Wild Woman Cafe

The beginning of the Dark Moon is only a day away. The phase of the Dark Moon is essentially the few days before the moon has waned itself empty and dark in the sky. Those from the earth religions see it as a time of deep power, a time of intuition, testing, and communion. For many women, this is a time when the womb also empties itself. A time of retreat and introspection. * The week of the Dark Moon, I am again my bear self for a few days. In this shapeshifting experience I lose sense of my humanity, shred by shred. It is a strange, painful, and enlightening metamorphosis. Like a neophyte in the desert mountains of old Mexico, having taken my dose of peyote for the journey inward, I am filled with body-wretching sickness while another form of vision takes hold. It is psychotic, agressive, and raw, but also deeply knowing and wise. In old times, women stayed apart from regular community activities during the Dark Moon; their power was considered to be too overwhelming during this time...

There are many times, especially when I'm alone, when I think I am hearing things that in fact aren't those things at all. Last night as I lay curled up in bed with my cats, reading the last few chapters of my book for that evening, I suddenly thought I heard something resembling an Aboriginal drum ceremony going on. I heard the drums and the high-pitched cries so distinctly that I actually sat up straight to listen more carefully. As soon as I had done so, I realized that this audio tribal symphony was just the washer banging around with its redundant thumping wish-wash rhythm. As per my last post, I have a fantastic palate of imagination, and so I am never too surprised at my mind's capacity to tranform the mundane. Perhaps my Aboriginal ancestors would even have considered me a visionary? * Okay, I agree, that is taking it a bit too far. * Although all stimuli that we come into contact with is delicately sifted and garnished with our own special processing flavor, not ev...

I had an Eagles flashback today. Not the majestic, bald, feathered kind, but a shake-your-bootie, pass-the-doobie 70's band consisting of guys with afro's, handlebar moustaches, and bell-bottom denims. And along with all these images of hair and denim flashing before me, are memories of my childhood aboard my stepfather's commercial fishing boat. In my patchwork of memories, there he is at the boat's helm: my stepfather. His own curly 'fro having taken on a life of its own and his month long facial overgrowth providing the finishing touches of what appears to be the grisly portrait of a madman. Cigarette hanging out one side of his mouth, the  Eagles blaring "Take it Easy", he swings the wheel a little to the right, then a little to the left, eyes scanning the horizon as we cruise the high seas in search of the big catch.  Don't ask me what we were fishing for. Salmon? Cod? I do remember some pickled herring sitting out on the balcony at h...

According to the Celts, October 31st marks the end of the calendar year. The harvest is reaped and stored, and the cycle of death descends on us as we make the transition into the cold dark clutches of winter. The transition between the old and new on the eve of the 31st is, as the Celts believed, when the boundaries between the living and the dead are blurred, and communication between the two worlds is possible. The Celts celebrated this time as 'Samhain', translated from Gaelic as "end of summer". * Though the veil between the worlds is said to be thin during this time, allowing for easy cross-over, I have never personally seen any ghosts or received any messages from them. Not on Samhain. * But I have indeed received my fair share of visitations. * One day in the early autumn of 1999 I was treeplanting on an old cutblock on Vancouver Island. The long, tiring season had left me bruised and listless, and I plodded along amidst the last remaining heat of the season i...

I was blessed today to spend a few hours with a good friend over chai lattes, sitting behind the glass of the coffee shop window watching the first snow of autumn. We watched hooded people come and go along the sidewalk while the wind twisted and twirled in jackets of white flakes like a thousand invisible dancers. I don't know what it is about snow that I love so much, but it feels so final and concilatory, like nature tucking you in under the blanket, lulling everything into a peaceful white silence. Soft and forgiving as feathers. Good memories from my childhood are blanketed in snow. Many of them involve visiting my grandparents in their home on Vancouver Island at Christmas, amidst the farms and forests. Excitement would mount as we pulled up the steep wooded driveway of their property under the thick canopy of cedar and fir, the view of chimney smoke puffing away on a whispy wind while warm lights shone like beacons from within. As we climbed the wooden steps to the house,...

The past days of our visit to Florence have added the finishing touches to what I would likely call a maximum saturation point. We have spent nearly a month viewing thousands of years old art and ruins, digesting all forms of pasta and its accoutrement, climbed to the top of St. Peter's Basilica at the Vatican (which deserves a whole Blog to itself, such a journey it was), drifted through oceans of tourists through ancient cobbled streets, taken almost 1,000 pictures, wet our feet in the Mediterranean, ridden water taxis through Venice, baked in the Tuscan Sun, and on it goes. There is nothing more that I can see or do that can impress me more than I have been impressed. * This morning's visit to the Galleria dell'Accademia actually revealed to me that there was one thing that could actually blow my mind after all the grandiose visions of our journey. As we slowly trickled into the museum with the thickening morning crowd, there stood glowing at the end of the gallery Miche...

Well folks, here I am in the Tuscan Chianti region, living a virtual Italian version of the Martha Stewart Wonderland. We have arrived to a three-story villa restored from a 16th century castle, overlooking vineyards and surrounded by Romanesque lounging pools and pathways bordered with giant lavender and rosemary. It is incredibly peaceful and serene. I have pinched myself several times in disbelief, but appear to be conscious. * Tomorrow we look forward to a little exploration. But today, so far, we have holed up in our little piece of paradise, doing laundry, cooking for ourselves, and journeying from marbled shower to bed, and back again. We have had a pretty active vacation so far and I welcome some solace. After our bustling tours of Paris, Venice, and Rome, we spent some time on the West coast, visiting Positano and Pompeii, then bounced back up to Florence where we picked up our car. Since Florence we have taken our excursion into the Tuscan countryside at an easier pace, visit...