Recent Dye Art Projects; Also Free-form Three-Dimensional Beadweaving

Posted on July 19, 2011 by Francesca De Grandis

I’ve been chomping at the bit to share the projects below. I made some of them quite a few months ago, and can finally post them. They won’t shown in my Etsy shop.

 My physical therapist gave me this blouse, unadorned, asking me to paint it for her. I trade art for physical therapy, since my insurance no longer covers it. Don’t you love our medical system? I am grateful for my amazing physical therapist, who helps me so much.

I am kinda new to these paints (Jacquard Products Lumiere) and haven’t done much painting on cotton T-shirt material. It was also the first time I tried to give a Henley a peasant look, which is what my physical therapist asked for. So I kept the design simple. With all that, I was worried it wouldn’t turn out well. But I am happy with the result. And simple works soooooo often. Lumiere is a paint, but it acts like a dye in that it soaks in very well, leaving just a bit of tactile feel.

This is a God box. (If you never heard of a God box: When you have a concern, you can write it down and put it in the box, as a way of giving it into God’s care.) I used Jacquard Products Pearl Ex mixed with varnish to coat an old funky metal file-card box. I had created a beaded leaf (my design, far as I can remember) ages ago, but couldn’t find the right use for it until I glued it onto my God box. The lace is a scrap from a white vintage place mat that I dyed green with Dye-na-Flow (yes, I am a Jacquard Products freak). Then I mixed Pearl Ex colors with Colorless Extender, to paint the scrap with a bit of decoration. Next, I glued pretty material to the top, scrunching up the material as I glued. The final step was adding bones. Two are from little critters who got trapped in an outhouse and died. Um, the bones have been cleaned. I found the third bone in my back yard. A bit of my property is wooded, and there was a deer skeleton there! I think the former owner of this house must have dropped the carcass there after a hunt. It is not that I live on some huge wooded property. In the country, folks often made personal dumping grounds just out back of their house, and still do a bit. 

 I know the combo of femmy décor with bones is weird, but I wanted that because I think the combo is pretty. Also, life is a combo of femmy, bones, and everything else, which seemed perfect for a God box.

I may have made this as far back as late 2010, but I have to share it. I painted a black-t for a friend who was down in the dumps. She hung it on her wall, which made me feel really good. It also spurred me on to frame two of my paintings myself, which was a big step in self-acknowledgement.

I don’t do much intricate, free-form, three-dimensional one-of-a-kind beadweaving anymore. But I designed this piece in exchange for the copyedit of my soon-to-be-book. I used two bones from the aforementioned outhouse. Yeah, it’s a weird necklace. But the women for whom I made it loves bones as much as I do. My goal was a design that spoke of nature’s green, and trees, and bones. Like my woods out back. I also think the necklace is a little humorous; the person for whom I made it likes a joke.

 

 If you would like an intricate, free-form, three-dimensional one-of-a-kind beadweaving designed especially for you, do contact me. The same goes for painting a T-shirt for you.

Thanks for looking at these!!!

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My Life Is a Poem, an Allegory

Posted on July 10, 2011 by Francesca De Grandis
My Life Is a Poem, an Allegory
Prose poem, July 2011

Perfect black tiny feather lost to the vacuum cleaner, but I decide not to mourn, so when I leave the house, a large black feather is in the grass. 

Front of Feather

The urban shaman, now living ignorantly in the country, has to ask (on Twitter), “What kind of bird does this feather belong to?” I post a picture and a description. The feather is black, but not deeply so, and has no blue. Maybe is a bit brownish.  

Back of Feather

Back of Feather

Responses come. I am told different birds. I am asking the bird’s type, instead of sinking into the lesson it has offered me. I know the lesson but do not live in it. 

Instead, someone tweets me the URL of a science site that would take me an hour to decipher, because I am not good at understanding the site’s approach. I plan to explore it later. And I feel loved by the sender; that much I do well. Which I applaud, because often I reject love. And I should applaud, because I tend only to note my spiritual fall-downs, not my spiritual staying steady. 

I’m tweeted that I should raise feather to the sun because blue might appear. It doesn’t, and I am still ignoring the lesson by checking for hidden blues.   

My life is a poem, an allegory. I learn that the big black feather I found may be crow, illegal to own. Guess I’ll toss it back, into the green, then expect the bigger gift from the Tree of Life.  

