Kerri Connor's Blog

 Keeping up on a blog hasn't been easy. 

I have let life get in the way, way too much as of late. 

2023 was a year of loss for me, without getting into too many details, we will just say there was loss all around, some of it the worst I've experienced. I hear this year is supposed to be better for an Aquarius such as myself, and so I'm hoping that will be the case. 

I've been doing a lot of thinking about so many things, that I haven't been able to focus on what needs to get done first. Pulled in too many directions too many times. 

That being said, I am halfway through a manuscript due in a month. It's turning out way longer than I expected and this may need to lead to some changes, I don't know. Will know more on that in a couple months after it goes through its first read through with the editors. 

I will also be leading a workshop this year at Witch Con in mid February, so I need to finish up deets on that. 

After the class, it's back to finishing up the current manuscript with Llewellyn. 

By mid spring, I hope to get back to doing what I have been longing for and putting off repeatedly - some fiction, along with working on my autobiography.  

I've been worried in the past about not having a title under contract. I'm done worrying.

I am a writer, and so I will write. 

No contract required.

When she said he wasn't the same person he used to be, my heart broke for her.

When she said he was the best man she had been involved with, my heart broke for her.

When she claimed she "wore the pants" in the relationship, my heart broke for her.

When she said he would never treat her that way, my heart broke for her.

When she said he said it never happened, my heart broke for her.

When she said he claimed he "never laid a hand on you", my heart broke for her.

Every word she said, my heart broke for her, because I had said them all too. 

 This May, I am participating a fundraiser for the American Cancer Society and would love your support!

My goal is to raise $10 a day throughout the month of May as I work on two different writing projects.  

As a breast cancer survivor (and lifelong cancer patient), this is important to me. As someone who has lost family and friends to cancer, and is watching friends suffer from it today, I know some of what patients and families go through. Although I run The Gathering Grove and usually ask for donations or support for them, for May, I will be throwing my support behind this fundraiser and hope you will join me. 

The fundraiser requires me to write a minimum of 30 minutes a day, though I plan to do more than that! The two projects I will be working on are my autobiography, and a title under contract with Llewellyn. I will refer to these projects as "My Life" and "420WW", and post my word counts. 

To go along with the "My Life" manuscript, I have a Spotify Playlist Soundtrack of My Life. 

When I am working on 420WW I often listen to one of my other playlists to help get me in tune when I am writing about a time of year which is different from the current one I am experiencing. There is a playlist for each sabbat and they can be found on my main Spotify profile.  Following my playlists are a free and easy way to show your support, and you get to check out all kinds of music. 

I hope you will join me for the month of May, your support is greatly appreciated!

Thank you!

   

I have copies of Conjuring with Cannabis now available on my etsy page!

     Already hard at work, not only on the writing but also on additional research tasks. I have a large stack of case file numbers to pull details on, been going through photo albums and realizing how badly I should digitize all the pics. Some are so glued down to the photo album, they aren't ever coming out. I have taken some photos of them as they turn out better than if I use my scanner which we are till trying to figure out how old it is.... None of us can remember the last time I bought a printer, so It must be about a decade. 

In other news, I have a proposal going into a meeting next week, some more proposals going out Sunday, and we are getting closer to a cover reveal for The Weed Witch's Journal!!!!!

Lots of calls for bad weather all over the country today, stay safe and be blessed!

I have this massive power surge going on, and I will credit part of it to what little I know of astrology. Pluto recently transitioned into Aquarius. I am an Aquarius. Death and rebirth have been themes my entire life. It's why I chose to walk the path I did (if it really was a choice.) Perhaps someone who knows more about this transition could explain it more.


That all being said, something I never EVER have done before is asked people to read things as I was writing them. In fact, I dread it. I don't even know why exactly because it wasn't always a problem, my brain hasn't let me pinpoint yet when it did become a problem, so that is a work in progress, as we all are.

But I don't know who crawled into my body today, but they are energized and enthusiastic to say along with me, "WTF, let's switch this shit up." (Yes, they swear just as much as I do.) 

 

Because music is so important to me, I decided (or whatever guide is sitting on my shoulder) a playlist to accompany and grow with my work would be fun. That play list can be found here: The Journey of My Autobiography

Also to switch things up a bit, I finished up the current introduction, and decided to post it here. I welcome you to join me on this journey. 

Thank you!

