The queen of pents is water and earth combined, aka…clay. She has harvested the wild clay from the riverbank. She creates a vessel and she is the vessel. The hands of her experiences form its shape and fill it with her life- beautiful moments, memories, traumas, regrets, pleasures. Spinning, centering, on the wheel of life. Constant creation.

How long should grief last? When is it time to turn around and see that fifth cup, the ace of cups, waiting to regenerate you, to start something new and fresh? Isn’t it okay to wallow in sorrow for a while? Are we just sulking over spilled milk? Our loss is real and hard. How can anyone but you judge your own timeline of healing? Why should we judge how others are grieving? Who knows the sorrow they have swallowed?

On to a new gallery space…Are you the plumber, who will figure out exactly how much rent we can afford on a new space and the square footage and storage needs? Or will you be the poet, inspiring us with your brainstormed ideas of a combined gallery/bookstore/florist, a special maker space room and cafe counter, or doubling the member artist size and starting a non profit art center? …. our Page of swords is most definitely the poet! 

Life can be shitty and also beautiful. Sorrow and renewal coexist. I've had polarities thrown in my face so often lately I feel like a clown covered in pity whipped cream pie. I read somewhere that healing will come through releasing mental conflict, choosing peace over pride, and letting go of battles that are draining your energy. You don’t need to win every argument to feel better—you need to reclaim your peace.

I am both Jewish (father) and Catholic (mother) by ancestry. I have painted catholic altarpieces (OK, so they maaay have been Jim Henson as St Francis with all the animal Muppets below but it WAS gilded and Henson was making a benediction, Fozzy as well,  and Animal was eating his vestments hem)

in this darkening of the days, slowly, I am adding in the paintings I didn’t want to put in this blog, or the ones still un-moored by words. The last painting I finished was the page of cups. On my easel is the five of swords marching in circles of mental patterns. In the soft quiet of the earth getting ready for winter, I find I am systemically burnt out. Still the paintings call to me!

Sure,  it's all in my head. Is it any less real? Yes,  it is minor. It will pass. The grief will dim. My mother will die or go even more crazy in her home.  My niece will find love all around her. My nephew will get on a good medication. People will forgive each other,  or not. I control none of it with my mind.  I control all of it with my mind.  I open my eyes and chase away the nightmares, only to find I'm still dreaming…

How long ago did I paint myself as this elephant headed artist?? I used my grandmother's oil paint box, sticky inside with spilled varnish, linseed oil stained,  blue paint smears from the tubes of cerulean and Prussian blue she used to paint ocean waves in Cape May. I painted this elephant artist's self-portrait 15 years ago…

My good friend died last night, suddenly, and within twenty minutes of finding out the sad news, I got a text that read: "The biggest difference between money and time: you always know how much money you have, but you never know how much time you have."

It's time to listen to the message of your intuition. Listen, not with your mind, but with your heart and your gut. It's time to find the magic we stopped looking for. This gentle page of cups tells you to do what you need to do to go to the other side, to bring back what you find there and build something beautiful with it…

…the sphinx, with her wisdom of the cycles of life! What walks on four legs in the morning, two legs in the afternoon and three in the evening? So goes her riddle. You know the answer… What goes on hormone replacement therapy in the afternoon? What loses their parents, inevitably? What has their children move away into their own cycles? What has enlightenment in the eleventh hour?

… here I am,  deep in the ocean. It's dark but peaceful. I can sit with the king and share a cup of hot tea, and talk about the creatures and truths I see down there each day,  as I dive beneath the storm. His advice is always thoughtful though he often just listens. There is no separation between body, spirit, and mind,  he says. I am in the depths and I am the depths and I am also here drinking tea with you. 

The Empress is magic that dances hand in hand with science. She is the magic of creation, of inspiration and something from seemingly nothing. She is the science of Awe, that can be analyzed and recorded but that transports us beyond ourselves.  She gives us perspective. She shows us we are insignificant and we are magnificent. She is the sexy mother nursing twins. She is the breakthrough that happens in our unconscious when we are sleeping. She is an idea birthed and created and decayed and born again.

Ah, the minutiae of the fiscal bits and bobs of a person's life. Being a power of attorney for an old lady who squirreled away her money like the chipmunk in the four of coins, is not particularly my idea of a good time. My mother was money savvy, but also rather tight pocketed. She pushed her acorns into the ground and tucked them away in holes. Like the spring blue jay she then couldn't find them after a season passed….

You want to pull the lightning down
from the wild crackle of the universe
and pass it through yourself,
grounding yourself,
channeling it so all that energy
can light your community.
This is not about your individuation.
This is not about your trauma,
Or your psyche.
This is not about you!
You are only the leader.
You are the conduit.

Where did we get our passion, our fire? Myths around the world tell us how fire was stolen and brought to man. In SouthAfrica, Ikaggen the mantis steals fire from an ostrich. The Mazatec of Mexico tell of a fire stealing possum. The  Algonquins, native Americans, say it was a rabbit. The Australians talk of a crow who stole the fire. And we all know about Prometheus, who stole fire from the gods to give to us. Did you know his name literally means 'forethought'?

Do I need to put up more emotional barriers or take them down? The answer is yes. Do I need to let go of my discontent or is it what drives me? The answer is yes. Should I look for that fourth cup or am I too overwhelmed with the three? The answer is yes. Should I break out of my box or is it a good safe place to retreat to when the emotions are too intense? And again...the answer is yes. Sigh.

My lifes theme, these last few months, has been bees. We had two hives, but one persnickety hive kept making little queens who would swarm at inopportune times, and now we have four. Some swarms ended up too far and too high to retrieve and I imagine we are gifting them to other gardens. When possible…

from about 1st century A.D…. An angel has the hots for Isis and wants to get down and dirty with her but she's like, "no way angel, not until you offer up the secrets of alchemy". And she/he's like "no, no I can't, it's so secret", but she's such a hottie, so she/he gives in. Angel and Goddess porn commences. And the alchemical secret is this: The farmer works the wheat field and gets wheat, the Stone mason works the query and gets stone. What you put in is what you get out.

…the walking palms. They put down roots in the direction of the sun and pull up the ones in the shade, slowly moving forward, expanding over time, literally walking, albeit slowly. Moving while rooted…