. . . I gave the feather back to the Tree of Life, but kept Crow’s lesson to me: Grab the moment instead of the memento (momento); grab the now’s gorgeous detailed pleasures and connectivity, because they will outweigh any poems, books, feathers, or memories that result. 

But still I write this story to you, and trust that I am not incorrigible. My life is a poem, an allegory thrust upon me, a mischief by benevolent Chaos Gods, a bardic alchemy, a myth I try to decipher and try to live fully. I hope and know I am God’s beloved recalcitrant brat. 

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Bardic alchemy is a term from another of my poems, as well as the title of my spoken word album. More on both here. However, I am using the term a bit differently here.

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Alethea and the Chariot, Part Three: Prayer of Release

Posted on July 7, 2011 by Francesca De Grandis
Beauty Moi - Fantasy Art by Outlaw Bunny

Beauty Moi - Fantasy Art by Outlaw Bunny

Short story fiction. Fantasy. Urban Faerie tale. Allegory. June, 2011. Parts one and two are also on this site. 
I was writing down things I had figured out, because they’re spiritual lessons I need to remember. I’d realized many of them a long time ago, but wanted them in my journal to refer to when I needed them again. They ended up coming out as myth, a story to share. (It is Alethea’s story, in its four parts.) Within a few days, if not hours, of my finishing the tale (except for copyediting etc.), the story manifested physically. Since the story is about war, you can imagine that it’s coming into being in my personal life was an awful experience. But I find this profound and typical, as if the cosmos was saying, “Oh, you think you’ve learned the spiritual lessons that you wrote down? Well then, let’s make it harder for you to apply them!” I love my life, I truly truly love my life! And with that, onto Pt 3 of Alethea’s tale:

A blast of power slammed past Alethea’s head, missing by micro-particles. She ducked down and scrambled behind a bush. Peering out, hoping this would not expose her too much, she saw the source—the Unseelie Queen.

Alethea withdrew herself back behind protective covering. What the heck was the monarch doing here, engaging in a battle herself? Instead of sending her soldiers and unwitting human pawns, like usual? Something heavy was up. Something that did not bode well for Alethea.

She wanted to peek again but hesitated, less from fear of another blast than from fear of looking into the Queen’s face. She’d only seen it once before, but it had frightened her beyond anything she’d encountered in her long eternal life.

The Unseelie ruler was extraordinarily beautiful by human standards. Alethea had been shocked to learn that. She adored the mortal, sexpot actress Marilyn Monroe, and didn’t understand why another blonde was more highly prized—one with bland aristocratic emotionless features was desired beyond all other women.

Alethea didn’t like remembering the other time she’d set eyes on the Unseelie Queen. A young Alethea had made the mistake most Faeries do in their youth. She’d tried drugs, to find out why humans used them so much. She’d spent a weekend with humans in one of their homes, and started with marijuana, which clogged every psychic pore in her body, until she could sense nothing except the mortal realm. She’d felt lost, isolated from life, estranged from magic.

Her human companions said LSD expanded consciousness and opened the veil, so she tried that next. It tore her psyche apart, so she could sense of bit of the otherworld but, both during and afterwards, the drug left her without defenses and skills to make use of the experience. She knew she had become undefended prey in both worlds.

Mentally unbalanced, she convinced herself that heroin should come next. That is when she first saw the queen. After the heroin took effect, the sovereign Fey came to the threshold of the house Alethea was visiting. All the Queen did was stand at the entrance. But Alethea suddenly sobered, all her Fey senses saying that if the woman in the doorway ever got hold of her, she was done for. She would descend into hopelessness. She would live in depravity and be brutalized, from sheer lack of ability to care or change.

Looking into the Queen’s face just once made Alethea commit she would do everything needed to stay on her right path. So much for drugs!

But she’d never known, until now, who the woman at the door had been. Alethea suddenly realized, still hulking behind the bush, that the queen was the blonde archetype that human Americans worship, actually worship. No wonder so many became glamoured by her, became her pawns unknowingly.

I wonder if she’s a drug dealer. Alethea giggled nervously at her own joke, drew in a breath, then looked out from behind the bush.

Gone, the queen was gone. Alethea sent out psychic feelers. Yes, gone.

Then Alethea knew why. It had been a taunt. To draw Alethea into battle.

No, I’m not going to be frightened into a fight, when there is no need to fight. The Queen would never take me on by herself, she’s too much of a coward. I don’t care that she frightens me beyond all else, I will not fight. The Seelie Mother will keep me safe.

