L. I. T.

January 24, 2022February 13, 2022

Thunderbolts, Tarot Cards, Good Old Friends & The Courage to Sing

It was 2012 when an email landed in my inbox inviting me to attend a weekend workshop, “Dreaming & the Tarot”. My life was in chaos. We were packing up our house in the small town where we’d lived for a decade while remodeling a 1907 Four-Square in Portland.

I’d belonged to a dream group for years, but I’d never held a Tarot card in my hand. I scarcely knew what one was—but I signed up and drove north for the weekend. That weekend away would be respite for my husband, too.

More recently I learned that a college friend had become quite knowledgeable about Tarot and belongs to a Meetup group in the D.C. area. Julia knows the history and classical, symbolic meaning. She can talk extensively about what she sees in any of the 78 cards. I delight in her enthusiasm.

On New Year’s Day she sent me the 12-card spread she’d laid out for herself that morning. This year she used the OSHO Zen deck, so the cards looked familiar since she had gifted me this same deck during a summer visit. Each Tarot deck is a work of art.

“I want to hear about this,” I texted back, and soon we were voice-to-voice, as Julia described her spread.

I decided to follow her lead: That afternoon I sat at our kitchen table and laid out 12 cards in a clockwise configuration.

December 18, 2021December 18, 2021

The Artist’s Way: An Organic Booster

bell hooks, a Black American writer, feminist, and a bold voice who sought justice through love died this week. She wrote and taught and insisted her chosen name be kept lower case because the word and book are what matter—not who penned them.

In a 2015 interview with philosopher George Yancy, she said, “I believe wholeheartedly that the only way out of domination is love, and the only way into really being able to connect with others, and to know how to be, is to be participating in every aspect of your life as a sacrament of love.”

The author bell hooks in 1995. Her work, across some 30 books, encompassed literary criticism, children’s fiction, self-help, memoir and poetry. — bell hooks said to live every aspect of life as “a sacrament to love”

I wish I had known her, read all of her books by now, and found a way to attend one of her classes. From a small town in semi-rural Kentucky, she found her way to Stanford. After earning a Ph.D. in English literature from UC, Santa Cruz, she taught at Yale, Oberlin, City College of New York, and eventually made her way back to Kentucky where she taught at small Berea College. They have created the bell hooks Institute—a center for her writing and teaching.

What a generous soul this woman must have been. How does it happens? This spark she felt and lived from a young age grew into a light for the world. She lifted people to move and dance and question.

July 21, 2021July 24, 2021

Poetry Pals Reading Group: After 15 Months Together

Long before lockdown and a raging pandemic, I wanted to invite a Poetry Reading Circle. So seldom did I finish an entire collection. With others, I’d be motivated! It seemed a fun way to gather with people I like.

One morning last April, I sent the invite. A bit disappointed at first because my “local” friends offered scant reply, I reached out to three old friends on the East Coast: Within 15 minutes, two of them replied enthusiastically.

Yippee! We were set to begin! Four wild reading women felt like plenty for our virtual gathering!

We first read Indigo by Ellen Bass. Julie, my co-conspirator in Portland, chose our second month’s read: Paige Lewis’ debut, Space Struck. As months passed, other women joined us. Some stayed, others were swept away by life’s obligations.

By May of 2021, a year later and most of us vaccinated, one of the East Coast originals—Stacey—suggested we pause for a Retrospective.

December 10, 2020December 10, 2020

Rockaway Beach & the Blue Plastic Pail

I wear my mask often, but not here where the air feels fresh and waves in motion move with the moon.

I’m conscious to pass by other people with a wide berth, and they do the same, mostly.

I watch clouds zing through the sky.

And I see two children wearing masks as they sit building a sand city. Maybe they came from two different families, but I can’t help but feel a longing for them to run free on the beach—fearless and in wonder.

October 6, 2020February 11, 2022

WALK ON–Sharing Sorrow Into Joy

“What if we joined our sorrows? What if that is joy?”
Ross Gay, American poet

On the first Saturday of October, I met with team WALK ON, and we wandered together on Mt. Tabor, a wooded park in Portland, Oregon. A dormant volcano, this seemed a perfect place to offer our final efforts toward raising awareness and funds toward suicide prevention and support for survivors.

Although the official and annual OUT OF THE DARKNESS walk was cancelled (due to Covid-19) our team of six decided to gather. The morning was autumn-warm and sunny.

After walking for a while, we found a glowing spot on the mountain and sat for a simple ceremony. We each shared the WHY of our efforts toward this cause. As team captain (instigator!) I told my story and was deeply moved to hear my friends share their reason for taking part—and helping to raise a lot more money than I’d set as our goal.

My reason for getting involved was a stumbling. I had begun to research. I want to write a novel about a kid who loses a loved-one to suicide and struggles to feel safe and connected and eventually finds strength through connection. My research lead to AFSP—the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention.

When I was 8 years-old and not yet healed from a childhood illness, I came home from school one day to find my father’s dear friend lying dead atop his blue Chevrolet, in our garage. The man had come from Georgia to live with us. I now understand why: My father hoped to help John to want to live. For I don’t know how many months, he lived in that basement bedroom.

It was horrible, and it tore through my family’s life, forever silent. Even today–almost five decades later–my father won’t talk with me about what happened or the aftermath. No one talked about it then though at some point they sent me to a shrink who I refused to talk with about anything.

And a bit about Ear Wax & Optic Nerves