crystal exploration: orca agate

I've been thinking a bit about the textures of hurt, forgiveness, and moving beyond. 

I'm thinking specifically of one of my more recent hurts. 

Last year, someone dear to me showed me the dark tangles of who they really were. I had to pull myself out of lies, betrayal, manipulation, reality distortion, and mis-use. I didn't ever lose myself, but I was worn down to the bone.  

First, I tried to see a pathway of healing for us. When that wasn't honored, I stopped all contact and asked for that to be respected. It wasn't. I had to dig my heels in, breathe deeply, and lock the door with silence from my side. Eventually, I received my requested quiet. With that quiet came the balm of peace. (Sounds sappy, but... seriously.)  

I existed in the waves of loss until I found the shore, and the absence didn't feel as vast. I accepted the before and the after.

I accepted my role - in the steps taken that allowed me to connect, the red flags I gave too much grace for, the moments where I listened to my intuition and the ones where I didn't, the threads of hurt I must have added too. I accepted that my loved ones around me could see through the fog and anchor me, remind me not to take on more than my fair share of responsibility for how the connection evolved and ended, remind me that I had been present, decent, loving, and always honest.

I accepted that the person was working with a different internal framework, thought processing, and values than me, that they had pains they still needed to navigate through and a black hole I was being (unfortunately) welcomed into. I accepted that everything couldn't be explained or analyzed. I accepted that at least uncovering and unraveling truth allowed me to step away and prevent more damage.

The stepping away opened more space, clarity, and serenity in my life. Along the way, I leaned into self care, and that leaning eventually tumbled me into various shades of joy again. 

But!
But, have I forgiven this person?

I have compassion. Being human is messy after all. I don't wish them ill. At a basic human level, I wish them well even. I honor their good qualities. However, they were a horrible human to me, and I'm thankful our paths have diverged. My version of forgiveness certainly isn't absolution.

I'm left closer to: laughter that comes from humbled relief, a strong spine, and an exhale as I say, "Well, that happened. I learned some things. I have understanding. I wish for you wellbeing. Also? Kindly, fuck you."

Hey, I don't aim to be a guru. It's my own texture of forgiveness with this level of wrong, though.  

As I was thinking about forgiveness's texture, I pulled out Devotions by Mary Oliver. It's a compilation of many of her incredible poems. I opened the book, glanced around, and quickly was pulled into a poem that speaks on forgiveness (without speaking on forgiveness, you know?) in the best way I could imagine.

From the poem "Flare":

I give them - one, two, three, four - the kiss of courtesy, 
of sweet thanks, 
of anger, of good luck in the deep earth. 
May they sleep well. May they soften. 

But I will not give them the kiss of complicity. 
I will not give them the responsibility for my life. 

In the next stanza, a different section (7), she says, 

Did you know that the ant has a tongue
with which to gather in all that it can
of sweetness?

It's the process and the result of that elusive concept of forgiveness. Orca agate is one tool that flows right into those words, into the energy of this whole topic.

Blue stones are often linked to soothe, clarity, and our voice. Orca agate is specifically linked to forgiveness, which requires each of those components.

I used the word balm above, and holding orca agate feels a whole lot like a soothing balm. I almost feel it as stepping right into the waves, the seafoam and motion, and feeling washed, cleansed, free again.

It's always so very, very sweet to be free again. 

crystal exploration - hematoid (fire) quartz

It's Memorial Day, so there is a lot of talk + thought about freedom and what that means. It's multi-layered, pragmatic and idealistic, philosophic and woven into the fabric of everyday life. Beyond the nuanced weight of the holiday itself, freedom has an energy, a voice that speaks to each person uniquely and universally. There's autonomy, choice, empowerment. There's ease, flow, inner congruence.  



For me (in haiku), it's: 

wild waves touch my skin
as I dance in the ocean 
feeling the sacred

It's also:

knowing I can move,
and speak, and choose my pathway
- feathered with deep roots 

It's also: 

existing right here 
in this bright and scattered light 
all that's ever been

It's also: 

a melting embrace
meadowlarks in prairie glow
wholly safe and home
 

One way that we can access the richest sort of freedom is by being grounded, feeling security as we navigate through life and find what makes us feel the most awake. 