                Introduction

When I announced on social media I was finally going to start writing my autobiography, one of my friends who I have known for a couple of decades replied, “Oh I can't WAIT to see how you're gonna organize THIS shit!”

One might think in an autobiography chronological order would make the most sense, but when you notice all caps in “this” and the word choice of “shit”, it does give you some insight as to what you will find in the pages before you. My response to her said, “by swear words? Fuckers, Hell, Shit to deal with?” At this point I am still undecided but that is why I wanted to write a true introduction first. You are here to take this journey with me as I figure it all out along the way.

In my very first sentence of this introduction, I said I was “finally” going to start. I am currently 53 years old. Some people have written autobiographies much younger, some much later. Many of those people are also incredibly famous. I am not. I am a writer yes, and successful to my satisfaction at this point, but I am not the Stephen King I had dreamed of back when I was 12 years old reading The Shining at night with a flashlight under my bed covers.  That’s OK, our perspectives change as we grow, but one that has always remained was my desire to write.

Some of my earliest memories revolve around a manual typewriter. From banging on those keys, to a crayon, then pencil, onto a pen, several models of electric typewriters, finished off with dozens of computers constantly upgraded, and here I still am, using these tools to get out what is inside of me. I know now, it became my outlet before I could even spell.

In 1997, Ewan McGregor and Cameron Diaz starred in a film called A Life Less Ordinary. The premise is basically about a desperate man with a completely utterly boring life who gets fired and as revenge, kidnaps his boss’s daughter. Everything that happens to them after that is pretty much completely insane, off the wall, totally unbelievably and involves angels trying to kill them.

Now, I’m not going to lie and claim my life is just like this movie, because that would be ridiculous, but I can honestly say my life has, at times, mirrored the same chaotic devastation and joy; and there has been plenty of interaction with spirits from the other side. Through all the hoopla, the movie still has time for a great song and dance number. For me, life should always be a musical, meaning I will create a playlist for my life to go along with the book.

I have been told literally for decades already; I should write an autobiography, and the reasons why, well it will take an entire autobiography to explain why. While I am a semi typical genx liberal woman, I have had an incredible amount of atypical experiences in my life. The main reason I have pushed off even attempting what I know is about to be a colossal undertaking, is how incredibly unbelievable my life has been in so many ways.  When I say, I couldn’t make this shit up, I mean I really couldn’t make this up. I’m not that creative. Quite honestly, I wouldn’t be able to be so downright damn cruel to my main character either.

This book is going to be filled with lots of triggering trauma. It’s still triggering me as I write it, so know going in this may not be for you. I grew up thinking all this trauma was a normal part of life. It wasn’t until I was much older, (the pandemic era was a huge eye-opening time) that I realized just how subjective “normal” is. Yes, the trauma was a normal part of my life, but it wasn’t supposed to be.  Oops, who knew? Not me. Once life slowed down and I was no longer under constant stress and unable to do things non-stop, the gates opened and the flood came crashing through. From being molested as a youngling, to the early death of my mother, to decades of physical and sexual abuse, to an opioid addiction, followed by early onset breast cancer and a life-threatening infection, shit started catching up with me once there was no place left to run.  

While all of this may seem like a lot to deal with, these are only the highlights from the mundane areas of my life. My spiritual path is a completely different journey interwoven throughout. From a 16-year-old girl with a Ouija Board to the leader of The Gathering Grove, a 501 (C) (3) pagan foundation, and the author of several spiritual books, I’ve come a long way.

I invite you to get comfy and settle in while we begin this journey together.

Catch ya on the flip side.

 

 

The first time I saw my first husband, I was 18 years old and attending a nearby college as a freshman.  He walked out of an office, glanced over all the students waiting in the hallway, and then walked down the stairs.

                I said to my friend sitting next to me, “I’m going to marry him.”

                Six months later, I did.

                They say hindsight is 20/20 and now, 35 years later, as I look back at that relationship and analyze it according to today’s standards; let’s just say wow, my mind is blown.

                There was no such thing as a “red flag” back in the 80s when the “boys will be boys” sentiment was strong and the rule of law. What men did wasn’t to be questioned, and if by some chance anyone dared, the man was right and the woman wrong. It didn’t matter what the case may be.

                Now however, I realize my first husband could have outfitted an entire armada with the number of red flags I either missed, or simply was expected to accept. Not only from him, but from his family too.

