For lack of an idea of what to share with you in my weekly post, my tarot deck wanted to help :} The card that came forward to share about was Knight of Wands. Let us unfold this card to see what its teaching is for me…and perhaps you…today.
In this card, we have an armored Knight on their steed, passionately galloping into an unknown future. S/he carries a flaming wand aloft and into this, determined and confident, ready for anything.
S/he often carries the energy of impulsiveness, s/he is often one who will take action for the sake of taking action, not necessarily because it is what is truly aligned to take. Bored and frustrated with the current situation, the Knight of Wands will travel, move, start a relationship, do something drastic just to get the energies moving. Sometimes this is wise, often it is not. The Knight has much valuable energy but needs to find ways to balance this drive with listening, patience, grounding. To make sure their energy is not wasted, or to prevent a decision from being made that is unwise and cannot be undone.
At this time, I can relate wholeheartedly with this card. Inside, I have a Knight of Wands raring to go…to make some sort of major change. It’s not enough that there is so much upheaval in the world today, strangely. There is this part in me that feels the need for change and wants it NOW.
Like the Knight of Wands, I am feeling the need to move, shift, burst forward out of the monotony. I have several offers of places to move, even though where I am isn’t the most ideal but it’s not all bad. Struggling whether just because these offers have come really means it is time for me to move. There are many things in my life at this time that feel stagnant…and I am raring to just change SOMETHING. It does seem like it would feel good, to just do something to shift this sense of urgency inside.
Yet I know enough about my sensitivity to get that perhaps I am feeling the collective—pissed, frustrated and raring for action in a new direction than the stagnant one it has been in. Perhaps it has nothing to do with me, and so me taking it personally and making some drastic move or job change wouldn’t be wise at this time. This is where listening, patience and breath come in handy.
What about you? Can you relate with this figure? Are you feeling frustrated and making rash plans to change things, anything, to just be out of stagnancy? Is it a wise, grounded decision? How do you know? Are you breathing, listening and balancing your passionate fire and desire for change?
I decide to drive south to hopefully reach cooler climes and a quiet beach nook to begin the task of facing my book one last time before its printing. Wind in hair, and sweat already forming on skin, I head down Highway 1 to the Monterey Bay.
First stop, ACME coffee in Seaside. I’d never been here, but at the suggestion of a good friend decided to try it out. It’s a hidden gem in an industrial area but it’s known for strong brews and I certainly need one for this task. I settled on the Mexican Mocha. Lovely.
Back in the car, and curving down the highway I reach Pacific Grove and Asilomar State Beach. It’s only 10:30 am and the sides of the road are already packed. I’m a bit bummed I’ll have to stay in my car to have any privacy. That is if I can find a parking spot.
I do, and decide to get out and take a look around. The 80 degree, slightly cooler breeze hits my face and I’m glad I made the trip. It’s not much but I hate the heat so it’ll do. I walk down the planked path to the edge of the sea, its rhythmic waves and seagulls honking in my ears.
I grew up on this coastline, and each time I make the drive down a certain familiar comfort comes over me. I have a few family members I visit here–although they are all dead. My trip usually includes the cemetery (a few streets down from here) and this oceanside where my mother’s ashes have been absorbed into the great liquid mystery.
Amazingly, when I look down from the plank path, there are only a few people here on this plot of sand. I am urged to hunt out the perfect spot for my morning, and perhaps afternoon, editing adventure. I find a nice little shady nook and set up my place, nestling my Mexican Mocha and water into the sand, extracting my proof copy, pen and notepad.
I lean into the nook’s sandy dune wall and look out to the sea. I take a deep breath in. Ahh. This scent, this view holds so much. As mentioned, it literally holds my mother, as well as memories of sitting on this white shore with my now dead boyfriend. It feels incredibly ironic and meaningful to be heading back into that story as I sit here on this same beach.
This coast. Beauty, interlaced with decades-old grief. Refreshing coolness, mixed with the dread of whether my book will be too horrid to put out. Or rather, whether the experience of others reading it will be. I face these fears every time I pick it up.
