You’re Fired!

Woody ~ CEO at Pure & Blessed

Woody ~ CEO at Pure & Blessed

To those of you who haven’t met him before, let me introduce you… This is Woody…

He’s very revered, highly respected and held in high regard…

He’s a cantankerous cat of sorts but you always know exactly where you stand with him…

His rules are his rules and on the odd occasion he will deem you worthy of his attention and he will hold court…

But mostly he has 3 commands…

Feed me!

Fuss me!

or… well you can guess the 3rd F word!

But that is good and cats are cats and we all know where we stand…

Though today he chooses to sit with me…

He has a habit of snooping my email and as such, today this caught his eye…

Write about where you could use the energy of The Emperor to protect your boundaries.  Where are you allowing energy or time leaks to occur?

He said… Karen… sit down… I need to have a word with you…

Now some may say that speaking with cats is allowing energy and time leaks to occur…

No! Not at all…. there’s knowledge behind that fur and purr…

So… as it happens, he also spotted one of my emails last week and up until now, he’d decided not to speak of it…

But he couldn’t unread it and he didn’t like what he’d seen…

He said… Karen… about that email last week, the one filled with promises and pseudo apology…

Oh! Woody…No… please don’t bring that up…

A’hem! he said… I’m speaking to you and giving you my fullest attention! Now please be kind enough to listen…

Look! I’ve pulled you two cards…

Look at that card on the left… Look! The Emperor!

Look at all the goodies in his sack… all waiting to be delivered…

By the by… just how long have you been waiting for your deliveries… no! don’t answer… just listen…

Look at me! I’m the Emperor! I’ve got everything you want! Oh… but before I let you have it… oh… let me check my list… in fact… let me check it twice… Are you naughty or nice?

Now the thing is Woody continued… whether you’re naughty or nice is irrelevant… what you did Karen was cross the boundary and challenge his authority… It didn’t go down well when you said… Look! I’ve paid for these with hard cash…Now cough up!

See… turns out the Emperor wasn’t all he was cracked up to be… turns out he was Four of Cups… and you saw him for the ass he is…

Now fire his sorry ass and get back to work!

Oh… and for future reference… when someone talks as though their life is a fairy tale… look past the cloak…

They probably mean it’s grim…

Woody!!! You have an awful lot to say to today…

Yeah… now shut up wench! I’m done and need to get back to important cat stuff…

Jeez! That cat has no manners… Though… he may well be able to lick it… but at least he’s not an ass… 😉

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Confessions of an Elective Orphan…

Words are curious things… they possess strange powers…

A few days ago, I was taken on a sudden diversion from an ordinary chit chat filled with observations about the weather… you know the sort of small talk that the English excel at and what was pretty much what I expected on a day that was raining cats and dogs…

But then the conversation took an unexpected turn as the person broke off  mid-sentence… paused… then said…

I’ve decided that I don’t want my father in my life any more… I’ve decided never to see him again…

IMG_2721I watched as her hunched shoulders straightened as though a great weight had been lifted and then her chin tilted upwards and a warm gentle smile spread across her face…

A small involuntary laugh escaped my lips…

You find that funny?

Yes, slightly… I know that face… I’ve felt that face… You feel relief don’t you?

How do you know that?

Because I too have made that face… I no longer see either of my parents…

Is it wrong to feel like this?

It is what it is…

What do you think people will say? How do you tell people about it?

I’m past caring what people think about it… those whose opinions matter know why and support my decision… now you feel relief and you will feel regret and guilt but then you’ll find there are more people than you realised who’ve made the same choice… and my thoughts are that the only ‘wrong’ thing about these situations is that not enough people speak openly about it… If only there was a word to describe it, to name it, to cut off the prying questions and for people to be able to recognise that you’ve made a healing choice…

 

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But… I guess we live in a very preachy society and often it’s the most ignorant and least informed who feel they have the most to say and strongest of opinions to push on others…

Though it does strike me as odd that in this day and age where people recognise divorce as being a healthy choice for some people and a move forward from beliefs that women (or men) should put up and shut up… that there seems to exist very strongly a big taboo around the breaking of the special and sacred parent-offspring bond…

Now preachers preach and I expect them to hit me with scriptures about love and honour thy parents…

And having been dedicated into the Army that is militant with Salvation and having an overbearing Grandfather who went through life with a quote for everything and everything in a quote… I’ve pretty much heard most of the scriptures and I also know that for every scripture to argue a case, there is one to take the opposite view… Just seek and ye shall find…

What I find more harmful is some of the disturbing views and advice that I’ve had thrust at me under the guise of the ‘Love and Light’ banner…

Amongst other things, I am a Reiki Master Teacher… and as such over the years, I’ve had very many conversations and I am a fairly blunt and open person and I will speak my thoughts out loud… And I’ve said the odd phrase here and there that has caused shock and horror followed by admonishments that I really should go work on my heart chakra… or oh my goodness! How can you even look at yourself in the mirror? I could never think or feel like that or even imagine it…

Really? You cannot even imagine…

Then consider yourself blessed that you’ve not experienced what I have…

Love and honour my parents?