                When I first met him, it was made clear right away we were not from the same financial class. His parent’s home was twice the size and value of the home my parent’s owned. My dad drove a used van to get to work. His father drove a brand-new Cadillac. My father was in the carpenter’s union most of his life. His father was white-collar.

                When we were young and dating, I had assumed most of the differences between us and how we saw things came down to money, he was used to having it, I was not. His own sister used to say she and her sister were born with a silver spoon in their mouths, but their brother was also spoon fed.  Their father had traveled a lot when they were younger, but by the time the boy in the family came along, dad was home to stay and to raise his little man how he saw fit.I knew we had plenty of differences in our upraising, but as a young, naive woman, I thought love would conquer all our issues. Boy, was I wrong.

                While there had been a few small hiccups during the first three months of our relationship, I was in no way prepared for what he would drop on me one night while we had friends over for a study session. We had broken into couples and were working in his room while 2 of our friends and classmates who were also seeing each other were upstairs quite literally playing with an old-fashioned toilet with the tank overhead.

                After three months of dating, and yes – there had been plenty of talk about marriage at this point. Alex sat me down on the bed and told me he had something important to tell me and that I wasn’t going to like it. He continued to tell me he had been bothered about something for a while and had spoken with his sister Noelle who told him he needed to come clean with me. I have to admit, at the time I was nervous and afraid, I had no idea what could be so important that he was acting the way he was. What I never expected him to say, was that he was 16. It didn’t make any sense. He couldn’t possibly be 16. He was in college. He was 6 foot 2 inches and 195 pounds. He wasn’t a scrawny little 16-year-old. I didn’t believe him. I thought it was a sick joke, and one that didn’t make any sense. I was 18. There was no way he was only 16. He sure didn’t act like other people I had known at 16. So, I asked for his driver’s license, and he proved he was only 16. His 17th birthday would be a week before my 19thbirthday. 

After some yelling, our friends came down to find out what was going on. When I explained, even more surprising was when our friend Marc, responded that it meant he was still the youngest in the school. The guy was sporting a full beard to hide the fact he was only 15!

How does this happen? Through college early entrance programs and skipping grades. Alex had started school as a child in Germany when his family had lived there. When they moved back to America, because Germany started their children in school at a younger age, he was younger than his classmates. After getting kicked out of a couple of high schools, he went to the college on the early entrance program which would then allow him to automatically graduate high school after finishing his first year at the college. Marc, on the other hand, was a bit of a genius and had skipped grades at two different times in his schooling and entered the college on the early entrance program too.

His parents were sure to let me know they were OK with our age difference, and they knew that we were going to be married someday in the future, so they were cool with our relationship. At the time, I thought that was great, I thought they were being supportive of us. It wasn’t until much later I wondered why would they be ok with that. Their answer generally had something to do with “knowing true love” when they saw it, so I hadn’t thought too deeply on the subject. They were confirming what I wanted to hear. Our love was special. We would beat the odds. Red Flag.

This whole situation should have raised enough red flags alone for me to run. He had lied for 3 months about his age, and then to learn more about the trouble he had caused at the schools to no longer be at them, also let me know he had a bad, and often violent temper.  Of course, I never once thought it would be used against me. Why would I?

 It was two weeks later when I saw the first sampling of his temper myself. After getting into an argument over the phone, he drove to my house to argue with me some more. Before he left in a huff, he picked up a vase of flowers he had given to me and threw it across the room smashing it against the wall. Instead of being afraid of his violent nature, I was afraid it was over.  Red flag again.

It didn’t take us long to get back together, and things got much better for quite a while. At one point his father had decided he wanted Alex to go to a military school, and so he did. It was a terrible experience for all of us, his mother, father, and sister included. No one liked him being a couple of hours away with only certain times of being able to talk on the phone or come home for visits. He was on the hockey team, so we saw each other at games, but it was a lousy situation.

Now would also be a good time to point out one other little tidbit. At about 5 am Christmas morning, Alex asked me to marry him, complete with engagement ring. We were no longer just “dating”. We were engaged. In our state, a 17-year-old could get married with parental consent. When Alex had come home from school for Christmas and proposed, he had asked his parents if they would give consent so we could be married over spring break. His father said no, not yet.