Hematoid quartz, often called fire quartz, is a good companion for this freedom quest. Combining clear quartz properties with hematite, and often infused with rainbows, this form of quartz is dynamic and, well, fiery, but also grounding.  

It's not a heavy grounding, even as it helps us work on our root chakra, our security foundation. There's a lot of breath and movement to it. It shifts, transmutes, protects, cultivates passion and clarity. Physically, it is said to improve circulation, which is a bit like what it does energetically. Rooted, but flowing and oh!so!alive! 

crystal exploration: rainbow obsidian

Short Fiction: Dancing With A Memory
(written February 2024) 

Maria had spent the day roaming the fields and sketching the details of the landscape, the way the earth flowed into the creek, how the meadowlarks fill the air with their yellow soprano, how the hawk sliced through sunshine and breeze to catch lunch.

Now she's getting ready for her night out with her closest friend. It's been awhile, and she's excited. She feels an electric current build beneath her skin and blush her cheeks. Dress on, a wildflower pattern to remind her of her own wild side, lips red, a flower in her hair.

“Heading out now! Love you!” she calls to her abuela before stepping into twilight, clutch and keys in her hand, for the drive to the next town over that is large enough to have a dance hall. The wind is prairie wild, sweeping through open space, clouds blown around in a tangle of texture.

When Maria pulls into the parking lot, she spots Saraphina's car and parks next to her. They both get out of their cars at the same time, meet between for giggled hellos and hugs. When they open the door to the dance hall, loud music leaks out into the growing night, brushes against their skin, makes their hips inevitably sway, captured in the rhythm.

Without even getting a table or having a drink first, Sara links her hand with Maria's and whispers warmly into her ear, “Let's dance!” as she pulls her into the hum of bass and bodies.

Maria feels the music flow through her like wind through tall grasses, flowing and free. She closes her eyes momentarily as she absorbs the music and when she opens them, she doesn't see Sara. This has been known to happen, but they'll find each other again, a natural gravitational pull.

Maria continues allowing her body to move how it wants, wholly in the moment, feet gliding, hips swaying. The music is upbeat with a thread of longing, a touch of melancholy in the breaths between the glee and pulse. Most people seem to be bouncing with smiles, existing in the top notes of happiness and thrill.

Maria feels the the shadow touches turn to rivers, though. The melancholic longing shifts subtly yet abruptly to actual sadness, heavy like the grief of every heartbreak snuggling into her chest, then shredding her heart once again. Still, her feet move. Still, her hips sway.

It comes as a surprise when she hears her name being called, softly. It seems as though it's part of the music itself, like all the chaos of the room softens and shifts just enough for her name to slip through the cracks of the music. It's coming from the doorway so she moves in that direction, dancing as she does.

She peaks out the door. Again, her name, but this time at the edge of the parking lot. She moves toward it, feeling a pull beyond all reason. Still dancing, still feeling the weight, the ache, the pain. She dances beyond the well-lit entrance, weaves between cars, ends up pausing on gravel littered with beer cans, overlooking an overgrown field.

She hears her name again. It's a voice she's beginning to recognize, one she hasn't heard in such a long time, one that brushes against her in her sleep every now and then. The sadness deepens, river flowing to ocean.

She steps into the field, home among the soil and seed. It's a new moon so the darkness echoes forward, and she can only see a couple feet in front of her as the dance hall's light struggles to stretch and touch the space. She moves deeper in, then deeper, toward the woods in the distance until the branches are tangling in her hair. “Maria!” 

Tree roots, owls, the shuffle scurry of mice. Through a trickling stream, bramble thorns, a clearing, more woods. Tears down her cheeks. Maria, Maria, Maria. The miles pass, forest to open space, then back. Dawn begins touching the horizon with a seam of pink.

Still, her feet move. Still, her hips sway.

Rainbow obsidian is a form of volcanic glass. It's similar to black obsidian, but it has subtle colors and a bit more gentleness to the energy, almost a nurturing woven into the shield. (It's also tricky to photograph! :D)

Like all crystals and minerals, it has multiple uses and attributes, but the one that feels most notable to me is protection. From other people, from anything unaligned in the spiritual realm, from intentional attacks or just yuck vibes.

But also? From ourselves and the pain we sometimes carry around. It allows us to let go. To feel safe to let go, but also to be safe because we let go. 

When thinking on this, I drew this card from The Heart Path Oracle by Nadine Gordon-Taylor. ♡

crystal exploration - citrine

It is still a month away from the solstice, but it's sunny and upper 80s. Summer-like energy is saturating the landscape, snuggling into soil and brushing against leaves, blooms, skin. It is an extended threshold between spring and summer. With it also being the week of graduations locally, it is a threshold between here and there in multiple ways.

My daughter was one such graduate, my second child to step from childhood into adulthood in what felt like a blink. I am incredibly proud of them both, of their hearts, minds, passions, the ways they approach the world and have such unique sparks.

It's made me think (again) about success, and what that really means.

An image forms for me:

There is a tangled path - maybe a thorny prairie or a dark forest tunnel, a rocky shoreline or steep mountain edge. It looks complex, but there's still a thread of knowing there, maybe even excitement, and so a step is taken. Then another, then another.

It's not all hard, of course. There is beauty. There are vistas. There are so many moments to collect, to exist within.

At some point - or perhaps many points or even all points - there is a puddle. It is not made of water, though, but of golden light. One touch, and it engulfs. The person and puddle are one. It's like a deep inhalation, a centering, a soul remembering. It's a nudge, a lightening, an embrace of self. It is who we are.

Citrine is like that puddle of light in crystal form. It's a creative empowerment stone. It manifests dreams. It helps protect our sense of self and dissolves negativity so that we can lean into abundance more and more.

For me, success in life is a whole lot about connecting to who we truly are, finding things that make our heart and soul feel a special glow, and carrying on with curiosity, whether days are hard or easy, tragic or happy. The success might have the traditional external accomplishments, or it might not. Whatever it looks like, it's all okay, and it's the journey we're here for. It's how we touch our own unique abundance.

on motherhood

  

This weekend, I soaked in the energy of Mother's Day as I sat in sunshine with my mom, looked at her wild herbs and her seedlings reaching up to the sky, as we laughed and existed in the same space. Later as I hugged my kids, as we chatted and joked, as I put seeds and nuts out for our feathered friends, as I placed new blooms into the soggy earth, as I walked through birdsong and lemon balm, as I received art and surprises, as I smelled roses and sunflowers that now live by my window.

There are stereotypes about what it means to be a mother or a father. Some of those stereotypes are rooted in the archetypes, in the core essence, while others are based on society's lenses, expectations, a vague outline that's become less profound which each tracing.

So, what does it mean to be a mother?

I think it starts with the biology. Or, I should say, biology gives us a concrete clue. Even though every mother doesn't have that link or pathway (which, to be clear, is also valid), the biology captures the core essence for me, like a storybook opening and revealing: creation, home, connection, birth, nurture. Or, beyond our own personal biology, there's ecology, the way Earth holds the same themes. And, the themes repeat throughout life, shifting form.

The energy of motherhood has a wild, wild element to it. Innate, passionate, gentle but also quite the opposite. Creation isn't dainty; it's aliveness.

It's partially what makes being a mother unique from being a father. The energy behind feeling a soul growing in your body.  The waters alive and expansive, the whisper turning into wild and beautiful substance. Pushing this new human out into the world to your own awaiting hands and heart. Building a home-nest that feels safe for them to exist within and to return to. Loving and advocating with tender fierceness. Nurturing them into growth of body and emotions, then mind and dreams.

the storm devours the shoreline
and when morning light touches the edges,
a new shape has formed;
your laughter lives here, and so do your tears

Here's to creation, to the nurturing impulse, to growth and love that lives on and on. ♡

crystal exploration - rhodochrosite

Back in 2020, before their passing, a friend and I exchanged writing prompts each month. In June, it was love is. When I started feeling into rhodochrosite, the poem floated into my awareness again.  

