I wanted to buy my copy of the book, [...]]]> Tonight I had a wonderful time at the book release party for “Masks of the Muse: Building a relationship with the Goddess of the West” by Veronica Cummer. The author is a friend of mine, so I wanted to be sure to show up for this one.

I wanted to buy my copy of the book, but when I arrived at the store, another friend of mine snagged the last copy of the book  that they had on hand. But, since I know the author, I’ll get my own copy later and have her sign it some other time. I also wanted to be sure to blog about it so I had my husband come with camera in hand so I had some visual record of the event to share as well. There were all kinds of interesting people there, and after a while little groups broke off and conversations went just about everywhere.

That's me with my new short hair! People are deep in conversation behind me, everyone was having a good time.

Tomorrow I’ll be back at the store to do my regular reiki sessions, and I’ll order a copy of the book then. It really looks like a wonderful one, right up my alley:

Through four faces, four masks of the Muse, this book explores different aspects of inspiration, creativity, and magick. Aphrodite, Cerridwen, Ariadne, and the Lady of the Lake await, each to teach us of the Arts and what we are capable of at our very best.

By the poetry, prayer, invocation, and ritual contained within we can come to know the Muse and so know ourselves and the gifts we all have within us that demand recognition and expression. The path of the Muse may not always be an easy or a safe one, but anything worth having is worth paying the price for. Who is the Muse? Who are we?

This book is a journey, one that we must dare to take and dare to take hold of what is revealed.. As we must return to the well of memory, the depths of the ocean, and the currents below the earth, there to claim what was ours all along.

Now that’s a book that I can really get into! So much of my personal meditations lately have been very revealing. I’ve been exploring healing in different ways, and have learned a great deal about myself in the process. I don’t call this blog “the adventures of a reiki practioner” for nothing.

Life is such an adventure that I never really know what’s around the corner. For me, part of the excitement of living is spending time with people and sharing in their lives in a meaningful way. Blogging online is great, but being with people in person is much, much, better. I guess I just really like a hands on approach!

When I got the little reminder in my inbox that next month DOES have a holiday after all, Earth Day, I knew it was time to do that fun design that had been bouncing around in my head. So if you’ve been wondering what you’re going to wear on this spectacular occasion, now [...]]]>

When I got the little reminder in my inbox that next month DOES have a holiday after all, Earth Day, I knew it was time to do that fun design that had been bouncing around in my head. So if you’ve been wondering what you’re going to wear on this spectacular occasion, now you have all the options of The Reiki Artist Store at your disposal! (Go Little Store!)

April 22nd marks the 39th Earth Day, which makes it just a few years younger than I am! This year, it lands on a Wednesday, and I’m going to see if I can take that day off from work and find a way to honor Mother Earth. This design got my creative juices flowing again, and I just love being able to get the work out there as fast as I can.

Right now the catalog is over 2500 products strong, can you beleive it? All designed for honoring holistic healing, supporting the ideals of Reiki, and inspiring and uplifting people with positive messages. And now a design for the Earth comes along all bright and green for spring announcing it’s time to Reduce, Reuse, and Recycle.

Hearken to the words of Chief Seattle, the chief of the Suquamish and other Indian tribes in Washington state in 1851, in response to a proposed treaty under which the Indians were persuaded to sell two million acres of land for $150,000 to white Americans:

How can you buy or sell the sky, the warmth of the land? The idea is strange to us.

If we do not own the freshness of the air and the sparkle of the water, how can you buy them?

Every part of this earth is sacred to my people. Every shining pine needle, every sandy shore, every mist in the dark woods, every clearing and humming insect is holy in the memory and experience of my people. The sap which courses through the trees carries the memories of the red man.

The white man’s dead forget the country of their birth when they go to walk among the stars. Our dead never forget this beautiful earth, for it is the mother of the red man. We are part of the earth and it is part of us. The perfumed flowers are our sisters; the deer, the horse, the great eagle, these are our brothers. The rocky crests, the juices in the meadows, the body heat of the pony, and man — all belong to the same family.

So, when the Great Chief in Washington sends word that he wishes to buy our land, he asks much of us. The Great Chief sends word he will reserve us a place so that we can live comfortably to ourselves. He will be our father and we will be his children.

