, and there is a longing deep in my heart to enter those dark waters, a calling of the Sirens, a home-sickness, and I muse that I know about the Unicorn in my soul, but perhaps there is Selkie in my blood as well.

And I know exactly what sea it is.  For many, many years now I've developed my ever-deepening Personal Mythology, a big part of which is my Soul Map, one version-in-progess of which is below.  The inspiration came from a college assignment given to my ex-wife, and my map has been growing and changing and developing ever since, matching metaphorically my own spiritual growth and development. 

My Soul Map

A cartographic representation of my developing soul 

Just to give you an example, there is a mountain in the middle of my island -- bearing remarkable and uncanny resemblances to Mt. Rainier -- called Mt. "Sai Phong," which loosely translates as "Little Phoenix," named for the legends that say it is a volcano with a phoenix sleeping deep inside (as well as for the fact that it was Bruce Lee's Chinese birth name).  The locals are prideful of their Mountain and it's dormant resident, while at the same time they live in fear of the destruction that would ensue should that power ever be released, should the phoenix ever awaken. This story perfectly suited my state of mind when I first moved out to Seattle from Minnesota, recognizing this great power within me, but afraid of unleashing it.  As I've grown through the years, doing much work to step into and own my power, a funny thing has happened to this mountain in the middle of my soul.  It was discovered that this was not a volcano, nor was it even a mountain of stone, but rather it was a mountain of ice, and the ice had begun to melt.  This water had been frozen to protect the heart of the island, but it was starting to flow. Something was awakening, and it was the heart -- And it did not need protecting. Oh, there were and are occasionally floods of the surrounding lands, but for the most part these waters have begun to irrigate and nurture parts of the island, parts of my soul, that were barren and dry, resulting in dense greenery where none had grown,  and more bountiful harvests for the surrounding agricultural communities.

Soul Map insert 

close up of Mt Sai Phong and the N. Adequa Sea

So if you look on the map above, a little northeast of Mt. Sai Phong (toward the bottom of the island on the map) is a swirling body of water. This is the infamous N. Adequa Sea (Inadequacy -- get it?) and it is a dangerous place to be caught on, for without  pattern or warning the entire surface can just drop away, swirling into a massive maelstrom which carries with it to its briny bottom, anything caught in the inescapable clutches of its currents.

This 'flushing' action was a daily, if not hourly, occurrence in the days (and years) of my panic attacks and depression, when every shred of strength and stability I'd mustered would fall away, like the proverbial rug being pulled out, with the bottom of my stomach sinking suddenly to the floor at my feet, leaving me with no solid footing or sense of power whatsoever.  Granted, in the subsequent years the waters have calmed considerably.  There have been storms and whirl pools of varying depths, but generally nothing like the great maelstroms of previous times.  

It had long been theorized by scientists that there must be some sort of valve at the bottom of the sea which, when triggered, would empty the sea's contents into the greater ocean.  There were also legends of a great serpent who lived at the bottom of the briny deep, and it was said it was he who either controlled the aforementioned valve, or actually created the swirling doom by agitatedly swimming in circles beneath the waves.  

More recent discoveries have proven the latter legend half true.  There is a serpent, but he does not live in the sea.  It is the sea that lives in the serpent.  Beneath the surface of the island there is a tremendous serpent whose wide open mouth, pointing to the heavens forms the perimeters of this sea.  And it is when the serpent swallows that the surface of the sea plunges to unfathomable depths, into the belly of the beast. 

There is a stone circle that skirts the edge of the sea, and up til now archeologists believed it to be a sacred site built by an unknown ancient people, perhaps as a warning to anyone who would unwittingly try these treacherous waters, or as a place of worship, honoring the spirit of the great serpent who dwelt beneath the waves. With this new information coming to light, however, it has become clear that the stones forming the circle are in fact the teeth of the behemoth. 

I find it interesting that as I'm realizing the depths of my connection with Snake and his inherent gifts and challenges -- transmuting poison to medicine, shedding the old to expand into the new, etc -- that I discover another serpent in my personal mythos. 

I had always assumed that the goal was to calm the waters and prevent the occurrence of crises, to prevent the great maelstroms and storms of inadequacies, thinking that this would make me stable and safe.  I thought I had to tame the seas and thus would I regain my power.  In more recent years as a whole new outlook has taken hold of my reality and I can no longer view things in a dualistic manner, I realize more and more that this is not the answer.  The answer is not in avoiding something and trying to control it from afar, but it is in diving in and finding the Truth at the basis of those things that drain my sense of power.  Intellectually I know there is no truth beneath the feelings of inadequacy I've felt all my life -- The feelings are valid but the thought and reasons behind those feelings are untrue. To regain my power, to become the man I came here to be,  those unexamined fears that are the source of such fallacies must be faced. I am no longer interested in battling or slaying my demons.  They are simply unintegrated portions of myself that must be welcomed, in balance and compassion, back into the whole.  Easily said, but the fears are still there.  That is where the adventure comes in.  

In the back of my mind is that guided meditation I experienced years ago when the sea turtle I was riding chose to dive rather than to return me to shore as the meditation facilitator had prompted.  Deeper and deeper into darker and darker waters I plunged, perched on the shell of my aquatic steed.  And somewhere in the pitch blackness, amid my rising fear and anxiety, I heard the voice of Goddess, "What could possibly be here that isn't me?" 

And so I stand poised at the edge of the churning, dark waves.  What lies beneath them I can not imagine. All I know is that I can no longer resist the siren song of my soul.  There is nothing now to hold me back.  I must answer. I must plunge into the belly of the beast for what could possibly be there that isn't me?

A Different Class of Mythology

One of the biggest challenges in my life is consolidating all my various passions in a way that enhances them all, gives them each their fullest expression, and does not shuffle any of them off to linger on the back burner somewhere.  One of these passions which has not been explicitly voiced often, other than little bleeps now and then here in my blog, is Mythology -- in particular Personal Mythology.