Alethea’s brave words did not run deep. They were contradicted by twisting panic in her belly. Fear made her shoulder muscles twitch and spasm. For the next hour, she remained on the ground by the bush, huddled and unable to convince herself she would be safe if she did not fight. Her mind flooded with terrible images of what could happen to her if no one stopped the Unseelie Queen. Her bones filled with dread of what might be done to her if she didn’t stop it.

Then she thought, “The Faerie Warrior’s Prayer of Release!” The chant had made all the difference avoiding a fight long ago, a fight that would have otherwise destroyed her. How had she forgotten it?

Beauty Moi - Fantasy Art by Outlaw Bunny AKA Francesca De Grandis

Beauty Moi - Fantasy Art by Outlaw Bunny AKA Francesca De Grandis

But she knew how. Faeries live a long time, long enough to forget anything, no matter how important, dear, or necessary.

But when Fey did remember, they remembered well. Every line of the lengthy litany returned.

She recited, “I deliver mine enemy into the care of my god. My god is a warrior leading an army. She will battle if needed. My god is a lover who might embrace my enemy, nurturing him, raising him up high to power and prestige, good sex, and many children.

“I release my enemy into my God’s care without intention that he be hurt or helped, lowered or loved, chastised or cherished, destroyed or delighted, made lowly or made great.

“I release my enemy into my God’s care, without rancor, hate, self-pity, fear, poor self-estimation, or lack of selfhood. I release my enemy into my God’s care, my spirit in the now and holding compassion, love, caring, and openness.

“What I hold for my enemy, I hold for myself; hold hate for him, I hold hate within my cells; it will eat me.

“When I release my enemy into my God’s care, I truly release him, then turn my being to the next moment.

“And I release him now.

“And now, I am now. I am in now, of now. Now. So be it!”

Part Four: Click here.

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I have a spoken world album of my stories. (Heh, great typo, it was to be “spoken word” but I like “spoken world” almost as much.) It is called Bardic Alchemy.

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Alethea and the Chariot, Part Two: The Faerie Mask

Posted on June 30, 2011 by Francesca De Grandis

Short story fiction. Fantasy. Urban Faerie tale. Allegory. June, 2011
Yay, I finally managed to get the second installment posted. (It can take so long between writing something and posting it! I have the rest written, too, but I need to copyedit it, sigh.) Click here for part one.

Detail From My Beloved, Silk Painting by Francesca De GrandisAlethea had walked for at least two hours, human time. She’d passed no buildings, saw nothing but landscape—desolated, devoid of inhabitants. Sickened earth, plants so saddened it was heart-rendering.

She didn’t want to consider what spells would have to be spun to make every tree she passed look the way it did. But she had to face it: What was the exact nature of the magic that had been used? She could not fight unless she knew her enemies’ weapons. And she could not fight hard enough if she wouldn’t admit the cruelty in their hearts, the ruthless lack of caring for Fey lands.

So she walked, pondered. So engrossed in thoughts, and mentally dulled by the ongoing bleakness around her, she was startled when she heard a woman’s voice, even though it was gentle, warm, and musically mocking.

“About time you caught up with me.” The speaker sat by the side of the road—a hooded figure, in a robe of unrelieved matte black, face hidden by hood’s shadow. There could be no face at all.

However, Alethea waited for a gracefully slender hand to pull back the hood and reveal a lovely red-headed woman. Not stunning, but pretty. The sort of face that humans would trust in an advertisement for a wholesome soap, but not if promoting a luxury item. Fool mortals. Mother, Queen of the Seeley court, sat patiently waiting for Alethea’s response.

Alethea took five quick steps, almost scrambling in her haste to come right up before the Queen. Then she dropped down on one knee to grab Mother’s hands in her own. “Thank you. Thank you for bringing me home.”

Alethea paused, but not long enough for the Queen to speak. The Queen was not insulted. Instead, a slight smile lifted the corners of her mouth, and her green eyes were soft and kind as she waited.

“What do I do? What do you want me to do? How do we fight?”

“The war is over, child.”

“No . . . No. That makes no sense.”

The Faerie Queen said nothing. Alethea found the answer inside herself. “Yes, you’re right, it does make sense.”

She continued, as if talking to herself, “While I’ve been walking, I kept thinking that coming home to war makes no sense. Seven months ago, I finished a quest that had lasted two years. It was hardly my first quest since I left here. But two years is a long time in the human realm. And the quest was hard, soldier hard—many battles. A quest for surrender, so that you would let me return here.