Love Is 

1.
I once tried to cup a wildfire in my hands
and nestle it into my heart like a hearth's comfort flame,
but it burned through the edges, dug into my whole body,
poured through my blood like a volcanic current, flowed
out from my eyes and mouth, leaving behind
only skeletal remains. 

2.
We sometimes pull off old country highways
because there is a building that is crumbling from age,
from the weight of its stories and the gravity of time.
Its windows are open mystery, shine scattered on the ground,
paint peeling, ivies and trees tangling with pillars and roof.
There is life there, and we lean in. 

3.
I have walked on tightropes of light, bright and giddy,
and, sometimes, I have curled into a ball, finding
tunnels that go so deep that it is easy to get lost, to think
the cave is safety. Then I brush a finger to my cheek,
shake my shoulder lightly, whisper in my ear, “Hey, hey.
Tasha? It's time to wake up. There's stuff to do.”

4.
My toes are brushing against the Milky Way, scattering
stars onto our skin, shimmer and sweat, then I burst
out laughing at the discomfort of the deck beneath our bodies,
no matter how we untangle and re. His eyes are sunshine
on water, here in the middle of the darkened prairie;
ocean waves embrace me.   

5.
I want to talk about the way he looks at me, with the purest
of acceptance, this person who has known me so long,
who lives with my quirks and shadows, my laughter
and dreams, how his gaze holds me so tenderly and entirely
without ever trying to spin a web around me, and how
that kind of love burns with glow and not scars. 

The thing about rhodochrosite is that it holds immense love. Pink crystals are known to do that, but this one really, really does, the kind of love that goes deeply, then even deeper, and then more. 

In The Encyclopedia of Crystals, Judy Hall states, "...it teaches your heart to assimilate painful feelings without shutting down." It's not a soft fluffy version of love.   

It's the kind that helps us face all that need facing while still feeling immense love for ourselves and others, helps us to be expressive in that love, to open to it in the fullest sort of way. It's real and rooted. It's real and sacred.   
 
As I've been writing this, I've had one spider land on me, then another float down right in front of me. The first seemed startled to find themselves on me. The other was just floating serenely in light. Spiders are storytellers, the weavers of life and creativity, nudging us in our own weaving. Seems fitting that love is such a critical part of life's web, of the stories that awaken again and again.

love letter to home

My state has had a tough stretch with severe weather days, ones that crush life as it has always been known, ones that could have been worse, but were the worst for a small handful of towns. This year, with the weight of the previous months brushing against me or piling onto my shoulders, I've found the weather unease to be more complex to navigate. Normally I'm aware, but I don't feel it so deeply in my bones. The last round felt ungrounding. 

As local meteorologists described the components that were primed for long range, violent tornadoes to come through the metro, as their faces held sincere concern, I held a small backpack and had to decide what would go with me just in case. A tiny, tiny touch of my life. I didn't want to lose all the pieces, the memories, the simple collections, the words and the worlds. 

Once the simple and pragmatic steps had been taken for prep, I did my usual practice of energetic protection, connecting with the atmospheric spirits and guardians of the land. Then I made a yummy dinner and simply waited, watched, breathed. 

And! For our whole area, it was fine. It surprised the meteorologists. I'm beyond deeply thankful that we were once again safe. The next day gifted blue skies and sunshine, like the intensity of the previous day didn't even exist and we could move with ease, normalcy, and joy.  

All places have risks, and life itself is the ultimate risk. Normally I view that risk with curiosity. With the unsettled feeling of this last weather event, though, I thought it might be good to write a simple love letter to my state, my home, my sense of place...
 

I love this land  

because when I was a child, I climbed its trees, tunneled through its tall grasses, jumped its fences, and the dirt beneath my nails helped make me. because its moody skies and wild storms clear energy and sometimes cause thrill. because the wind through the prairie sounds like ocean, and waterfalls over skin feel like freedom. because wide open space means wide open sky, and the colors steal breath even as they give it.

I love this land

because when I walk the land, the fields and forests, paths I've taken before and ones fresh to me, I feel the land hold me, just as I feel it wrap me embrace when I return to its borders.

I love this land 

because people I love live here. because I bought a home with one of the people I love most, birthed babies, planted herbs, and let the wild touch our space, touch us. because  my own children have covered their skin with mud, made fairy homes of sticks and flowers, strewn bird feeders and love throughout its days.

I love this land 

because the sun shines more than it doesn't here.       

crystal exploration - flower agate

Last month, I read Where I Can't Follow, a fiction by Ashley Bloom. I feel a bit mixed about it overall, but she has a lyrical, magical quality to her writing that I deeply enjoy, and there are insights throughout. For instance: 

“She rumbled when she talked and when she laughed, and I swear the vibration of her was still trapped inside me somewhere, wrapped like static around the softest parts of me.”

I'm sitting here on a day that's gentle gray, earth briefly squishy from morning rumbles, the smell of honeysuckle touching my nose and skin. I'm thinking about how when we take life in wholly, as we journey from first breaths to childhood to wherever we are now, we brush against all sorts of experiences. Some are overtly good. Some are traumatic. Some have silver linings. Some don't.

Often, though, they thread themselves into who we are, and we have to decide if that feels right. When we pull at the string, when will it stop? Will I entirely unravel? How will I reform?

(Can I just take a moment to say that volcanoes, silica-rich water, and a whole lot of time create amazing things?)

The Encyclopedia of Crystals doesn't have a specific entry for flower agate, but Judy Hall does write about chalcedony (of which agate is a subcategory), agate, and pink agate. In addition to other properties, all of these have a link to being stabilizing, healing emotional trauma, and infusing us with unconditional love.

Looking closely at flower agate makes it easy to see how it received this particular name. There are blooms everywhere - an earth awakening to spring, stretching, absorbing, blossoming again again again. Each stone tells a story of growth, of waking up, of expansion.

Using this crystal assists in healing emotional wounding and trauma, the healing that is needed for our soul's growth. It allows us to feel loved and supported as we do this work (and play!) that we are here to do, unraveling the pain and stepping toward peace, self acceptance, and things that fill us with YES.

love letter to life

I love how 

the wind brushes against my skin and tangles into my hair. rain puddles collect the sky, allowing me to dance in clouds as I rush in. the moon glows, sometimes while cloaked in mystery, sometimes not. dandelions bloom in unexpected places. the ocean greets me as I step into her slam and embrace. trees feel into the wild wind while staying rooted. the road opens to sky and the sky opens to more sky. 

I love how

there's comfort in his arms as years have collected into decades. he has always honored my spirit and wings. even though there will never ever be enough time, there is always this moment, and this moment with him glows. we opened ourselves to three new humans who have found their own paths, who shine with their own sparks, who make us laugh and expand and know gratitude each day.  

I love how 

sitting in my parents' backyard with the whole family in chill movement feels as natural and healing as breathing. all childhood paths, from tunneling through wild grass and climbing trees to navigating religious complexity, have led me here. I know and am known.   

I love how 

I've had friends who walk with me hand in hand through muddy rivers and others who have woven flowers into my hair during the brightest of days. moments with strangers have added themselves into my heart's alter – the woman who spoke of the moon as we crossed paths at the lake, the man at the paint counter who told me about his meditation practice and gave words of strength, the one who feared his art due to how it manifested during addiction yet it was always going to be his path home to himself. 

I love how this barely even touches on it all.  
I love how there's so much.
I love how there's so, so, so much. 

I love how wonder pushes up like springtime blooms, or surprise storms, or a night full of glitter. I love how as long as there's a breath left, there's more.