It is such a passion of mine that, one day at my day job I was thinking about the mythology of my own life and path, and how it has helped my life and blessed my life with a depth that is hard to explain in words.  Then a thought occurred to me, and it just began to snow-ball. I need to teach a class to help others discover their own mythologies.  Not the mythology of long-dead, ancient cultures, but the unique mythology that forms the context within which each individual lives and breathes.  And the perfect tool to do so is one of my other passions -- Shamanism.  Suddenly I was on fire with inspiration and ideas and glimpses of this class, and I'm not really sure how I completed the rest of the day at my warehouse day-job without making tons of mistakes and errors, or walking in front of the forklift.

By using the Shamanic Journey to access information, we can go inward to meet our inner bard -- our own personal historian/story-keeper -- from whom we can learn our own stories and discover different perspectives by which to view our lives.

I was just commenting to a dear friend the other day that we live in such a wondrous time.  We have infinite stories and myths of innumerable cultures, ancient and modern, laid out before us which we can borrow, adopt, adapt, rewrite, combine, or whatever, in ways that are meaningful for and resonate with us. I love the Star Trek concept of "IDIC" -- Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations.  We also have our modern mythologies (such as the aforementioned Star Trek) which are shaped by, and shape, our world and thoughts through the various 'entertainment' medias of television, movies, video games, books, comics, etc.  It is a smorgasbord of stories and, by paying attention to the ones that speak to us and that we identify with, we can learn so much about ourselves -- who we are and, perhaps more importantly, who we wish to become.  More than anything, I feel that is what any mythology is for -- giving us a model and template of where we are headed, what we want to achieve, and examples of how to (and maybe how not to -- ie Coyote/Trickster tales) achieve it.  Above all else, to me Mythology is about Hope. It is a sign post pointing us toward the truth of our being when the duality and shadows of this life cloud our vision and perspective.

So I am very excited, and very nervous, about teaching this upcoming class (Shamanic Journey into Personal Reality) because it is one of my passions.  It is something I've done my entire life, though I didn't always realize it, so, though I do have resources and references to draw on, it is almost entirely made of my own experiences, which means I have no other authority to fall back on for support, leaving me in a potentially very vulnerable state.  But being of my own experiences it is at the same time invulnerable to judgement because who can refute what I experienced or what lessons I've learned from it?  Most of all it is something I am passionate about and could, with no trouble whatsoever, talk about for hours on end, and because it is experiential the focus is on helping others aquire their own experiences rather than feeding them information -- teaching to fish rather than giving fish.

There is just too much information with too many contradictions inundating us from every possible direction from outside of us for us to handle. It is really time to clue ourselves in to the information that rises from inside us.  This increasingly seems to me to be the only way to navigate such a world. And mythology, being the language of the soul as well as the interface between us and the divine, is the road map on each of our own personal Hero's Journeys.

In Hind Sight

So, I love when little pieces of a puzzle suddenly come together in that glorious 'AHA!' moment, especially when they have to do with my personal mythology, when some little detail I hadn't noticed before creates a parcel of brand new bridges, connecting things that hadn't been before, or forging a stronger connection and deeper significance to a connection that already existed.  It truly is the little things in life that bring me such joy!  Okay.  Let me explain...

The other night I watched the movie Immortals which is about the Greek hero Theseus, the one who killed the Minotaur.  Part of the story line revolves around the 'Epirus Bow' which is this magical bow that, as one begins to draw back the bowstring, an arrow of light flickers into existence on the bow. How awesome would that be?!  Anyway, being not only an archery geek but a cartoonist as well, I've been working on a series of comic stories where my characters act out various myths and tales, from a cavalcade of cultures, that involve archery.  If the Epirus Bow were really an authentic part of Greek Mythology I wanted to know as a possible addition to my comics.

As it turns out, it was total fiction and doesn't exist outside the movie.  However, the closest thing in Greek Mythology was Hercules' Bow, which was used to end the Trojan War.  Hmmm!  That sounded promising, and, as a bit of synchronicity, I had just started re-watching the Hercules television series, starring Kevin Sorbo, again from the beginning.  So I clicked on the link for Hercules' Bow, but never quite got that far because something else captured my attention. 

As I scanned the page for his bow, my gaze fell upon descriptions of the twelve labors of Hercules (or Heracles as the Greeks called him).  After his first two labors (impossible feats he was given to atone for killing his children in a fit of madness induced by Hera) where he proved he could kill the most unbeatable foes (the Nemean Lion and the nine-headed Lernaean Hydra) Herc was given the task of capturing alive the Golden Hind, who could run faster than an arrow.

The thing about the Golden Hind, and the reason this distracted me from my original 'labor', is that she was a sacred animal of Artemis, my Matron Goddess.  I had almost forgotten about the Hind (D'oh! A deer! A female deer!) so I was eager to read about this myth. 

They had done a version of the story on the aforementioned show, and it's one of my favorite episodes, not only because of the romance and love that blooms between Hercules and the hind (who in the show could transform into a human woman) but because it is also how Hercules actor, Kevin Sorbo, met his soon to be wife, who played the hind in the show. Doesn't get much more romantic than that! :)

Bearing almost no resemblance to the modern version, the original myth, in a nutshell, has Hercules capturing the hind, then on the way back to prove his labor fulfilled, he encounters Artemis.  He begs her forgiveness, explaining his penance, and promising he will return the deer. Under those conditions She lets him return to King Eurystheus, who was the one setting these tasks for Hercules. When the deer is brought before the king, however, Hercules was informed that the hind would become part of His Majesty's menagerie.  Hercules told the king he had to come get her himself. As Eurystheus approached, Herc released the hind who in a fleet-footed flash returned to her divine Mistress.  Hercules left telling the king he just hadn't been quick enough.

I liked the tale itself, but as I read some background to the myth it got really good.  As it turns out, one of the significant oddities of the Golden Hind is her golden antlers.  This is where I do the whole 'forehead-slap-thing' and cry, "Duh!"  There is only one kind of deer in the whole world whose doe population has antlers -- REINDEER!  The Golden Hind of Artemis was probably a reindeer!