“When it ended, I heard your voice telling me that I could finally stop my quests, finally stop fighting, come home. Be a peaceful person. Be domestic, not a warrior.

“Since I arrived, I have thought about Ulysses, that maybe I am like him: He went home to find a battle and a usurper. I’m not Ulysses. That’s not my myth. I am Alethea. I am my own myth.”

Alethea paused again. “No, wait, you say the war is over and, in my heart, that makes sense. But you also told me through the veil that you would battle the Unseelie for me, and that I should drive the chariot. What did you mean?”

The Queen withdrew her hands from Alethea’s, and tenderly cupped Alethea’s chin. “Have you forgotten your Tarot lessons? The Chariot Card is the card of the mask. The war is over, but when the Unseelie threaten, put on the mask.”

“But you said you would fight for me. And one of the few things I’ve figured out since I came through the gate is that the Chariot Card means I am to use my will to fuel your fight. The stars know I am right about this.”

The Faerie Queen answered, “Yes, the stars in my bones know it, too. There is no contradiction here. When you put on the mask, it will empower me.”

“Oh . . . I understand: War’s ended, but there will always be skirmishes, now and then . . . Something still doesn’t make sense here, Mother. I mean, there’s more I’ve got to figure out.”

“And you will.” The Queen vanished.

Damn. Gone. Again. Always with me, yes, but sometimes near impossible for me to find, see, hear. Alethea started walking again, then shrugged and sat down in the middle of the road. Where was she even going?

The Queen’s voice rang out, as if from nowhere, “You’ve gotten old, Alethea. No, don’t mock me,” she added, apparently able to see Alethea rolling her eyes like a teenager. “You may look 16, but it’s almost time for you to sail to the Western Isle. You’ve got big lessons to learn before you do, and little time in which to learn them.

“The Unseelie would pull you away from that work, away from your hard-won peace. They will war against you, when there is no war, so that you live in battle when the time for battle has ended.”

Alethea spoke into the now silent air, “They would pull me away from my truth. So that they have no one to contradict their lies, and so that I can unknowingly lie all the better myself. The Western Isles, epitome of all that is Fey. I want that instead.

“The emptied part of me is mighty, is a tool of the Unseelie. It will do everything it can to defeat me, so that I am my own enemy, an inner warrior who knows me well, who can rob me of love and joy, and even kill me. I need to find all my power. I will find all my power.”

Part Three: Click here.

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The above exchange, between the Queen and Alethea, is loosely based on a conversation between my bud Vanna Z Red and myself, respectively.

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Domestic Elf Pendant: Fantasy Dye Art Project

Posted on June 29, 2011 by Francesca De Grandis

On her day off, Santa’s elf is a domestic elf, baking cookies and otherwise enjoying hearth and home. This stardrenched mystic needs a bit of fancy—fantasy jewelry—as she putter about the house or kicks back. (Who gets everything done when no one is looking? The domestic elf: You!)

Upcycle a vintage wooden spool to make a wearable art pendant for yourself and other busy homemakers.

You’ll need:
* thick cardboard, plastic drop cloth
* fabric-painting brush(es)
* Dye-na-Flow: Bright Green
* Pearl Ex colors Duo Red-Blue, Duo Green-Yellow, Bright Yellow
* Jacquard Textile Color 100 Colorless Extender
* white cloth (I used a leftover scrap from a beautiful vintage placemat.)
* iron and ironing board
* wooden spool
* Needle and thread
* beads, safety pin, mother of pearl or other buttons, and/or homey charms (e.g., in the shape of scissors, sewing machines, pots and pans)

1) Put plastic over your work surface. Add the cardboard on top of it.

2) Paint your fabric with the Dye-na-Flow. Let it dry, then fix the dye.

3) Mix each of your Pearl Ex colors with the Colorless Extender, then decorate the cloth. Don’t be fastidious. The final piece doesn’t need the Peal Ex to be detailed, symmetrical, or precise. Let it dry, then set it.

4) Cut your cloth according to the size of the spool. The cloth needs to wrap around the spool, fitting between the spool’s raised ends, and have a hem on three sides. Note the pic of how large the hems should be; they will not be sewn in place, so need to be large enough to stay tucked under. Iron the hems.