After Christmas Alex went back to school and things got worse. Two of his classmates attempted suicide within 24 hours of one another. Alex stopping the second one from succeeding. It was too much for him. His father, whom I eventually realized had all kinds of plans for Alex’s life, regardless of what Alex thought, finally said it was up to us to decide what to do. If we decided he was done, his parents would support the decision. Alex quit school and came home at the end of January.

While Alex had been away at school, his parents had allowed me to move in with them. They claimed they loved to have me there. They were 110% supportive of our relationship, often when no one else was. My parents were completely unsupportive of the relationship, but this wasn’t surprising. We didn’t have a good relationship then and they hadn’t been supportive of anything I had done for quite some time. I should have seen this as another red flag, but at the time, I saw it as at least his parents wanted us to be happy.

Once we were both at home and living in his parent’s house together, his mother would occasionally complain that she didn’t like us sleeping in the same bed. One of his sister’s was out of the country, so her room was available for me to sleep in, but it turned out Alex had other ideas in mind.

On Alex’s 17th birthday, February 3rd, the family went to a restaurant for dinner together. I was surprised when Alex asked his father to ride home with us because he wanted to talk to him about something. I was even more surprised, and quite embarrassed when Alex pointed out to his dad that we were going to get married someday and that it was silly for me to have to sleep in a separate room two floors away. His father responded that it upset his mother that we weren’t married yet and sleeping in the same bed; however, they would be more than happy to give their consent for us to get married now.

We drove back home and went to our room to talk things over while his father spoke to his mother. We all met back up in the family room to discuss it. His parents had a few “rules” we would have to follow for them to give consent for him to marry. The number one rule was simply, we had to hand over all of our bills for them to pay off so we could go into our marriage debt free.

Yes, I really just typed that, and you really just read it. There were only two conditions put on our wedding, the first being they would pay off all of our bills, and the second was that there was enough champagne at our reception for everyone to have their own bottle.

We were young and going into a marriage absolutely debt free. Who could imagine anything better? That itself should be a red flag that there was a red flag! His parents were not only willing to let him get married at 17, they were willing to pay off our debts, and mine included my car. I sincerely thought these people must be the nicest people in the world. How did I get so lucky to have in laws that were willing to help us out so much. It would take years before I would see things closer to the truth.

Three weeks after his 17thbirthday, and 2 weeks after my 19th birthday, we were married in a small ceremony held in his parent’s family room. My parents did actually attend the ceremony though my father had threatened not to come when I first told them.

Before we got married, I repeatedly questioned whether we should wait or not. At the time, I fully believed in marriage, and marrying once person you would stay with the rest of your life. All my family had done the same. The only reason I had a stepmother was because my biological mother had died when I was 8. (This marriage was also ‘til death, this time my father’s.) Divorce was not an option. We had to be sure. He convinced me he was. His family convinced me he was ready.

Not long after we were married, more flags I missed at the time popped up. His father was drinking heavily daily. His mother was excited to be helping us find a place of our own. She had decided that while his father wanted all of our bills paid before the marriage, since we didn’t have a home of our own, that would be her department. While we fell in love with a great house with a giant picture window and reading nook, it was just around the corner and we knew his mother would stop by frequently if we were that close. Like daily, at 6 am. We eventually chose a house about half an hour away from his parents. His mother put in the bid, and we began packing to move to our new home.

During this time, his father again had made his plans for Alex known. Alex was working as a teller at a bank, that his father was considering buying. The plan was to buy the bank and have Alex work his way up to someday be president.  While I was allowed to do what I wanted with my life, it was made quite clear that since one of us would need to work to help pay bills while the other was in school, I was to take the first shift so Alex could get an education. Once he graduated college, then it would be my turn to go to school for what I wanted. Red flag.

Alex got fired from the bank and we never made it into our new house. Instead of getting ready to pack up and start our new life together in our new home, I found him rolling around on the floor with the girl who was visiting her aunt and uncle next door. Red flag.

At this point, things spun completely out of control. When the neighbor girl called and I refused to give him the phone, he punched me in the stomach. After I fell to my knees, he began choking me, so I dug my nails into the skin of his testicles until they bled. This was by far not the last time he was violent with me. I moved out the next day.

Alex had left to go on a date with the girl while I was in our room packing. His mother came in and sat down on the bed next to me, visibly shaken. I knew she was disappointed in how her son had acted. She was so nervous, and at the same time, she seemed to be off in another world, disconnected, yet she was shaking. She held in her hands several thousand dollars, all in hundred-dollar bills. She began talking and handing them to me one at a time. She wasn’t counting, just talking about how she was so sorry this had happened. The more she talked, the more $100 bills she peeled off the stack and set onto the stack in front of me.  She gave me enough money to get me into an apartment and pay for a few months of rent.  (Alex would later break into my apartment on several occasions.) I thought she had done it out of the kindness of her heart and her love for me. I’m not saying she isn’t kind, and that she didn’t do it for me, but for years I didn’t see the full truth of her actions.

Out of the blue one day, several years after our divorce, some of Alex’s words came back to me. I recalled an incident he had described to me about a former girlfriend who had cheated on him and how Alex had put the guy’s head through the windshield of the guy’s car when he found out. His father had paid for the damages and then some, so no charges against Alex were filed. This voice coming back to me, brought plenty of insight with it. The behavior of his mother handing me $100 bill after $100 bill, wasn’t about getting me a safe place to stay. She hadn’t done it only out of the goodness of her heart. She was doing what she had always done before. When Alex messed up, they threw money at the problem until the problem went away. I had become the problem, and they needed me to go away. She was cleaning up the mess and sweeping it under the rug.

Had they really supported our relationship to begin with? As a parent, and now grandparent myself, I can not imagine encouraging a 17-year-old to get married. In fact, now I find it to be completely insane. Why would anyone do that? Ever?”. I had been completely and utterly naïve when I was 19. They weren’t supporting our relationship, they were ensuring their golden boy received everything he wanted, no matter what it was – even when what he wanted was an actual living, breathing person with her own thoughts and feelings. He was another young man who was handed everything he wanted and never taught the true meaning of the word, “No

“No,” meant “bug me more”, “ask me later”, or “convince me to say yes”. But it had never meant,” No”. I hadn’t stood a chance in a relationship where all the cards had already been planned out and stacked against me. He was never going to be the problem because he had been taught his whole life, he wasn’t the problem. His parents bought his way out of trouble. A donation here and there, whatever was needed to not only cover up his actions, but to ensure he never accepted any consequences for them.

It should have come as no surprise when a few years after our 6-month marriage ended, he was arrested on burglary charges. He had never been taught to respect other people, much less their property. He had been taught to simply take what he wanted. His wants and needs were more important than anyone else’s partly simply because of the fact he was a privileged boy. Later on in his life, his violent ways caught up with him with an arrest after beating a man senseless for calling his girlfriend a cunt – something he had called me repeatedly in my life. (Trust me the hypocrisy isn’t lost.)

I eventually learned the real reason his parents were so willing to allow him to marry; they had finally seen a change in him when we started dating. They had told me several times I was good for him, but the full truth of the matter was only revealed to me 20 years later from his former best friend, Ed. Ed had known the truth all along as Alex had repeatedly confided in him. When Ed found out the marriage was suddenly happening, he came to the house to try to tell me the truth about what was going on but Alex turned him away and ensured the doors were locked during the ceremony so Ed couldn’t interrupt the proceedings.  Ed later thought I learned the truth when Alex and I had divorced but it wasn’t until he told me himself decades later. While people had joked about me being a “trophy wife” when Alex and I married, I was shocked to learn how accurate that descriptor was. They had allowed us to get married because his drug tests were turning out clean. He won a gold star for his good behavior, and I was it. I had no idea his parents had him doing drug tests, though I knew he had failed one while at the military school. Everything I had been told about that was also a lie. I was told he had been caught with weed in his system. Nope, it was cocaine. His parents had been testing him for cocaine and once he started seeing me, his use cut down considerably. He had told me he had used before, but claimed it was all in the past and he hadn’t for a long time. More lies. They let him replace one addiction with another - me, until he got tired of that one too. They had thought I was going to fix the things broken inside of their son. When, in their eyes, I failed, they were more than willing to pay me to go away as they had the rest of his problems.

My dreams instantly turned to nightmares, because of the selfish narcissism of others, and my own naivete. While they moved on with their lives with no concern for the damage they had done, I soon found myself in another abusive marriage, this time with an alcoholic.  I spent so much time jumping from trauma to trauma, it took a long time to start healing, with still away to go. I went from the trauma of an abusive upbringing to the trauma of abusive marriages.