My beloved Artemis, with a magic bow of her own, not unlike the one that began this hunt, that hangs in the night sky every month, was "all of a sudden" tied to my number one power animal and helping spirit, Nathaniel -- my beloved fuzz-nose of a reindeer.

Suddenly new threads existed between elements of my personal mythology that had previously been unconnected.  And with the new threads came an elation that was probably the emotional counterpart of the new lightning-bridge neural pathways arcing through my brain.

I love this stuff!!  I thrive on bridging seemingly unrelated things and finding connections in everything.  Now to see if I can just bring Artemis within six degrees of Kevin Bacon...

The Parables of Gary Hobson

One of my all time favorite television shows is Early Edition.  If you haven't seen it, the main premise of the show is that the protagonist, Gary Hobson, suddenly begins to receive the local Chicago newpaper.  The thing is, though, that it's always the paper for the following day.  Because of this, he realizes he has the opportunity to prevent some of the terrible things that happen, because he knows exactly where and when they will happen before they become news.

My favorite episode, one that has made a huge impression on me and that I bring to mind when ever I feel overwhelmed and useless to make any real changes in the world, is one where there are two catastrophies that happen in a single day -- a plane crash that kills a lot of people, and a bicycle accident that kills a little girl.  As fate would have it, Gary can only right one of these pending disasters and must choose which one he will fix, and which one will result in death because of his decision.

My memory is not exact on the plot points, but I believe this is how it turned out --  The little girl was closer, so he focused on changing the situation that was right in front of him.  As he is standing in the hospital, where he has brought the girl, with injuries but still alive, he realizes that the time had passed to save the plane load of people.  According to his edition of the paper the plane would have already crashed by that time.

Suddenly, rushing down the hall comes a pilot -- the pilot of the plane that was suppose to have crashed.  He is the father of the little girl, and when he got the call she was in the hospital, they post-poned or cancelled the flight so he could get to the hospital to be with his daughter.  By saving the little girl, Gary had saved everyone on that previously ill-fated plane.

Thus has this episode become an important  modern-day parable in my personal mythology. I don't know what your experience of life is, and this may seem like just a big coincidence just to make a good story for TV, but my life actually does work like that. There is no such thing as coincidence, and the synchronicities that happen are sometimes breath-taking.  Every little thing we do, by following our path one step at a time, attending to what is directly in front of us, ripples outward with effects we can not even fathom.  We do not have to save the world -- "Think globaly, act locally."  Every thing is connected.  It is the web of life after all, and everytime a thread is tugged in one place, it is felt everywhere else. 

At least that's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

Swan Song

It was, synchronistically, the day of my Birthday at the shamanic workshop I went to in Santa Fe that we were dealing with Creation Stories.  In the work we were learning, we were merging with the Creator, and so it was important for each of us to know who our personal creator is, thus we did a journey to literally 'meet our maker' and to discover what our personal creation myth was, as well as to come back with a symbol of our creator that we could put up somewhere to remind us to connect.

Now I have a deep, expanding body of personal myths that I've been building for years, and had actually written a creation myth long ago (Swan Mother -- A Creation Story), so when we began our journey I was nervous -- if Swan Mother shows up, that's just too convenient and I know I'm just making it up, if not downright cheating because I already wrote it.  Well, guess who showed up?  But as I watched this living story unfold before my eyes, whether I'd already written it or not, there were changes and depth added to it that were not part of the original story, and I can't describe the immediacy and exhilaration of witnessing it play out of it's own accord before me.

The following is an updated version of my personal Creation Story, melding my original writing with my first-hand eye-witness account...

irst was, is, Swan Mother. She-Before-All-Else. You wouldn't have known that was who She was, though, for She appeared as but a ball of pure white light. She was alone, but not lonely, for She was complete in Herself. So complete was She that a feeling began to make itself known to Her from deep inside. A tingling, bubbling feeling. A feeling of love.

Now Swan Mother knows love. One complete in Herself knows all about love, because it is love that makes one complete. A deep abiding love that is the touchstone and ground of all Being. Swan Mother is Love.

But this love was different. This love was growing -- Growing and expanding in such a way that Swan Mother knew it could not be contained. If She did nothing She would burst! So in Her wisdom, Swan Mother gathered Her wings about Her, like a great downy cloak, and in one swift and graceful movement, spread Her vast wings as far as they would reach. In so doing, in this unimaginable expanse from wing-tip to wing-tip, Swan Mother had created Space.

As Her wings unfolded, so too unfurled Her long, curved neck and in a great expression of release she sang out a song of Joy.  Now this tingling, bubbling, effervescent feeling of love, growing with in Her, had somewhere to go, and go it did!  From Her snowy throat, amidst the notes of Her beautiful song, sprang a serpent of flame which curled and twisted and danced through the new-born space, rolling and stretching in it's new found freedom. And as the serpent danced, his fiery form coalesced into a stallion -- Fire Horse!  

So filled with His new found joy and freedom was Fire Horse, that He ran and jumped, played and pranced throughout the whole of space between Swan Mother's outstretched wings.  And in His excitement and play, the sparks from His hooves ignited all the downy feathers, that floated everywhere from Swan Mother's great exertion, and these became the countless multitude of suns and stars in the heavens. 

Swan Mother flapped her wings, fanning the flames of these myriad suns, and the the currents which formed in the wake of her wings drew all the stars into their myriad patterns and constellations.  So much Joy had She at this creation that tears fell from Her eyes, each tear drop falling into place around a star -- each a pregnant salt-water world ready to blossom with life.

And so it was. And so it is. Aho.

 

...and as I was beginning to return from my journey, and to the class room in Santa Fe, I was left with one last image -- I was a wee-babe held lovingly and tenderly in the interlaced wingtips of Swan Mother, as her long, graceful neck craned down in my direction and She smiled at me.

