The other day, I promised to share some of my woo-gone-wild stories. Here’s the first of them.

Once upon a time…

…I spent a bit of time hanging around online with alternative spirituality peeps. And by  alternative spirituality peeps, I mean people interested in out-of-the-mainstream belief systems, not marshmellow treats in the shape of crystals and dream catchers.

Because that would be just too weird.

Most of the folks in that crowd were lovely, sensible people, but there were a few outright wonky individuals, who took their woo a little too seriously. These most serious of the serious, strangest of the strange folks could be found online; these are their stories. Names and details have been changed to protect the innocent and wacked out. And yes, even though the stories are somewhat tragic, it’s ok to giggle, so long as it’s an affectionate giggle.

Ahem. Story #1:

“I Was A Teenage Wolfette”

Last week …

I challenged myself to post one original tarot-like card a week. So of course, yesterday, the cat shorted out my scanner by spilling a cup of coffee, and I lost my sketchbook for the thousandth time, making this week’s entry a bit more difficult than expected. So this week’s card is extra rough – colored  quickly by hand, photographed with the digital camera.

The show must go on!

Yes, I’m back from my fauxcation!

And yes, I dreamed up a gazillion brilliant ideas while sipping fauxgaritas.
And no, I don’t remember most of them.
Dammit, Janet!

But one idea did survive the time-off fog, and I’m still pretty enamored of it. The plan? Develop a deck of cards based around the imagery of The Circus Serene.  Cool metaphors. Wacky explanations. Strange drawings.

So I’m setting up a challenge to myself to post a rough draft of a card each week – with the emphasis on rough. But if all goes well, this will lead to a loverly printed deck in the end.

And the very first card?

Yepp, that’s it up there above, featuring  a circus tent interior and center pole.

Yesterday’s post ended on a bit of a cliff-hanger, with everyone huddled together in a Very Important, All Night Monster Counsel [sic](which pretty much seems to mean munching on cookies while wearing meaningful expressions and pointing vaguely at maps.)

The Counsel’s Agenda?

The finding of ways to make Disturbing-The-Spouse or Not-Disturbing-The-Spouse irrelevant to the success and productivity of The Circus. (And Me.) (And my Monsters)

The Counsel was further instructed to be sure that any solutions were pragmatic and self-contained.  In other words?

No plans that require the Spouse to change or otherwise do anything (because that would just Disturb him), nor could the plans require me to engage in any spontaneous spiritual evolution.  I mean, sure, I’m all about evolving, but that’s a life project, and it tends to be a wee bit disruptive on its own.  The focus here is on Things Getting Done, not taking on more stress in hopes of transcending to an angelic state of bliss that’s beyond stress.

First Order of Business?

Anything we know doesn’t work gets sprinkled with powdered sugar and added to the snack table.

*Read The Ramblings That Explain This

Obligatory Foreword: A guided audio version of this exercise will be included in the Centering Kit, scheduled for some sort of release on Dec. 15th.

Meanwhile, here in the States, it’s traditional Turkey Insanity Week, when happy families gather to bitch about Aunt Edna’s biscuits and throw the good china at one another’s heads. And since  china-chucking can  knock people a wee bit off-kilter, I’ve written  up this read-it-yourself version, to help out you find and keep your balance during this trying, turkey-filled time.   So set down that antique serving platter you were winding up to pitch, and get yourself re-centered.

Take a moment to pause…

…to meet yourself right  where you are, and breathe easily while you read through these instructions.  This exercise works best seated in a chair;  you’ll want to scoot forward towards the front edge of the seat, just a bit, so that you can lean backwards a few degrees without hitting the back rest.

Being centered is kind of big deal around here.

I certainly mention it a lot.  And yet, somehow? I haven’t really defined it for Circus readers.  Oops. Let’s just take care of that now, shall we?

Ahem.

When I talk about being centered, it’s not some vague, wishy-washy woo-woo thing. Really, it’s pretty basic.

Being centered means that the awareness of who, what and where, your perception of self, is plonked down smack dab in the middle of your body.

It also means your awareness of your body is plonked smack dab in the middle of the world around you.

Imagine your body as a big ol’ compass.

A Bed Time Story, From
The Fortune Teller’s Tent*

Once upon a time, a much younger Fortune Teller (who had not yet learned the wisdom of hiding behind fictional characters) found herself on a rather poorly marked spiritual path. There were many brambles and forky twists in the road, and the Fortune Teller was afraid she would lose her way.

She thought it would be nice to have few more landmarks and maybe a map (not to mention a few less brambles).

So she sought out others who were on a similar path, others with experience and knowledge and hedge clippers.

And she found them!

But the Others didn’t offer her a map. They didn’t have a compass either, and worse? They didn’t really appear to be *doing* much of anything.

‘Fortuna, Renowned Psychic!’

…read the sign.

The twenty-something woman stared or a moment, then took a deep breath,  pushing through the heavy tapestries sheilding the doorway. Blinking to adjust her eyes to the shadows, she peered towards the figure sitting behind the small table.  “Hello?”

“What will it be today, my dear? A future of fame? Romance, riches?” the stereotyped faux-gypsy woman started  into her spiel, already shuffling a deck of colorful cards. “Let’s see what handsome lover awaits–”

“None of that,” interrupted the girl, tossing a long strip of carnival tickets on the table.  “It’s more important.”