Now, when I look back, I can’t help but feel a variety of mixed emotions, with anger still real close to the top.  It still sickens me and quite literally makes my stomach churn. I was blinded seeing only what I wanted to see, and never expected the truth of what was going on. The pain of being used and discarded is one thing, but when I realize how much I had lost, and trust me – I lost a lot in the relationship, it still hurts. I lost my naivete. Oh boy, did I ever. I lost the ability to trust pretty much everyone.  I lost the chance at a lifelong, one and only, happy marriage and family. I lost a child. I lost even more self-esteem.

What hurt the most to realize was he and his family went into the marriage with a lot of information I didn’t have, and they had actively worked to prevent me from finding it out.  Not only had I been lied to and gaslit by him, but it was also a family affair, and by adults who should have known better, but simply didn’t care. Instead of putting their son into rehab where he may have gotten some actual help, they knowingly married him off to a 19-year-old girl for staying clean for a few months. I was his trophy for a job well done. Besides, having a married 17-year-old was far more appealing than having a son in rehab, and not near as embarrassing.

It is still difficult for me to believe any parents would ever allow this to happen, much less encourage it so much. It’s even more difficult for me to comprehend I was that 19-year-old girl who was already damaged, and on her way to take on so much more abuse. I’m not that naïve little girl anymore. As a young child, I was taught to be a quiet victim. Now, I am a grown woman, and I remember and recognize all the abuse I endured in my younger years.  

Most importantly, I understand it’s not my shame to bear.

 

 

 It's been almost a year since the beginning of quarantine. At this time last year, Covid was something that had the potential to become very dangerous. Little did we know at the time, my mother-in-law who had just passed away was most likely the first case in a nursing facility that was soon overrun. 

Two weeks after her funeral, I lost me sense of taste and smell for about 2 weeks. Strangest thing. I had been achy and tired. But couldn't eat at all. I lost weight quickly. Then suddenly, I could smell, taste and eat again. We didn't learn that was a symptom for several more weeks. 

On March 4th, I told my daughter it was time to pull my granddaughter out of her play group. By the next time the play group would have met, everything was closed and play group no longer existed. What started off as a "couple weeks" was never going to be just a couple weeks. Nor with the "science is false"crew, would a couple of months be enough to curb the Covid. We now know, a few years, and with any luck, we may have a hold on it. That is if we get enough vaccines out to enough people that the virus can't continue to mutate out of vaccine range. It's every bad movie come true. 

And here I sit. Day 341 since I gave up the life I used to have. I have been in a few different stores (none grocery and always masked), doctor's offices, an overnight at the hospital, and a few pick ups at the local theater and coffee shop. That's it. Otherwise, I am home. 

Over the summer, it wasn't that bad. I have a great backyard and spent plenty of time outside in it. But now that it winter and right now ZERO, going outside doesn't happen much. It's hard enough fighting the cold inside the house when it's this bad out. My old bones and joints simply can hack it anymore, and so inside I stay. 

I have learned a lot over these 341 days, a lot of it - sadly depressing. 

I have learned that about 30% of the American population have literally no empathy for their fellow humans. Covid has left literally no room for doubt when all people were asked to do was wear a mask and not go out if not necessary. The way I have seen these people act - it's downright evil. A lack of empathy, people simply wouldn't care, but for many of these people they literally do want to do harm to others. 

I learned that people will believe what they want to believe no matter what science, facts, common sense, or anything else has to say. Denial runs rampart in our society. There is a true belief that denial changes facts. 

I've learned that people who are incredibly unsure of themselves will look to others to tell them what to do. When they find someone willing to fulfill that role, they are happy and content. When they don't find that role where they expect to, they will recreate it elsewhere. 

I've learned (once again) that I still can be fooled by narcissists. Personally, this one hurts and I thought I had learned my lesson on this one several times over by now. But nope, still not there. 

I've also learned I am ready to move on with other parts of my life. The things I was waiting for are here. I've accomplished so much in this past year, and 2021 isn't going to be much different. More forward movement as The Gathering Grove goes through stages of paperwork to become a legal entity of its own. This also involves the adding in of far more events and  weekly classes. I just finished writing one book that will be released in 2022, and tomorrow I start writing a second one to come out in 2022. I still have a few other possibilities on the horizon.

Other projects I had wanted to work on before with collaborations have proved not so fruitful. Unfortunately, collaborations are only as good as those you collaborate with and I proved to make some poor choices in those departments. The CBD book I just finished writing was the only collaboration to work out. The children's book I was writing that was going to be submitted with illustrations, went out on its own after the illustrator flaked and never did anything. It's out in the ether now so hoping and waiting for a bite. 

The oracle deck I wanted to do, same thing, flaked illustrator. I definitely still want to do this and have other possibilities for this to happen so that will be up for discussion this year. 

At some point this year, I plan to get back into my fiction work and see if I can't get that piece moving along a bit. 

There is a lot to do, but of plenty of time to do it in. I'm learning how to adjust to this completely different life and settling in, but I can't way until the snow is gone and I can work outside again!

Tonight I'm going to try something I probably should have tried a while ago.

I'm going to listen to my body.

It's served me well me in the past, I don't know why I didn't think of it before.

It took me by my shoulders and shook me awake when it was time to detox from years of opiate prescriptions, and gave me the strength to do it.

It told me to get my ass to a doctor about some fluke scary dizzy spells that stopped the second I got my mammogram script in hand.

It's really been through a lot for me.

But lately, I stopped listening.

Until today.

I have not been able to sleep. Like forever. But generally I find different things that help for a while, and I have to alternate through different "therapies" to assist me in obtaining a 70 average FitBit Sleep Score.

Basically, I do sleep. I'm just not very good at it, nor can I do it for extended periods of time without a break.

Lately, my "therapies" haven't been helping. Nothing. Not individually, not combined together. Nothing is working.

I decided to check out this FitBit sleep technology a little bit more and realized just how many nights over the past month I wasn't falling asleep until 3am ish. Five hours each night I've been lying in my bed trying to sleep. Checking email. Playing a video game. Facebook. Toss and turn. Play with kitty. Smoke a bowl. Eat a piece of cheese. Smoke a bowl. Toss and turn. More cheese. Another bowl.

Over and over. More nights than not.

I'm giving up.

Tonight, instead of crawling into my bed and staring at the crystal moon hanging from my ceiling, and seeing how many levels of Matchington Manor I can squeeze in, I'm settling in for a night at my desk. The Aldi glass of blackberry Merlot and bowl of mini chocolate chip muffins, my sustenance for the evening, flicker in the candlelight which helps me see while my husband snores across the room sound asleep in bed. My favorite Pandora station playing in the background to cover the noise.

Tonight, instead of wasting my time, I will listen to my body and give my mind the activity it has decided to crave at odd hours of the night. I will get this blog written up fast, post it, share it, and then head back outside to smoke another bowl before buckling down for a night of editing on 420: Meditations. Edits are due this week so the countdown is on! 


I need to learn that I don't have to get up at 6:00 am anymore to go to work. I can go to work anytime I want to. I can take lunch when I want to. Breaks when I want to. I am not only my own boss, but my own person, with my own unique needs. Apparently, my needs right now involve a 3:00 am bedtime (and possibly a popcorn addiction).

Instead of fighting to get to sleep at 3:00 am, I am planning to go to sleep at 3:00 am, and in the process I believe I will find the quiet of the house at this hour, is precisely what my brain needs, not only to write, but to sort out all the jumbled pieces of life we are all experiencing right now.

I can complain that I'm not getting any sleep and fight with my body about it for 5 hours every night and then wake up feeling like crap and guilty that I "slept in" even though I only got 5 hours of sleep and be completely miserable or, I can change my viewpoint.  There's nothing wrong with me waking up at 10:00 am or even 11:00 am.  I can still go to sleep at 3:00 am AND get plenty of rest. I just have to listen to what my body is telling me, and then give it what it needs. Right now it needs permission to do it's own thing.

I'm good with that.


 

            The Goddess is all around me. I hear her on the as the wind-chimes call out their song. I hear her in songs of the birds and the rhythmic call of crickets at night. I hear her as trees sway and branches clash against one another.                 I see her as I look at the trees. Changing throughout the seasons to show rebirth as the aura of the trees appears with branches tipped with green and red buds. The full green maturity of summer – the mother aspect, followed by the spectacular show of colors that tells us aging is truly beautiful. Then, as the leaves fall, we know that while some things can never last, life itself is eternal, and after a much-deserved rest, life begins anew.                I see her in the ceremonial bonfire, demanding more wood to consume as she dances in the flickering flames reaching for the sky. She needs her sacrifices in order to reign.                 I see her in spring flowers bursting forth from the ground to provide colorful artwork to the world and lifesaving nectars for those in need.                I see her in the eye of the hummingbird who buzzes in my face to show appreciation for the feeders I keep well stocked for them.                I see her when the rabbits come out at twilight racing across the yard, ducking behind trees and rustling in tall grasses as they play a version of tag.                I see her in the opossums, raccoons, skunk and fox – all who come by to see what offerings I have left out for them.                I see her in the water of the pond as the ducks splash and preen, and I know that when needed she will refresh the pond with rain from the sky.                 Her creatures are as sacred as she is. They are her gifts, but also her children as we all are. Her creations – to honor and care for them, is to honor and care for her.                 I feel her as I walk the path of The Spiral Labyrinth. Turning inward walking to the center – a place of in between. A place of reflection and connection. A place of peace and rest. A place of guidance of love.                 I feel her in the plant she has given us. A plant that heals and comforts. A plant that delivers a direct line of contact to her when activated correctly.                A plant that has cleared my mind, fought off the pain of cancer, prevented me from a fallback to opioid dependency when an infection attempted to take my life.                The gift of cannabis has brought me closer to my deities and brought me to ones I had not worked with before.                It has opened my mind to see things from a very different point of view, from the point of view of my teacher – my Lady.                It was Bloudewedd who taught me how to step outside of my body and see with a truly objective eye.                It was Cerridwen who taught me knowledge is key to any situation – whether for love or war.                It was The Morrigan who taught me not every battle ends in bloodshed, but death is still imminent.                 It was Kali who taught me burning a destructive present opens opportunities for a more productive, generous, loving future.                 It was Aphrodite who taught me some loves are eternal. Others are not.                 Each Goddess has her own lesson for me. Some have been simple – like a light being turned on. Others are more difficult. Deeper. Darker. 

                All have a lesson I must learn in this carnation.                When I awake in the morning, the Goddess is with me. At night in my bed, she watches over me. She sends whichever incarnation she knows I need at the time.                 I walk upon her grounds, moss between my toes, branches overhead. An unexpected wind gently picks up and wraps me in a warm embrace. A sudden scent announces the arrival of who has come. Bloudewedd steps forth in a floral burst. The Morrigan arrives with a musky, earthy, scent – sprinkled with the sweetness of blood. Cerridwen comes to me in patchouli and lavender – an old friend to set the mind at ease.                I feel their touch.                Their reassurance.                Their acceptance.                And I know, everything in the end, will be as it should be.

I was just falling out of the routine of going to my old Barnes & Noble job, and starting my routine of "Hey, I'm a writer now", when the Corona Virus crap really hit the fan. Like most people, I was thrown for a loop. Unlike many people, I didn't have a job to get up and go to, to get me out of the house and away from hearing what I had known in my heart was coming for months now.

Change happens, no matter if we deny it, or try to stop it. It happens. And while I know that over the next several months, we will see several massive changes -we need to see so much more. Changes that fix our broken system so that it works not only in nationally emergencies, but in every person's private emergencies as well.

That being said, the changes that come about months and years from now are beginning to form now. They are ideas, thoughts and feelings, and they will be nurtured and grown over the coming days.

While those changes are progressing, we need to fall back on some of our good habits to help us feel a bit "normal"


One thing I am going to "renormalize" this week - getting my daily steps in. Stairs will wait another week to break my knees back in first!
I'm also "going back to work" tomorrow. This mess has made focus impossible, so instead I crawled into a few books and made progress on my Goodreads goal.
Tomorrow though I will be working on an article and a blog to be going along with the release of my book.
This release has not gone as planned obviously and I will just have to wait and see what happens with the tour. I imagine I will have to reschedule several book signings, but for now, just sitting back and letting nature take her course while I hide out in confinement.
I have not had contact with anyone but one friend who came by before Shelter in Place went into effect and my family for 12 days now. I did leave the house, but only to pick up and drop off the kids. I did not leave the car.
If my son goes back to work, I will have to run him back and forth, and hope he doesn't get exposed. At least having him home, I know how much the risk is cut down.
Since I won't be doing the launch party the way I had planned, I do have items I had planned to use as prizes that I will be giving out. I have several assignments to complete over the next few months, so as an incentive, each time I finish a project, I will do a give-away. That means tomorrow, I will go ahead and get back to work, and push to get something accomplished.
Feel free to send reminders that you are waiting. In other words, go ahead, bug me that free stuff would be great right about now, and I will work even faster!How are you finding your way into your new normal?