 

Swan Mother -- A Creation Story

I thought I had actually posted this to this blog before, but in trying to show it to someone discovered I hadn't. For a number of years now I've been developing my personal mythology. The following is a creation story from that mythology.

irst was, is, Swan Mother. She-Before-All-Else. She was alone, but not lonely, for She was complete in Herself. So complete was She that a feeling began to make itself known to Her from deep inside. A tingling, bubbling feeling. A feeling of love.

Now Swan Mother knows love. One complete in Herself knows all about love, because it is love that makes one complete. A deep abiding love that is the touchstone and ground of all Being. Swan Mother is Love.

But this love was different. This love was growing -- Growing and expanding in such a way that Swan Mother knew it could not be contained. If She did nothing She would burst! So in Her wisdom, Swan Mother gathered Her wings about Her, like a great downy cloak, and in one swift and graceful movement, spread Her vast wings as far as they would reach. In so doing, in this unimaginable expanse from wing-tip to wing-tip, Swan Mother had created Space.

Now this tingling, bubbling, effervescent feeling of love, growing with in Her, had somewhere to go, and go it did! With a tremendous explosion of light and feathers, Swan Mother gave birth to Fire Horse. So filled with His new found joy of freedom was Fire Horse, that He ran and jumped, played and danced throughout the whole of space between Swan Mother's outstretched wings.

The feathers that floated everywhere, shed as a result of His birth, were ignited by Fire Horse's fiery hooves, becoming all the stars that populate the heavens. And, as Fire Horse continued to gallop tirelessly amidst the heat of these new-born suns, He began to perspire, each drop of glistening sweat flung from his body becoming another planet -- Another pregnant salt-water world ready to blossom with life.

And so it was. And so it is. Aho.

Mom... Dad... I'm Fae

If you've been reading my blog for awhile, you might recognize this entry as a reprint of an earlier post, but it seemed only right to post again the story of my "real" birth on my birthday. Enjoy!

Note: This entry became a lot longer and more involved than I had originally planned. In fact I was considering breaking it into two posts. It is, again, a story from my personal mythology, in fact MY story from my personal mythology, and how I came to be. If you would like the story only, you may skip ahead to the blue section. Otherwise you will get the whole DVD-special-features-behind-the-scenes-making-of documentary. Either way, thank you for reading. :)

Since I can remember, I felt like I didn't belong with my family. Even people on the outside would ask how I ended up with them. It never occurred to me that I really might not belong with them until a seed thought was planted in my mind.

At school one day, I don't remember what grade I was in, another student's dad saw me and said, incidentally, "Corrigan. That's another name for the little people." The full importance of that statement, and the hidden meaning of my last name, didn't hit me at first, but the seed began to grow over many years.

As I outgrew my childhood beliefs and structures, and my world developed and expanded beyond the accepted boundaries of my up-bringing, and my family, these fish-out-of-water feelings only increased, and most of the time, even in my own mind, it was me who was, at best, weird, at worst, wrong.

But as my world grew and began to include ever expanding possibilities of various dimensions and parallel worlds, inevitably I became introduced to the realm of Faerie. Granted it started slowly with "wouldn't it be cool if...", fueled by images of the Cottingly Fairies and the like, but it has blossomed into, not only a full-on belief, but a complete knowingness of the existence of the Wee Folk. Actually to the point of missing the little blue sparkly flashes of light, seen out of the corner of my eye, when my apartment faeries are being, perhaps, a little too quiet.

Even from the beginnings of my forays into Faery, that statement of my last name being ‘another word for the little people’ never left me. So you can just imagine my delight at the point where I discovered a dictionary of the faery folk, and verified the truth of that statement. Perhaps ‘delight’ is not the proper word. More of an Oh-my-god-and-holy-crap-it's-true-dumb-founded recognition of another cosmic puzzle piece falling into place . Yes. Quite delightful.

I believe it was at that point that the seed began to germinate, and a story began to form in the back of my mind as to my true origins. I had read about 'star children' and the different indicators, most of which I fit, that would suggest you were an alien born into a human body. Yet that didn't quite sit right with me. I felt too connected to the earth to be from somewhere else. But, were I changeling, a faery baby switched at birth with a human baby, that just felt so much more plausible!

None of my research into Corrigans, or Korrigans, contradicted my story, but rather fueled my excited imagination. The Corrigan originate mostly from Brittany, and are the type that appear as human women, who sit by pools of water, alone or sometimes in groups up to nine, combing their long hair in the moonlight. During the day, though, they take on the appearance of old hags. They are also shape-shifters, able to change into any creature they want.

Now I hadn't meant to recount the whole story here, just give bits and pieces and highlights as I had them figured out. However, when I began writing, things just started to flow and, before I knew it, I had what follows. With all of that in mind, this is the story as I've reconstructed it so far... (*Ahem!*)


Once upon a time, there was a magickal pool, and around this pool sat nine sisters. At least they sat around the pool at night, combing their long, glorious hair that shimmered in the moonlight, because that was when they appeared beautiful and young. During the day they stayed out of sight for in the sunlight they had the appearance of old, wrinkled crones. This was slightly offset by their ability to change into any creature they desired.

One of the sisters, My'riad, wishing to be alone one day, assumed her favorite shape, that of a unicorn, and wandered out into the sun dappled forest. So lost in the beauty of the woods was she that, not until the snapping of a twig brought her back to the present, did she realize she was not alone.

In a single instant, she saw the arrow pointed at her, saw it loosed from it's string, saw a hand strike the bow, and watched the arrow whistle harmlessly into the under brush beside where she stood. Without thought she fled, disappearing into the trees, but, as is the habit of most curious wild creatures, she circled back around to investigate what had, just moments ago, threatened her very life. What she saw was two men, one of whom was red in the face from screaming at the other man, "Bastard! You cost me a unicorn! I could have been set up for life! How dare you interfere with my shot! If I see you again you will pay with your life!" And the man stomped, very noisily, off into the woods.