So, we will consider your offer to buy our land. But it will not be easy. For this land is sacred to us. This shining water that moves in the streams and rivers is not just water but the blood of our ancestors. If we sell you the land, you must remember that it is sacred, and you must teach your children that it is sacred and that each ghostly reflection in the clear water of the lakes tells of events and memories in the life of my people. The water’s murmur is the voice of my father’s father.

The rivers are our brothers, they quench our thirst. The rivers carry our canoes, and feed our children. If we sell you our land, you must remember, and teach your children, that the rivers are our brothers and yours, and you must henceforth give the rivers the kindness you would give any brother.

We know that the white man does not understand our ways. One portion of land is the same to him as the next, for he is a stranger who comes in the night and takes from the land whatever he needs. The earth is not his brother, but his enemy, and when he has conquered it, he moves on. He leaves his father’s grave behind, and he does not care. He kidnaps the earth from his children, and he does not care. His father’s grave, and his children’s birthright are forgotten. He treats his mother, the earth, and his brother, the sky, as things to be bought, plundered, sold like sheep or bright beads. His appetite will devour the earth and leave behind only a desert.

I do not know. Our ways are different than your ways. The sight of your cities pains the eyes of the red man. There is no quiet place in the white man’s cities. No place to hear the unfurling of leaves in spring or the rustle of the insect’s wings. The clatter only seems to insult the ears. And what is there to life if a man cannot hear the lonely cry of the whippoorwill or the arguments of the frogs around the pond at night? I am a red man and do not understand. The Indian prefers the soft sound of the wind darting over the face of a pond and the smell of the wind itself, cleaned by a midday rain, or scented with pinon pine.

The air is precious to the red man for all things share the same breath, the beast, the tree, the man, they all share the same breath. The white man does not seem to notice the air he breathes. Like a man dying for many days he is numb to the stench. But if we sell you our land, you must remember that the air is precious to us, that the air shares its spirit with all the life it supports.

The wind that gave our grandfather his first breath also receives his last sigh. And if we sell you our land, you must keep it apart and sacred as a place where even the white man can go to taste the wind that is sweetened by the meadow’s flowers.

So we will consider your offer to buy our land. If we decide to accept, I will make one condition – the white man must treat the beasts of this land as his brothers.

I am a savage and do not understand any other way. I have seen a thousand rotting buffaloes on the prairie, left by the white man who shot them from a passing train. I am a savage and do not understand how the smoking iron horse can be made more important than the buffalo that we kill only to stay alive.

What is man without the beasts? If all the beasts were gone, man would die from a great loneliness of the spirit. For whatever happens to the beasts, soon happens to man. All things are connected.

You must teach your children that the ground beneath their feet is the ashes of our grandfathers. So that they will respect the land, tell your children that the earth is rich with the lives of our kin. Teach your children that we have taught our children that the earth is our mother. Whatever befalls the earth befalls the sons of earth. If men spit upon the ground, they spit upon themselves.

This we know; the earth does not belong to man; man belongs to the earth. This we know. All things are connected like the blood which unites one family. All things are connected.

Even the white man, whose God walks and talks with him as friend to friend, cannot be exempt from the common destiny. We may be brothers after all. We shall see. One thing we know which the white man may one day discover; our God is the same God.

You may think now that you own Him as you wish to own our land; but you cannot. He is the God of man, and His compassion is equal for the red man and the white. The earth is precious to Him, and to harm the earth is to heap contempt on its creator. The whites too shall pass; perhaps sooner than all other tribes. Contaminate your bed and you will one night suffocate in your own waste.

But in your perishing you will shine brightly fired by the strength of the God who brought you to this land and for some special purpose gave you dominion over this land and over the red man.

That destiny is a mystery to us, for we do not understand when the buffalo are all slaughtered, the wild horses are tamed, the secret corners of the forest heavy with the scent of many men and the view of the ripe hills blotted by talking wires.

Where is the thicket? Gone. Where is the eagle? Gone.

The end of living and the beginning of survival.

Can we find a balance again with Mother Earth? Can we create in our lifetime a more harmonious relationship with nature? We can and we must.