Thursday, 24th of March, 2016
Kaypacha was talking a lot about Chiron this morning on his weekly Pele Report, and I was wondering how and where my soul healing would land. You know the planetary shifts are going to effect you in one way or another, but exactly how, will always be individual. It was of no surprise, that by mid morning, I was sitting at a large pile of childhood photographs. “Oh dear, it is going to be a big few days.” I thought to myself. I had not looked at my childhood photos for a long time, because, well, they can make me sad. I had brought the white box up from the basement a few weeks ago, and it made sense now, that I had been waiting for this perfect cosmic moment to open Pandora’s box. “Now, now Kirsten,” I pacified myself, just take a big deep breath, you can do it. The letter to Courtney had inspired me, and I felt like looking for my newspaper clippings – to make sure I actually still had them. A few other print and press golden nuggets turned up too, and a very quirky employment reference from the time I worked at Raven Radio KCAW in Sitka, Alaska. After about an hour, of leafing through the photos, a few things came to the surface. I had put myself in the position to work out where I needed healing, and this box of memorabilia did the trick. In this sort of scenario, it does not even have to be an overly thought out exploration. Things will just present themselves, because they are supposed to. What will be, will be, you just have to be willing to accept your messages from the universe.
My girls are usually involved in the divinity, and I don’t need to explain to you the magic of children and childhood. Your children are your gift. When all the photos were packed up, and the lid was back on the box, one photo was still out of the box because Elle was hanging onto it. That photo then became the conversation piece. “Who are you with in this photo?” Elle asked me, holding it up to her face. “Oh, that isn’t me,”I said, “Well I am in the photo, but I am the baby with Aunt Shannon.” Elle studied the photo a little more, “But it looks so much like you!” She said, “How old was she when she died?” Elle asked. “Seventeen,” I replied.
I took the photo from her hand and I looked at it very briefly, but very closely. Some things can be so intense. We were very similar and in the photo she was wearing her hair in a style that I also wear with the braids up and over the top of the head. Shannon was much more beautiful than me though, her soul was softer and lighter. Then instead of putting the photo back in the box, I sat it on my bedside table. “That is a special photo.” I thought to myself. I knew then and there, that photo was going to be one of my healing keys. It was going to be a big one though, and something else had also come up, and I wanted to address that first.
The basement of our house is a very important place for me to think. I like to go to the basement for meditation in the form of doing the laundry. It is repetitive handwork, and my mind just loves that time alone to be. Sometimes Elle will come down to help, but mostly, it is my domain. The esoteric scientist in me likes being underground, it is cold and dark, deep in the soil and being with all of the water pipes is a good for my flow. Our basement is rough, and I am ok with it that way. For all my perfectionism, I am actually a pretty simple person. It is humble days when one goes to the basement to be by the water pipes for clarity, but there is clarity to be found by being in or by water, and over and over, I know, the basement works for me. One day I will happily trade it for a beach or creek, but for now, my stinky damp basement is a thoughtful place.
I started pulling the dry clothes from the line into a laundry basket. Another thing that had come to the surface of my memorabilia box, was an old Tregeagle School report card. As I removed the socks from the clothesline, it struck me. “I remember the day I got that report card. That report card upset me!” The socks were all off the line and I had moved onto removing the undies. “It wasn’t even a bad report card.” I said to myself. “Well, it is just that it was not the very best I could have attained, nor was it the best in the class.” I said to myself. I really listened to this internal commentary about my school report card. I was remembering it all so clearly. My mother was very pleased with it, I had an A+ in math, and everyone was giving me lovely sentiment over my grades, and life should have indicated a feeling of pride, but I was upset I did not get straight A’s. I walked up the basement steps with the full laundry basket, switching off the light as I reached the top. With a very strong passionate inner vice I declared, “I hate report cards. I really hate them. They ruined my childhood.” I suppose I was being a bit dramatic, they did not ruin my childhood, but I had a very clear sense that I liked a world that exists without marking and grading all children on the same things, compared to one another. Then I thought to myself, “I should write an article for Lunch Lady Magazine about report cards. About how some children will get upset about their report cards, but won’t tell their parents. Or worse, some parents will get upset over their child’s report card.” When I entered the kitchen through the basement door, Cam simultaneously came into the kitchen through the dinning room door. As he took the full laundry basket from my arms I shared my thoughts with him. “I found an old school report card, and I remember when I got it and I how disappointed I was, and it made me feel sad.” I said. Cam was holding the laundry basket and then he inhaled himself up straight with a puffed up chest and a lifted chin. “I got straight A’s and I was the top of my class every time.” He said with some bravado and then he turned abruptly and left. I frowned my brow and scurried off behind him. “You know, I don’t believe you! I am going to ask Nanna about that!” I threatened. Cam stopped at the base of the steps. He was taking the laundry basket up to my room to fold. I stood looking at him with suspicion, and then the girls wanted to know what was going on. “Daddy thinks he got straight A’s and was the top of the class.” I said. Cam reiterated his intelligence to us all, “I was very bright in school and was always the top one, two, or three students.” Ahah! I thought, he is already revising his statement to be one of the top three, rather then THE top student! I must have been using my truth powers, because then he added, “But high school was a different story.” then he exited the scene up the stairs. I am pretty sure it was all the surfing and guitar playing that took his attention away from his studies. Cam has an inner folk singer…
The girls were sitting at the table working on their books. I picked up a piece of paper and I decided then and there I would do my Chiron healing. “I am going to write myself a new report card!” I declared. And then I proceeded to speak out loud…
Flower Crown Braiding: A
Natural Egg Dyer: A+
Leaf Cape Maker: A+ (definitely and A+ for that, maybe even A++.)