The other man stood silently for a moment, watching where the first man had gone, then without turning his head, he said quietly, "You're not a real unicorn are you." The only answer was a gasp as the faery woman's, currently fuzzy, chin dropped and her eyes widened in shock. Who was this man who not only sensed her presence, but that she wasn't who she appeared to be? He turned toward her, reaching out an inviting hand and an even more inviting smile. Darkness had begun to fall so she allowed herself to slip back into her human form -- her beautiful, young human form -- and slip her hand softly into his. There was a rush of energy as they touched and, beneath the splendor of the rising moon, they kissed for the first time.

They kissed many more times that night, among other things I can not mention without having to tag this blog as unsuitable for minors, and as the first rays of the sun began to break across the horizon, he whispered softly in her ear, "I know who you are, and I release you." Her mind reeled as she was overcome at this, for this is the only way a Corrigan may become, and remain, young and beautiful -- A human man who loves her enough to allow her to be who she is. A joy she had not known washed over her, coupled with the certain knowledge that a miracle had been conceived within her.

My'riad returned with him to his cottage in the woods where they lived happily together for some time, and her belly continued to swell. One evening, though, her husband did not return from his hunt. Her concern grew and she set out in search of him, again taking the unicorn's shape, as four legs could carry her more swiftly than two. Oh! If only she had had six, perhaps she would have arrived in time! As it was she happened upon the scene to see her lover freshly fallen to the earth, an arrow protruding from his chest.

The anguish that issued from her throat was unearthly, and some say it froze her beloved's slayer in his tracks, even as he attempted to flee. Literally froze his heart in his chest. His life ended by she who would have earlier been his prey, for he was the previously mentioned man making good his threat against her husband. Then shifting instantly back to human form she cradled her love's head in her hands, caressing his hair with her fingers and bathing his face with her tears. One last kiss on his cold lips was all she could bear and she had to go. Just get away, as far and as fast as her four legs would carry her!

In another part of the forest, a hunter heard a creature crashing through the forest and moved to intercept it, to see what manner of beast could make such an ungodly wailing, and to put this beast out of its misery. And so it happened that for the second time, My'riad came face to face with a nocked arrow intended to take her life.

"Please, my Lady, do with me what you will, but pray do not harm my babe!" A soft growl rose from My'riad's throat.

With this a smile flickered at the corner of the hunter's mouth and she slowly lowered her bow. "You're not a real unicorn are you."

"No my Lady," My'riad replied with a bow as she shimmered back to her true form, at which time her pregnancy became blatantly clear.

"Fear not precious one. You and your babe are safe now, for you are under my protection."

My'riad, having pushed herself to her already emotionally strained limits, nearly passed out, but her tears turned from grief to relief for she knew that the Huntress Goddess before her was also the Goddess of Childbirth. And so, whether because she was Fae, or because the Goddess of Midwives personally delivered her baby, she had the easiest of labors and was soon holding a beautiful boy child to her breast.

"I know this one," Artemis whispered, gathering the supple deer hide back around a tiny wiggling leg that had escaped the bundle, held by the new mother. "And so do you," She added, looking My'riad in the eye. My'riad balked, then began to cry, for in her babe she recognized the essence of her slain husband.

"And this one," continued the Goddess, wrinkling Her nose and winking at the child, "remembers me, don't you my little wolf?" The baby laughed and waved his arms. "How would you know my son, M'Lady?" "He lived a lifetime, long ago, as one of my children in a forest far from here. A place called Sherwood. And before that he spent time as one of my beloved beasts, the wildest, yet gentlest of creatures -- whose form, by no accident, is one that you know well." She smiled again as She traced a spiral, ever so gently, upon My'riad's forehead.

"Now, Daughter, there is some unfortunate business to attend to." My'riad's heart sank into her stomach. Hadn't she been through enough? "Because your child's blood is partly mortal, he can not be raised among the Fair Folk. His path leads into 'Man's World', where he will be challenged, true, but he will thrive, I promise you. He will bring to human minds and hearts a joy and whimsy born of his faery blood, and a hope they can not understand, yet will they be drawn to it like moths to the flame."

"And fear not for I will watch over him, instilling his heart with a love of the wild and a taste of the Faery Realm, that he may find his way back to his origins. And find his way back he will, for he is now my adopted son. He will be able to track and read the signs."

"What signs?" Demanded My'riad, "I will not give up my only son, even to you, without reason!"

"Calm yourself Daughter. I know of a family whose heritage is very spiritual, overflowing with holy men and women, through the monasteries and churches of Eire..." "Catholics?!" My'riad interrupted, showing her disdain by almost gagging on the word. Artemis continued unfazed, "And their surname is 'Corrigan'. He will gain enough experience and knowledge in his youth to maintain a solid footing in mystical matters, enabling him to make the leap from religion to spirituality. His name will be his first clue as to his true origin, and he will spend his life endeavoring to find that truth."

The Goddess of the Wild smiled pridefully as only a god, who knows of things to be, could.

"Oh yes. He will return."

Wolf Feathers

art and parcel of my spiritual path, Wolf has always been present. At least as far as I can remember. Even as a kid I remember, when starting cub scouts, I was unbelievably disappointed because I had signed up late and so had to begin as a bear cub rather than a wolf cub like most kids.

At the same time, I never felt comfortable saying Wolf was my totem because I had read Black Elk Speaks, and as much of Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee as I could stomach before having to put it down, and so had become pretty sensitive to people claiming things from other cultures that weren't theirs to claim. Still, one night in the early 90s I had a dream that convinced me that, indeed, Wolf is my totem --

I found myself running along the bottom of a dry river bed lined, almost to the point of being tiled, with large river stones. I was in a panic because the wolves were chasing me, and even though I couldn't see them I knew they were behind me. Finally I scrambled up the bank of the river bed and climbed up into a tree. I settled on a branch some distance off the ground and leaning my back against the trunk, closed my eyes and released a sigh of relief. Phew! I was safe!

