October 2015 Special !

Sige is a reader of utmost integrity, clarity and experience. I’ve known him for many years and highly recommend him for a deeply insightful reading.

Sige'- Shaman Witch

Hello Everyone, from Shaman Witch !

I am announcing that I will be reducing my Tarot and Crystal Ball readings ,in my home or yours, or by Phone, one last time, for the month of October 2015, to only $35.00, for 30 min., for the whole month. This is in celebration of the Halloween season, and my retirement in January. 

I am also available for Halloween / Psychic Parties , Metaphysical Lectures, Shamanic Work and Energy Healing’s, at a reduced rate until Dec. 31, 2015.

Be sure to book your appointment NOW, to get in on the savings, before the price increase in 2016!

Call :  740-605-2191  anytime!

Warmest Love,

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Blogging…..or not

Blogging is a mixed bag for me. I love giving and receiving conversations with those souls that have that “thing”, that sense of who I really am, who connect on a deeper level.

But my drive to talk here is mercurial, at best. Sometimes I just can’t bare my soul, for it is raw and tender to the touch. I’ve watched others share their journeys of discovery and renewal and admire the courage that it sometimes takes to do it.  I envy the self-discipline of the weekly blogger; every Wednesday on the nose like clockwork–dependable and informative.

So. I am not committing to a schedule. I wish to, that’s for sure, but I also know myself and am learning how to accept those little quirks that make up who I am. Flawed, scarred, unique. Yep, that’s me. I’ve had several blogs on WordPress, thinking that each new name, each new theme, would give me the impetus to “buckle down”. Uh, no. I fight authority and hate any kind of restriction that binds me to something that requires discipline. My own exuberance…or burden, if you will…denies the confines that come with adulthood. I pay my bills on time, brush my teeth when I should, take my meds when I should. But don’t make me do something that I don’t feel like doing.

I have gardened for years and love, love, love it. I have come to realize that although the sweet abandon of the Green Realm fulfills me unlike most other things, there is a form of discipline that comes with the hourly, daily, seasonally and yearly energy that it takes to nurture the gifts of Nature.This is a place of religion, the driving force behind most of my own actions. When I find the surprisingly huge zucchini that wasn’t there the day before, I am delighted with the thought that maybe, just maybe, the garden gnomes snuck one in on me; when a rose blooms during the night and makes my morning glorious, in the back of my mind I think of butterflies kissing them open at dawn.

What I’m saying is that mystery is soul-quenching. I have always followed the quest of enlightenment, not in some lofty way, but as a child of life, always curious. In my older years I have slowly lost that sneaking suspicion that Santa is real or that there are real answers beyond the hedge. So I’m making my way back to the innocence that feeds me. I’m retired and now (thank the Stars!) I have that freedom to spend my time how I want to. And sometimes I don’t want to blog. I don’t want to put words together in an organized fashion so that I seem grownup and intelligent. Being adult about things is vastly overrated.

My teacher once told me that discipline is a gift we give ourselves in order to move forward and I don’t disagree with that. But I am choosing my battles more carefully these days. Sometimes you just gotta dance without inhibition. Gets the juices flowing, so to speak. So here, a Bone Collector as one who excavates the authentic Wild Self, I will do as I choose, and let go of judgement on how or when I conform.

Who knows? Blogging might turn out to be fun. I am giving myself permission to find out.

Seeds Of Change

Grace Upside Down

seed-packets-peasWhat is it about woundedness that is so powerful in engaging others?  Whether it’s a physical ailment, a childhood trauma or a recent heartbreak, it seems that when we start speaking to the world through the voice of our wounds, the world responds back in spades.  Suddenly, the flood gates open up and everyone has a story to share. Strangers immediately become brothers and sisters, and don’t show the least hesitation in sharing deeply personal and painful experiences.

Years ago, at the recommendation of a therapist my husband and I were seeing, I began going to 12-Step support groups for Co-Dependant Anonymous and Sex Addiction Anonymous.  I also joined a couple of online communities for the same purposes.  Initially, it was a huge relief to be able to share my stories with people who had “been there, done that.”  Compassion, encouragement, and support surrounded me.  I soon discovered that I…

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La Loba

La Loba

    There is an old woman who lives in a hidden place that everyone knows but few have ever seen.  As in the fairy tales of Eastern Europe, she seems to wait for lost or wandering people and seekers to come to her place.

    She is circumspect, often hairy, always fat, and especially wishes to evade most company.  She is both a crower and a cackler, generally having more animal sounds than human ones.

    They say she lives among the rotten granite slopes in Tarahumara Indian territory.  They say she is buried outside Phoenix near a well.  She is said to have been seen traveling south to Monte Alban in a burnt-out car with the back window shot out.  She is said to stand by the highway near El Paso, or ride shotgun with truckers to Morelia, Mexico, or that she has been sighted walking to market above Oaxaca with strangely formed boughs of firewood on her back. She is called by many names: La Huesera, Bone Woman; La Trapera, The Gatherer; and La Loba, Wolf Woman.

    The sole work of La Loba is the collecting of bones.  She is known to collect and preserve especially that which is in danger of being lost to the world.  Her cave is filled with the bones of all manner of desert creatures: the deer, the rattlesnake, the crow.  But her speciality is said to be wolves.

    She creeps and crawls and sifts through the montanas, mountains, and arroyos, dry river beds, looking for wolf bones, and when she has assembled an entire skeleton, when the last bone is in place and the beautiful white sculpture of the creature is laid out before her, she sits by the fire and thinks about what song she will sing.

    And when she is sure, she stands over the criatura, raises her arms over it, and sings out.  That is when the rib bones and leg bones of the wolf begin to flesh out and the creature becomes furred.  La Loba sings some more, and more of the creature comes into being; its tail curls upward, shaggy and strong.

    And La Loba sings more and the wolf creature begins to breathe.

    And still La Loba sings so deeply that the floor of the desert shakes, and as she sings, the wolf opens its eyes, leaps up, and runs away down the canyon.

    Somewhere in its running, whether by the speed of its running, or by splashing its way into a river, or by way of a ray of sunlight or moonlight hitting it right in the side, the wolf is suddenly transformed into a laughing woman who runs free toward the horizon.

    So it is said that if you wander the desert, and it is near sundown, and you are perhaps a little bit lost, and certainly tired, that you are lucky, for La Loba may take a liking to you and show you something – something of the Soul.

Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Women Who Run With The Wolves. Pp.26-28.