Pie Baker: A
Pattern Drafter and Sewer: A
Person Who keeps House Plants Alive: A+
My report card game started out nicely, I finally had straight A’s, but I was grasping at straws towards the end to work out just exactly what my skills are, and where else I shine, and so everyone started joining in. “Motherhood, C+” Maya said with a big cheeky grin. “What!” I said with mock disappointment. By this time Cam was back with us and he joined in teasing me too. “Oh, OK, you can have a B- for being a Mummy.” Then that was when something even better happened. Maya said, “What does C+ mean anyway?” and in unison Cam and I both said, “Nothing.”
The thing is though, we all know, it does mean something. Even when grading systems change, over and over, there is always a system, and whole lives revolve around it. It is all so arbitrary though. Can you believe in the past I was only interested, not very interested in Drama, Nature Science, and Music. I really think I am someone VERY very interested in these things. Anyway, that is in the past. I have my own report card now, and this is what my character report says:
“Kirsten is a conscientious crafter, who goes to great effort to use found and gathered materials, readily available in the immediate surroundings. With a strong environmental awareness, her skills with natural resources are impressive and her connection to mother earth is notable. We have also seen she is gifted in handling pastry, with her pies taking on a creative presence of their own. Kirsten shows great potential when she chooses to sew. We have been impressed by her talkative and loving nature towards her house plants. All round Kirsten is a pleasure to have in the home.”
I was feeling pleased with myself. Thank goodness, I am a succeeding after all. Finally, grades to be proud of.
Not long after this, our neighbor turned up with 30 years worth of National Geographic. She was cleaning out her house, and she likes to always offer us things. I usually say yes, because I know it helps her. Sometimes it makes it simpler for people to give something they need to get rid of to someone they know. Simultaneously, we were very happy and grateful for the National Geographic magazines, and when she came to the doorstep, she had one issue on top of the pile to show me. It was About Australia, and there was a woman, with two long braids, down to her waist. She wore a felt farmers hat, a pair of jeans, and Blundstones. One her hip was a baby of about two. The baby had its hand down the front of her button up cotton blouse holding the mother’s breast. “This reminds me of you.” she said, tapping her finger on the cover. “I held it in my hand and looked down. “Yes, that does look like me.” I said, feeling some nostalgia for both Australia and a hip held baby pulling on my nipple.
The girls started going through the magazine piles right away. There must be 100 magazines. Elle found one with a wolf on the cover and was very inspired. She ran to get a piece of paper to make bookmarks for her favorite pictures. Our neighbor returned with another pile and I looked on with delight as they were stacked up our living room wall. “Grandma has every national Geographic since 1947.” I said. “She collects them, and she has the indexes too, and when I was a girl, they were so precious I was not allowed to cut them up or even borrow them for school projects. I could l only look at them at her house. She kept every single one in the bookcase in order.” My neighbor listened and raised her eyebrow. “Well before the internet, these were like encyclopedias.” My neighbor said in response. I was glad my neighbor understood how precious they were to my Grandma, and me too. I have asked Grandma if I can inherit the National Geographic Collection. National Geographic are golden.
Elle made our neighbor three teensie tiny dogs out of bees wax, as a thank you present. They were golden too, beautiful golden beeswax.
The girls were immersed in the pages of National Geographic and I went up to my bedroom to take a snooze. Sitting on my beside table was the photo that had been left out of the box earlier and there I sat, holding the photo of Aunt Shannon in my hand for the second time that day. On the back of the photo, in my Grandmother’s hand writing, it said: Shannon and Kirsten at Evans Head Beach, Nov. 1976.
I was 8 months old, and she was 16, and not long after, she died. It was one of those tragedies, no family wishes for as part of their story. Two teenagers in love, driving to the beach on a gorgeous Summer day. It was a time when life turns upside down, the car ran off the road, rolling over, and living as we knew it ceased. Two young souls lifted off. My attitudes to death have changed over time, that it isn;t something to be feared, and that energy evolves, but still, loosing Shannon was a very painful ordeal for my family.
There are so many snippets of Aunt Shannon’s story, that floated through-out my childhood, and I feel my family carried a lot of pain around it. Too much. To me she is a glorious light, an energetic warmth that lights my thoughts into a halo. Shannon was golden, too.