This feeling was short-lived as, with eyes still shut, I felt the branch I was on bend beneath me, under another's weight. Gulp! I slowly opened my eyes to find a wolf sitting on a fork of my branch, not even a yard away from me. Before I even had time to panic I heard his words float into my mind: "Do not fear. We are always with you ."

...So, yeah, that seemed pretty significant. Definitely not a typical dream, and I had to admit to having been chosen by Wolf. It is from this dream that I took my 1st magickal name: Perching Wolf.

As this dream or vision settled in and made itself comfortable in my personal mythology, I officially joined the SCA (Society for Creative Anachronism -- a medieval recreation group) and, as is one of the first things you do in the group, I started designing my device, or coat of arms. My medieval name is "Lovell", which means "Little Wolf." Technically, though used for humans, it was more common as a dog's name, making me want to adopt "We named the dog..." (an obscure reference to Indiana Jones) translated into Latin as my personal motto. And so of course my device had to feature a wolf, but it had to be distinguishable from other wolves. It had to be my wolf.

I reached further back in my experience to when reading Living In The Light by Shakti Gawain and doing some of the suggested meditations at the end of the chapters. Back then, though new to meditation, etc, I had met a wolf during guidance to meet your inner male. He was black, with green eyes, and he said his name was Yammas (which I still find interesting in it's closeness to the word "Lammas" -- one of the Pagan holidays that celebrates the Divine Masculine).

So my SCA wolf would be black (with green eyes although that couldn't be part of the blazon, or description, of the device), but there had to be more to set him apart... Wings!! How else would a wolf have gotten into a tree with me? And so my black winged wolf became my device --

And so, that is how my wolf got his wings, and the Corvus Lupus was born. And as I learned more about my Totem, and began to identify with Wolf -- to the point of discovering my 'inner puppy' -- he, or actually I in his form, began to show up in my comics...

The winged-wolf continues to deepen and expand into the landscape of my personal mythology. In a shamanic journey I was recently shown the palace/temple of the 'Wolf King,' before which, standing guardian, is a 3-story tall statue of a winged-wolf -- so it has definitely become deeply engrained as part of my subconscious psyche. And that is so exciting because as I grow, so does he. He is a living vital thing, just like me.

Mom... Dad... I'm Fae

The following entry is a reprint of a post I published in an earlier, private blog. Beltane (May Day), the part of the Wheel-of-the-Year where the Fae become more active, felt like a fitting place to share this again:

Note: This entry became a lot longer and more involved than I had originally planned. In fact I was considering breaking it into two posts. It is, again, a story from my personal mythology, in fact MY story from my personal mythology, and how I came to be. If you would like the story only, you may skip ahead to the blue section. Otherwise you will get the whole DVD-special-features-behind-the-scenes-making-of documentary. Either way, thank you for reading. :)

Since I can remember, I felt like I didn't belong with my family. Even people on the outside would ask how I ended up with them. It never occurred to me that I really might not belong with them until a seed thought was planted in my mind.

At school one day, I don't remember what grade I was in, another student's dad saw me and said, incidentally, "Corrigan. That's another name for the little people." The full importance of that statement, and the hidden meaning of my last name, didn't hit me at first, but the seed began to grow over many years.

As I outgrew my childhood beliefs and structures, and my world developed and expanded beyond the accepted boundaries of my up-bringing, and my family, these fish-out-of-water feelings only increased, and most of the time, even in my own mind, it was me who was, at best, weird, at worst, wrong.

But as my world grew and began to include ever expanding possibilities of various dimensions and parallel worlds, inevitably I became introduced to the realm of Faerie. Granted it started slowly with "wouldn't it be cool if...", fueled by images of the Cottingly Fairies and the like, but it has blossomed into, not only a full-on belief, but a complete knowingness of the existence of the Wee Folk. Actually to the point of missing the little blue sparkly flashes of light, seen out of the corner of my eye, when my apartment faeries are being, perhaps, a little too quiet.

Even from the beginnings of my forays into Faery, that statement of my last name being ‘another word for the little people’ never left me. So you can just imagine my delight at the point where I discovered a dictionary of the faery folk, and verified the truth of that statement. Perhaps ‘delight’ is not the proper word. More of an Oh-my-god-and-holy-crap-it's-true-dumb-founded recognition of another cosmic puzzle piece falling into place . Yes. Quite delightful.

I believe it was at that point that the seed began to germinate, and a story began to form in the back of my mind as to my true origins. I had read about 'star children' and the different indicators, most of which I fit, that would suggest you were an alien born into a human body. Yet that didn't quite sit right with me. I felt too connected to the earth to be from somewhere else. But, were I changeling, a faery baby switched at birth with a human baby, that just felt so much more plausible!

None of my research into Corrigans, or Korrigans, contradicted my story, but rather fueled my excited imagination. The Corrigan originate mostly from Brittany, and are the type that appear as human women, who sit by pools of water, alone or sometimes in groups up to nine, combing their long hair in the moonlight. During the day, though, they take on the appearance of old hags. They are also shape-shifters, able to change into any creature they want.

Now I hadn't meant to recount the whole story here, just give bits and pieces and highlights as I had them figured out. However, when I began writing, things just started to flow and, before I knew it, I had what follows. With all of that in mind, this is the story as I've reconstructed it so far... (*Ahem!*)


Once upon a time, there was a magickal pool, and around this pool sat nine sisters. At least they sat around the pool at night, combing their long, glorious hair that shimmered in the moonlight, because that was when they appeared beautiful and young. During the day they stayed out of sight for in the sunlight they had the appearance of old, wrinkled crones. This was slightly offset by their ability to change into any creature they desired.

One of the sisters, My'riad, wishing to be alone one day, assumed her favorite shape, that of a unicorn, and wandered out into the sun dappled forest. So lost in the beauty of the woods was she that, not until the snapping of a twig brought her back to the present, did she realize she was not alone.