 

5) Sew on beads, a safety pin, buttons, and/or charms. A spool will roll on its cord, exposing its stitched back, unless you place some embellishments so that they rest against your chest, stopping the roll. Also, choose where to place the various add-ons according to how they’ll hang in the final piece. For example, the ones in back against your blouse should hang on the longest threads, so that they aren’t covered up by the add-ons in front.

6) Put the strip of cloth around the center of the spool, and sew along one side.

 7) Wear with pride. You’re a domestic elf! 

For ideas to get creative juices flowing, whether in dye art or other creative expressions, check out Ten Tips for Creative Dyeing.  

My fantasy art painting, which I usually do on silk, and my other talismanic art, is available at http://www.outlawbunny.etsy.com

Most supplies for this project are Jacquard Products, found at www.jacquardproducts.com or 800-442-0455.

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Alethea and the Chariot

Posted on June 23, 2011 by Francesca De Grandis

imageAlethea stood at the gate to Faerie. Would Mother let her in? No, the door was locked. She wanted to scream.

Surrender, she had to surrender. That had been the problem before: Her subconscious resistance and anger had created glamour during her magic that bedazzled her into believing her spells were working. Sometimes, when a spell was over, it was the virtual Faerie gold turning into old, dried and crumbled leaves. So it was no wonder that Queen Mother had crippled Alethea’s powers, barred the door, left her forlorn and alone.
image
Otherwise, Alethea would have escaped from life’s problems, deeper and deeper into the glamour – – not the nourishing glamour of stardust sprinkled over morning oatmeal, but a glamour that would have eventually allowed her to be snared by Unseelie.

Alethea’s remaining powers, those left after Mother stripped her, were worthy of any Fey, to be sure. In fact, few could compete with her; even in her diminished state, most of her magic succeeded. But if you do not have access to your full potential, it does not matter that your remaining assets are great. Because the emptied part of you is mighty, it is a tool of the Unseelie. It will do everything it can to defeat you, so that you are your own enemy, an inner warrior who knows you well, who can rob you of love and joy, and even kill you.

After her banishment, Alethea had learned to better succumb to Mother’s will. She practiced it daily. But now, she finally grasped the missing piece: She had not let go of whether she was allowed to return home. Alethea shifted every cell in her body, each stardrenched cell, one at a time. She released from every atom of self all but obedience to the Queen’s desires, in all their beneficence.

imageThe two panels of the huge oak door parted. Not a lot, but enough for her to slip through. Home. And it wasn’t the same. Her longing was not fulfilled, as it once would’ve been. As it once always was when she returned here, her home.

Instead, the landscape was twisted, reminding her of a background mortals had created for an animated film by the human male Tim Burton. She’d attended it with a human lover, a poet. She’d loved him, and the film had been fun. But the memory held no joy because, unlike that cinematic background, there was no Goth-charm or attractiveness to what the opened gate revealed. Faerie was utterly sad, devastated. She realized it also reminded her of something else from the human world: European cities bombed to the ground. “Devastation” is just a word until you’ve actually seen something or someone devastated. Faerie had been devastated. War had come to her homeland, leaving the vegetation—as always, there was nothing but vegetation by the gate—charred and bleak, and grotesquely twisted from spells gone mad.

No wonder she hadn’t been able to get back here. It wasn’t just because of the banishment or her imperfect compliance. For years, she’d kept looking for a place that no longer existed.

Her thoughts went to the day before, when she’d finally admitted to herself, “The Unseelie court actively wages war against me. Perhaps since my birth.”

So she had called through the veil to the Faerie Queen, “Mother, will you fight for me?” The answer quickly returned, “Yes.” Alethea asked next, “Then, Mother, what do you want from me regarding this?” Mother had responded, “Drive the chariot” and sent the picture of a tarot card—of a man in a wheeled vehicle, driving it and controlling its two horse’s reins—into Alethea’s mind.

Alethea still did not know if that meant Alethea was to actually enter the battlefield or that she was to harness her will, aim it to energize Mother and Her warriors.[1] But this was one of many questions that would need answering.

She pondered another of them: Alethea was Truth; did that mean that the emptied parts of her were the most potent deceiver alive? She shivered. Studying the colorless view ahead, she wondered if she might have an incomparable ability to lie to herself. Is that why she’d never admitted to the war? Another chill ran through her. She had to regain her full magic and sacred glamour.

Alethea’s thoughts wandered eons back, to a poem she’d written, a light-hearted ditty that spoke of happy times and had pleased Mother: “Stars have fallen from the sky. They’re in our eyes. Let’s have a faerie tea party.”

LeafStudyCropped2It wasn’t a poem as humans knew poetry: It had no metaphor. Stars had indeed fallen, when the worlds were created, and those stars filled Alethea’s eyes and sight. But there were no tea parties in Faerie now. She moved forward, into the despairing landscape. Though she walked for quite a while, nothing changed, nothing happened.

Except that she found peace. No, perhaps peace is not the name for what Alethea felt. She was not happy. Her belly twisted. But, oddly enough, her longing was actually being fulfilled. Because no matter what it looked like, no matter what was going on, she was home. And she would fight to keep it.

Part Two: Click here.

[1] A traditional interpretation of the Chariot card is the mastery of one’s subconscious forces through use of will, and use of those forces to good purpose for the community.

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Cluck ‘Ol Hen & June Apple, Mandolin, Vocal, Guitar

Posted on June 20, 2011 by Francesca De Grandis

I love music in my living room!

Same day as last blog, me on mando, my bud on rhythm guitar, starting out on Cluck ‘Ol Hen then switching to June Apple. Taking a few minutes to kick back mid busyness!

Ignore the writer’s paper mess, eek.

Bud is playing rhythm only but, at least on my player, you can’t tell that I’m playing all the instrumental, b/c my player keeps freezing. Can you tell on yours? (We made this on my Ipod touch.)

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Wildwood Flower Mandolin & Vocal

Posted on June 20, 2011 by Francesca De Grandis

It’s June 20, 2011, it’s been a busy day, midst many busy days, the galleys for my book will arrive in a few days, which may make life UBER-busy AGAIN, so am kicking back a minute. My bud is near, doing rhythm guitar and what not; you’ll hear me ask if he wants a solo, but he doesn’t.

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Welcoming Newbies

Posted on June 14, 2011 by Francesca De Grandis

Part one in a series on supporting newcomers in your spiritual community. May, 2011

I repeatedly see newcomers to spiritual communities treated appallingly. When I see wrongdoing, I try to do more than point a finger. It’s not that I bury my head in the sand. But recognizing a problem is half the solution. It is pivotal to think up positive action—key word action—to replace the wrongful act.

 Part one focuses on the power of giving a newcomer a simple hello. It might seem overkill to devote this week’s blog to saying hi, how to get yourself to say hi, and why to say hi. But I’ve been in a position to have met a large number of individuals who suffered immense pain from the lack of a brief bare-bones greeting. It is a more widespread and injurious problem than some folks might think. (I am referring to alternative groups—e.g., pagan, Wiccan, new age, shamanic. I don’t want anyone to let themselves off the hook by thinking I’m addressing mainstream religion, which there is not space to address in this essay. Also, I love and am part of these alternative groups, so I want us to improve.)

 I was at a conference. I met someone there who later became a student of mine. One day, she confided that I had been the only person at the conference who had said hello to her. I was horrified that this should happen at a “spiritual” conference.

Some people do not realize the warmth, acceptance, camaraderie, and even love conveyed by a simple, unadorned “Hiya.” They might not understand how much pain is caused by a complete absence of greeting. (Among other things, it gives the message, “Your presence is not important enough to even acknowledge.” Oh my Goddess!) Maybe that’s why people have given me a lot of (albeit valid) reasons that they refrain from saying hi to a newbie.

 One reason is being too busy. At that conference, I was a presenter for a workshop, gave a one-woman concert, and was the organizer for the opening ritual that 300 people attended.

Here’s the thing. You can smile and look somebody in the eye (or not look them in the eyes, if you’re too shy), and say hello as you run past them. I cannot tell you the number of times a one-second greeting from a stranger at a conference—or even a smile from them—has made all the difference for me when I felt out of place. (A long-time spiritual seeker can still be a newbie to a community and in need of welcome. It can be enormously reassuring and embracing. Small acts do make a difference.)

If you don’t say hi because you are shy (people don’t believe it, but I’m painfully shy), say hello shyly! Mumble hello or, again, just smile. If the most minimal greeting feels overwhelming, I suggest you try all the harder. That might seem counterintuitive, but I do understand how painful it can be—and impossible it can feel—when you try to overcome shyness or fear of rejection. Sometimes the only way to conquer them is to help someone else. (You might even watch for someone who seems shy or nervous, then greet them.) In fact, it is one reason I’m able to interact with so many people: If I’m focusing on the fact that they need support, my fear instantly vanishes. This simple remedy may sound ineffective; you have to actually use it to see whether it works for you.

If you’re rushing from one end of a building to the other, or are otherwise pressed for time, you may be concerned that greeting someone will cause them to corner you to instigate lengthy social interaction. Maybe you fear you’ll get trapped because you don’t know how to tell someone that you can’t hang with them.

When I trained the crew of that 300 person ritual, I felt it imperative that the attendees be greeted. Ritual should be a community interaction. And mystic ceremony is a hollow sham if it excludes any attendees (exclusion doesn’t require action; it can result from inaction, eg lack of welcoming), becoming like empty words from spiritual books that are recited but not lived. Nevertheless, it is challenging to authentically greet someone when there are only minutes before the event, you’re frantically getting last preparations in place, and extending a greeting might get you cornered. So I told my crew to practice saying hi (or smiling while looking people in the eye) while running past.

The gesture is usually appreciated; folks are made a bit more cozy from the sincere effort you’ve made amidst your busyness. Connectivity! If they try to corner you nevertheless, try these words: “Oh, I’m so sorry. I would like to chat but I’ve got to run. Sorry!” or “Oh, grab me after the ritual, I can talk then. Sorry!” It would not be rude to rush by them even as you’re saying all this. Practice this little speech until you feel confident that you can make your boundary. Practice saying it in a warm, caring voice. Practice saying it until you mean that warmth and caring.

 It’s worth the effort of practicing, because a simple heartfelt greeting can make all the difference to a newcomer who may feel just as, if not more, nervous and out of place as you. In turn, greeting the newbie can help you in ways that words cannot describe; again, it is something you have to try to see the benefit.

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Santa Claus Holy Cards

Posted on June 8, 2011 by Francesca De Grandis

My Santa Claus Holy Cards Arrived!

To have conceived of Santa Claus holy cards is insane enough, but to actually design them and have them printed? My brain should be studied.

I am excited anyway. Santa is part of my pantheon, so I wanted a holy card for him. St. Nick is not just for the holidays! The card has a painting I made of St Nicholas, and a prayer I wrote that does not focus on holiday wishes.

I must attribute my girlfriend Kathi, who told me years ago that she prays to Santa all year long. She may have even said she keeps an altar to him. That’s all it took to turn me into a Santa Claus worshiper. Not that Kathi went on about a Santa theology or anything. But her insightful decision to interact with Claus all year long is really something, implying a theology in itself. I mean, if this is the guy that brings the goodies, any good heathen worth their salt is going to build Him an altar!

It is important to attribute Kathi for her few words to me.  Those who embody spiritual values (yes, I consider praying to Santa implying a spiritual value. Also, I mention embodiment not to imply that they perfectly live their beliefs, but rather to say they often focus more on practice than on theory) are sometimes perceived as if they do not have the fine minds or emotional depth needed to understand complex theology, the intricacies of  spiritual theory, or a profound cosmology. In other words, (I’ll make up a few names, before pronouns get confusing) when George extrapolates a great number of intellectual concepts from Tiffany’s straight-ahead, unadorned remarks or from one of her simple practice, George may not realize that Tiffany is well aware of  her practices’ implications, and simply chooses not to speak of them.

 Tiffany is in keeping with Buddha’s sense of spiritual living: He would not talk about theory or cosmology with his students, because he felt there wasn’t time to do that and still do all the practices needed. I also find that theoretical discourse is a great way to convince oneself that one is addressing the spiritual life, and thus is able to avoid actually living the spiritual life. The discourse can emotionally ground one, so one feels one has done what is needed, but one is not grounded into anything that will carry you through the day.

It is important to attribute people who inspire our ideas. Those are true teachers – – people whose actions lead us to right thinking.

We are at almost at the opposite end of the calendar year from Yule. My Santa holy cards arriving from the printer right now says, “All the year is for joy to the world and peace on earth.” 

Buy any item in my Etsy shop before June 16, 2011 and get a free Santa Claus holy card.

For more about my spirituality and Santa, check out Santa Is in My Pantheon.  Also What Do Elves Do on Their Day Off? (scroll down. Santa stuff is toward the end, right before people’s comments)

Posted in Art, Writing, and Music, Classes, Books, and Other News, Giveaways and Contests, Spirit, The Whole Thing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment