Writer's Block: Forbidden Reading

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My parents, despite their tendency to conservativism, never censored my reading as I was growing up. I suspect they may have been a bit concerned if they realized the sexual education I was getting via romance novels and even some of my science fiction, but I was careful never to mention those parts if/when I talked about something I was reading.

In recent years, my mother's comment was We trusted you -- suggesting to me that they would have expected me to avoid "inappropriate" material. There were certain things that I avoided because of personal taste (horror or hardcore porn for example), but I never avoided a book just because I knew my parents would not approve. I can't remember ever hiding a book.

The funny exception to this was the two or three times I bought Tiger Beat magazine. My father had a flat rule that we could not buy teen fan magazines because he didn't want us "worshipping movie stars." It wasn't actually a ban coming from a spiritual bias, but his general dislike of the thought of his daughters swooning over tv and movie stars. Twice during my junior high years I took the long way to walk home, bought Tiger Beat at the grocery stores, smuggled it home in my purse, and hid it in the bottom of a drawer.


The consequences of my experience as a teen are two-fold. First, I have a general policy of not wanting to censor Wolfling's reading any more than my own was censored. On the other hand, unlike my own parents I have a very good idea of what she could be getting into -- especially given her tendency to read fanfiction online. However, I realize that I can't control her reading without putting her under pretty severe supervision, and that's not going to be good for either of us. So I've told her that I'm not going to make rules I can't enforce, or that she will eventually break in this area, but that I would prefer she kept her online reading limited to stories with age-appropriate ratings.

I've also told her not to ever worry about freaking me out with something she's read because odds are that I've already read it, or something like it. I may even have done it. Not something my own parents could have said.

We'll see how it goes. . .

Dream: My Subconscious Starts to Adjust

Only one image lingers from last night's dream. . .

I am sitting in the prow of my dad's 8' fiberglass boat, the one he owned for decades and which was a constant feature of our family's summer excursions. We are in the waters of Puget Sound, near my sacred island. Dad is in the back, his hand on the controls of the outboard motor. We're racing across the water, bouncing over the waves.

It is an image from my life, one repeated many times over the years, one of the special bonding activities my dad and I shared. On the water.

I remember the last time we did this in life, the last time the family went to the island for a vacation. I remember how it felt to be racing both across and with the water, the delight in the bouncing up and down with the wind in my face. It was a sensation of pure joy.

My subconscious seems to be settling down and getting with the program.

My subconscious is reminding me that I have been doing my father the same disservice I have been doing myself in characterizing him primarily as ruler of Swords. He is a life-long fisherman, a life-long boater, a man of deep and intense feeling, even though he has often kept it hidden by the rules of discretion that govern men of his class and generation.

My father is also a man of Water.

Embracing the Beauty of "And"

( I see myself looking back in each of these images )

Turning Over a New Deck

I'm going to be using tarot in a consultation this morning, so I got out my beloved Robin Wood deck (the source of my former default userpic), and started dividing it into Major Arcana and suits to be sure I hadn't pulled one for meditation and forgotten to put it back.

As each card fell, I realized it looked faded and stale.

The once-vibrant images that have spoken so clearly to me over the years aren't going to work now. Not like before.

So I went upstairs to my tarot stash and started looking through the decks I've collected to see if any of them are speaking to me in a new way.

The Osho deck (not actually a "tarot") wanted to come downstairs. It may be the one I use this morning with my friend. It's an "outside the box" kind of oracle.

The Gilded Tarot has stepped forward to be my new default deck. It has gorgeous images that suggest the traditional Rider-Waite, but are fresher and more vibrant to my eyes. I'll have to actually work with it to see if there's an authentic connection, but right now it feels better than the Robin Wood.

I may have to find a sample of the Druidcraft Tarot (the source of the lovely Queen of Cups in the previous entry) and look through it to see if it will work.

Or. . . It may finally be time to create my own deck.


My skins just keep shedding. . .

Doing My Work

Every time I prepare to sit with someone as a spiritual director or to do a tarot reading I worry that I'm not going to be able to say anything -- or bring anything through -- that will actually be of value to the other person, actually justify their honoring me with their time, their story, their trust. . . their money.

And yet each time I meet with someone, something does come through.

I feel very blessed. Blessed by those who honor me by seeking my services, and blessed by the deities who help me make the connections and see the patterns and speak the words that help others find what they need for their journeys.

Old Habits of Thought Die Hard

oakmouse just pointed out to me very nicely that while yes, last night's dream did indeed show an improvement in my comfort connecting with Water -- it also very strongly re-affirmed my role as Father's Daughter.


I don't mind the fact that changes like this will take some time to work their way through and fully integrate. It does kind of bug me that I hadn't noticed that element of the dream until she pointed it out.