In a single instant, she saw the arrow pointed at her, saw it loosed from it's string, saw a hand strike the bow, and watched the arrow whistle harmlessly into the under brush beside where she stood. Without thought she fled, disappearing into the trees, but, as is the habit of most curious wild creatures, she circled back around to investigate what had, just moments ago, threatened her very life. What she saw was two men, one of whom was red in the face from screaming at the other man, "Bastard! You cost me a unicorn! I could have been set up for life! How dare you interfere with my shot! If I see you again you will pay with your life!" And the man stomped, very noisily, off into the woods.

The other man stood silently for a moment, watching where the first man had gone, then without turning his head, he said quietly, "You're not a real unicorn are you." The only answer was a gasp as the faery woman's, currently fuzzy, chin dropped and her eyes widened in shock. Who was this man who not only sensed her presence, but that she wasn't who she appeared to be? He turned toward her, reaching out an inviting hand and an even more inviting smile. Darkness had begun to fall so she allowed herself to slip back into her human form -- her beautiful, young human form -- and slip her hand softly into his. There was a rush of energy as they touched and, beneath the splendor of the rising moon, they kissed for the first time.

They kissed many more times that night, among other things I can not mention without having to tag this blog as unsuitable for minors, and as the first rays of the sun began to break across the horizon, he whispered softly in her ear, "I know who you are, and I release you." Her mind reeled as she was overcome at this, for this is the only way a Corrigan may become, and remain, young and beautiful -- A human man who loves her enough to allow her to be who she is. A joy she had not known washed over her, coupled with the certain knowledge that a miracle had been conceived within her.

My'riad returned with him to his cottage in the woods where they lived happily together for some time, and her belly continued to swell. One evening, though, her husband did not return from his hunt. Her concern grew and she set out in search of him, again taking the unicorn's shape, as four legs could carry her more swiftly than two. Oh! If only she had had six, perhaps she would have arrived in time! As it was she happened upon the scene to see her lover freshly fallen to the earth, an arrow protruding from his chest.

The anguish that issued from her throat was unearthly, and some say it froze her beloved's slayer in his tracks, even as he attempted to flee. Literally froze his heart in his chest. His life ended by she who would have earlier been his prey, for he was the previously mentioned man making good his threat against her husband. Then shifting instantly back to human form she cradled her love's head in her hands, caressing his hair with her fingers and bathing his face with her tears. One last kiss on his cold lips was all she could bear and she had to go. Just get away, as far and as fast as her four legs would carry her!

In another part of the forest, a hunter heard a creature crashing through the forest and moved to intercept it, to see what manner of beast could make such an ungodly wailing, and to put this beast out of its misery. And so it happened that for the second time, My'riad came face to face with a nocked arrow intended to take her life.

"Please, my Lady, do with me what you will, but pray do not harm my babe!" A soft growl rose from My'riad's throat.

With this a smile flickered at the corner of the hunter's mouth and she slowly lowered her bow. "You're not a real unicorn are you."

"No my Lady," My'riad replied with a bow as she shimmered back to her true form, at which time her pregnancy became blatantly clear.

"Fear not precious one. You and your babe are safe now, for you are under my protection."

My'riad, having pushed herself to her already emotionally strained limits, nearly passed out, but her tears turned from grief to relief for she knew that the Huntress Goddess before her was also the Goddess of Childbirth. And so, whether because she was Fae, or because the Goddess of Midwives personally delivered her baby, she had the easiest of labors and was soon holding a beautiful boy child to her breast.

"I know this one," Artemis whispered, gathering the supple deer hide back around a tiny wiggling leg that had escaped the bundle, held by the new mother. "And so do you," She added, looking My'riad in the eye. My'riad balked, then began to cry, for in her babe she recognized the essence of her slain husband.

"And this one," continued the Goddess, wrinkling Her nose and winking at the child, "remembers me, don't you my little wolf?" The baby laughed and waved his arms. "How would you know my son, M'Lady?" "He lived a lifetime, long ago, as one of my children in a forest far from here. A place called Sherwood. And before that he spent time as one of my beloved beasts, the wildest, yet gentlest of creatures -- whose form, by no accident, is one that you know well." She smiled again as She traced a spiral, ever so gently, upon My'riad's forehead.

"Now, Daughter, there is some unfortunate business to attend to." My'riad's heart sank into her stomach. Hadn't she been through enough? "Because your child's blood is partly mortal, he can not be raised among the Fair Folk. His path leads into 'Man's World', where he will be challenged, true, but he will thrive, I promise you. He will bring to human minds and hearts a joy and whimsy born of his faery blood, and a hope they can not understand, yet will they be drawn to it like moths to the flame."

"And fear not for I will watch over him, instilling his heart with a love of the wild and a taste of the Faery Realm, that he may find his way back to his origins. And find his way back he will, for he is now my adopted son. He will be able to track and read the signs."

"What signs?" Demanded My'riad, "I will not give up my only son, even to you, without reason!"

"Calm yourself Daughter. I know of a family whose heritage is very spiritual, overflowing with holy men and women, through the monasteries and churches of Eire..." "Catholics?!" My'riad interrupted, showing her disdain by almost gagging on the word. Artemis continued unfazed, "And their surname is 'Corrigan'. He will gain enough experience and knowledge in his youth to maintain a solid footing in mystical matters, enabling him to make the leap from religion to spirituality. His name will be his first clue as to his true origin, and he will spend his life endeavoring to find that truth."

The Goddess of the Wild smiled pridefully as only a god, who knows of things to be, could.

"Oh yes. He will return."

Fire in the Mountain, Fire in the Heart

A few months ago, in the monthly shaman circle I attend, as we were celebrating emerging from the darkness of Winter into the budding light of Spring, we each journeyed and then, like travelers meeting around a campfire, we each shared our stories, in J.R.R. Tolkien epic style. Looking back in my Journey Journal, I realized I hadn't had enough time to write my saga down and so thought I would share it here -- at least what I can remember of it.