Not today. Today I commit to walk past those fears and to dive in. I begin.
Over the course of the next few hours, I am totally sucked into the story. I am laughing, I am crying. I am proud, I am nervous. I can’t believe I wrote this. The formatting looks more beauteous than it did a few days ago, and the story reaches me more emotionally than it has in a while. The pages seem to glisten, sparkle. I wonder if it is the Mexican Mocha, the level of caffeine running through my veins. It’s possible, yet I feel it may be more related to what has happened inside of me in my readiness to be seen as an author. To be able to stand in my story and share it with the world.
I hold this book in my hands and feel so grateful. I close my eyes and let the waves comfort, and remind me. I feel the sea breeze whisking across my shoulders, and wonder if my ancestors are here with me, supporting me, pointing me. I rise and make my way down to the lapping waves, letting them cool me. I lean against a crystal embedded tan boulder and look at the equally crystalline waters at my feet. I sink into memories, these memories, of mother and death and love and struggle. I cry again.
I look up and through the rocks in the near distance there is a family of Sealions basking in the unusually warm rays of the sun. One of them lifts its head up and peers at me. Again, I feel as if the more than human world is speaking to me, supporting me, seeing me, getting ready to finally do this.
I nod at the furry creature, he (?) seems to feel satisfied and lies his head back down. I turn from the sea and find my way back to my nook to carry on with the task at hand. I am filled with determination and confidence. I feel more ready than ever to move forward for whatever strange reason. I lean back against the dune wall and tip the edge of my sunhat to shield the now blaring sun. I take in another deep breath and dive back into the final pages of what will soon become.
Well folks, Food Memories arrived in the mail on Thursday.
I waited another few days to open it.
I was nervous. Nervous it would be ready, nervous it would not.
I finally decided to open it, and lifted it from the envelope to rest on my lap.
Thicker this time, from the formatting and added content, it was heavy, solid. Of that I am proud…I have written a real, materialized thing.
But that satisfaction was quickly distracted by the image, the cover image–the one I am using to sum up the story of my life. Staring at this image, it was pixilated, grainy. I felt my heart sink, and the inner voice of “Here we go again, another round…”
I could leave it be, call it “rebellious art.” I really do just want to be over with it! But there is something else inside of me that wants to push through and make it look exactly as I envision. It is not good enough for me to release to the world yet. I am good enough, that is not the issue here. It is a quality of creation I want to accomplish, and try as I may, I do not have the tech skills to pull it off on my own. Believe me I’ve tried. Researched and fumbled, but could not shift this image to clarity.
It is oddly ironic, how fuzzy I still feel about my identity on this planet, and the struggles I am having in making my cover image read clear. The level of frustration and anger I felt at not being able to accomplish this graphic imagery feat also feels directly related.
Anyhoo…now I am with that. Needing to ask for help, again, to do a cover overhaul. Needing to delay this process for a few more weeks…Harumph.
And that’s just how it looked on the outside. I peeled open the fresh pages to reveal to myself the Inside, and the formatting is pretty. The layout I am satisfied with. There are a few typos only a print proof could reveal, so it’s another on the list of what I need to get outside help for to fix as my formatter has my manuscript held captive in her InDesign program. Another place I feel I wish I didn’t need someone else but reality bites with my level of tech. Someday I hope that to not be true!
Flipping quickly through the book made me wonder if I dare actually read the entire book again to see if there are more typos and edits I want to do. Overwhelm and frustration whacked me as I thought about this. A part of me wanted to say “f*ck it!” and hit the publishing button. So DONE with this. But that other part, that determined part, is somehow stronger. It urged me to put the book down, to close the computer, and take a few days off of thinking about it…but to definitely go through it one more time. To definitely ask for help with the cover. Harumph!
So now I am with all of that. And I will side with this part that wants to persist…at least for one more print run. But if all doesn’t work out, I might just say “f*ck it!” and let the “rebellious imperfect art” thing a try.
Feeling all the feelings, and grateful for all I have at the same time. What a weird tension of opposites to hold, especially during these times.
Letting Go 