I do this by recognising their frailties and that they were ill equipped to handle one of the toughest jobs that there is…

I love them by not allowing myself to be filled with a belly full of hate and resentment…

I honour them by honouring myself and trying to be a better parent to my own children…

And when I look in the mirror… what do I see?

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 I see me…

And I feel…

FREE…

Yes words…

They do possess curious powers…

They possess the power that you choose to give them…

If only there was a word…

And the words came to me…

I am…

an Elective Orphan…

And my confession…

I confess nothing!

I have done no more or no less than anybody else…

I do what we all do…

I move through life in the best way that I know how to…

Winging it with the few gifts that God gave me…

Card Images from The Intuitive Tarot by Cilla Conway (c) 2004

From The Emperor to the Poet and the Woodlouse…

Free Association Football

So this is a little game I play with myself, where I let my mind spiral out in mental fractals, with what ever takes my fancy…

I find a springboard and then hitch a wave and surf the google oracle…

I’ll share with you my starting point and finished (for now…) point… and you can make your own guesses as to how I got from one to the other…

Though… If you think you know the route, then let me know :D as often I don’t remember…

So… here’s one to kick you off…

I wonder how I got…

FROM:

IV The Emperor (c) Jordan Hoggard 2010
IV The Emperor (c) Jordan Hoggard 2010

TO:

The Poet and the Woodlouse.

Algernon Charles Swinburne.

Said a poet to a woodlouse — ‘Thou art certainly my brother;
I discern in thee the markings of the fingers of the Whole;
And I recognize, in spite of all the terrene smut and smother,
In the colours shaded off thee, the suggestions of a soul.‘Yea,’ the poet said, ‘I smell thee by some passive divination,
I am satisfied with insight of the measure of thine house;
What had happened I conjecture, in a blank and rhythmic passion,
Had the aons thought of making thee a man, and me a louse.‘The broad lives of upper planets, their absorption and digestion,
Food and famine, health and sickness, I can scrutinize and test;
Through a shiver of the senses comes a resonance of question,
And by proof of balanced answer I decide that I am best.

‘Man, the fleshly marvel, alway feels a certain kind of awe stick
To the skirts of contemplation, cramped with nympholeptic weight:
Feels his faint sense charred and branded by the touch of solar caustic,
On the forehead of his spirit feels the footprint of a Fate.’

‘Notwithstanding which, O poet,’ spake the woodlouse, very blandly,
‘I am likewise the created,— I the equipoise of thee;
I the particle, the atom, I behold on either hand lie
The inane of measured ages that were embryos of me.

‘I am fed with intimations, I am clothed with consequences,
And the air I breathe is coloured with apocalyptic blush:
Ripest-budded odours blossom out of dim chaotic stenches,
And the Soul plants spirit-lilies in sick leagues of human slush.

‘I am thrilled half cosmically through by cryptophantic surgings,
Till the rhythmic hills roar silent through a spongious kind of blee:
And earth’s soul yawns disembowelled of her pancreatic organs,
Like a madrepore if mesmerized, in rapt catalepsy.

‘And I sacrifice, a Levite — and I palpitate, a poet;—
Can I close dead ears against the rush and resonance of things?
Symbols in me breathe and flicker up the heights of the heroic;
Earth’s worst spawn, you said, and cursed me? look! approve me! I have wings.

‘Ah, men’s poets! men’s conventions crust you round and swathe you mist-like,
And the world’s wheels grind your spirits down the dust ye overtrod:
We stand sinlessly stark-naked in effulgence of the Christlight,
And our polecat chokes not cherubs; and our skunk smells sweet to God.

‘For He grasps the pale Created by some thousand vital handles,
Till a Godshine, bluely winnowed through the sieve of thunderstorms,
Shimmers up the non-existent round the churning feet of angels;
And the atoms of that glory may be seraphs, being worms.

‘Friends, your nature underlies us and your pulses overplay us;
Ye, with social sores unbandaged, can ye sing right and steer wrong?
For the transient cosmic, rooted in imperishable chaos,
Must be kneaded into drastics as material for a song.

‘Eyes once purged from homebred vapours through humanitarian passion
See that monochrome a despot through a democratic prism;
Hands that rip the soul up, reeking from divine evisceration,
Not with priestlike oil anoint him, but a stronger- smelling chrism.

‘Pass, O poet, retransfigured! God, the psychometric rhapsode,
Fills with fiery rhythms the silence, stings the dark with stars that blink;
All eternities hang round him like an old man’s clothes collapsed,
While he makes his mundane music — AND HE WILL NOT STOP, I THINK.’

HTML edition by Ray Davis, free for any use