The interesting thing to me is that this journey incorporated many elements from the personal mythology that I've been creating for myself over many, many years. And so this is how I remember telling it...

I awoke, not upon the Earth where I had lain down but on the feathered back of a great bird whose wings stretched out, seemingly without end, to either side of me. As my brain quickly came to its full senses I knew the bird that carried me to be a pelican -- my guide of the crossroads. Above the clouds we flew until a mountain loomed before us, and before I even had time to cry out in alarm, my host, narrowly missing the lip of what I took to be a volcano, zipped up and without pause dove over the edge of the crater. Only where there should have been a crater, there was an immense tree with multi-colored faery lights dancing amongst her great spreading branches. Down, down along the massive trunk we dove to the very heart of the mountain, my feathery steed shrinking until reaching the bottom of the tree and her normal size. Relieved, I stood on solid ground again and looking around realized this was no volcano, but a mountain of pure ice.

Transfixed by the size of the tree growing from the mountain's middle, and the dazzling lights weaving through her branches, it only occurred to me later that the base of the tree was actually enveloped in flame. "Wait!" I cried to the pelican, casually preening its feathers, "Isn't it dangerous to have a fire in the middle of an ice mountain?! The whole thing could melt and collapse on top of us!"

"Fear not," laughed the pelican, "It is the awakening flame that has allowed space in this mountain," then reaching out a wing and touching my chest, "in this heart, for the tree to grow. This mountain is the result of layers of frozen emotions built up over the years as a protection for your heart, and now that the flame has arisen once more, it is the run-off of the mountain that feeds this tree, as its protection is no longer necessary."

Curiously I examined the fire more closely, observing that it burned without consuming the tree. "There is a legend among the natives that at the heart of this mountain lives a phoenix," offered my feathered tour guide. Looking around I replied, "Where? I don't see..." "You are the phoenix," said the pelican. And with a smile and a shove she pushed me into the flames.

My alarm lasted but a moment when I realized that I too was unharmed by the fire. A strange sense overcame me and with a grin I spread my arms, my wings, and with a guttural cry of glee I flew, spiraling up around the great tree, out the top of the mountain, and laughing landed at its base.

Again my pelican companion was standing next to me, as the flames died away from my body, all that is except for those burning in my heart. As I turned and faced the mountain, despite the thickness of the ice, I could still see the flame burning deep inside, at the base of the tree.

"And so you see, the fire in the mountain is the same as the fire in your heart, and it is this that allows you to see through the walls and barriers into others' hearts as well."

Be-leaf in Magick

Above is a photo of a small, ordinary, unassuming oak leaf. Nothing to write home about, right? I guess that depends. To anyone else, probably. To me? In my eyes this tiny specimen of forest debris is, perhaps, one of the greatest gifts I have received. Ever. Is that weird? Let me explain...


This little miracle arrived in the mail the other day, courtesy of my sister who lives in England. She sent me some other things too, kind of a belated Christmas gift, all very cool and much appreciated. Each new little thing I uncovered was a new level of excitement, but not until this little leaf slipped from between a couple of pieces of note paper did my exhilaration peak. Holy crap!! An actual, organic piece of Sherwood Forest!!!



Many of my friends are well aware of my fascination with this famous greenwoode, and one of its myriad denizens in particular. There are even rumors of past life ties to a certain merry band. Rumors which, once heard, do not seem to surprise anyone who knows me.



One way or another, whether historical or lore, this mythos touches me on a deeper level than any other I know. It seems to exist at my core, my very essence, and is way beyond the ability of words to describe it. And here I hold a tiny part of that, all of that -- the entire forest held in a single decaying leaf, the entire legend resting in my hand.



Oh lads! 'Tis magick indeed!

The Adventure of Adventure

I am finding myself in a familiar spot -- in between. There are a lot of things in flux in my life right now, and I'm feeling rather suspended in that place where the old things are still clinging, and the new things haven't yet manifested. It is uncomfortable, and it brings up a number of personal demons for me, in the guise of self-doubts, fears. It's easy to start dwelling on the negative "what ifs" instead of the positive ones. "What if all these things I believe are just a bunch of hooey?" "What if I'm not good enough to create my best life?" Etc.

But what if all these things I believe are true? What if I am good enough to deserve my best life possible? What if Elvis really is still alive? ...ok. Forget the last one... There is a definite air of the unknown in the... um... air. I can interpret it as fear, or I can take it as excitement -- or both actually because doesn't excitement come from experiencing new things? Of rising above what you thought was possible? Overcoming doubts and expanding your limits?

It truly is an adventure. I have this belief that if a story doesn't have a happy ending, you ended it too soon. And so I've been teaching myself to take one step back from my life and look at it as a story unfolding in front of me. Of course I'm the hero of this particular string of tales, but the hero always triumphs, right? And so the questions become things like "Wow! How is he gonna get out of this one?" or "Oooo! Is he gonna get to kiss the girl?" It sets up a sense of anticipation and excitement. It makes me feel like I am beyond the particular story/drama -- 'in the world but not of it'. That the outcome while be a happy ending, that the hero (me) will triumph, is certain, it's just a matter of what happens in the meantime to get to that point.

Maybe that's why in visualization and manifesting, i.e. The Secret, you are told to put yourself in the end result and not worry about the 'hows'. That's where the excitement and fun come in. "I have no idea how I'm gonna get to that point (whatever it is - love, money, health) but I can't wait to find out!" That's where miracles enter in, and the miracles I have seen in my life have been amazing! And despite that, I seem to still come up with new and creative ways to doubt miracles... interesting...

Anyway, a few years ago when I was going through one of the toughest points in my life, following a possible nervous breakdown, where I was feeling smothered by darkness and hopelessness, one of those I found myself praying to for help was my childhood hero Davy Crockett. I figured as a boy I was taught to pray to the saints, as well as to my dead relatives, for help, and though Davy was technically niether of these, in a way he was both. And my prayers to Saint Davy were pretty basic -- "Please help me see this as an adventure!"

And so those prayers continue: